Maggie
The shelter sounds like chaos before I even walk through the front doors.
Dogs bark from every direction while volunteers drag folding tables across the concrete floors.
Donation boxes are piled beside the front desk, and someone in the back drops an entire container of tennis balls that sends three puppies skidding across the lobby after them.
Most days, the madness would make me smile faster. Today, my stomach stays tight.
The folded drawing in my shelter bag seems to get heavier by the minute. I swear I can feel those black words pressing through the paper, even without looking at them.
SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU.
I spent the entire drive over here trying to decide whether to call Alexei immediately or wait until tonight, when I can explain it face-to-face.
Every time I picture his reaction, my pulse jumps all over again.
He warned me about the shelter and people watching, and now someone left a message about Ivy in my mailbox.
My stomach churns with unease.
“Sweet tea and salvation,” Jules mutters beside me while staring at the disaster unfolding near intake. “One adoption event and suddenly everybody loses all common sense.”
I laugh under my breath while flipping through the clipboard in my hands. “You say that every single time.”
“Because every single time, I’m right.”
Another volunteer rushes past, carrying blankets, while someone near grooming argues lovingly with an elderly bulldog who refuses to step onto a scale. Somewhere down the kennel corridor, Ivy laughs loud enough to rise above the barking, and affection blooms inside me before I even see her.
She sits cross-legged on the floor beside the puppy enclosure, wearing denim overalls with one strap hanging crookedly off her shoulder, while a golden retriever puppy happily chews on the end of her braid. Irina kneels beside her, trying unsuccessfully to rescue the poor braid from puppy teeth.
“No, no,” Irina says through a tired laugh thickened by her Russian accent. “We cannot eat children.”
“But Snowball likes hair,” Ivy argues while rubbing the puppy’s ears. “Maybe she thinks it’s spaghetti.”
“That’s not comforting,” Jules calls out from behind me.
Ivy immediately grins. “Hi Jules.”
“Honey, if that dog swallows your hair, your father is going to bury all of us underneath this shelter,” he replies.
“Papa says violence isn’t the answer.”
Jules snorts. “Your father says that while looking like a man who definitely knows several answers involving violence.”
Irina presses her lips together, trying not to smile, while I walk over and crouch beside Ivy, brushing the puppy gently away from her braid.
“You helpin’ today?” I ask.
“I’m assistant puppy manager,” Ivy smiles.
“Well excuse me then. Very official title.”
“She already promoted herself twice,” Irina says.
“I got promoted because I’m excellent,” Ivy informs me with complete confidence.
Honestly, I think she is.
I smile despite the knot still twisting inside my chest. Sunlight pours through the front windows behind her, softening the waves in her brown hair while she cuddles the puppy tighter against her overalls.
My stomach twists so much I almost lose my smile.
“Are you okay?” Irina asks quietly, studying my face more carefully now.
I force myself to nod. “Just tired.”
Even I can tell it’s a weak lie.
Ivy doesn’t notice anything wrong. She keeps talking happily to the puppy while Snowball licks her chin hard enough to make her squeal with laughter.
Lately, every time I look at her, I feel myself soften a bit more. She watches people with the same careful eyes as her father, noticing things most kids would miss. But she still smiles in a way Alexei never really learned.
The front bell rings again as more volunteers filter inside carrying coffee and boxes of donated supplies. Families wander through the lobby asking questions about the event while phones ring nonstop near the desk. The entire shelter thrums with movement, conversation, and barking.
And beneath all of it, tension sits. I feel it again near the front windows where one of Alexei’s security men stands outside pretending to scroll through his phone while watching traffic reflected in the glass.
He wears jeans and a gray T-shirt instead of one of his dark suits today, but there’s still no universe where that man naturally blends into a rescue shelter full of exhausted volunteers and dog fur.
Across the street, a black SUV is parked at the curb, while a man in dark sunglasses leans against it. He looks relaxed enough at first glance, but the longer I watch him, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not there by accident. A prickle of warning crawls across the back of my neck.
Jules follows my line of sight toward the windows. “Well,” he says quietly, “that doesn’t look concerning at all.”
“You know him?” I ask.
“Not at all, honey.”
I glance back toward the security man outside. “Then why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?”
