Chapter 5 Jaime
JAIME
Icouldn’t sleep. No matter how I shifted, something felt wrong. It was either too warm, too tight or too loud. I kicked the covers off, then dragged them back on, shoving my pillow around like it had personally offended me.
Every time I closed my eyes, my brain replayed yesterday’s walkthrough on a loop. The hurdle. Chris pointing it out before I even noticed it.
I growled under my breath and flipped onto my back. So much for pretending that didn’t bother me.
Finally, I cracked my eyes open. The room was still dark, the faintest wash of pre-dawn blue leaking through the curtains. The kind of quiet that should’ve been peaceful. Instead, it just made everything louder in my head.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
Chris didn’t just stumble into it. He saw it. He put it all together fast, too. Faster than I did. I hated admitting that. I rolled my head to the side and looked toward the other bed.
Chris was sprawled on his stomach, half-buried under his blankets, one arm flung straight out like he’d passed out mid-stroke.
His hair was sticking up in random directions, and he was breathing softly into his pillow, lips parted just a little. Peaceful. Unbothered. A tiny snort escaped me.
Yeah, okay. Maybe I’m giving him too much credit. The guy sleeps like he wrestled his sheets and lost. Still, that didn’t make it sting any less. I was supposed to be the one who caught things like that.
I turned away quickly, as if ignoring him could make the thought disappear. I misjudged him, I admit it. But no way in hell was I ever saying it out loud, especially not to him. He’d never let me live it down.
Sleep still wasn’t coming back. My wolf was restless too, pacing along the edges of my thoughts. Something about the tampered equipment and that handler giving us that dog treat. It all rubbed wrong.
I reached blindly for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up. A message from Michael, the town vet, sat at the top.
Got the sample. Call me when you’re awake.
That made my stomach twist. I’d shoved that treat into an evidence bag the moment Pampi’s check up was done and sent it to the Pecan Pines veterinary clinic before my head hit the pillow.
The idea that someone was targeting the dogs had my nerves wound up tight.
I sat up slowly, careful not to wake Chris. Pampi was curled up at the foot of my bed, tiny snores puffing out of her. She didn’t stir when I reached down to ruffle her ear.
I padded quietly across the room to the balcony door. The early morning chill slipped through the glass, brushing against my bare arms.
I hesitated for a beat, glancing back at Chris again, just to make sure he was still asleep, then stepped outside, closing the door behind me with the gentlest click.
I tapped Michael’s name and lifted the phone to my ear, already bracing myself. Michael picked up on the second ring.
“Jaime? It’s barely five,” he said, voice rough.
“Yeah, sorry.” I leaned my elbows on the balcony railing. “I saw your message and figured it was better to get it over with.”
“Mm.” A rustle on his end. Probably putting on his glasses. “You’re calling about the dog treat, right?”
“Yeah. Any results yet?”
“Ran it twice to be sure.” He blew out a breath. “It’s clean, Jaime. Completely normal.”
I closed my eyes, tension bleeding out of my shoulders. “Normal how?”
“Basic ingredients,” he said. “Chicken meal, oats, sweet potato, a little turmeric. Some rosemary extract. No sedatives, no toxins, no irritants. Nothing weird.”
My grip loosened on the railing. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
“It’s store-bought,” Michael added. “Fresh batch, if anything. Whoever handed it to you wasn’t trying to pull anything.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
Michael didn’t miss things like that. I’d watched him handle nervous rescues, stubborn strays, dogs twice his size. He was careful. And if he said it was clean, it was clean.
But my wolf didn’t settle, still focused on the man who’d handed it over. The way he’d smiled a little too long. The way his scent had clung in my head afterward, sharp and unfamiliar.
Clean or not, something about it didn’t sit right with me. Instinct didn’t care about lab results.
“Right,” I said finally. “I’ll keep an eye out anyway,” I added, more to myself than to him.
There was a pause on the line. “You always do.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly. “And… congrats again, by the way. On getting your vet license.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah, it still feels a little weird but, yeah.”
“Also, uh, thanks for rushing this,” I added, awkward. “I know you’re busy with the new clinic. Didn’t mean to throw extra work on your plate.”
“Jaime, it’s fine,” he said, and I could picture him waving me off. “I’m up late most nights anyway. So if you need anything checked, just send it.”
“I might take you up on that,” I muttered.
“I expect you to.” He yawned. “Alright, go get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Michael.”
“Anytime.”
The call ended with a soft click.
