I would’ve just let her loose to do her business, but if I couldn’t catch her, we’d have been in big trouble. Still, I did my best to keep as far away from her as I could, following with the leash loose as she wandered.
Sadie sniffed for a long time before doing her business.
I snagged a poop bag from my pocket—because I always had several handy—and scooped, then coaxed her step by step to where I could put it in the bin.
The dog gazed up at me, then stared off into the distance. A low whine came from her tiny throat. Another whine.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she did this. But I’ll take care of you, I promise. Okay?”
She blinked. Then headed back to the house.
When I coaxed her into her crate, though, she started whimpering.
I gave her a chew toy with bits of treat in it but she ignored it.
“Why can’t she come and sit with us in the dining room?” Cheyenne stood near the gate, watching. “Or you could let her roam free in here. She doesn’t seem the destructive sort.”
The room was pretty well dog-proofed, but separation anxiety could make dogs do dangerous and destructive things. “We don’t know her well enough, yet. So, for now, she stays in the crate where she’s safe.”
Wynn appeared in the doorway. “I’ve come up with an idea.”
“Great.” I gave Sadie one final look before heading out of the family room, shutting the gate tightly.
Sadie whined again. More like crying.
She sounded like a human infant—which tugged at my heartstrings. That gut-deep instinct to soothe. “Sorry, girl.” I whispered, hoping she’d settle when we were out of sight.
Cheyenne glared.
I sighed. “We can only do what we can do. Let’s see what Wynn has up his sleeve, okay?”
After a moment, she nodded.
We retook our seats in the dining room, eagerly awaiting Wynn’s idea.
Well, eagerly might’ve overstated things. I was filled with dread as I tried not to think of all the ways taking my parents to court could go horribly wrong. Maybe we can just not tell them and pretend I don’t know where Cheyenne is. But I wasn’t a child, to indulge in magical thinking. I knew better. “What’s the thought?” I asked.
Wynn shot his gaze between Cheyenne and me. “I think we need to get your parents on the record with the wedding threat.” He scratched his chin. “I know a judge here in Gaynor Beach who is very focused on human trafficking—children in particular. If we give her proof that Cheyenne is being trafficked to her future husband, we might be able to circumvent the laws about jurisdiction and recording.”
I cocked my head. “What?”
“California’s a two-party recording state. Normally, we’d have to ask permission from your parents to tape the conversation, and then they’d never say anything incriminating.”
I opened my mouth.
He held up his hand. “Yes, preppers hate the government—so they wouldn’t give us authorization to begin with. However—” He checked his computer. “Basically, the exception is if there are threats of violence and therefore, by recording, we are possibly proactively preventing felony violence against a person, then we don’t need consent. That violence can include human trafficking.”
“Really?” Cheyenne’s eyes widened. “So if they say they’re going to force me to marry Harvey, then I won’t have to go back?”
“Well…” Wynn glanced my way.
I gestured for him to speak freely. Cheyenne deserved to know what she was up against.
“Hopefully. We’ll have to see what you can get them to say.”
“Okay.” She leaned forward. “Let’s do this. Except, I don’t have a phone.”
“We’ll use Brooklyn’s. Your name would come up on caller ID, right?”