“Probably because your Russian James Bond likes everybody watched without making a scene.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Jules folds his arms across his chest while staring out the window. “Honestly? Not even a little.”
I stare across the street a moment longer before heading toward the entrance.
“Maggie,” Jules calls after me.
“I’m just askin’ what he wants.”
Jules waves a hand through the air like he’s already narrating my inevitable demise. “That sentence always ends terribly in horror movies.”
I ignore him and push through the front doors.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Jules mutters behind me before following. “If you get kidnapped by a mysterious man in broad daylight, I refuse to explain that to your mama.”
The man near the SUV lowers his sunglasses when he notices me approaching, and a polite smile spreads across his face so smoothly it feels practiced.
“Morning,” he says easily.
“You waitin’ on somebody?” I ask.
“Actually, dropping off supplies.”
I glance toward the empty SUV before looking back at him. “Supplies,” I repeat.
Beside me, Jules folds his arms across his chest. “Wow. Invisible supplies. Very innovative.”
The man’s smile never slips. “They’re coming in another truck.” His eyes dart toward the shelter behind me before returning to my face. “You Maggie Hayes?”
The fact that he already knows my name makes my shoulders tense up even more. “Yes.”
“Nice place you’ve got here.”
His eyes move toward the front windows again, where Ivy runs laughing past the desk, carrying a tennis ball nearly as big as her head. Then he looks back at me.
“You stay busy here?”
Every instinct I have tells me to pull back. “What exactly do you want?”
Before he answers, the security man near the entrance starts walking toward him calmly. The stranger notices him immediately, though his expression never changes.
“Relax, sweetheart. Just trying to donate.”
I hate “sweetheart” coming from him.
Jules takes half a step closer to me immediately. “Yeah, we’re not doin’ that. You can either explain why you’re sittin’ outside staring at the shelter or you can leave.”
“Or call during business hours like everybody else,” I add.
“Thought this was business hours.”
“It is,” Jules replies flatly. “Which means we’re busy and you’re acting sketchy as hell.”
The security man stops beside me. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to move along.”
The stranger studies us before smiling again, though this time the warmth never reaches his eyes. “Didn’t realize animal shelters came with bodyguards.”
“He asked you to leave,” I say.
Beside me, Jules lets out a humorless laugh. “See, now that sounds exactly like the opening scene of a true crime documentary.”
The security man steps forward again, but the stranger is already climbing into the SUV. Seconds later, the vehicle disappears into Savannah traffic without anyone stopping it.
“You know who that was?” I ask the security guard.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why didn’t you stop him?”
“We don’t engage unless necessary.”
Jules plants his hands on his hips, annoyance practically rolling off him. “Pretty sure threatening Maggie outside an animal shelter qualifies as necessary.”
His expression stays blank. “Mr. Agapov requested minimal disruption around the shelter.”
Of course he did.
I drag both hands through my hair before turning back toward the entrance, my pulse still pounding in my veins.
The rest of the morning is chaotic enough that I almost manage to shove the entire interaction outside to the back of my mind.
Volunteers continue organizing supplies while Ivy proudly introduces every dog in the building to potential adopters.
Irina trails behind her with patient exhaustion written all over her face, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, I finally begin breathing normally again.
Then the delivery truck arrives at the back loading area of the shelter. At first glance, nothing feels wrong. The paperwork matches a local feed supplier that donates regularly before larger events, and one of the volunteers even recognizes the company logo painted along the side.
Yet the second the driver climbs down from the truck, every nerve in my body reacts. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s smiling before I even speak.
“Miss Hayes,” he says.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck.
Behind me, Jules pauses halfway through dragging a bag of food toward storage.
“You really ought to hire better security around here,” the driver says casually.
The air leaves my lungs slowly. “What did you say?”
“Just saying anybody can walk into this place.”
His attention moves past me toward the kennel corridor. Toward Ivy.
Rage burns hot through my chest so fast it surprises me. “You need to leave. Now.”
He laughs like I’m overreacting. “I’m delivering donations.”
“No. You’re done here,” I insist.
Jules steps beside me immediately, tension visible in every line of his body now. “Buddy, the creepy truck driver energy alone is enough for me to vote no. Wrap it up and move along.”