The Big Bad Wolf

I JOINED THE FRANTIC search in the waterway and the rest of the neighborhood, but it was already dark. Mahoney and I raced up and down narrow estate-lined streets. Then we drove along nearby Las Olas Boulevard, hoping that someone had spotted two men in soaking-wet clothes. But no one had seen the Wolf or his bodyguard. I wouldn't give up. I went back to the Isla Bahia estates area. Something was wrong. Why hadn't anyone spotted two men fitting that description? I wondered if they had diving gear in the cellar alcove. How thoroughly had the Wolf planned his escape? What precautions had he taken? Then I let my mind go in a different direction: He's arrogant and fearless. He didn't believe we'd find him and come here to take him down. He didn't have an escape route! So maybe he's still hiding in Isla Bahia. I passed my ideas on to HRT, but they'd already begun to go door-to-door at the estates. There were now dozens of agents and local police combing the exclusive neighborhood in Fort Lauderdale. I wouldn't give up, wouldn't let the others quit. Whatever drove me - perseverance? stubbornness? - had paid off before. But we didn't find the Wolf, or anyone who'd seen him in Isla Bahia. "There's nothing? No sign? Nobody saw anything?" I asked Mahoney. "Nothing," Mahoney said. "We found a cocker spaniel on the loose. That's it." "We know who owns the dog?" I asked. Mahoney rolled his eyes. I didn't blame him. "I'll check." He went away and came back after a couple of minutes. "It belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Steve Davis. The Davises live at the end of the street. We'll bring them their dog. Satisfied?" I shook my head. "Not really. Let's the two of us return the dog," I said. "I don't know why a dog would be loose this late at night. Is the family home?" "Doesn't look like it. The lights are off at the house. C'mon, Alex. Jesus. This is hopeless. You're clutching at straws. Pasha Sorokin is gone." "Let's go. Get the dog," I said. "We're going to the Davis house."