Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
When Rufus and I reach the front door of the training school, the door is locked.
Dark shades are pulled low over all the windows, and the lights are off.
I hesitate, glancing up and down the street before checking the time, even though I just looked at my phone.
It’s almost seven, right when Drew said to arrive.
But maybe after the things I said, he had a change of heart.
I hover my thumb over the screen, trying to decide whether to call him, knock on the window, or go home.
At least if he’s decided to stand me up, that’s one more reason never to see him again.
An elderly couple strolls down the sidewalk as I simmer in annoyance. I have emails to catch up on. A staff article to write about chalk art downtown. Also, it’s getting dark.
The back of my neck prickles and I shuffle my feet, looking both ways down the street again. I’m not far from home, but these days I like to stick close to my building once the sun goes down.
Rufus whines next to me like he’s picking up on my unease, which does nothing to help.
I roll my eyes and raise my knuckles to rap on the glass just as the door swings open.
And suddenly I’m staring up into Drew Forbes’s scowling face.
Except it’s not a scowl—not quite. There’s no line between his brows or laser eyes.
On the contrary, the green of his irises is .
. . I wouldn’t say warm, but maybe something this side of polar?
It’s so unlike his usual expression, I forget to speak for a second.
“Good. You’re on time,” he says, voice heavy with the implication he expected I wouldn’t be.
All my second-guessing about his expression or what I said yesterday evaporates—he’s back to acting like the asshole I expect.
I purse my lips, ready to snap that he left us waiting.
But then he steps aside, and the dog immediately rushes through the door and bounces all over him like he’s the fun, playful dad and I’m the strict mom who never lets him have any fun.
Drew produces a tug toy seemingly out of thin air, and Rufus grabs on, pulling back and growling, wagging his tail so hard I have to step out of the way.
The oversized man is wearing cargo pants and one of those form-fitting Henleys again—green waffle weave this time, someone kill me—and I have to snap my eyes back to the dog to refocus on why we’re here.
I drop the leash, letting it drag on the floor while I look around.
K9 Academy feels different this time. More cavernous and echoey.
I guess obviously because it’s night, and it’s closed, and no one else is here.
Drew moves behind me and flips the deadbolt on the door with a click.
I tense, my fingers automatically grazing the zipper of my belt bag where my pepper spray is stowed.
But he’s so focused on the dog, he just moves around me like I’m not even here.
He gives Rufus the “out” command to release the toy, then tosses it into the training area and tells him to “get it.” The dog complies like it’s everything he lives for.
I roll my eyes, but make a mental note to try and up my game when we play this at home.
Usually I throw his toys across the room just so he’ll leave me alone.
The two of them pass through the little gate, and my pulse spikes as I follow, entering the area where everything went sideways last time.
Without a class of people and dogs losing their minds at the sight of us, the training area feels bigger.
In my memory, it had been mostly empty, but now there’s an assortment of equipment arranged like a miniature equestrian arena, with obstacles and jumps set up in a kind of semicircle.
It looks a lot like places Kyle would go to work dogs in high school. Only nicer.
I swallow hard. This place would’ve been a dream to him.
Drew walks Rufus to the center of the room, and I set an alarm on my watch for one hour, determined not to give the man a second more of my time. Then I lean against the half wall, settling in to watch him do whatever he has planned for the dog.
They take their positions and Drew removes the leash, speaking in a low tone.
The next thing I know, Rufus is leaping through a suspended colorful tire like it’s nothing, following Drew’s direction to the next obstacle, which is a jump that resembles a small section of fence.
When he clears that with ease, he looks back to Drew, who walks over to a low collapsible tunnel that Rufus shoots into, coming out the other end with his mouth open and eyes bright, like he’s enjoying himself.
From there, Drew directs him to a tall wooden structure that looks like a ladder.
I’m not sure what the dog is supposed to do here, but apparently Rufus knows because he climbs up one side of it and down the other like he’s done it hundreds of times.
It occurs to me, watching him go through these motions at Drew’s command, that he probably has. I never got to visit where Kyle worked after he enlisted and was accepted into the Military Working Dog Handler training program in San Antonio, but I suppose it might’ve looked something like this.
