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And he had sent Ellie away after putting up almost no fight at all. Worse, he had done so, believing that Faith had no reason to suspect danger. He had essentially sent Ellie away to make Faith feel better.
He might have to start distancing himself from Faith. Not a lot, just a little. Just enough that she didn’t feel a need to treat him and everyone else in his life like her responsibility. Just enough that his memory of their long-dead relationship didn’t feel a need to invade his very much living relationship with Ellie.
Just enough so that he didn’t have to be tied so completely to a woman who had lost most of what made her who she was when Jethro Trammell had paralyzed and nearly killed her.
That thought sickened him, and he banished it from his conscious mind and turned his focus to the task of hand. “Should we try calling the Happy Paws number?” he asked, “to confirm he’s not on a call?”
“No, I don’t want to warn him we’re coming,” she replied.
“Remember that almost got us hurt last time,” Michael reminded her.
She shook her head. "Franks' dogs wouldn't have hurt us. They were the best-trained dogs I've ever seen." Turk lifted his head, and she added, "Besides you, of course."
He lowered his head again with a satisfied snort.
“That’s all well and good,” Michael said, “but we got lucky that time.”
“So we won’t break and enter,” she said irritably, “but we won’t give him time to hide evidence either.”
“Fair enough,” Michael said.
They reached the address two minutes later. Foster wasn’t home, unless he kept his grooming van somewhere else. They approached the front door just in case.
There was no answer to Faith’s knock or to her second one. Michael called out, “FBI! Anybody home?”
They hear a yip, followed by two barks, followed by a chorus of barks and snarls and the skittering of paws on a hard floor. Faith looked at Michael, then prepared to break down the door. Michael grabbed her shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Getting inside,” she said. “That’s probable cause.”
“I don’t think a judge is going to have as loose of a definition of probable cause as you do,” Michael replied.
Faith rolled her eyes. “Would you feel safer waiting in the car, Mikey?” she asked sarcastically.
“All right,” he said, “you want to go in like cowboys, fine, but can you please use your lockpicking kit instead of shattering his door. I want it to be able to close in case we open the door to hell.”
“Christ, you’re such a baby,” Faith groused.
She reached for her lockpicking kit and pulled out the bobby pin and the small screwdriver. The dogs continued to bark and skitter on the other side of the door, and Michael placed a hand on his service pistol. Just in case.
Turk tensed, his tail switching back and forth as he prepared to respond to any threat the opened door might reveal.
Michael heard a loud click. “Got it,” Faith said. She straightened and put her bobby pin and screwdriver away in the small case she carried it in. “All right,” she said. “You open the door so your hands have something better to do than shoot blindly.”
He glared at her but took his hand off of his pistol and grabbed the door handle. “On three,” he said. “One, two, THREE!”
He pulled the door open and reached immediately for his weapon, but the dogs were on them before his fingers closed over the butt.
Faith looked down at her ankles, where two teacup Pomeranians yipped and wagged their puffball tails as they planted their forelegs on her shins and looked up at her with bright inquisitive eyes. A Scottish terrier joined a pug and an excited French bulldog in a chase around Michael’s legs, pausing when they were in front of him to yip so exuberantly all four paws left the ground with each bark.
Two chihuahas approached Turk cautiously. Turk looked up at Faith, confused, then lowered his head to gingerly sniff the smaller dogs. The tiny animals seemed satisfied with the greeting and trotted up to the bigger dog, leaning against his forepaws and staring wide-eyed up at the two strange humans.
Faith looked at Michael and glanced at his hand, which still hovered over his shoulder holster. He lowered it and looked down at the three dogs running circuits around his leg. “Hello,” he said drily. “I’m Special Agent Michael Prince, and this is Special Agent Faith Bold. The big guy is our K9 unit, Turk. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
The Frenchie yipped and cocked its head questioningly.
“Well,” Faith said. “Maybe he keeps the big dogs out back.”
“Excuse me?” a strange voice called. “Hello?”
