Double Payback

Harper shifted her focus from the dramatic dog back to the floor. Braden Vance remained curled on the grease-stained concrete, clutching his ruined leg while the wooden pool cue cast a long, sharp shadow over his chest. His henchmen hovered near the broken doorway, terrified to make a move.

Braden dragged himself backward against the grit, his voice cracking with fear. "Harper, please. I was stupid. I will never pull anything like this again, I swear on my life. Just let me walk away."

Harper tapped the tip of the cue against the floor, keeping her voice low and icy. "Did Chloe put you up to this?"

Braden shook his head, but when Harper took half a step forward, his nerve broke.

"Chloe told me you stole the Caldwell Group jewelry contract right out of her hands! She was crying for hours! I got so mad on her behalf that I wanted to hurt you the same way you hurt her. I thought if I took your dog, you would finally understand what it feels like to lose something precious!"

A dry, incredulous chuckle slipped from Harper's throat. "Chloe is an unproven rookie with zero box office draw. The Caldwell Group is a century-old luxury powerhouse. They would never hire her to sweep their display cases, let alone front a global campaign. You let her play you for a fool."

Braden blinked through his tears, dazed and lost.

Harper took a step back and lowered the cue. "Go back and deliver a message to Chloe for me. Tell her I will not let this slide. Every dirty trick she tries, I will pay back to her twofold. Now drag your trash out of my sight before I change my mind."

Braden did not wait for a second invitation. He scrambled onto all fours, shrieking at his lackeys to lift him. The men grabbed his arms, hauled him toward the exit, and threw him into the back of an SUV. Outside, the harsh squeal of burning rubber echoed off the warehouse walls as the vehicle sped off into the night.

The moment silence returned to the hollow space, the adrenaline drained from Harper's veins.

Her knees gave out. A heavy wave of dizziness crashed over her, and she lunged forward, catching herself against a damp, peeling brick wall. Her palms scraped against the rough plaster, but she barely registered the sting. The untreated fever from a week of being locked in a cold storage room roared back into her bloodstream, setting her skin on fire while her teeth clicked together in a sudden chill. Her vision swam in dark halos. She drew in ragged, shallow breaths, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

A soft, wet nose bumped against her knuckles.

Gunner trotted over, his bushy tail drooping while his bright blue eyes searched her pale face. The mechanical chime of the system had faded, but his inner voice rang clear in her mind, laced with genuine terror: *Harper, what is wrong? Don't scare me like this! You cannot collapse on me now. If you go down, I go down with you! Who else is going to feed me steak? Wake up!*

Harper leaned her weight against the brickwork, her breath evening out as she looked down at the silver-and-white face. She reached down, her trembling fingers gently probing his ribs, shoulders, and hips to check for broken bones. "I am not dying, you idiot. Did they hurt you anywhere?"

The dog's panic evaporated in a split second, replaced by pure theatrics.

*Hurt me? They brutalized me!* Gunner wailed in her mind, lifting one front paw off the ground as if it were shattered into dust. *My paw throbs! My neck is bent! My magnificent tail took emotional damage that may never heal! Why did you only break one of his legs? You should have snapped both of them! Avenge my ruined coat!*

Harper pressed two fingers against her temples, rubbing the dull ache pulsing behind her eyes. "You do not have a single broken bone, drama queen. Come on. We are going to the clinic."

Harper guided Gunner into her car and drove straight toward the city center. She knew enough veterinary medicine from her previous studies to recognize that internal bleeding or concussions could hide beneath thick fur, and she took no chances.

Twenty minutes later, the chime above the veterinary clinic door jingled as Harper pushed inside.

The sudden auditory assault nearly knocked her off her feet.

It was not human noise. The waiting area was physically quiet, but a wall of animal minds struck her head like a roaring wave.

*Where is my food?*

*The thermometer goes where?*

*Someone tell that poodle to stop staring at my tail before I bite his ears off!*

In the recovery ward just beyond the front desk, two large cage doors rattled.

