Nick smiled at the gesture, grateful the helpful droid didn’t hold grudges. He accepted the offering and tossed it over his head as he darted toward the dry, hay-filled barn.

  The musty, familiar scent of motor oil and old hay filled the space. Nick fumbled around between the four-by-four frame beams, searching for an old analog knob. When he found it, he gave it a twist — the barn lit up with a soft yellow glow.

  The light spilled across his dad’s old faded blue 1972 Datsun Z like it was a show piece on display. Back in the early turbo days, his dad had some engine work done — forged rods and pistons, courtesy of the first wave of aftermarket companies. He’d kept the carburetor setup, though, having an old mechanic friend dial it in for the twin-turbo configuration. It wasn’t a power beast by modern standards, but it was balanced, fun — a turbo inline-six paired with tuned suspension.

  Nick reached in to crank the window down, then popped the door shut. He fumbled between the windshield and hood for the release latch and opened it.

  He started doing some basic checks — oil, coolant, turbo oil feed lines. Everything looked tight. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key.

  *Tick.*

  "Great. Battery’s dead."

  He got out and headed to his work area, grabbing an extension cord and battery charger from the shelf beside his large red tool chest — the one covered in automotive brand stickers, some from when it was his dad’s, others added later as Nick carried the tradition forward. He kept it organized, respecting the tools the way his dad had.

  He connected the charger and flipped the switch to fast charge. A small, pleasant hum emanated from the box — a small confirmation it was doing its job. Nick returned to the engine bay, poking around. If nothing else, it passed the time. It was kind of his therapy.

  He spotted something that looked off and went back to the tool chest, grabbing a ten-millimeter ratchet wrench. Wedging his arm between the firewall, he tightened a support bracket — but the wrench slipped and fell between the engine and firewall.

  “Crap.”

  “Everything okay?” Tiffany asked, startling him as he reached for the wrench. He looked over his shoulder at the chipper, smiling redhead.

  “Yeah, everything’s great. Dropped my wrench and I can’t reach it. Hey, shortstack — mind if I dangle you over the engine bay so you can grab it?”

  He turned back, still trying to reach the elusive wrench. He heard something like clothes rustling behind him but didn’t think much of it — until a shirt fluttered down, landing on his head and momentarily blinding him. The damp cloth, scented faintly with Tiffany’s pleasant musk, enveloped him just as large clawed hands grabbed his ankles.

  In one fluid lift and jerk, he was dangling over the engine bay. The shirt slid off his head, revealing the offender: Tiffany, in all her toothy, grinning, furry glory. Her tail swished happily behind her as she held him by the ankles.

  “Who’s the shortstack now, little man?” she said with a grin, canines gleaming.

  Nick stared back, his face cycling through surprise, irritation, and finally a resigned shrug. He reached for the wrench again — and grabbed it.

  It slipped.

  Again.

  This time, it fell somewhere even deeper. Even with Tiffany’s help, it was out of reach.

  “Dammit.”

  Her toothy grin vanished. Ears drooped slightly. She looked down at Nick’s less-than-thrilled expression and gently placed a palm behind his back, cradling him as she gingerly stood him up where she’d picked him up.

  *Boom!*

  A bolt of lightning struck the grounding rod at the top of the barn, making Tiffany shrink back. Her ears swiveled and flattened tight against her head, eyes cartoonishly wide and dilated. A low whimper escaped her as her tail drooped straight down... until a hand touched her side — hard and calloused, but warm.

  She looked down to see Nick smiling warmly at her. She returned the smile, picked him up again, nuzzled his chest, and then — in a playful burst — dragged her long, wide canine tongue across his face.

  “Geez, glad Jarvis gave me that towel.”

  “Oh? Guess that means I can give you more sloppy wet kisses,” she mused, then repeated the gesture, licking his laughing face.

  “Hey, stop that — it tickles! Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to go to the hospital?”

  She paused mid-lick, realizing he was right. She set him down and turned toward the car. Reaching over, she disconnected the charge cables from the battery and handed them to Nick, who looked puzzled but stayed silent, holding the cables.

  She squatted down and gingerly reached under the car, lifting it by the frame. With a couple of firm motions, she shook the car stiffly. A few missing tools, the elusive ten-millimeter wrench, and a field mouse — clearly displeased at being evicted — tumbled to the ground.

  The mouse stood on its hind legs, licking its front paws and rubbing its face and whiskers. It looked up at Tiffany and squeaked something at her, seemingly displeased by the sudden vacay it had just endured. She emitted a short, low *woof* with some growls mixed in, then nodded toward a haystack in the back. The mouse seemed to nod in return before scampering off toward the hay bale.

  Nick watched the exchange, completely lost but mildly entertained. He chuckled as Tiffany set the car down off to the side, the suspension squeaking softly as it settled. She looked at him with a warm, toothy smile, resting her hands on her wide, furred hips as she looked down at him.

