Free You've Got Tail by Renee George

killers. Even if I hadn’t been psychic, I think my Spidey senses would have been tingling about this place.
    Being that I was hot and not a complete chicken-butt, I cracked the window open again.
    When I turned around, I wasn’t alone. “You again,” I muttered to the mystery mutt who’d started to become a fixture in my life. “How’d you get in here?”
    He cocked his head sideways at me, and his eyes were alight with intelligence. It pawed toward the door. I huffed, hands moving to my hips, and stared at it. I’d stopped being afraid of the animal after the whole restaurant appearance. After all, if it had wanted to attack me, it would’ve done it already. No, this dog wanted something from me, and with great determination, it kept tracking me down.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, boy? Is Timmy trapped in the well? Is Johnny pinned under a tractor? Did the cow kick Mary Lou in the head?”
    The dog growled, obviously not a Lassie fan. A growing push inside my head, like earlier, blossomed, giving me a slight headache. I knew what the dog wanted; it wanted me to follow it out the door. Crap. I’d always had a way with sensing basic emotions and needs from animals: anger, fear, hunger, joy, but this…
    â€œNo freaking way.” I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere tonight, so just get that thought out of your head. Or better yet, get it out of mine.”
    It growled again. Anger replaced any residual fear and I growled back. Since when did I start taking orders from dogs? Ex-boyfriend included. “You do know what happened to Old Yeller, right?”
    The animal whined, placing his nose under his forepaw. Great, I’d hurt its furry feelings.
    The push came again. Chavvah . The word came across as a barely audible whisper. The dog began to paw at the door once again.
    â€œFine,” I sighed. It was dumb to think a dog might hold some clue as to my friend’s whereabouts, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. “This better be freaking worth it or I’ll be adding dog stew to the menu.”
    Thirty minutes later I was dressed and walking through town in the middle of the night. Dim-witted dog was leading me to my doom. I felt it in my bones. “Ow!”And my big toe, most likely broke after tripping on a concrete step outside one of the storefronts. Peculiar was lucky no one had sued them for piss-poor lighting.
    Darkness and nature noises filled the small town—in San Diego, even at 2:00 a.m., you had cars driving up and down the streets, twenty-four hour convenience stations, and people out and about. After three blocks, really not as far as it sounds, the dog stopped and shifted its ears forward. We were just to the left of the courthouse, with it wide-open lawn of well-manicured grass and precisely placed silver maples and oaks.
    I could hear something, but whatever, or whoever it was, was too far away. There were two options at this point—go back or go forward.
    Pigheadedness moved me forward.
    A couple of dark blobs stood on the other side of the front steps of the courthouse (again, not well lit). I kept my distance and hid behind a nearby tree, not wanting to alarm any potential psychopaths. Besides, the dog had gotten low to the ground and stopped, so I assumed he’d taken me where he wanted me.
    A voice rose above the other. “I don’t give a shit. I’m through. This is over here and now, got it? No more.”
    I should have freaking known. Sheila. I couldn’t get away from this chick.
    The other person kept his side of the conversation quiet and hard to hear. Was she talking to Babel? A hint of jealousy ran through me at the thought. I wanted to get closer, but my legs felt cemented in place.
    â€œDon’t you dare threaten me. I can bring a whole can of whoop ass down on you.” Sheila again, lots of bravado. Although, the way she’d smacked Babel in the