“I’m assistant puppy manager,” Ivy smiles.
“Well excuse me then. Very official title.”
“She already promoted herself twice,” Irina says.
“I got promoted because I’m excellent,” Ivy informs me with complete confidence.
Honestly, I think she is.
I smile despite the knot still twisting inside my chest. Sunlight pours through the front windows behind her, softening the waves in her brown hair while she cuddles the puppy tighter against her overalls.
My stomach twists so much I almost lose my smile.
“Are you okay?” Irina asks quietly, studying my face more carefully now.
I force myself to nod. “Just tired.”
Even I can tell it’s a weak lie.
Ivy doesn’t notice anything wrong. She keeps talking happily to the puppy while Snowball licks her chin hard enough to make her squeal with laughter.
Lately, every time I look at her, I feel myself soften a bit more. She watches people with the same careful eyes as her father, noticing things most kids would miss. But she still smiles in a way Alexei never really learned.
The front bell rings again as more volunteers filter inside carrying coffee and boxes of donated supplies. Families wander through the lobby asking questions about the event while phones ring nonstop near the desk. The entire shelter thrums with movement, conversation, and barking.
And beneath all of it, tension sits. I feel it again near the front windows where one of Alexei’s security men stands outside pretending to scroll through his phone while watching traffic reflected in the glass. He wears jeans and a gray T-shirt instead of one of his dark suits today, but there’s still no universe where that man naturally blends into a rescue shelter full of exhausted volunteers and dog fur.
Across the street, a black SUV is parked at the curb, while a man in dark sunglasses leans against it. He looks relaxed enough at first glance, but the longer I watch him, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not there by accident. A prickle of warning crawls across the back of my neck.
Jules follows my line of sight toward the windows. “Well,” he says quietly, “that doesn’t look concerning at all.”
“You know him?” I ask.
“Not at all, honey.”
I glance back toward the security man outside. “Then why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?”
“Probably because your Russian James Bond likes everybody watched without making a scene.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Jules folds his arms across his chest while staring out the window. “Honestly? Not even a little.”
I stare across the street a moment longer before heading toward the entrance.
“Maggie,” Jules calls after me.
“I’m just askin’ what he wants.”
Jules waves a hand through the air like he’s already narrating my inevitable demise. “That sentence always ends terribly in horror movies.”
I ignore him and push through the front doors.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Jules mutters behind me before following. “If you get kidnapped by a mysterious man in broad daylight, I refuse to explain that to your mama.”
The man near the SUV lowers his sunglasses when he notices me approaching, and a polite smile spreads across his face so smoothly it feels practiced.
“Morning,” he says easily.
