Chapter 2
Ali Moran had only come home to get some dry clothes.
The predicted rainstorm had arrived several hours early, and she’d ended up both soaked and more worried than when she’d started out on her search a couple of hours ago.
That it was her own fault that her beloved new puppy, Zigzag, already shortened to Ziggy, had somehow slipped past the newly installed fence she’d had put in just for him, only made things worse.
She should have been outside when he’d started barking, right after she’d heard an unusual sound.
But her phone had rung as she’d let him out, and it had been a client who would determine just how well they’d be living the rest of the winter, so she’d gone back to answer it despite the early hour.
She’d cut the call short, but by the time she’d stepped back outside on her back deck, Ziggy was nowhere in sight.
She’d been outside ever since, searching.
Every corner, behind every shrub in the yard, even crawling under the deck to be sure the little guy wasn’t hiding.
She’d only brought him home a couple of weeks ago, and while he’d seemed to adjust rapidly—probably more rapidly than she had since she herself had only been in this house for a week longer—maybe he hadn’t been as happy as he’d seemed with his new home.
Or you.
It was true she’d never had a dog before, because her mother was beyond fastidious to the point of persnickety, but she’d read and studied and even taken an online course about new puppy life, and thought she’d had it down.
And then reality bites… Again.
She shook her head sharply as she traded her wet sneakers and socks for warm, dry rain boots.
She straightened up, then slid her phone into her pocket, thankful she’d gone on a picture-taking binge when she’d first gotten Ziggy, so she had plenty of shots to show the neighbors and ask if they’d seen him.
But that would be the easy part. She was more worried about the woods behind the houses here on the dead end of the street.
The long-untouched forest was why she’d chosen her cottage, the last in the small row, and the smallest on the street, especially dwarfed next to the big, remodeled-to-excess place next door.
She gave a mental apology to the residents, seven-year-old Grace more than her mother, Liz, a brusque, rather imperious woman Ali had quickly realized had been the one who simply had to have a bigger, grander, more impressive home than anyone else, to show off.
In a strange way, people like her were responsible for Ali doing what she loved.
Because her interiors service—she refused to call it decorating, since that was exactly what she didn’t do—catered to those who wanted attractive, functional homes, not showplaces that made you afraid to set down a glass or put your feet up after a long day.
Which was why her website header was: It Doesn’t Matter How Pretty It Is If It Doesn’t Work for You.
She needed to check those woods first, she decided.
Ziggy was just a little puppy, and no matter how big he might get later, right now he was easy prey for whatever predator might be living back there, from coyotes to bobcats to owls.
At least the gorgeous bald eagles pretty much stuck to the abundant fish in Puget Sound, just a few blocks away.
She had to find him. She couldn’t take another death. It had taken her a very long time to become even functional after she’d lost Josh. Even now her eyes teared up at the thought. They’d been supposed to have a long, happy life together, not merely a few years, ending in a flash of agony.
She shook off the too-familiar memories, pulled on her hooded slicker and braced herself for the wind and rain.
She had the back door open when a knock came at the front.
Her heart leaped. Maybe one of the neighbors had found Ziggy.
Maybe it was Grace, who adored the pup and had come over several times to play with him.
She practically ran to the front door and yanked it open.
There was a dog there, all right, but certainly not Ziggy.
It was a big, partly reddish brown creature with shiny black fur over its head and shoulders.
The eyes that looked up at her were dark, flecked with tiny bits of amber, and looked infinitely wiser than the eyes of any dog she’d ever seen.
Or most people.
He’d apparently brought his humans with him, because the man held the leash snapped to his collar. She’d just spotted the metal tag in the shape of a boat that hung from that collar when the woman spoke.
“Does this little guy look familiar?”
Only then did Ali realize the woman had been cradling a small bundle inside her rain jacket. A head poked out, and the moment he spotted her, the pup gave an excited little bark.
“Ziggy!” Ali yelped in relief.
The woman laughed. “I can feel his tail wagging madly. I guess that answers that.”
“Thank you so much,” Ali exclaimed as her visitor disentangled Ziggy from her jacket.
“Don’t thank us,” the man holding the leash of the much larger dog said. “Thank him.”
He indicated the dog who was sitting calmly between them. Once she had her precious pup safely cuddled in her arms again and she could breathe normally, she gave the man a questioning look.
“He found your boy and brought him to us,” he said.
“Our office is just down the road that way,” the woman said, gesturing toward the sound.
Scrambling to regain her equilibrium, Ali belatedly realized they were standing out in the cold.
“Please, won’t you come in? It’s a little messy, I just moved in three weeks ago, so things are still in flux, but I have hot coffee on.”
“Hot anything sounds wonderful,” the woman said, with a smile that had Ali instinctively trusting her.
They stepped inside, Ali shut the door and ushered them into the living room, which was thankfully in good shape. All the clutter and unpacked boxes were elsewhere.
“I’m Ali Moran,” she said. “And this little rascal is Zigzag, for obvious reasons.” She’d named him the moment she’d seen the pattern of black fur running the length of his back from head to tail in a zigzag shape.
“And I’m Hayley Foxworth, this is my husband, Quinn, and this clever boy—” she reached out to pet the bigger dog, who was sitting politely at their feet “—is Cutter.”