  “He said he was just getting in out of the rain and didn’t gnaw on anything in your car.”

  Nick frowned slightly, scratching his head as he looked up at her.

  “You got all that from those little squeaks?”

  “You didn’t?”

  He just shrugged and shook his head.

  “Oh, he said he’ll tell his friends not to chew on your electrical stuff...” she added with a toothy grin. A low, rumbling growl vibrated from her core as her tail lifted—what Nick had come to recognize as her happy growl.

  As she slowly turned, her bushy tail swept across his face, giving him a full view of her backside as she bent over to pick up his tools. He turned beet red trying not to look.

  When she turned around and saw his face, she sniffed, catching his scent. Her eyes grew wide, and her face turned a whitish pink.

  Nick could start to smell wet dog — and not from the rain.

  She turned her head and handed him the tools. He took them awkwardly, then headed off to put them away. Slipping behind the car, she shifted back into her human form so she could change into her street clothes.

  Nick flipped the switch on the battery charger to jump. Tiffany — now in her shortstacked, human-sized form — stood waiting, holding the cables out for him. He took them, hooked them back to the battery, and waited a few minutes for the charge to take.

  “All right, let’s see if this antique starts now,” he said, hopping in and pulling the choke knob, as he turned the key.

  *Whir-whir-whir*

  "Come on..." He muttered as he pumped the gas two times and tried again.

  *Whir-whir--thrump! VRRrrrrump! Brum-brum-brum-brum*

  “Woooo! It’s alive—Aliiiiiiive! Ah ha ha ha!”

  Tiffany covered her face, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. She shook her head, cheeks flushed, blushing at Nick’s outburst as the car finally roared to life.

  “Could you pop the cargo compartment—or boot, whatever you call it?”

  He gave a small smile as he reached down, pulled the hatch release lever, and gave the car a little gas, listening to the turbines softly spool at the bump.

  "We call it a trunk, others call it a boot but whatever." She grabs a large paper bag and sets it down in the storage area closing the hatch back before getting in. He gets out running to the other side of the car to get the door for her as she nods her thanks as he shuts it behind her.

  She started fiddling with the knobs on the dash while Nick powered down everything in the barn. Once finished, they finally headed out.

  Tiffany found a station the telescoping power antenna managed to pick up, turning the volume up just enough to drown out the thunder. They cruised down the main road — up and down, twisting through what felt like endless miles of farmland in the pouring rain. Each roll of louder-than-average thunder made her scrunch down in her seat.

  "I'm guessing you're not too keen on this kind of weather?" Nick asked, glancing over at her. She was staring out the window like some invisible boogeyman was lurking out there, waiting to pounce... though he was pretty sure she could take on a boogeyman and be the one to give him nightmares.

  "No... not really. This kind of weather always gives me... I think you'd call it shell shock. It reminds me of the last time I saw my parents. I can't stand thunder — it reminds me of the ion storm we were caught in before the crash. The pirates, or whoever they were, were far enough behind us that they didn’t get caught in it."

  He reached over, gently placing a hand on her thigh. She jumped slightly, her gaze quickly going from the storm raging outside the cars passenger window to her upper leg catching her off guard, then she began to relax, placing her hand over his, softly lacing her fingers through his.

  "I don’t feel like I’m offering much... but don’t forget—you’re not alone anymore. And I’m here. Maybe for more than just a work partner... if you’d like that."

  Her bright green eyes grew comically large as he said this. She seemed to freeze, like the thought had crashed her brain. Her lips began a small tremble, accompanied by the tiniest of smiles that quickly grew bigger. The one word he caught was a high-pitched, excited "Yeeeeeeee!" as she lunged over, hugging Nick and nearly causing them to careen off the road.

  "Whoa, Tiff! Calm down! Down, girl, down!" he yelled, getting the car back under control before they slid off the road.

  Some time later, the old Datsun whirred into the parking garage, its wet tires screeching on the glazed-over concrete floor like Nick was drifting through a chase scene at the hospital. He parked and popped the lift gate. As they got out, Tiffany grabbed the paper bag with both hands and followed Nick through the covered area and down the hall to the help desk. He spoke to the lady at the counter, signed them in, and she handed over the room number.

  Nick led the way through sterile hallways, up an escalator, and down a corridor tucked behind the not-so-critical-care wing. At the end, they found room 162. As Nick reached for the door lever, it creaked open and an older man in a white coat stepped out.

  "Dr. Smithfield!" Nick exclaimed, dodging the doctor as he exited in a hurry. The man looked up from his clipboard, adjusted his glasses, and leaned in.

  "Ahhh, Nick... it's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, scratching his head.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "We’re looking for Ms. Taylor. Is this her room?"

