"I heard, I heard." The Chief held up his calloused palm. "He started it by grabbing Inara Woodward. Randy told me the only reason you interfered was to come to her defense."
Wait, Woodward? Nik tossed his hand in the air. Well, fuck.
"Is she okay?" Searching his Uncle's pale blue eyes, he braced to hear the worst.
"Yes, she's fine. Believe or not, that little drink of water can take care of herself. When I spoke to her, she said her cousin was waiting to take her home." Karl jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Randy decided not to press charges on you, but he asked me to start the paperwork on Jason. I'm required to check if you wanna do the same. But I feel I should warn ya that can of worms includes a breathalyzer test. Not too sure it's a good idea at this point."
"Skip it, Nik." Dion bumped his chin toward the door. "Leave Arbor with his broken nose and let the tox screen take care of the rest."
"Best thing you could do is to find a soft bed and spend eight hours sleeping it off." Uncle Karl jammed his hat onto his head. "I gotta go take care of this. I'll check in with you boys at a later date."
"Thanks, Uncle Karl." Dion held out his hand and they shook. "Come on, bro. We're calling it quits for the night."
Nik nodded and fell in step beside his brother. Inara Woodward, huh?
He was nowhere near classy enough for the royal linage attached to that founding name. A lopsided grin tugged the corner of his mouth. Then again, she hadn't really come off like a damsel in distress.
After centering her white lab coat on her tense shoulders, Inara shook out the trembling in her hands. The endless growling from the Pitbull in the kennel was wearing on her very last nerve.
"I was told this was your specialty." The breeder crossed his arms, bent at the waist. Peeking inside the large portable carrier, he nudged the plastic corner with his boot. "Most of the dogs I rescued from the fighting pit have already been adopted. But Buster here is so darn aggressive, I'm having a hard time getting him placed. I took him to a few shelters, but they were either full or said they'd have to put him down. I'd hate to see that happen. Obviously, though, I might not have a choice since he's a threat to anyone who comes near him."
Lifting a brow, she leveled her gaze at the guy and waited for him to straighten. "He's scared."
Idiot. Not to mention hurt, infected, severely underweight and, if she had to guess, suffering the damage from an infinite amount of brutal psychological abuse.
Clearing her throat, she spoke loud enough to be heard over the Pitbull's raw barking. "How long as he been like this, Mr. Jones?"
"Three days." He shrugged. "And please, call me Stanley."
But her beef wasn't really with him. Thank goodness, he'd gone the extra mile to do his homework and ask around. "And I'm Inara. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the effort you took to bring him in."
He cleaned his round glasses on the tail of his shirt before smoothing his graying combover. "So, is this the part where you do your hooky magic? Should I put on one of those leaded aprons or maybe take a seat in the other room?"
She blinked. And then stole a quick glance at the ceiling. "Um, I hate to disappoint, but it's nothing so dramatic."
"Oh." Smiling, he jingled the change in his slash pockets and rocked forward on his toes. "Okay, then."
Her nostrils flared as she forced a return smile and inhaled a calming breath. She crouched to peer into the animal carrier and the heat of her ponytail was a comforting weight fanning the width of her back.
Her anxiety spiked and her tongue grew pasty. The ends of her bangs tickled her scars, and she tucked them away from her cheek.
Saliva splattered from Buster's loose jowls. The nasty gash across his swollen muzzle was oozing and crusted with blood. A crude bandage had been taped to his left hindquarter, only the edges protected by the dirty adhesive showing any signs that it had once been white.
He shuddered and tucked his tail under his body. His blue-gray coat was dull with grime. Paralyzing fear pulsed from his muscular frame, and the second she made eye contact with the animal, his barking intensified and increased.
Trapped! Trapped! Go! Go!
Inara frowned and pushed off from the tile, freeing her hair from behind her ear. Buster's barking switched over to a feral growl interspersed with a high-frequency whine. "The file here's not clear. How was it you came in possession of this dog?"
"Well, I originally sold him to this guy I heard has a good reputation for showing Pitbulls. But apparently, he got into some financial trouble and sold off the entire litter to the fighting pits. Once I found out, I did my best to have the place shut down, of course. Problem is, most of the dogs were killed in the scramble as soon as the police showed up." Shuffling his feet, Mr. Jones shook his head. "They managed to take the pit manager into custody, but I feel horrible about what happened. Since Buster was one of a few to make it out alive, I'm really hoping you can help him."
"I see." With more clarity than Stanley Jones would ever get. The sheer primal terror emanating off of Buster was thicker than a vat of toxic sludge. Turning toward the metal table, Inara flipped the file closed. "If you wouldn't mind, I need just a minute to confer with my associate."
"Sure thing." Mr. Jones nodded and, as she exited into the hall, Buster's loud barking resumed. Three doors down, she twisted the knob and poked her head inside the office.
Seth sat back from the computer. Pinching the corner of his boxy black glasses, he slid the bridge down his nose.
The delicate chain attached to the sides pooled in the folds of his lab coat. One of his brows rose at what had to be the dark thunderclouds swirling around her head. "Damn, girl, you're a splotchy gray mess. That bad, huh?"
She slumped and leaned against the frame, hugging the folder to her chest. "Bad doesn't even begin to cover it. What did you pick up from the guy when you led him back into the room?"
"Concern, mostly. A little pink which can signify guilt."
O-o-okay? That wasn't informative in the least. "As in, he's responsible for Buster's condition and is worried we're gonna find out? Or he feels responsible for Buster's condition and is worried we're gonna judge him for not being more careful about his clientele?"
"And welcome to my world." Seth sighed. "You already know that's not how auras work. But if I had to guess, I'd go with the latter. I can't imagine Jones would go to the hassle of carting Buster in here if he was nervous about getting caught."
True. Crossing to the desk, Inara slid some paperwork aside and hitched her hip on the edge. If that were the case, then any questions she had about her next move really weren't up for debate.
"The bigger issue here is your insecurity about tackling the challenge."
Uh, huh. "Remind me again why I keep you around?" She squinted into Seth's pale green eyes. "Less than three seconds ago, you were just complaining that wasn't how auras worked."
He laughed and pried her death grip off the file, threading their fingers on her lap. "It doesn't take an ability like mine to understand why you're conflicted. No one would blame you for being scared after everything you've been through. But if memory serves, you've been saying for years this is the exact opportunity you've always wanted. That's why you accepted the appointment in the first place, right? So you could face your fears and have the chance to finally put them behind you?"