Killer Connections by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2010-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

On the Run

Hey.” I tugged on Killer’s leash. “This is supposed to be your midmorning exercise walk, not a Dumpster dive. Trust me, if you’re not into it, I’ve got better things to do.”

Killer whined and pulled even harder toward the huge metal trash container behind the cafeteria. I gave another tug, my annoyance building. With time ticking away and Frank and me no closer to wrapping up our mission, the last thing I needed right now was doggie problems. As it was, Killer’s detailed schedule was definitely cramping my ATAC style.

“I thought well-trained law-enforcement machines like you didn’t care about stinky kitchen scraps from the caf,” I said as Killer gave the leash another yank. “Guess you’re just a dog after all.”

He ignored me. What else was new?

Normally I wouldn’t think twice about a dog being interested in a giant trash bin. Especially one with the aromatic scents of that morning’s bacon and pancakes wafting out of it.

But it really wasn’t Killer’s usual style. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past him to develop new bad habits just to make me look bad. Yeah, he liked me that much.

“Dude, come on!” I insisted, pulling harder to try to get Killer moving.

But the dog planted his fuzzy little paws. It’s amazing how hard it is to drag a hundred-pound dog that doesn’t want to be dragged. Pricking his ears forward, Killer let out several loud, sharp barks.

I opened my mouth to yell at him. But just then I heard the clatter of cans and cardboard boxes falling over. A second later a figure darted out from behind the Dumpster and took off.

“Hey!” I blurted out. “Stop!”

Going on instinct, I took off after the figure. A dark hoodie covered the person’s head and torso, making it impossible to tell whether it was male or female, black or white, old or young—though I didn’t know of any Firth students quite that small and slender. Maybe an extra-petite female member of the school staff?

I scanned my mind for likely candidates but couldn’t come up with anyone except Ida from the mailroom, who was about two hundred years old and probably didn’t even know what a hoodie was. There weren’t really that many females on campus. It definitely wasn’t Destiny—way too short.

Killer was racing along in front of me, pulling at the leash and barking fiercely. “Shut up, Killer!” I shouted. “Listen, whoever you are—you don’t have to be scared of the dog. He just wants you to stop, okay?”

The only response from Runaway Hoodie was to speed up and dash around the corner of the cafeteria building. Okay, so maybe he or she wasn’t afraid of Killer. In which case, I really wanted to know why he or she was running away.

Killer and I took the corner at a dead run. The dog was faster than me and proved it, almost scraping me against the edge of the brick wall as he whipped around after our quarry.

“Oh, man,” I muttered, wincing at the road rash on my elbow.

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