Chapter 2 Jaime
JAIME
The training kennels sat at the far end of the compound. It was a long, low building that always smelled faintly of cedar shavings, disinfectant, and wet dog.
Most shifters avoided it unless they needed a behavior consult, but for me it felt familiar enough. It was quiet, predictable. The dogs didn’t lie. They didn’t manipulate. They didn’t push for things you couldn’t give.
People were a different story.
I pushed through the half door into the main kennel hall and flipped open the file Cooper had handed me yesterday.
Paperwork from Peter Hill. Application forms, vaccination records, a printed portrait of a Papillon with oversized ears and a coat so perfectly groomed it looked airbrushed.
The little thing had a black-and-white butterfly pattern and bright, intelligent eyes. It probably weighed less than one of my boots.
“Show dog,” I muttered, skimming the temperament notes. Friendly. Food-motivated. A bit dramatic when overstimulated.
It wasn’t an exact match, but Pampi checked enough of those boxes. Same size. Same butterfly coat. Same flair for theatrics.
That meant I’d need someone calm, steady, and experienced enough to handle a crowd without spooking the dog. Not Chris, then.
Chris was many things, but calm and steady in a crowd didn’t make the list. He had a way of moving through the pack compound like he’d been wound a little too tight, all restless energy and bright curiosity.
Blond hair that never quite stayed where he pushed it. Shoulders broader than they had any right to be on a “trainee,” stretching the seams of, well, any shirt he seemed to be wearing.
And that smile. It was too easy, too open. It flashed at the smallest encouragement, like he’d been waiting for permission to use it.
He was too good with people. He leaned in too close when he talked and listened like you were the only thing in the room. It made me uncomfortable.
While he had the build for fieldwork, there was still something unpolished about him. A tendency to talk first and think later. Overeager. Green.
I walked down the row of kennels, glancing at the dogs I had in training. A sharp knock on the wooden doorframe snapped the air. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Hey!” Chris’s voice followed, breathless. “You, uh—are you choosing a dog for the show?”
I made a noncommittal sound, eyes on the file. “Mm.”
He stepped inside, his jacket rustling like sandpaper, his boots clicking against the sealed floor with every shift of weight.
Everything about him seemed loud today, like my senses had been dialed up without my permission.
“Thanks, by the way,” Chris said. “For agreeing to do this with me. I know it’s kind of last minute and—”
“Wasn’t my choice,” I muttered, flipping a page.
He quickened his pace to match mine. “Sorry, what was that?”
I stopped at the next kennel and crouched to read the tag more closely.
“I didn’t agree,” I said, louder this time. “Cooper had to talk me into it.”
“Oh.” He gave a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. That… makes sense.”
He didn’t fall back, though. He just adjusted his stride and kept pace beside me as I continued to walk along the hall.
The dogs lifted their heads as he passed. Their ears pricked in curiosity, tails thumping against crate walls as if they were drawn to him.
He seemed to have that effect on animals. On people too, if I was being honest.
The first time I’d met him, he’d shown up at my outdoor pens asking if he could help with feeding rounds. He’d tried to lift a fifty-pound bag of kibble, ripped it open on a nail, and nearly buried himself in a tidal wave of dog food.
The dogs thought it was the best day of their lives. He’d laughed, embarrassed but good-natured, while I’d stood there trying not to react to the strange flutter low in my chest.
I didn’t like not knowing what that feeling was. I didn’t like that it hadn’t gone away.
“What about him?” Chris’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I turned and found him crouched by a kennel, scratching behind the ears of a yellow Labrador. Stocky, young, enthusiastic. The dog leaned hard into Chris’s hand, tail thumping like he’d found his soulmate.
“No,” I said. “Too big.”
Chris blinked. “He looks friendly, though. And he likes me.”
“Peter’s dog is a Papillon,” I reminded him. “We’re supposed to match the profile on their application. We can’t just show up with a Labrador and hope nobody notices.”
“Oh.” Chris straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah, that—okay, that makes sense.”
I frowned at him. “Did you even read the file?”
He hesitated. His expression said everything. “Not… fully?”
Of course not.
“Make sure you read it before we leave tomorrow,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Or you’ll blow our cover in the first five minutes.”
He winced, shifting his weight. Something in me twisted at that. I didn’t want to babysit him, but Cooper had only called him in this morning. I’d had the file since yesterday.
I sighed, then held out the file. “Here. Why don’t you read it now.”
Chris blinked in surprise, then took it carefully. “Thanks,” he murmured.
The Labrador whined at him as he straightened. Chris gave the dog one last scratch, then leaned against a column to start reading.
A minute passed in silence except for the occasional shuffle of paper.
