September 6, Friday, 3:15 P.M. “You don’t have to do this alone,” Hank said. He was kneeling in front of me, making sure my voice wiring—which he’d insisted on in addition to the two-way radios—was perfectly adjusted. “I know that,” I said flatly. Hank stood up. “I don’t want you to do this alone,” he said, emphasizing the word “want.” “I know that too,” I said. I pulled up the top to my rescue suit and began zipping it. Normally, I’d give myself a few extra minutes out of the suit, especially on such a hot, humid afternoon, but I wasn’t going to waste even a second today. Not for this search. As soon as I’d finished my visit with Mary—it was all I could do to keep from running from her apartment with the stuffed toy in the bag, out of a sudden panicky fear she’d snatch the precious scent article back from me—I’d rushed home and called Hank. He’d come over immediately. We were in my office now. I had the search grid for around the Lane property rolled up and ready to go, not that I really needed it.
What do You think about A Bloodhound To Die For (2003)?
