Property. She called Duke property.
I stepped into the hall and saw a woman in her thirties — business suit, perfect hair, cold eyes — standing with two officers. She held up a folder.
“I’m Rachel Patterson. My father, Marcus Patterson, is in room 412. I’m here to remove his dog from the premises.”
“The dog is dangerous,” Rachel snapped. “My father is incapacitated and unfit to care for an animal. I’m his next of kin, and I’m taking custody of it for safety reasons.”
“I’m Bull’s nurse,” I said evenly. “He’s awake, alert, and capable of making his own decisions. If you want to talk about his dog, talk to him.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “He’s clearly not in his right mind. And I’ve already contacted animal control. They’re on their way.”
My stomach dropped. “You called animal control? Why?”
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