Jackson was still searching the apartment. I heard something that sounded like a lamp break. That meant he was in the bedroom. Jackson wouldn't find the negatives there. He probably suspected as much or he would have shot to kill.

I stroked my dog's head, keeping him close so I could whisper. "Good boy Midnight. Midnight, fetch."

The dog froze.

"My gun on the couch. Fetch."

I was bleeding from at least three places and my left elbow and right knee were no longer functioning. Jackson believed that pain and the promise of more pain were great motivators.

Midnight bounded over to the couch and brought back a
pillow.

"Good boy. Drop. Now fetch my gun. Go."

I heard my bureau crash onto the floor.

Midnight could not be distracted from his appointed
task.

The dog returned with the remote clenched between his teeth.

"Drop. Midnight. Fetch gun."

There weren't many hiding places in my bedroom. As soon as Jackson stepped into the hallway, he'd see I was conscious, never mind the dog I'd trained to ignore strangers.

Midnight offered me my gun.

I rubbed his neck. "Good dog. Midnight. Kennel."

Off he ran to the kitchen. He'd stay there out of harm's way until I called him again.

Jackson was swearing, throwing things.

The bedroom went silent.

I waited. Jackson had already searched my office and now he'd come up dry in my apartment. I only hoped he wasn't so frustrated that he opened fire before asking me again where I'd hidden the negatives.

I felt the slight vibration of his approach.

"Okay. Where are they?"

I lifted the gun and emptied the clip into him. He flew back against the wall.

My arm flopped to the floor.

"Mid--." I cleared my throat and tried again. "Midnight."

The dog came running.

I reached up to scratch him, fingering the collar that hid the negatives.

"Good dog. Midnight. Fetch. Cell phone."