She’d heard the name Foxworth before—it was hard to live here and not be aware—but she had no idea if these folks were connected to those Foxworths she’d seen in the news. They seemed too…normal to be that famous, though.
“Well, I must thank you officially,” she said, leaning over toward the other dog.
“Is it all right?” she asked, pausing when she realized she was about to pet a strange dog she’d never seen before.
And a dog who looked like a fluffier version of a lot of police and military dogs she’d seen on screen.
“Yes,” Quinn said.
“And it’ll be more all right when you do,” Hayley added. Ali smiled at that, understanding because she now knew the happiness and pure stress relief she got from petting Ziggy.
But then, as her fingers stroked the dark head of the bigger dog, she realized suddenly she hadn’t understood anything. Because the feeling of calm and ease she got, as if it were coursing upward from her fingers on that thick fur, was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
Her gaze shot back to the woman, who was smiling. “See what I mean?”
“I…wow. What is he, some kind of therapy dog?”
“Among countless other things,” her husband said, dryly but still lovingly. “We try to keep up, but he’s always a few steps ahead of us.”
There was something about the way Quinn Foxworth was looking at her that made her remember how this had all started.
“I honestly don’t know how he got out,” she said. “I’ve looked at the new fence and it’s intact. I know it’s short, but—”
“So is he,” Hayley said.
“Yes,” Ali said, glad she understood. She didn’t want to get a reputation in her new neighborhood for being a negligent pet owner.
She explained how she’d come back in for her phone, had heard a string of barks from Ziggy, but then quiet so she’d assumed—which she would never do again, she swore—the pup had simply been barking at some passing squirrel or rabbit, since they were common here.
“He’s not used to the wildlife yet, and everything seems to fascinate him,” she said.
They chatted some more, and she couldn’t help thinking she wished these were her next-door neighbors. Except for Grace, whom she’d miss. And so would Ziggy. And finally she felt comfortable to ask the question that had been hovering.
“Are you by chance connected to the Foxworth Foundation?”
Hayley smiled. “That would be us.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “Wow. You guys are amazing. I’ve read about you, and how you help the little guy. It does my heart good to know that you’re out there, looking out for people who have been treated so unfairly.”
“Whether they were treated that way by other people, or by life, we try to help,” Hayley agreed.
“As long as they’re in the right, the Foxworth Foundation is there,” Quinn added.
Ali sighed audibly. “Wonderful. Thank you for…being.”
They’d finished their coffee, and Ali noticed it was Quinn who stood and gathered all the mugs and took them into the kitchen, all without comment.
“At the risk of being clichéd, I love what you’ve done with the place. Welcoming, comfortable and functional.”
Ali laughed. “That’s practically my business motto.”
“Business?”
“I do residential and business interiors, for people who want function over form, but still want to like what they’re looking at.”
Hayley looked around again, and slowly began to nod. “I can see you’re good at it, just from this. Clean lines, but not cold.”
“Thank you,” Ali exclaimed gratefully. “That’s exactly my goal.”
“Ali?”
Quinn spoke from where he’d walked after dropping off the coffee mugs, over by a side window that looked out toward the house next door. Grace’s house, as she preferred to think of it, since her mother seemed to have no desire to be on a first-name basis.
“What?” she asked.
“When you heard Ziggy barking, did you hear anything else?”
Her brow furrowed. “I heard something right before, but it was far away. So I thought he was just barking at the noise, or I’ve got a family of rabbits living out there he always yips at, so I thought he’d seen one… Why?”
It was Hayley who answered her. “Forgive us for not telling you right away, but we wanted to check you out before we got into this. When Cutter brought Ziggy to us, he had blood on him. Quite a bit.”
Ali gasped. “What?” She immediately looked back at the puppy in her lap, running her hands over him urgently.
“He’s fine,” Hayley assured her. “We took him to our vet to be sure. It wasn’t his blood.”
For a moment Ali felt as if she could breathe again, but then the implications of what Hayley had said sank in. “Then what…?”
“The blood,” Quinn said from his spot over by the window, “was human.”
She blinked. Human? How on earth? “But… I’m the only one here, and I’m not— I haven’t—” She broke off, at a total loss.
“I believe you,” Quinn said. “Because I think I know how it happened.” He turned then to look at them. “I think that sound you heard came from next door.”
“What?” She felt like she’d missed something in a complicated story she was reading. She got up, started toward him, wondering what he’d seen. When she got there, he pointed toward the back of the house across the side yard, where a window was clearly broken.
“You want my best guess,” Quinn said, “Ziggy heard the breaking glass, barked at the person who broke it—and apparently cut himself up in the process—and who obviously didn’t want to be discovered, so he ran over and grabbed your pup to shut him up.”
Ali sucked in a harsh breath. And cuddled Ziggy even closer.
“But he didn’t hurt him,” Hayley, who had joined them now, assured her. “Our vet checked him thoroughly.”
Ali looked at the broken window at the back of the house next door. It did make sense, but if it was true… A memory hit her then of that time little Grace had climbed through a window to come over to play with Ziggy.
“Oh no,” she said, staring, feeling more than a little stunned. “That’s Grace’s room.”