Chapter 4 - The Scar of Calder Global
Working alongside Roman Calder was an exercise in surreal contrasts. Here was a man whose watch probably cost more than my entire inventory, yet he didn’t hesitate to slide his bare hands across the dusty, glass-littered floor to examine a bleeding dog.
As we carefully parted Titan’s thick black fur, the reality of what had happened to the animal came into harsh, glaring focus.
“It’s a surgical scar,” I whispered, running my fingertips gently along a jagged, hairless ridge of tissue beneath his left shoulder blade. “Not from a fight. From a tracker removal.”
Roman’s jaw tightened. A muscle twitched along his jawline. “My head of security, Marcus, installed military-grade biometric trackers in all our primary security canines. When Titan went missing three weeks ago from our private compound upstate, the trackers went offline simultaneously.”
“He didn't run away,” I said, looking up from the wound to meet Roman’s gaze. “Someone inside your company cut it out of him. Someone who wanted him gone... or wanted to use him.”
“Or both,” Roman finished grimly.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, sterile pack of gauze I had set down, and gently pressed it against the raw skin. To my surprise, Titan didn't snap. He didn't growl. He flinched slightly, but allowed Roman to touch him—not out of obedience, but perhaps recognizing that Roman, too, was searching for the truth.
“Why did he come to my shop?” I asked softly, watching the way Titan’s tail gave a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch against my boot. “Out of all the blocks in the city, why did those men chase him to my front door?”
Roman stared at the dog for a long, calculating moment. “Because you’re outside the grid, Harper.”
My name. I hadn't even told him my name.
Seeing the question in my eyes, Roman offered a grim, humorless half-smile. “I own half the city, Harper. Figuring out who owns a specialty holistic pet rehabilitation shop on the edge of the industrial district takes about thirty seconds.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Titan was raised in my private training facilities,” Roman explained, his voice dropping into a low, reflective register. “He was conditioned to recognize high-frequency secure frequencies—frequencies used by Calder Global communication relays. Your shop’s antique neon sign outside uses an old-model transformer that emits a residual electronic hum matching one of our legacy training frequencies. To a dog with his level of sensory training, your store was a beacon. A safe house.”
I sat back on my heels, absorbing the gravity of his words. This massive, terrifying Cane Corso hadn't just wandered into my store by chance. He had sought me out because my broken-down neon sign sounded like home.
“Well,” I said quietly, reaching out to scratch behind Titan’s massive ears. “He picked a good place to hide. But he’s not going back to your compound, Mr. Calder. Not until I know he’s safe.”
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Roman looked at me, a flicker of genuine respect crossing his hardened features. He didn't argue. He didn't threaten. He simply nodded slowly.
“Agreed,” Roman said. “In fact, neither are we. Because based on the men who just tried to wipe us out, the people hunting Titan know he’s here. And they’re not going to stop coming.”