I lowered the phone and stared out over the dark horizon for a moment, letting the quiet stretch around me.
The knot in my stomach had eased, but the relief that followed carried an undercurrent of shame. I’d assumed the worst. Maybe I’d even hoped for it.
A poisoned treat would have meant something solid, something I could point to and name. A problem I could grab hold of and end before it spread any further.
Instead, this was still murky and unfinished, and the longer it dragged on, the more chances there were for someone, or some dog, to get hurt.
I didn’t like thinking that way, but I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true.
I slipped back inside, shutting the balcony door behind me. The room was still dim, Chris still tangled up in his sheets like a human pretzel.
Pampi, though, was awake now. Her head popped up when she saw me, tail thumping softly against her dog bed.
“Hey, girl,” I whispered, crouching beside her. She pushed her nose into my palm immediately. I scratched behind her ears until she melted into my hand.
“You wanna go for a walk?” I asked under my breath.
Her whole back end started wagging, paws doing tiny excited tippy-taps on the bed.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright, alright. Let’s go then. Quietly, okay?
I clipped on her leash and grabbed my hoodie. A walk sounded good anyway, something to keep my thoughts from spiraling back to everything I didn’t want to admit.
We made our way down to the first-floor event wing. The hallways felt empty and still, the soft hum of the air vents the only thing filling the space.
I remembered passing a small practice hall yesterday, tucked just off the main arena, where handlers could warm up their dogs or run light drills.
I checked my watch as I walked. 4:37 a.m. No way anyone else would be up this early. Except maybe the event staff, and even they wouldn’t be fully conscious yet.
The practice hall door gave a soft click as I pushed it open. It was a long rectangular space with rubber mat flooring and a handful of obstacles: low jumps, a miniature seesaw, a tunnel, a line of weave poles.
Pampi trotted in beside me, sniffing the air, tail wagging at all the new scents.
“Hold on,” I murmured, sweeping the room with my eyes. “Let me check it first.” An old habit, but a necessary one.
I walked the course, testing the footing and spacing, pressing my hands against the jumps, letting my wolf move quietly under my skin, alert to every shift in texture and scent.
When I reached the small seesaw, I crouched and pushed lightly on the pivot. It was smooth. No wobble. Still, I checked the bolts. Twice.
“Was that a basic check, or a full-on tactical inspection?” a voice said behind me, amused. “Didn’t expect this at five in the morning.”
I jerked upright so fast I almost smacked my head.
Chris leaned against the doorframe, hair sticking up like he hadn’t even looked in a mirror. Five minutes ago he had been face-down in his pillow, drooling into the sheets.
I frowned. I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed because he interrupted me or because he was already in such a good mood.
“Why are you here?” I asked flatly.
“Noticed you guys were gone,” he said, right as Pampi barreled toward him with a happy bark. He crouched instantly, rubbing her ears and murmuring something soft that made her whole butt wiggle.
“She’s not supposed to get worked up before a run,” I said, though my voice wasn’t nearly as sharp as it should’ve been.
“I’m calming her down,” he replied.
Pampi wiggled harder.
I stared at them. “That is the opposite of calm, Chris.”
He grinned up at me. “She’s fine,” he said, fingers rubbing slow circles behind Pampi’s ear
I forced back down an unwilling smile before he noticed.
He finally looked up. “So what’re you guys up to?”
“Checking the space,” I said. “I want Pampi to be familiar with it before we come in later. She got stressed yesterday. Don’t want a repeat.”
Chris’s smile softened, and then he said the worst possible thing.
“She’s fine, Jaime. You’re the one who’s stressed.”
I went still. My wolf bristled, uneasy at the clarity in his eyes. Chris must’ve felt the shift, because he didn’t push. He just turned his attention back to Pampi and scratched under her chin.
“You can handle the course, can’t you, girl?” he whispered to her. Pampi yipped, tail a blur.
Optimism like that used to scare me. People who thought everything would be fine always rushed in, acting before thinking through the angles. But then… Chris wasn’t like that, was he?
He wasn’t careless. He wasn’t reckless. Yesterday proved it. He’d spotted the hurdle that had been loosened before I even noticed. He’d saved someone’s dog — my dog — from getting hurt.
And I still didn’t know what to do with that.
“About yesterday…” I started.
He looked up, curious. I suddenly hated how warm his eyes looked.
“You did good,” I said, short and clipped, before I changed my mind.
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean I’m not completely useless?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it.”