Rex hurled himself at Zoe. It wasn’t a playful jump. The dog’s sudden rush, drove her backward into the kitchen counter, and she only stayed upright because her hands found the edge in time.
The ceramic fruit bowl tipped and shattered on the tile. Zoe screamed. George, who had been standing six feet away with his phone pressed to his ear, crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Rex by the collar, yanking him back. The dog didn’t yelp or shrink. He planted all four legs and kept his eyes fixed on Zoe, tail rigid, breath coming fast through his nose.
Outside, a car door slammed. Through the frosted glass of the front door, George could see the flicker of blue lights. He looked at his wife, pressed against the counter, one hand on her chest, face completely white—and then at the phone still in his hand, the call still connected. He’d dialed 911 less than three minutes ago. Now the police were here, Rex was behaving like a different animal entirely, and Zoe was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read at all…