The two of them continue, and Rufus easily clears every obstacle and hurdle. Even climbing onto this big seesaw-looking thing, walking up the incline until it tips forward under his weight, then down the other side and back to the floor without hesitation.
They run through the entire course several times, Rufus gaining confidence and speed with each go-round, wagging his tail with his mouth wide like he’s grinning.
When they finally come to a stop, Drew gets out the tug toy again and Rufus grabs it instantly, pulling back on it with his entire body, eyes bright, growling and jerking his head back and forth, trying to shake the life out of it.
I don’t even realize I’m smiling until a laugh escapes my lips.
“Good boy,” Drew rumbles in a low tenor. “That’s right, who’s a good boy?”
My eyes drift from Rufus to the muscular arms wielding the toy.
Drew has pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, which has the effect of enhancing both his forearms and biceps.
And when he slides his glasses up his nose, his eyes are alight—mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile like he’s enjoying this as much as the dog.
Just like when we first arrived, his expression, his whole demeanor, is suddenly so different he doesn’t seem like the same man. Not the cranky dog trainer. Not Kyle’s misanthropic brother. Someone I don’t know at all.
Finally, he gives the “out” command and stows the toy out of Rufus’s sight. Drew runs a hand through his tousled hair, then turns, smile still on his face. And when his gaze lands on me, something thuds hard and low in my chest.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to try something with him,” he says.
It takes a moment before I register if it’s okay with you. He isn’t barking orders or assuming—he’s asking my permission. I shrug and nod at the same time, confused. “Sure. He, uh . . . looks like he’s having a good time.”
He nods, then reattaches the leash and hands it to me, escorting us both to the reception area. “Okay, just wait here a few minutes,” he says, disappearing into a back room.
I pull out my phone to check for replies to any of the emails I sent this afternoon. There aren’t any, but I wrinkle my brow when I see a voicemail from an unknown number twenty minutes ago. My phone never rang.
Drew returns and opens the gate just as I finish listening to the message. Or trying to, anyway. It was a two-minute recording of empty air, and what might have been someone breathing.
“Everything okay?” he asks, eyes pinging between the phone in my hand and my face.
“Uh . . . yeah. Just a spam call, I think.” I lock the screen and shove the device back into my pocket, but my hands are shaking when he reaches out to take the leash. “W-what are you doing with him now?”
“Scent work,” he says, looking down at Rufus the way Lydia would, like he understands what this means.
The dog gazes back at him like he’s just waiting to be given a command.
“Okay, Rufus. Let’s go check,” Drew orders in a clipped, authoritative tone.
The dog immediately moves into action, rushing back toward the agility course. Only he approaches it totally differently this time. Rather than making the jumps and navigating the obstacles, he runs around the equipment with his nose to the ground.
It takes me a few moments of watching before I realize he’s doing the sniff-every-corner thing he does every time we enter my apartment.
“Check,” Drew says, walking alongside him, holding the leash and pointing to a few specific spots around the room. “Check here.”
At each place he points, Rufus zeros in to give a more thorough sniff before moving on. Eventually, they make their way to a set of lockers on one of the far walls.
“Check here,” Drew repeats, and Rufus does his thing.
But instead of sniffing the metal doors and moving on like everywhere else, his whole body goes alert. He focuses on them, poking his nose all around, clearly ecstatic about something. He looks up at Drew, tail wagging furiously, and this time he sits.
“Good boy, yes,” Drew says in a subdued tone, immediately producing a Kong toy on a rope, dropping it right between Rufus and the locker door he’s obsessed with. Rufus clamps the Kong in his teeth, looking delighted while Drew praises and plays with him.
He hands me the leash and removes an object—presumably the source of the scent—from the locker and returns it to the back room while Rufus is busy with his toy.
When he enters the training room again, he’s looking at me. Not with a scowl, but something more like a question.
“What did you put in there?” I ask.
He shrugs. “A scent the military uses for training. To his nose, it mimics explosives.”