The late-night surveillance footage flickered with snowflake dots in the dim light, and Bruce's face grew rigid as he stared at the woman on the screen.
He recognized her-the veterinarian who had sweet-talked him out of his innocence, Elise.
She was dead. Dead in this run-down motel.
But it was something else that made Bruce most nervous.
“Where's the dog?” He muttered, as if something was stuck in his throat.
The Labrador, Thirteen, was the one he'd sacrificed several meals and nearly broke his leg three times to save.
Elise could die, but nothing could happen to the dog.
Diana moved closer to the screen, but her eyes fell on another place: “This dog is quite interesting, look at his nerves all the time.”
Bruce gazed at the small dog in the screen that was always vigilantly observ
