Doghouse (9 page)

Ginny had to acknowledge the truth of that. Teddy wasn't a pet person. He'd fought against admitting that Penny had claimed him, resisted any suggestion that he get her a collar and tags: only the thought that the tabby might end up in a shelter if animal control caught her got him to agree to having her chipped. And even that had felt like a betrayal. Although, he had to admit, Penny hadn't seemed particularly bothered by either the trip to the vet or the implant.

Ginny went over to talk to Seth and Deke, holding out her arms to take Parsifal, smiling a little as the puppy made a contented wuffle and snuggled down in her arms. Georgie groaned and got to her feet, her square-chested body
and wrinkled skin making her seem even larger compared to the much smaller terrier. “A couple of days, kid,” he heard Ginny say, “that's all you get. My building's a one-pet-per-apartment deal, and as small as you are you don't get to stay.”

Teddy smirked a little, hearing that, and watched the odd threesome leave, then looked up to the shelves where Mistress Penny usually resided, watching over her domain. “What do you think the odds are that she adopts the little fuzzbutt anyway?” Then he frowned, not seeing the usual drape of tail curling over the edge. “Huh.” He backed up a little, and looked again. No Penny. He looked at the door, as though he'd spot her there, then did a scan of the area behind the bar. Nothing furred-and-tailed.

Not that her disappearing was anything new or novel. She was her own cat. She'd come home whenever she finished whatever she was chasing. He didn't feel at all abandoned, damn it.

“Hey, barkeep!” one of the newcomers yelled as he settled in at the bar with several of his friends. “Service around here sucks!”

“Yeah, bite me, Taylor,” he replied, flinging the bar towel over his shoulder with a flourish, and moving down the bar to where Taylor waited, grinning obnoxiously. “It's not like you ever buy the good beer, anyway.”

He tucked the case into the back of his brain, put it away until the morning, and focused on the things he could do something about. His real job.

But even while he was pulling beers and telling Taylor
that no, the kitchen was closed tonight, get over it, part of him kept thinking about Deke's fear, and Parsifal's sad eyes and malnourished body, and the kind of person who could get off on hurting animals, and he couldn't let it go.

He wasn't an animal person. And he knew you couldn't save everyone, not even folks who got as far down on the scale as Deke. But he didn't like bullies, or abusers. The landlord might or might not have known what was going on, but there was no way that Parsifal had been the only animal down there, not with a kid showing up every day, not for five hundred dollars a month, not the way the space had smelled, days after it had probably been cleared out.

Those animals had been there for a reason, had disappeared to
somewhere,
for some reason. And he was pretty damned sure the reason didn't bode well for the dogs.

There had to be a trail, something that would lead to the actual culprits, clear Deke, and stop whatever was going on. They just had to
find
it.

Penny hesitated
once she left the Busy Place, sheltered by the shadow of the building. She watched Georgie padfoot away, her human and the puppy with her. The urge to follow them, to make sure they got home safe, was a sharp tug in Penny's whiskers. But Georgie was there: she wasn't always the quickest, but she was strong, and brave, and she had smelled the hurt-fear in the smaller dog, too, for all that the puppy was easily distracted by comfort and new sensations. Georgie knew to be on guard, protect the puppy.Penny had things to do, other things, important things.

Except . . . she didn't know how to do them. Uncertainty dragged at her fur, itched her paws: she was a hunter, listen and smell and quick-move-pounce. But the prey was too quiet for her to hear, too well hidden for her to see. She could
smell
it, hurt-fear and mean-sour, but that wasn't enough.

She leaped onto a fire escape ladder and made her way to the rooftop. A hunt like this needed quiet and moonlight for proper thinking.

Settled on a narrow ledge, her tail swished back and forth slowly while Penny thought. The humans had talked about other dogs, and bad men. About fighting. Dogs fighting.

Dogs fought for the right to make a den, or because they were afraid.

The puppy was afraid.

The answer was where the puppy had been.

But the place where the puppy came from was too far away, Georgie said they'd gone in the car for too long; she couldn't nose a trail, couldn't find it on her own. And the puppy was too young—too dumb—to tell them anything useful.

Humans were good at finding things, and stopping other humans from doing bad things. The older human smelled of fear, too. Fear, and the sadness like old dirt. Maybe he knew something? But then, why hadn't he told Theo and Ginny?

Her tail lashed again, and her eyes narrowed, ears alert. When a bird hid in the branches, when a mouse went under a leaf, you waited. Eventually, they moved. Penny just had to be patient.

6

I
t's cold.” The puppy was
shivering, brown eyes wide and doleful. Georgie tried to cuddle it closer, but she was awkward with the much smaller body, afraid she might crush it or something. Penny was smaller, but she was shaped differently, and draped over Georgie's paws rather than huddling. And she was Penny, who always knew what to do. Parsifal didn't know anything, and Georgie had been left alone, and she didn't know anything, either.

But the puppy was cold. “Come here,” she told him, curving her body so that the smaller dog fit against her chest. “It's all right.” They could get under the blanket, but Herself didn't like it when Georgie did that. Herself yelled and Georgie was a bad dog, and wasn't allowed to sleep on the bed that night. And Georgie didn't think that the floor would be warmer than the bed.

“Where are the others?”

“Ginny just went out for a while,” Georgie said. “It feels like forever but she comes back, she always comes back. And Penny is at the Busy Place, or out hunting, and Teddy . . .” Georgie paused. She wasn't actually sure where Teddy was. He had a den of his own, she'd been there once, and they were always taking her in the den-that-moved, but she didn't know
where
he was right now,
and she didn't like to say things she wasn't sure of.