  The doctor blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly. "Yes. She’s resting. If you just want to talk without upsetting her, that’s fine. Otherwise, I’d suggest coming back tomorrow."

  "Is she okay? We just wanted to say hi and check on her."

  Smithfield sighed, relieved. "She’s fine. Just a bit mentally out of it. But physically? I’m stumped." He flipped through his clipboard.

  "Why? What’s wrong?"

  "That’s the thing. We’ve had several people show up in the drop-off zone—no idea where they came from. All previously missing. All had serious medical conditions I’m familiar with..."

  "Sooo... what’s the issue?"

  The doctor hesitated, then said the impossible. "Absolutely nothing." He handed Nick the chart, but Nick just stared at it, lost.

  "I’m a mechanic and a detective. I don’t fix people." He passed it back. Smithfield rubbed his temple, eyes shut tight.

  "They’re perfectly healthy. One guy was waiting on a kidney—both failing. Another had stage four cancer. Ms. Taylor’s been diabetic her whole life. Every single one had a record of serious issues..."

  Nick waited for a punchline that never came.

  "Okay, so what’s the problem? You’re killing me, Smalls."

  Smithfield sighed again. "The problem is that there is no problem. We’ve run every test. They’re normal. I’m thrilled for them, but this could be the discovery of a lifetime. No trace, no clue what changed. Just old records and memories arguing with what I see now. I think... I need a vacation." He hung the clipboard on the door.

  Nick glanced at Tiffany, who smiled.

  "Maybe it’s something in the water?" she offered with a shrug, feigning innocence.

  Nick rolled his eyes.

  *Geez, thanks guys. I said take care of them, but you could’ve been more subtle. Well... at least they get a healthy fresh start—once they recover from the mental trauma*, Tiffany thought as she followed Nick into the dark, quiet room.

  "Um... Ms. Taylor?" Nick called out politely, knocking on the door as they entered. The lump in the bed slowly rolled over, revealing a frail, tired-looking late teen who sat up.

  "Yes? If you're here to poke and prod me again, I think you vampires have about drained me dry..." she muttered, absently rubbing her over-pricked arm.

  "No ma'am, just had a few questions if that's—"

  "And I've already played twenty questions with the cops," she interrupted, "when they found out some missing people showed up today without a clue how they got to the hospital."

  Tiffany stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Nick’s shoulder and shaking her head, silently urging him to take a break. She moved toward the girl.

  "That's fine, Ms. Taylor. We won’t bother you much longer. But I’d like to give you a gift... if you’ll accept."

  The girl looked skeptical but humored her.

  "I don’t know. Last time someone offered me something, I blacked out and woke up in the hospital." Her face was stone—unmoving, worn stone.

  Tiffany sat beside the bed, placing a firm but gentle hand on her arm. She set the large paper bag on the floor, then lifted it to the bedside.

  "I understand. You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable with. But—I’d like you to have this."

  The girl’s skepticism shifted to curiosity as she spotted the Little Blue Dress insignia stamped on the side of the bag. She grabbed it, unrolled the top, and peered inside to find a pair of black boots.

  "I was told you special ordered these. I’m sorry—they’re a little scuffed. I wanted to make sure you got them back. I hope you don’t mind... I wore them before you." Tiffany rubbed her forearm, glancing off to the side.

  She was surprised when the girl suddenly pulled her into a tight bear hug. Tiffany returned it, gently stroking her hair.

  "I guess that means you don’t mind them being secondhand?" Tiff asked with a misty-eyed smile.

  The girl released her, sniffling and wiping her nose. "I’m just glad to be here—and not wherever I was. The doctor said I’m not diabetic anymore. No more needles, no more pricking myself. And then you surprise me with this..."

  She unzipped the boots and slipped them on, then slowly got out of bed to model them—hospital gown and all, which didn’t cover much. Nick turned away, staying in his own thoughts as they had their girl time. The girl with what strength she had, ran around the bed giving Tiffany another big hug.

  "Thank you, I love them! You even broke them in for me—that usually takes me weeks of painful wear," she said with a small laugh.

  Tiffany beamed, smiling from ear to ear. Nick muffled a chuckle, imagining her in her Lupas under these conditions—specifically her tail, which would’ve been a furious crimson blur.

  *Knock-knock-knock.*

  "Sorry, police business at the moment," Nick called out, trying to deflect the interruption.

  "That’s odd... doesn’t sound like police business going on..." said a friendly female voice from the opening door, drawing the girls’ attention.

  "Doris!" they chirped in unison. Realizing it, they turned to each other, grinning wide.

  Doris stood stunned—not expecting to see both girls together. Her eyes dropped to the boots, and in a rush of emotion and tears, she swept past Nick and pulled them into a tight group hug.

  "Um, I’ll be outside if anyone needs me," Nick said, stepping into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him.

  "You weren’t kidding! You really found her!"

