Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

The dog reared and hurled itself against the spot where Manny had been standing. Manny used that instant to get behind the creature and loop the dress around its neck.

She twisted and pulled. The synthetic fiber had much less give than cotton would have, and the garrote tightened. She struggled to maintain her balance and keep the fabric taut.

The dog strained and wheezed against the unfamiliar restraint. Certainly he had never been walked on a leash, and for that Manny was grateful. A trained dog might have backed up to ease the pressure, but this dog continued to pull forward, cutting off his own air supply and making her work easier.

The dog staggered and sank to its knees. Manny could sense Jake's presence on the other end of the camera, coaching her. Don't let go. It's not over yet. Jake always scoffed at the way strangulation deaths were portrayed in the movies-thirty seconds of airway compression and the victim was dead. In reality, it took several minutes of total oxygen deprivation to bring about a human death. Manny didn't know the canine equivalent, but she wasn't taking any chances. She continued to pull, although her arms ached from the effort.

The dog slumped onto its side and its eyes rolled back in its head. Still, Manny didn't release the noose. She glanced over at Travis, hoping that he might see fit to come and help her now that the dog had weakened. But he sat curled in the corner, glassy-eyed. Shock had rendered him useless.

The dog's legs twitched involuntarily and a puddle of urine appeared from beneath its body. A good sign-it must have lost consciousness. Manny's arms trembled with the effort of keeping the dress pulled tight. If she hadn't spent all that time hanging from the window grille, she would have had more strength for this. She resolved to keep up the pressure for two more minutes. Under her breath, she counted, "One one thousand, two one thousand."

She reached 120 and cautiously loosened her grip. The dog lay immobile. Manny knew she should check for a pulse.

She extended a trembling hand toward the carotid artery in the dog's neck. Its fur was short and coarse, nothing like Mycroft's. Scars from the many fights it had survived crisscrossed its neck and chest. Her fingertips hovered above the dog's body; her eyes swam with tears.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to touch this dog. Searching for his pulse would seem too much like petting him, scratching him under the chin the way she did with Mycroft and every other friendly dog who lifted a grinning muzzle to be caressed.

Manny backed away from the dog's body. She was tired, so tired. In a minute, they would look for a way out of here. But first she had to rest.

Manny's bravery stunned Jake. But the elation he should have felt at her amazing victory over the dog couldn't take hold. His central nervous system hadn't yet recovered from the shock of seeing the woman he loved go after that brute with her bare hands and a scrap of fabric.

Manny seemed to have shocked herself. She sat a few feet away from the dog, her head in her hands, breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. Not an uncommon reaction to unbearable stress. But Jake had confidence that she would come out of it soon and start looking for an escape route from her prison.

He hoped that Sam was right about the Fireproof Apparel building, although it was a long shot. Manny and Travis might be anywhere. But at least the pressure was off. With the dog out of the equation, it didn't matter if the search dragged on for hours.

Jake shifted uneasily as he watched the static scene on his computer screen. Were the Costellos still tuned in? They would be furious at the failure of their torture display. Furious enough to risk returning to the scene to unleash some other horror?

"Get up, Manny," he urged her through the screen. "Get up and start looking for a way out." Manny sat crossed-legged on the floor. The only sound she could hear was the unsteady in and out of her own breathing. The current craze for yoga had passed her by-she preferred Pilates or exercising with her Wii fitness program. Nevertheless, she found herself focusing on her breathing, trying with all her will to bring it back to normal. Maybe then she could get up.

Another sound entered her consciousness-a slight whimper from across the room. Travis. She'd nearly forgotten him.

Manny looked up, to see him pointing limply. She let her gaze follow his finger.

The dog was standing up.

Manny scrambled to stand up, too, but her limbs responded as if they were controlled by some other brain.

Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The dog, never graceful before, floated through the air, coming closer and closer. She could no longer see her foot because her leg was inside a dog's mouth. How odd. She thought she was having an out-of-body thinking experience. Dr. Suzanne Levine will never get me into my stilettos again.

The pain she felt was real, not the sharp pain of teeth tearing her flesh but, rather, the shocking blow of a hammer swung at full force. That was odd, too.

And here was another strange thing. Travis was running. Running right toward her, screaming. Running straight at the cage, which he picked up and swung at the dog. It didn't like that. It opened its mouth. She rolled away.

And then there was another crash. The door flew open. The room was full of men. A shot rang out, awfully close to her head.

Manny dragged herself upright and scanned the faces in the room.

"Where's Jake?"

"How's your leg? Have another Percocet."

Manny averted her head from the pill. "Those things make me woozy. Just raise the pillow a little. Couldn't I have a glass of Veuve Clicquot Rose instead?"

Jake scurried to the end of the sofa and fluffed the pillow under Manny's bandaged leg. "How's tha-" Her ear-to-ear grin stopped him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"It's almost worth being eaten by a pit bull to see you doing this Florence Nightingale routine," Manny said. "And look at this house. You must've had Heloise and Mr. Clean here while I was in the hospital."

"Sam and I did it all," Jake said, looking around the spotless living room. "I thought the bowl of potpourri was a particularly nice touch for your homecoming."

"It would be nicer if the dried lavender wasn't trickling out the eye sockets of the skull."

Jake took her hand. "I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to have you here."

Manny evaded his gaze. "Well, I appreciate your taking me in. But it's only for a few days. As soon as the doctor says I can walk unassisted, I'll go back to my place."

Jake stroked her hair. "There's no rush."

Sam entered carrying three mugs of coffee on a tray, followed by Mycroft, who bounded into Manny's lap.

"You're serving from a tray now?" Manny asked, glad of the distraction. "What are you, channeling Amy Vanderbilt?"

"Just living up to my surroundings," Sam said. "You should see how nice my manners are when I'm invited to Buckingham Palace."

"Speaking of foreign travel, is it true the Costellos were intercepted at Kennedy Airport, waiting for a flight to Buenos Aires? I thought I heard that on the news when I was lying in my hospital bed, but they had me so doped up, I didn't know if I was dreaming or not."

"You didn't dream it," Jake said. "That's one upside of terrorism. No one can make a hasty escape from the country anymore. Airport security apprehended them as their carry-on bags were being screened. They're in federal custody. Bail has been denied. And the government even added animal abuse charges. The killer pit bull survived both your assault and the police, and now he needs to be a 'kept dog,' courtesy of the Costellos."

"Justice. Travis Heaton and the Costellos trade places. Kind of like your shrimp story." Manny inhaled through her nose, then exhaled though her mouth. "Who's representing them?"