Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
BODYGUARD
A fter my second shower of the day, I shrug on my favorite Marines Get It Done sweatshirt and walk down the stairs. Dog pads behind me, giving me a “really?” attitude. The puffy green sweater I wrangled onto him is not quite the same color as mine, but we might be matching a bit too much. My office is the only room with a light still on. Working past midnight is not new for me but taking pictures of a dog in a bejeweled Pawliday Love sweater in my office is a first.
Hopefully a last as well.
I send them to Gretchen, and my phone immediately dings.
Gretchen: He looks so much better. Like a proper little dog.
Me: Smells better, too.
Gretchen: Don’t forget to take him out for his business before you turn in for the night.
Yes, Mom. I shudder. My assistant might be my mom’s age, but she’s the polar opposite of my mother. Gretchen moved here to be closer to her daughter whereas I rarely knew where my mom was.
With a sigh, I stab out a “will do,” shove my phone away, and get back to the work that pays the bills.
Security threats don't assess themselves. I enlarge the plans for next week’s venue where my client is performing. Four exits means doubling the projected number of my people. Dog pitter-patters over to my chair with a low woof, which seems to be his way of announcing his presence.
“Hello to you, too,” I say.
Dog sniffs my shoes, then my ankles, and gives another woof.
“What now?”
Dog whimpers at me, hunkers down, lays his small head over his paws, and digs his ocean blue and brown eye into my soul. “Damn, you’re good.”
I open a treat bag that’s migrated onto my desk from Dog’s pile of stuff Gretchen put on my credit card. It’s not like my accountant will accept dog treats as a business expense.
I drop a small bone-shaped biscuit without making eye contact. The crunching takes less than three seconds. Then a bark. I think it’s a happy bark. Am I able to hear the difference in his barks now? That can’t be. I’m getting soft. I glance down. Dog barks again while smiling and wagging his tail and exits the office.
Multitasker.
I force my gaze back to the computer screen. The venue. Four exits. What was I supposed to do here? With a quieter woof, the dog re-enters the office, the green tennis ball in his mouth. He circles himself once, twice, and then he lies down so close to my feet that I can feel his fur through my socks. Ball nestled between his body and paws like a security blanket, the dog rests his muzzle on the top of my shoe. His tail taps against the floor under my desk. It’s not as quiet in here as I’d like it to be, but I can work.
Another happy bark comes from under my desk. Warmth from the small body that’s now covering both of my shoes seeps through the leather and travels all the way to my chest. I catch a corner of my lip sliding up and school it back to its usual, neutral setting. This arrangement is only temporary. Thirty days tops, I remind myself. Surely, with how cute and well-trained he is, his owner will show up soon. Probably tomorrow.
Tonight, I need to finish my assessment.
Dog’s nose leaves my foot and sniffs around. He becomes a small bulldozer, shoving at my feet as his paws scrape the floor.
“What’s going on now? Is there a rat in the basement?” I’ve never been down there, but the way the office is positioned, there’s clearly one beneath, at least on one side.
Dog’s scratching intensifies.
Cursing under my breath, I slide off my chair, get onto my knees, and pocket the loose tennis ball. I swipe the dog out of the way to see what he’s pawing at. Is there actually something there? I rise and shove my desk aside. Without it covering the floor, I see that there’s a slightly larger gap between some of the boards.
“What did you find here?” I run my fingers along the space. The shape and size of it forms a square. I push on the unusual part of the floor, and with a soft pop, one side springs up to reveal a handle.
The dog barks and looks at me as if encouraging me to pull. I should consult the plans of the building. I tap my foot. Dog’s tail wags. The buzz of curiosity in my skull takes over. I do what I wouldn’t advise any of my clients.
I yank on the handle.
The trap door opens, and a ladder with worn-out steps disappears into pitch black. I move my hand around the perimeter of the opening, looking for a light switch. When I find none, I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. Dog peers into the darkness with me, its head bent low. Our breaths come quickly. Is it a rat? An intruder. A secret room? Ready for anything, we look at each other and back at the murky opening. Nothing moves below.
Dog paws at the edge.
“You stay here. Mystery basement isn’t a place for someone as tiny as you.”
I test the first rung of the ladder. The next. Nothing creaks or moves. The muscles in my shoulders tighten. I take one more step down when the dog lurches. My heart plummets. He’s too fast. I teeter on the rung as I reach for Dog. Dropping my phone, I catch the falling animal. Somewhere below, my phone clatters.
“What are you doing?” My voice shakes more than my hands. I clutch the dog to my chest and finish my descent. “You’ve no idea how deep this is.”
My shoes hit solid concrete. I take a long breath in and out. The cool basement is not much more than six feet tall, because my head is practically scraping the ceiling. Holding the dog in one arm like a football, I retrieve my phone to shine the flashlight. Not a room. A hallway. With only one path to follow, I make my way down the corridor covered in unpainted drywall. A couple of turns, and I face a dead end with another ladder.
Dog leaps out of my arms and onto the ladder as if he knows what to do. He paws at the bottom of the door, which is pretty scratched up. He woofs.
“Someone’s impatient. Ruhig.” I say the one command I’ve memorized.
Instead of getting quiet, Dog repeats his bark, demanding I open the door.
German was supposed to get Dog to do what I wanted. So far, his woofs are better at making me do what he wants.
One more bark.
“Fine.” I jiggle the handle, find the lock in the deadbolt, and push the door up.
Dog rushes out.
I scale the rungs of the ladder as fast as possible. My head pops up to an area surrounded by shrubbery. The tiny creature probably found his way through the bottom, but I have to carefully push the leaves to the side to find my way out.
Out to the park that’s across the street from my office.
It’s the middle of the night, and the couple of lights along the walkway that cut through the grassy area cast an eerie glow. The only living creature I see around is Dog, who runs over to a bench and lifts his leg. Nothing comes out, but that doesn’t stop him from going to the trash can next to it and lifting his leg once more. Nothing again. He circles the trash can and runs over to the nearest tree. Leg up. Now, something comes out.
“Komm.” I try another command.
He returns to me. I turn to go, but he beelines to another tree, sniffs it, and cocks his leg. The little guy proceeds to mark the territory tree by tree as if he’s greeting old friends. By the fifth tree, the dog lifts his leg, and nothing happens. This doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. My lips stretch into a smile. This dog is something else. Or are all dogs this funny?