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“Well, that was Griff’s doing. He apparently provided one of the agents her tattoo number. Got permission to let her come here, a small token of appreciation for the work we all did in tipping them off. They called me to come pick her up just a bit ago.”
“Thank you so much,” Abby says, her voice cracking. “I made a big mess of things, but you ended up doing what I couldn’t all this time, and that was to shut him down. But mostly, thank you for getting Princess back for us.”
“My pleasure,” Kynan says and raps his knuckles on the table. “Now, I have to get into work and finish up our final report to turn over to the FBI. None of our stuff is admissible, but it could lead them to investigate other areas.”
Once again, Abby gives Kynan a hug of gratitude, which he gladly accepts. She heads into the yard to love on Princess while I walk Kynan out.
At the door, I shake Kynan’s hand. “Now that Hellman’s behind bars, I’m ready to get back to work. Send me wherever you need me.”
“Duly noted.” Kynan steps onto the porch but turns back to look at me. “It’s nice, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Doing a case that isn’t about rescuing a kidnap victim or black ops in the Middle East. I like taking down a puppy mill villain.”
Laughing, I point out, “Let’s not forget he’s a sex trafficker.”
“Yeah… we got a predator off the streets, but I’m really happy for Abby that this guy is shut down. I expect she’ll be quite busy the next few weeks coordinating the placements for all those animals.”
“She’s totally up for the task.”
“She’s a good woman,” Kynan says.
I glance through the house, and I can see her out the rear door in the backyard, throwing a stick for the dogs. “The best.”
After Kynan pulls out, I walk through and onto the back deck. I plop down on the top step and watch Abby as she dotes on Princess, who thankfully doesn’t seem worse for wear. Roscoe is overjoyed to have another dog, and Bubba struts around like he’s proud of his new pack.
Abby tosses a stick for Bubba, and Roscoe bounds after him. Princess rolls in the grass, kicking her feet, and I feel like my little family is complete.
When Bubba fetches the stick, Abby throws it again, but she doesn’t watch to see where it lands. She heads my way, and when she reaches me, she puts her hands on my knees and leans in for a kiss.
She pulls back, eyes bright and shining. “It’s a really good day.”
“Not sure how it could be better,” I agree.
Glancing at the dogs, then back to me, she says, “I’d love to just chill out here and celebrate, but—”
“You’ve got a rescue to coordinate.”
Abby’s been working on this since yesterday, calling local vets and fosters, and then reaching out to various volunteer organizations in other counties and even states. It’s not the first time a large mill has been shut down, and in a way, it’s almost like she’s been waiting for this her entire life.
To make a true difference.
CHAPTER 22
Abby
It’s quiet as we drive from the hotel to Blackburn Farms. Kellen’s following Google Maps, so I don’t have to direct him. It’s like he knew I needed the silence to reflect and prepare as we made our way closer to my home.
To the legacy I left behind.
Or was it true abandonment?
Kellen reaches out, takes my hand from my lap, and squeezes it. He pulls it over to rest on his thigh and holds on until we see the white fencing that surrounds my family’s property and divides the pastures and training rings.
It’s a perfect—although hot as hell—day in Kentucky. Blackburn Farms sits on the outskirts of Shelbyville, halfway between Lexington and Louisville. Pennsylvania is lovely, but there is nothing more beautiful, in my opinion, than the rolling green hills of Kentucky horse country.
“The main entrance is up on the left,” I say with a nod. “But go past it, and about a quarter of a mile down, turn into the service entrance.”
We pass the driveway that extends to the main house set roughly three hundred yards from the road. The gravel drive is canopied with towering oaks, allowing only a peek of the huge, red brick mansion in the distance.
Kellen slows the car to gawk. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he murmurs.
It makes me laugh. “The house is posh, and we have a lot of money, but everyone in the family busts their ass from dawn to dusk, seven days a week.”
“You earn your money.” The admiration is clear in his tone.
“Well, I do have a trust fund.”
Kellen grins at me. “That’s right… I forgot I have a sugar mama.”
I snort because Kellen is the last man who would ever take advantage of me.