“Yes, of course.” No. No, no, no, no, no!
The line went dead. The real rescue volunteer had disconnected.
I ran to the front door of the coffee shop and looked out at the street. The black pick-up truck was gone. And the imposter, the man with the great shoulders and killer smile, had swiped the stolen dog right out from under me.
4
KYLE
If the sad pup and I were going to spend the afternoon together, he needed a name. Since the hot blonde who’d handed him over to me had refused to share that information, I worked on what to call him as I drove to the edge of town and turned onto the dirt driveway that led to my little slice of heaven. Or soon-to-be finished money pit, depending upon one’s perspective.
I parked in the stone driveway, in front of the garage, and peered around my seat. “Okay, Charlie, home sweet home.” It was the third name I’d tried, and it received the same non-response from him as the first two.
I sighed as I climbed out of the cab and slowly opened the back door in case he was inclined to jump. “There’s a big yard out back. How about I let you roam around in there while I get you some water, okay boy? Would you like that, Spike?”
That earned a small wag of his tail. Whether he recognized one of the words like yard or water or he actually liked this fourth moniker, I would take the win.
“Spike it is.” I lifted him into my arms with one armbehind his back legs, the way my mystery woman had carried him, and settled him out back. I looped his leash over a metal plant pole and tied it.
I punched in the security code on the back sliding door and held my thumb over the print reader until a series of locks clicked and the red lights of security cameras turned off. Overkill for most residences. Standard operating procedure for my particular circumstances.
I’d spent all of my free time over the past few months fixing up my new place mostly by myself. I loved getting my hands dirty, making my home a showplace room by room, putting down roots. Now, with the necessary repairs out of the way, most of the remaining work was cosmetic. The first thing I’d contracted to have done was an upgrade to the electrical system. That had allowed HEAT’s security specialists to install a state-of-the-art system. Most of the time, ceding that much control was a total pain in the ass. But every now and then, like when a hot blonde who might be an enemy operative crossed my path, it was good to have a well-guarded sanctuary.
I took water to Spike. He lapped it up appreciatively, then turned in a circle and lay down on the grass, under a large oak tree. I snapped a picture of my new buddy, did a reverse image search, and figured out he was an English Staffordshire. My heart sank. I knew what an abused Staffy might mean, and while this guy was small and probably still young, the neglect and possibly worse things being done to him could be for the purposes of turning his docile nature mean.
“Fuck me,” I muttered. I left Spike to his nap and hit a phone number in my favorites list as I stalked back to the driveway.
“You’d better be on the wrong end of a gun or need helpdiffusing a bomb to disturb me on our time off,” Jack Pasco muttered into the phone.
I grinned. “I miss you, too, and it’s only been a few days. How’s the world’s best hacker?”
“I know I’m the best. I don’t need your bullshit platitudes. Cut to the chase, Rogers.”
Pasco truly was one of the world’s best white-hat hackers. The only other person in his league was HEAT’s head of IT, Jason Jensen. Jensen was Pasco’s best friend, and also his nemesis. When an agent needed an extracurricular favor from either one of them, it never hurt to grease the skids with some flattery, even if they did pretend to hate it.
“Nothing too onerous,” I said. “I just need some research.”
“Sounds like something you could do yourself. Really, Rogers, I expect this kind of weaponized incompetence from the tactical ops, but a loggie who can’t do his own recon?”
I didn’t push back on him busting my chops because the fact that he was still on the line meant he planned to help me. “This requires some extra juice, the use of some databases I can’t access from home.”
He sighed loudly. “If you’re going to ruin my Sunday, you could at least make it interesting.” Because of his position in the agency, Pasco had the computer set-up for legal access to secure databases like law enforcement systems, from almost anywhere.
“You could always skip the legal route and hack into the FBI for the fun of it,” I suggested.
“Don’t tempt me. I’m already disinclined to help out an operative who’s too lazy to drive twelve minutes from his house to HQ to do his own work.” His bluster was all for show. He was clacking away on his keyboard as we spoke.
I’d reached the driveway and climbed into the truck. Ihit the automatic garage door opener and pulled the truck inside without unloading it. That would have to wait until the Spike situation was settled. “Actually, I can’t go into the office because I’m dog sitting, which is related to the information I need.”
“Dog sitting that requires an enhanced search.” The key clacking stopped. “Whose dog is this?”
“That’s where it gets a little murky. I need to know if any of the agencies have eyes on a local dog-fighting ring.”
“Does Kat know anything about this?” he asked.
“Not unless and until it’s necessary.” I blew out a breath as I walked back to the yard. Spike didn’t lift his head when I stepped through the gate, but he did thump his tail against the grass. “Pasco, here’s the deal. This dog has obviously been abused. I think he might also be stolen. I suspect the thief is one of the good guys and is trying to save him, but I need something to go on, somewhere to start.”
The keys clacked again. “How hot is she?”
