19. Quinn #2
“Of course, not in any unsafe way,” I said quickly.
“He’s trained. He’ll stay in my sight. He’s not going to approach Fenwick aggressively or trip anyone.
But Fenwick is a wolf shifter, a racer, and he’ll notice a loose dog in a parking lot before most people do.
If he tries to help corral him, I can run up with the leash, thank him, confirm his name, and serve him. ”
Cressler stared. “You want to use your dog as bait?”
“Bait sounds ugly. I prefer ‘canine social engineering.’”
Rafe’s voice dropped. “Absolutely not.”
The room went very still.
I looked at the screen. “This is a professional suggestion.”
“This is using your elderly dog to approach an evasive wolf shifter in a parking lot alone.”
“An exhausted hobbyist racer at a charity event.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
“It improves our chances exponentially.”
“Quinn.”
“Rafe.”
Moira made a small sound that might have been a cough if one was generous.
Helena held up one hand. “Enough. Quinn, I understand the concept, but don’t like the risk to Max.”
“Neither do I; I would never put Max in actual danger,” I said.
“That’s why it will only work if I control the environment.
Max is a professional. It will be in a public space.
No traffic lanes. My friend and expert dog handler will be with me.
Fenwick thinks he’s helping with a lost dog.
Max recalls to me the second I give the command. If anything feels wrong, we leave.”
Helena studied me intently.
I forced myself not to look at Rafe, but I could feel his eyes on me. I knew he was angry. I also knew this could work.
Finally, Helena said, “Draft the plan. I want specifics, safety measures, and legal requirements for valid service. Moira will review. No one attempts anything until I approve it.”
I glanced up, and Rafe’s jaw flexed on the screen.
I didn’t smile.
“Understood,” I said.
After the meeting, the day blurred into research, drafting, and the exhaustion of trying to write safety protocol for using one’s own dog in an attempt to serve a wolf shifter.
Avery texted me four videos during the afternoon: Max standing calmly while five-month-old Czechoslovakian wolf dog puppies orbited him like chaotic moons.
Max correcting one overexcited pup with a single look.
Max lying down while the largest puppy copied him three seconds later.
Max, regal and unimpressed, as Avery’s caption read: your son is conducting a leadership seminar for illegal wolf babies.
The puppies had been seized in a raid after someone bred them without permits or the faintest understanding that wolf dog puppies were not aesthetic accessories for men with podcasts.
Avery was trying to get them accepted into a working-dog program, and apparently Max’s presence helped.
He established boundaries without intimidation.
He tolerated nonsense until nonsense became rude, then ended the matter with one calm correction.
Watching the videos got me through the afternoon.
That, and the client-funded lunch.
At six-thirty, Avery texted that she was outside with Max and Socko. I packed up my things, waved good night to Moira, and found them on the sidewalk.
Max saw me and immediately leaned his full weight into my legs.
“There’s my guy,” I said, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Did you teach the puppies how to be normal?”
Avery snorted. “He taught them how to sit in judgment. Different skill.”
She was wearing black joggers, a cropped jacket, and combat boots. Socko stood at her side, golden and serene, gazing at pedestrians hoping one might drop a sandwich.
“How was law hell?” Avery asked.
“Litigious.”
“Love when places stay on brand.”
“We’re filing.”
“Ooh.” Her eyes sharpened. “Big day?”
“Big exhausting day.” I adjusted my tote. “Hot dogs?”
Max’s head lifted.
Avery looked down at him. “You said the magic words.”
The cart was two blocks away, tucked near the corner where office workers and construction guys overlapped just enough to keep the vendor in business.
Tonight, Mr. Alvarez was missing from the cart, and his niece Elena was working in his place.
I slowed. “Where’s your uncle? Is he okay?”
Elena looked up from loading onions onto a hot dog and smiled. “Twisted his foot helping my aunt move a couch.”
“Oh no.”
“He’ll live. He’s mostly mad because the couch won.”
Avery leaned an elbow on the cart. “I respect any furniture that fights back.”
“Elena, this is Avery,” I said. “Avery, Elena. Elena is responsible for at least thirty percent of Max’s unrealistic hotdog expectations.”
Max sat beside me, perfectly polite.
Elena looked down at him. “Uncle said he gets one plain.”
“He gets half,” I said.
“He specifically said one.”
“Your uncle is a bad influence.”
“He also said if I didn’t give it to you on the house, he’d know.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “No, that’s okay. I can pay.”
Elena gave me a look. “He said on the house.”
Avery took the paper tray before I could argue. “Thank you. We accept kindness in this family.”
“We do?” I asked.
“We’re practicing.”
Elena cut Max’s plain hot dog into neat pieces. “Besides, Uncle likes him. Says he has manners.”
“He has better manners than most partners at my firm.”
“Low bar?” Elena asked.
“Tragically.”
We ate standing near the cart. Avery held Socko’s leash while I fed Max one piece at a time, making him wait between bites because otherwise he would inhale the whole thing.
Elena asked about the dogs, and Avery launched into a surprisingly coherent explanation of rehab work, failed service placement, and why “failed” was a terrible word for a dog who simply needed a different job.
Elena listened without interrupting.
When Socko finally squatted near the curb, Avery sighed and pulled a bag from her pocket. “And here we have the glamorous part of my career.”
“Heroic,” I said.
“Shut up and hold my food.”
I took her hot dog tray while she dealt with Socko. Elena leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“So,” she said. “Your friend.”
“Avery?”
“She single?”
I glanced over. Avery was tying off the bag, flatly annoyed at the universe, while Socko wagged, delighted with herself.
I smiled. “Yes.”
Elena slipped a napkin toward me. I glanced down, spotting the phone number scrawled over it. “Give her that?”
I beamed. “Absolutely.”
“And don’t tell her I got nervous.”
“Never. Women’s code.”
“She looks intimidating.”
“She is. But mostly to men who deserve it and dogs who ignore recall.”
Elena’s smile widened. “Perfect.”
Avery came back and narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was a nothing face?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re paranoid.”
“I train Malinois. Paranoia is part of the job.”
Elena handed her a soda. “On the house.”
Avery stared at it, then at her.
Oh.
Oh, this was excellent.
Saturday morning arrived cold, clear, and deeply offensive for a charity race.
Avery met me in the parking lot outside the event. She had an expression that suggested she was only here because she loved me and enjoyed legally gray nonsense.
“You have the papers?” she asked.
I patted the slim envelope tucked inside my jacket. “Complaint, summons, proof-of-service form.”
“And the recall plan?”
“Max approaches, stays within twenty feet, no traffic lanes, no crowd crush. I call him back the second Fenwick engages or if he gets too excited.”
“And if Fenwick shifts?”
“We leave.”
“And if Rafe finds out?”
“He knows about the plan.”