I saw it like I had a crystal ball or an enchanted mirror maybe—the magical power of knowing my sister well.
Sophie would go in and greet those working dogs with her heart pinned on her sleeve—because her heart was always on her sleeve—and lose it completely. And by “lose it,” I meant hire a van, load up all the pooches, take them home with her, and bake them homemade biscuits for every meal.
On the one hand, that was a damn fine idea.
On the other, she’d have her hands full in a month with a baby, so it was best for someone to put the brakes on that.
I’d arrived first too, a few minutes ahead of the hour—no gaming the navigation app today. Usually, a timely arrival meant a little breathing room before my sister showed up. But today, Sophie was uncharacteristically punctual.
And when her Aston Martin pulled into the lot, I knew why.
Ryan got out of the driver’s seat, walked around, and opened the door for his wife. He kept time like an atomic clock.
I tipped my chin in his direction. “Nice ride.”
“It’s not too bad,” he deadpanned. “Hope you don’t mind my joining you two, but I can’t help myself when it comes to dogs.”
Huh. Maybe I’d have to run interference for him too.
He offered a hand to Sophie.
“I can get out of the car myself,” she said, but she didn’t refuse his help or hide that she was grateful for it.
“Oof,” she muttered as she stood and stretched her back.
“I see pregnancy isn’t slowing you down in the fashion department,” I remarked, gesturing to her red dress with lemon slices for polka dots, pinup-style, as it always was with her. She’d simply adjusted the hemline.
Her face lit up. “That’s another thing I love about pregnancy,” she said. “It’s a chance for a whole new wardrobe.”
Ryan grinned—a sappy, blissed-out, proud-husband-and-future-father grin—and said, “That’s my Sophie.”
The three of us walked to the front door of the shelter. It was just one standard glass door lettered with the suite number and a sign above—K-9 Buddies. Not much else distinguished the place from the other doors of the industrial park except the yips and barks of dogs being dogs. I suspected there was a door open in the back of the building to let the breeze in and the sounds out. As I’d driven up, I’d spotted an overhang that shaded a clean but utilitarian dog run. It wasn’t doggie nirvana, but this wasn’t meant to be a long-term situation.
Nor did it invite the casual animal lover to drop in and look for a pet for little Timmy or Suzie either. These were retired working dogs—they’d need the right homes and the right handlers.
“Thank you again for coming with me,” Sophie said, curling her hand around my arm as we went up the three steps to the door. “Having you and Ryan here will help immensely.”
“Don’t think twice about it.” I covered her hand with my free one and squeezed. “I want to see every rescue dog in a happy home. But especially these doggos who’ve worked hard, dangerous jobs and deserve a retirement full of kibble and belly scratches.”
Ryan made a choking sound, maybe a cough, maybe a laugh. “Did you just say ‘doggos’? No more social media for you, John.”
I gave him an unperturbed look I’d honed since my days as a rookie. “When would I have time for social media?”
No one could argue with that. When did I have time for social anything?
I didn’t get the word from a meme. Mindy had said it when our new running route took us past a dog park.
“Who’s a good doggo?” she’d singsonged to the stocky Labrador retriever who’d recognized a sucker when he saw one. He was missing a front leg, but that hadn’t stopped him from barreling into Mindy and begging for attention.
“Aren’t you a sweet doggo?” she’d asked. “No, I don’t have treats, but I’ll give you all the nose boops. Yes, I will.”
The three-legged dog was a curiosity, but so was Mindy. Who was this woman holding the dog’s head between her hands as he grinned at her? I didn’t blame him. I’d be pretty pleased if she grabbed the hair behind my ears too.
I knew she loved animals, but I didn’t expect so much cooing and cajoling. Mindy was personable and professional, and I’d appreciated both those qualities from the moment we met. I had been deep in an investigation, and admittedly, I’d viewed her through that lens at first. She’d offered her help, something that, as a detective, pinged my radar. I’d quickly realized that was in character for her. She had connections, and she could tap into information that would take the LVPD twice the time and effort to get. Why risk burning an undercover officer or an informant when Mindy had cultivated resources over her eight years working in hotel security?
The woman was head-turning, drop-dead beautiful. On top of that, she was self-sufficient and capable, and the whole package was straight-up sexy as hell.
And when she let loose, she could kick the shit out of a heavy bag. She never pulled her punches when we sparred. When she jabbed, she let loose a warrior yell that haunted my dreams. I often laid awake thinking about what sounds she might make for me if she were in my bed beside me.
And now, after the dog park, I had a whole new library of squeals and croons and flirty sounds to imagine.
But I didn’t need to be imagining them now.
Sophie patted my arm before she let go. “I’m grateful in any case. You and Ryan can offer a different perspective than mine, and I think the organizers will appreciate your . . . vibe.”
This time when I glanced at my brother-in-law it was for clarification. “She means our alpha manliness,” Ryan explained.
“Obviously,” I agreed.
“I don’t not mean that,” Sophie teased her husband. “But more that you work in law enforcement and security.”
Determined to work until she popped, Sophie had one last fundraiser to spearhead, this one for a locally based organization that found homes for working dogs—former military or police dogs. I’d never had a K-9 partner, but I’d worked with the teams on the force who did. It was a cause near and dear to my heart.
I was a dog lover, and I wanted those dogs to have a good home after serving their community or country. But they needed the right home, and that took resources.
Ryan employed several dog-and-handler teams at his security firm, so he had a similar interest and appreciation as mine. We also had similar resources, which might be needed if it came to tracking down a former handler, for example. Often, K-9 teams were split up by deployments in the military, and the former handlers still had room in their hearts for a doggo friend.
I held the door for my sister, and Ryan and I followed her inside. The room was sparse—only an unoccupied reception desk, a worn-out sofa, and a wall full of pictures of rescued dogs and their new owners filled the space. Heartwarming didn’t cover it.
“Oh, I have so many ideas for this fundraiser.” Sophie clapped her hands together while we waited for her appointment. “John, I’m really glad you discovered this organization.”
“Not me.” I didn’t want to take someone else’s credit. “That was Mindy and Sergeant Jackson in the dog park.”