Then he was fighting his way through the tree branches, trying to drop thirty feet to the ground, his rifle tangling him up, while the dog went after the back of D.D.'s neck, making a terrible wet, growling sound.
Bobby cleared the branches, jumping the remaining fifteen feet, rolling through the pain that rocketed up his ankles. Rifle was useless; force of the slug would pass through the dog into D.D Instead, he reached behind his back for his Glock as he tore through the woods.
D.D. was still moving. He could see her arms and legs flailing as she fought to get the massive weight off her, punched feebly behind her at the dog's head.
The dog was fighting with her Kevlar vest. Trying to chew and claw through it. Trying to sink its teeth into soft, white flesh.
Bobby ran. The Rottweiler never looked up. As Bobby placed the muzzle of his gun against the animal's ear. As Bobby pulled the trigger. As the massive animal dropped, and finally there was silence in the woods.
IT TOOK THEM ten minutes to pry the animal's jaws from D.D.'s left shoulder. They rolled her onto her side while they worked, Bobby talking to her constantly. She had a death grip on his hand, wouldn't let go, which was okay, because he wouldn't let her.
Blood. A little bit on her cheek, her neck. Not as bad as they feared. Her vest had protected her from the dog's claws upon her back. When she'd pitched forward, the Kevlar had ridden up, protecting her neck from its fangs. She'd lost a chunk of skin along her jaw, a few clumps of hair on the back of her head. Given the possibilities, she wasn't complaining.
The officers finally wrestled the Rottweiler's body free and it fell limply to the ground beside her.
D.D. braced herself against Bobby and he pulled her upright. "Where did the dogs come from?" she wanted to know. An EMT had arrived, was trying to take her blood pressure. The raincoat was too thick. She shrugged it off, wincing at the movement.
"Woods," Sinkus reported breathlessly, having just caught up with them. "No sign of a human intruder yet, but we found four wire cages about two hundred yards back, covered in bushes and set up with timers. Hour hit 3:33, electronic current shut off, and the doors swung open, releasing the dogs."
Bobby glanced up. "And all four dogs ran to the exact same target?"
"Each cage contains, um, unmentionables," Sinkus said.
"Unmentionables?" D.D. demanded. She touched her jaw gingerly, felt out the bloody tear.
"Yeah. Underwear. One pair in each cage. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm betting the thongs are yours."
"What?" D.D. turned sharply. The EMT ordered her to stay still. She nailed him with such a glance, he fell back.
It was good to know that D.D. was feeling better, even if it did mean her fingers were now crushing Bobby's hand.
"Have you noticed anything disturbed at home?" Sinkus asked. "Like someone rifling through your drawers or, more probably, going through your dirty laundry? The system works best if the item bears your scent."
"I haven't been home enough in the past four days to check my drawers! Or," she snarled, then sighed, "do any of my laundry."
"Well, there you go. Guy helped himself to a few scent markers. Any well-trained attack dog would take it from there."
D.D. definitely didn't like that thought. She turned, regarding the body of the dog on the ground. Big, black, powerfully muscled. She touched its flank. The look on her face was not so much rage as regret.
"My uncle used to have a Rotty. Her name was Meadow. Biggest, sweetest dog you can imagine. She used to let me ride on her back." D.D.'s hand moved, found the twisted wire around the dog's neck, the kind of collar favored by drug dealers and dog fighters. "Asshole," she suddenly growled. "Dog was probably trained from birth. Never had a chance."
Bobby couldn't look at her anymore. After all, he was the one who had taken out the four dogs that attacked her. And while he couldn't feel bad about it, given the circumstances, he couldn't feel good about it either.
"I don't get it," D.D. muttered. "Making me wear the locket made a crazy kind of sense. Gave the guy a cheap thrill. But why go through all that for this kind of setup? It's like attacking via remote. Except I don't think our subject is a remote kind of guy. I think he's up close and personal."
"It's sophisticated," Sinkus commented. "Allows him to show off his intelligence. Something Eola would do."
D.D. didn't comment. Neither did Bobby. He was thinking of what she'd said. The note had been personal, left on the windshield of D.D.'s car. The choice of trophies for each body they'd found had been personal, too, same with the MO of stalking Annabelle by leaving gifts. The setup here had involved stealing D.D.'s underwear—no doubt, the subject had enjoyed that—so why not stick around for the show? D.D. was right. The subject had invested heavily in foreplay, then denied himself the main event.