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“She’s a bigger hero than any of the dogs out there.” Lamar hooked his thumb back toward the kennels. “And she does tricks. It’s a lethal combination. Not a woman in the world can resist Betty. Hell, she convinced Patty to marry me. And for that, she’ll always be my favorite dog. Right? Good girl.” He scratched Betty’s silky ears, and the dog’s eyes closed in ecstasy.
“I guess it’s a date, Betty.” Hearing her name, her warm brown eyes locked on my face, and I was sure she smiled.
“If you’ve got ten minutes, we’ll run through her best tricks.”
Lee didn’t stand a chance against my secret weapon.
Chapter 13
Lee
IsettledOnyxandmyself under the shade of a banyan tree near the end of the training course. Onyx had been vibrating like a live wire since we got out of the car. He loved his job. Loved it in a way a human never could love a job. We didn’t throw ourselves into anything with the commitment and single-minded focus that a dog did. They didn’t worry about tomorrow. They lived fully in the moment—what a luxury.
All I did was weigh the future ramifications of my every action. I never felt wholly invested. I was stuck between two lives, two realities. Fence. Jeweler. Success. Failure. Criminal. Businesswoman.
“Easy. Settle.” I spread out a blanket for him and set up a folding chair for myself. Onyx ignored the blanket and whined up at me. His tail wagged at full speed. “We just got here. It won’t be our turn for a while.”
He was already panting, so I filled a water bowl and put it on the ground. He’d calm down eventually and have a slurp.
“Down.” I patted the blanket and used a firm, commanding voice, and despite his excitement, he lay on the fabric. “Good boy.”
His fat tail thumped on the ground.
Getting ready to start the course was one of my favorite Mission Critical regulars. Tank.
The dog was maybe fifteen pounds of badass brown-and-white terrier mutt. His trainer was a lovely gentleman from Germany named Fritz. He’d rescued Tank from a garbage dumpster and raised him with a house full of Schutzhund champion Malinois. Fritz trained the rabid little terrier to compete in all the phases of IGP competition—tracking, obedience, and protection—alongside his bigger canine housemates.
Today, Mission Critical had both a modified tracking course set up with a scent trail and an area with helpers that would allow owners and dogs to practice the protection phase. I didn’t compete Onyx in IGP shows, but today was a chance for us to work on his training together. My only other option was jogging in a bad part of town while wearing a bunch of inventory from the store and letting him rip into a mugger. That seemed stupid, so we attended these open training sessions when possible.
Fritz and Tank started on the scent course. The terrier had genetics on his side in this phase and quickly found the scent markers. His short legs were a blur of motion as he followed the trail as fast as Fritz at the other end of the long leash would allow. He wagged his adorable tail in time to his joyous movements, his nose an inch from the ground, sniffing away until the finish.
I sat forward and stroked Onyx as Tank headed for the protection training area. His first job was to find the man, or helper, standing hidden in a tent and bark, holding the helper in place until Fritz commanded him to release. Off leash, Tank ripped around the field without an ounce of the gravitas that Onyx would show. But the little guy knew his job and quickly found the helper’s hiding place.
I loved Tank’s fierce bark. It was about ten times his size, and I couldn’t stop my giggles. The helper looked terrified he might lose his testicles to Tank as the little dog jumped, snapped, and barked up at the man.
A movement next to me caught my eye, and I looked away from the course.
Surprise warred with anger as I took in the smiling face of a soon-to-be-dead man. Derek Sawyer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shot to my feet, hands on my hips. There was only one way he could be here. One totally unacceptable way.
“Wait, what? Why are you upset?” He held up his hands in defense. I didn’t buy his sheepish expression for one moment.
“Do you think I’m stupid? No, scratch that. I am stupid. I gave you my car so you could reattach your tracker. I’m amazed you bothered to fix the tire.” I slapped an open palm to my forehead. I couldn’t believe I fell for hislet me helpbullshit. I was an idiot.
“No, this is all a coincidence.” He pointed to a glorious golden retriever that sat primly at his heel. Her burnished coat glowed in the sunlight. “I’m here with Betty.”
“Betty?” I wasn’t buying what he was selling. He had a new GPS thing on my car. I didn’t doubt it, dog or not. A small part of me, that I was ignoring, was thrilled at his presence. He had been haunting my thoughts since our last meeting.
“Yep. Practicing the tracking course with her. The Agency is thinking about acquiring a dog.”
“A scent dog? Why?”
He blinked at me. His expression was reminiscent of a deer trapped in the oncoming headlights of a semi-truck. “Drugs?”
“Anyone ever told you that you’re a really, really terrible liar?”
“I’m an excellent liar.”