“Oh,” Chris said suddenly, tapping a line midway down the page. “Peter and John only started competing last year. They’ve mostly done small regional shows.”
I paused. “Yeah.”
“That’s good for us, right?” He glanced up at me. “If they haven’t done many big circuits, fewer people will recognize them. Less chance someone notices we’re not them.”
I studied him for a beat longer than necessary.
“That’s right,” I said slowly. “Odds of someone calling us out are lower.”
Chris nodded, a small spark lighting his expression, and flipped the page with renewed focus. “Okay. Good. So we just need to make sure our details match what little exposure they’ve had.”
For a moment, I realized I’d been underestimating him. Maybe I’d judged him too harshly.
I had to look away before my thoughts wandered somewhere inconvenient.
After another minute, he lowered the papers and said quietly, “Wow.”
I glanced over. “What?”
“This dog. Peter’s Papillon.” He tapped the printed photo. “Do we have one that looks exactly like this?”
“Not exactly,” I said, moving further down the row. “But close enough. I wouldn’t have agreed if we didn’t at least have a similar dog to train with.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You already checked?”
I nodded. “My Papillon used to be a show dog too. Mostly agility competitions, and she’s got the look and attitude. Well, sort of. Enough that it won’t raise any questions, at least.”
“Wow,” he said again, genuine amazement warming the word. “You’re already so prepared.”
Of course he sounded impressed. Of course he was smiling like that, wide and earnest, bright enough to make something low in my stomach twist. I told myself it was only annoyance.
He kept talking. “I mean, it’s not even noon. And you already have a match, and a plan, and—”
There it was again. That eagerness. That shine in his voice.
The exact kind I’d seen in a hundred trainees who wanted to climb the ranks fast, who thought going into a specialty, like K9 tactics, made them look competent and indispensable.
I swallowed that thought and kept walking.
Chris didn’t seem to notice the shift in my mood. “So what’s the dog’s name? The one you’re picking?”
“Pampi,” I said shortly.
“That’s cute.” He grinned. “Like… Pampers?”
I closed my eyes. “No.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Still cute, though.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. If I didn’t redirect this conversation, I was going to start growling.
“Look,” I said, a bit too sharp. “I’m good here. Why don’t you go back and pack? Prepare whatever you need for tomorrow. I’ll catch up after I check on the dog.”
“Oh.” He blinked, pulled back a little. “Right. Yeah. Sure. I’ll just call you then?”
I just made a noncommittal sound. “Mm.”
He hesitated, but the door clicked shut behind him a moment later. The room felt quieter instantly. I realized I’d stopped walking, that I was already standing directly in front of Pampi’s kennel.
I crouched down and opened the small latch. The Papillon inside yawned and trotted forward, her plume of a tail wagging like she knew she’d just become important. I stroked her head gently, letting her sniff my hand.
“Hey, girl,” I murmured. “You ready to pretend you’re someone else for a couple days?”
She licked my fingers like that was a stupid question.
As I lifted her out, a prickle crept under my skin. Guilt? Frustration? Something in between.
Maybe I’d been just a little too brusque with Chris. But every time I heard that determined, eager tone in his voice, it set off alarms in me I didn’t want to think about.
Because I’d known wolves like that before. Wolves who said they wanted to help, who wanted to learn, who wanted to “serve the pack.”
Wolves who praised my skills and then used them, pushed me, pressured me, until I was working every hour of the day monitoring shifters, managing crises, enforcing rules I’d never agreed with.
Wolves who made me the solution to every problem and then blamed me when everything went wrong. When I’d agreed to come to Pecan Pines, I’d been clear with Cooper. I would help build the K9 unit.
I would consult when necessary. Handle administrative work. Training protocols. The kind of work that kept me with the dogs and out of the spotlight. I wasn’t taking a frontline position again.
The deal had been simple: I stayed low. I handled the dogs, the paperwork, the structure. No command decisions. No becoming the face of anything.
Cooper had agreed, no questions asked. He’d taken me in when I needed a place to land. That counted for something.
So when he asked for this favor, I couldn’t say no. But he’d also promised that if at any point I felt uncomfortable, if it became too much, I could tap out and someone else would step in.
I intended to hold him to that. I wouldn’t let what happened before repeat itself. Not here. Not with these people.
And definitely not because an eager, overly bright trainee saw this investigation as a chance to prove himself.
I sighed and nuzzled Pampi against my chest. At least this job made sense. Dogs being harmed, that I understood. That warranted my attention.
Babysitting an overeager wolf? That part… I could’ve done without.
Even if part of me kept reacting to him in ways I didn’t want to examine.