  Tiffany just smiled—happy, loved, and quietly accomplished.

  "Told you I had a friend... Promises made, promises kept," she replied, beaming up at Mrs. Doris, who hugged them both tighter, eyes misting over—until a small, thin hand lightly patted her back.

  "Can’t breathe. Too much love," squeaked the girl.

  Doris loosened her grip but kept hugging them, sobbing softly. Tiffany patted her back too, more soothing than urgent.

  "Mrs. Doris, could I have a quick moment with her? Then she’s all yours."

  The woman nodded, wiping her eyes as she stepped into the hallway.

  "Mrs. Doris was the one who told me you were missing. Turns out, the detective outside and I were looking for the same people. We just happened to stumble across you—and a few other kidnapped survivors. I can’t go into more detail than that," Tiffany said with a wink.

  "She was pretty broken up when you disappeared and didn’t pick up the boots she ordered for you. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see you again. So she was kind enough to sell them to me—for a party. I hope that’s okay?"

  Tiffany looked a little embarrassed at the last part, rubbing her forearm absentmindedly. The girl glanced back at her, tired but sharp.

  "Yes, I purposely got myself kidnapped instead of picking up my boots from the shop," she said with an exhausted, flat expression.

  "And also yes, I’m extremely pissed you bought and wore my boots without my consent... are you nuts? I’m just glad to be out of that weird dream of a nightmare. I remember a bald man with glasses—sharply dressed—offering me a well-paying job. Next thing I know, it’s like being stuck in a dream I couldn’t wake from. Then I wake up in a hospital bed, told I don’t have diabetes anymore. You show up with my boots. Mrs. Doris tries to squeeze the life out of us... So all things considered? I’d say pretty much everything is okay. I’m just glad to finally wake up. Bonus points for the boots—and saying goodbye to needles."

  She gave a wry grin and grabbed Tiffany’s arm, pulling her in for another hug.

  "Thank you. I don’t know what happened—but thank you."

  Tiffany patted her back again before stepping away.

  "You said something about a sharply dressed bald man with glasses. Did he ever tell you his name?"

  The girl took off her boots and set them on the floor, reclining in her bed and staring at the ceiling like she was counting tiles.

  "I remember his name was Tommy something... That’s really all I’ve got."

  "Tommy Penske?" Tiffany asked, showing her a photo from her pocket.

  The girl looked at the photo, then at Tiffany. "Yeah, that’s him," she said with disdain.

  A wave of sorrow and relief washed over Tiffany as she tucked the photo away.

  "Well, good news—he won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again. I made sure of that."

  The girl didn’t know what to say. She slowly swung her legs out of bed and tried to stumble toward Tiffany, but Tiffany met her halfway and helped her back. The girl stopped her with another hug.

  Tiffany gently patted her back. "Everything’s going to be okay. The bad man won’t hurt anyone else."

  Then, to the girl’s surprise, Tiffany scooped her up and carried her to the bed, tucking her in.

  "I’m just glad we found you. And I know Mrs. Doris is too. Take care of yourself. Hopefully I’ll see you at the shop sometime."

  The girl smiled, peeking out from her blanket as she settled in to rest.

  Tiffany stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

  Nick glanced toward her, then turned to Mrs. Doris.

  "Honestly... I was so discouraged over this case and the lack of leads, I nearly gave up hope on finding anyone. Then she comes along." He nodded toward Tiffany, who perked up at the sound of her name.

  "Her hard work and resilient persistence—that’s really the reason they were found. I’m just a man with a badge who helped. The case is still open, and there are more people to find. But this small miracle—this win—gives me hope. Moments like this are what make the job worth every bit of the turmoil."

  Mrs. Doris didn’t wait. She stepped forward and squeezed Tiffany tight.

  "Thank you, both of you. I was sure we’d never see her again."

  Tiffany smiled, shaking her head in agreement. She and Nick both knew—this was exactly what made the job worth it: lives that mattered, and got to go home safe.

  They said their goodbyes and checked in on some of the other drop-offs. Just as the doctor had said, the man who’d been floating in the fluid-filled cryo tube now had a new leg grafted on. The only way you could barely tell was the fusion line separating old from new—something Tiffany noticed as the man swung his legs off the side of the bed.

  *Guuurgle.*

  "Ugh..." Tiffany placed a palm on her flat stomach. It protested again, louder this time—clearly unpleased at being forgotten.

  Nick heard it. So did the receptionist, who quietly giggled behind the desk.

  "Boy, you need to feed that baby!" she called after Nick, eliciting a small snort from Tiffany—and a louder growl of agreement from her stomach—as Nick politely waved behind him.

  "Geez, thanks. *Sigh.* Wanna grab a snack to tide you over for the ride home? I don’t think I can afford six breakfast meals for you..."

  She beamed at this, nodding her head excitedly.