Brent darted to the left, making it across the road two seconds before a car ran over him.

"Hey!" I ran at the vehicle with my hands up and hit their trunk as they sped by.

Animals in this town.

I crossed the road and ran straight through the Fergusons' hedge. The thin branches slapped against my legs and I flapped my hands around, but the hedge only came to waist high. Shit. That was going to scratch later.

Brent barked, gaining ground ahead of me as he darted through the backyard. I forged ahead, my heels kicking up the thin layer of snow and sinking in with each step.

Freaking stripper heels.

The house had a thing for foliage. On the other side of their yard, I pushed my way through a thin row of small scraggly trees. The leaves were missing, but the branches did more damage as I plowed through them, pushing my hands out in front of me.

My arms ached from the assault.

"Hi, Mrs. Thompson," I yelled, passing through the next yard where a member of the Women's Auxiliary poured bird food into her large feeder.

She spilled birdseed on the ground and cursed.

"Sorry!"

Brent ran up her side yard, crossing over another road to race against the sidewalk on the other side. A county cop car was parked at the end of the driveway and I slid across the hood as I passed, giving a high-five to Officer Bradley behind the wheel.

His eyes widened for half a second and he scowled. My ass protested from the cold of his metal hood and my feet hit the ground on the opposite side.

I crossed the road and through a side yard of another house just in time to catch Brent turn to his right. He headed back toward the old church and the trails where I'd found him the first time. I couldn't let him get that far. There were miles of trails on that side of town.

Brent turned right, and I followed, sliding across a back deck of someone who hadn't taken the time to shovel. The old snow had turned to ice on the bottom.

Lazy jerks.

Lawn and deck maintenance were an important part of life in northern Maine.

Brent circled the house, headed again to the road. The cold air cut at my lungs with each breath I sucked in. The top of my body lurched forward as I grappled to gain air, but I couldn't give up.

When I caught that dog, he was getting a stern talking to.

He shot down the road, sticking to the sidewalk and gaining distance from me. My heels thundered on the soft layer of snow from those who hadn't shoveled the fresh powder that had blanketed the town overnight. Thankfully, it was only a dusting.

"Brent, stop," I gasped. "We can talk about this." My words were choppy and each one hurt against my burning throat.

Could a throat get frostbite?

The spoiled dog darted under a car further down the road and I slowed to see where he'd pop out again. I mis-stepped and my heel came down on an angle, twisting my ankle, but Brent gunshot out from the back of the car and continued on his way.

The ankle had to wait until later. I'd add it to my list.

Brent crossed the road again-a dog with a freaking death wish-and ran into a backyard. I followed, the distance between us growing. He obviously did more cardio than I did.

More exercise was definitely going on the list.

"Hey," I waved to someone walking their dog, a big ass fluffy thing that didn't look like it had Brent's speed. Why couldn't Mrs. Coogs have lost one of those?

The dog walker waved back hesitantly as I crossed into the yard.

I didn't know who they were and I didn't have time to ask, but I'd have to figure it out later. There couldn't be someone in Pelican Bay that we didn't know about. I'd scope out this road later, get a picture, and run a check in the Facebook group. Someone had to know them.

Another thing for the checklist.

Brent ran between yards and I set out after him on the shortest course possible. Sadly, that line had a swing set in the middle of it. I darted around the slide but pivoted between the swings. The metal chain slapped me in the face as I tangled up in them, trying to push my way past.

Fucking swings.

"Brent, stop!" I used the last of my breath to reason with him.

The dog came to a grinding halt at the edge of the yard.

Hell yes.

He looked up at something in a high tree and barked. The squirrel squeaked back and then Brent took off again.

Jerk.

Was it wrong to call a dog a jerk?

My steps were slowing, but I pushed through as Brent ran a lap around another tree, barking at a different squirrel and giving me false hope I might catch him.

Pretty sure he was fucking with me at this point.

He shifted to the side of the house, and I ran through the carport, sliding my hands over the brand-new Explorer parked in it. The Hansons got a new vehicle. Nice.

Bet that set them back.

Brent started toward the road again, making it a foot or so into it before he turned back. My legs wobbled, unable to keep up with his speed. A black Equinox drove down the side road with a small dent on the front fender.

"Shit."

My mother slowed as she passed me, her head twisting to the side and her eyes wide as our gazes connected.

I looked away quickly, raised a hand in a half wave, and then dove into the backyard where Brent had headed. I didn't have time to come up with a reasonable explanation of why I was running in high heels and a miniskirt in January.

There'd never be a good time.

Put that on my never list.

My breath came in pants, my legs screamed, and the wind beat against my face. I slowed, giving up on the damn dog when he slipped under a porch in a backyard.

I walked past the front porch, where I'd knocked not too long ago. Small damn towns.

The elder Mrs. Jones' home looked the same as it did the first time I visited and she wasn't home. I couldn't see if her car was in the driveway now. Hopefully, she still wasn't here because I had a terrorist puppy to negotiate with and no time to question her about the death of her daughter-in-law.

Brent barked, letting me know he hadn't left the porch area, and I dropped to my knees. The cold barely registered against my exposed skin.

Definitely frostbite territory. If I didn't want to lose an important body part, I needed to get Brent out from under the damn porch fast.

My legs shook either from the cold or my overexertion as I angled my body to get a view of the errant pup. "Come on, boy. Let's come out. I'll get you a nice juicy steak."

I lied. There was no steak. Shoot me.

Brent growled at me and crouched, lowering himself to the disgusting leaf-covered ground.

"Really? Earlier, you wanted to play so bad you almost got me killed, but now I'm chopped liver?"

No, that wasn't right. He probably liked chopped liver.

"I'm broccoli? Really, I'm broccoli?" The nerve of that dog.

Broadrick jogged up and dropped to his knees on the ground next to me. "You got him cornered?"

The jerk wasn't even out of breath.

It was official. I hated him. Where the hell did he come from? How did he find me?

"Obviously," I responded, trying my best-but failing-not to sound like I was two seconds away from dying from a lack of oxygen.

Broadrick looked at me and then stuck his head lower and glanced under the porch. "Someone is going to have to go under there and get him."

"Not me." Was he crazy? I had on a miniskirt and heels!