An obese ginger tabby, taking up nearly three-quarters of a stainless-steel cage, slammed its heavy paws against the wire mesh. *Look at that beauty walking through the door! She is back! She came specifically to gaze upon my glorious round belly! Bow down, peasants!*

Next door, an elegant British Shorthair blue cat puffed out its cheeks and hissed between the bars. *Delusional lard bucket! She clearly came to admire my silky slate fur and aristocratic lineage! Back off, orange menace!*

*She loves chubbiness! You look like a dusty storm cloud!*

*You look like a deflated basketball!*

The two cats swiped claws through the dividing partition, spitting fury.

Harper stood in the lobby, staring in quiet amusement.

A young female veterinarian emerged from the examination hallway holding a clipboard. Seeing the two felines thrashing, she let out an exhausted sigh. "I swear, Harper, every single time you walk into this building, those two start a turf war. They share a sunroom at home and cuddle like brothers, but the second you step foot in here, they try to murder each other."

Harper blinked, trying to ignore the ongoing cat insults ringing inside her skull. "Are they sick?"

"That is the mystery." The vet shook her head with a weary groan. "Their owners keep rushing them in because they stage hunger strikes at home. The minute they get settled in our boarding cages, they inhale their own food and then steal from the dogs next door. There is not a single medical issue with them, other than being overweight."

Through the mesh, the two cats halted their claw fight and turned their wide, dinner-plate eyes toward Harper.

*Of course we are not sick,* the ginger thought proudly.

*We hate the smell of bleach here, but it is the only place we ever get to see our queen,* the blue cat added with a mental purr.

Harper suppressed a chuckle. She had poured millions of dollars from her acting career into animal rescues and had frequented this particular hospital for years. Stray animals had always gravitated toward her, but hearing their inner schemes laid bare was another story.

She stepped closer to the cages, extending a finger to scratch behind the ginger's ears before stroking the blue cat's velvet chin. Both cats collapsed into rumbling purrs, rubbing their cheeks against the wire.

The vet watched in awe. "See? They turn into sweet little angels the moment you touch them."

Harper looked at the purring frauds and kept a straight face. "Maybe they like me so much that they fake being sick just to see me."

The ginger's purr choked in its throat.

The blue cat’s eyes flared wide with horror.

*She knows!* they gasped in unison inside Harper's head. *The human cracked our scheme! We are caught!*

The vet chuckled, taking Harper's comment as a joke, but tapped her clipboard. "You know what? That actually makes sense. I am calling their owners to pick them up right now. No more luxury suite treatment for these two."

Both cats slumped onto their bellies, grumbling bitter curses under their breath as the vet stepped away to make the call.

Moments later, two assistants carried Gunner into the back for diagnostic imaging. Harper waited in an exam room, resting her forehead against the cool laminate table to manage the persistent thrum of her fever.

Ten minutes passed before the lead veterinarian walked back into the room. He carried a set of fresh radiographic films, but his brow was creased with deep distress.

Harper sat up, her heart jumping. "Doctor, how are the scans? Is there any cranial fracture or internal bleeding?"

The vet raised a hand to calm her. "His skull is intact. There is a minor contusion on the right temple, but no signs of swelling, concussion, or systemic trauma. We cleaned the skin and applied a topical analgesic. Physically, he is in fine shape."

Harper studied his furrowed brow. "Then why do you look so worried?"

The vet rubbed his forehead, looking thoroughly defeated. "It is an emotional crisis. To apply the topical treatment properly, we had to shave a two-inch square of fur near his crown. Gunner took one look in the surgical mirror, suffered a breakdown, and is currently refusing to live."

Before Harper could speak, an ear-splitting, operatic howl tore through the floorboards.

The sound echoed across the three-story building, sharp and mournful.

In Harper's head, the wail translated into frantic screeching: *I am bald! They turned me into a naked mole rat! My crown of glory has been butchered! Other dogs will laugh at me! How can I face society with a bald spot? The pain is unbearable! Death is the only honorable escape! Let me jump! Farewell, cruel world!*

Harper bolted out of the room, rushing down the corridor toward the noise.

She rounded the corner of the surgical suite and stopped dead in her tracks.

A wide third-floor casement window stood cracked open to let in the cool breeze. Gunner had his front paws planted on the sill, his torso thrashing toward the outside drop, while three burly male veterinary technicians were clinging to his hind legs, shouting in panic as they tried to drag the suicidal husky back into the room.