“Others,” the puppy insisted, his tail flipping with frustration. He was too little to really be clear, and couldn't explain what he meant. Georgie, driven by instinct, licked the top of his head the way Penny did for her when she was upset, and the puppy flopped down again, his voice muffled by the blanket they were lying on. “Where are my others?”

Georgie knew she wasn't as smart as Penny, or even Ginny, but she wasn't dumb, either. “Oh, others! Littermates, you mean? There were other dogs with you, where you were?” The satisfaction of figuring out what Parsifal was talking about made her happy, but then she dropped her muzzle down in frustration. “I don't know, Parsi. I don't know where they are. But Ginny and Teddy will find them.” Georgie had faith in her humans. They could do
anything
. With a little help.

She needed to talk to Penny.

“Hey,” Max
said, halfway through their appetizers. “What's the deal, Ms. Fabulous? This is supposed to be our night out, away from jobs and significant others and all that, and you're . . . quiet. That's not the woman I know.”

“Sorry.” Ginny played with her fork, and then tried to smile at her friend. “I didn't quite leave the job in the office, I guess.”

“Same old Virginia Mallard, Overachiever.” That was funny, considering Max was just as much an overachiever, running his small catering company, if not more so. “So what's up? Clients getting to you?” Max leaned back and
gestured imperiously, clearly prepared to hear yet another hopefully entertaining rant about impossible demands and wildly improbable expectations. “C'mon, tell me, what're besties for? You were working on a cruise, right?”

Mrs. Mastello and her family of thirty-two, off on an Alaskan cruise, yeah. “Nah, they're sorted. At least until one cousin decides that she doesn't want to room with the other, or a grandkid's college exams require a different flight out, or . . .” She waved her own hand, her ­fingernails—blunt-filed and unpolished—flittering as though to say that was same-old-same-old. Ginny was in demand as a private concierge, sorting other people's plans and problems, not just because she was good at it, but because very little flustered her anymore. She just assumed that her clients would be unreasonable, and charged them accordingly. “No, it's not that. We, um, we took another case. Tonica and I, I mean.”

Max just looked at her, waiting for the rest of the story. She compared that—against her will—with the expression Rob had worn when she told him the same thing. Her boyfriend's face had gone from expectation, maybe amusement, to something else. Worry, maybe. Disappointment, certainly. He wasn't dumb enough to think that he could issue ultimatums—they wouldn't have lasted this long if he were—but he didn't shy away from voicing his opinions, either. And she respected that . . . most of the time.

“You know I don't talk about jobs when I'm still working them,” she said now.

“Yeah well, I thought you said you weren't sure if you
even wanted to continue with all that?”

“A friend needed help.” Although she wasn't sure Seth actually qualified as a friend; not really. Not hers, certainly, and maybe not Tonica's. But he'd asked, and neither of them had been able to say no.

Max had known her for years: they'd been in the same cubicle farm, before the company was bought and they were scattered to the wind. He knew better than to push—for now. “Too much to hope that you're not going to get shot at, or attacked by a giant cat, or arrested this time?”

Ginny thought about Parsifal, curled up on her pillow when she left the apartment this evening, Georgie asleep at the foot of the bed, and smiled. “No giant cats, I promise.”

Thinking about Deke's very real fear, and Seth's worries, she wasn't comfortable promising anything else. No guns would be ideal, and not getting arrested . . . well, they'd never actually gotten arrested, just scolded by people carrying badges. That wasn't the same thing at all.

But Max was right about one thing: she wasn't working tonight. Even overachievers needed down time. So she forced herself to pay attention, listening to Max's story about a client of his own, while hoping that the puppy hadn't torn her bedroom up too badly, or had an unfortunate accident. And she absolutely did not think about dogfights, or gangsters, or a man left confused and homeless because other people were jerking him around. . . .

Deke was on a string, she thought. Like a marionette, on someone else's stage. Was the landlord the player, or was he being played, too? And if so, who was pulling the
strings, and why?

“Gin.” She looked up, and Max was looking at her, his dark brown eyes kind, and a little amused. “You sure that's all that's bothering you? Nothing's wrong with you and wossisname, is it?”

“What? No.” She smiled, and let him catch her right hand, the one currently without a fork in it. His fingers were warm, and she thought again that she was fortunate in her friends. Just like Deke. “No, nothing's wrong there, except maybe me missing him. I promise.”

That was mostly true. Rob would either get over his reservations about her taking the job while he was away, or . . . or he wouldn't. They'd agreed to take on this job because Deke needed help. And the reality was that neither of them, not her or Tonica, was going to stop, or say no to someone in need. No matter how much they knew they probably should.

Teddy fully
intended to sleep in Sunday morning. When you didn't hit bed until nearly 2 a.m., feet and knees aching from standing all night, six hours of shut-eye was the bare minimum, and eight was better. Barely getting four, two nights in a row . . . sucked.

But the universe hadn't gotten the sleep-in memo, clearly, because his cell phone chimed well before it should have, the morning light still dawn-pale. He reached for the noise with his eyes still gummed with sleep, and his heart filled with thoughts of murder. Who
the hell was calling him? Maggie wouldn't dare call him now, not about the damned house, and Mallard texted. If it was a wrong number he was going to murder someone, God's own truth.

When his eyes could focus, he saw the time—6:40—and groaned, but accepted the call.

“Nothing's on fire, nobody's dead,” Seth said, his voice even more of a smoker's cough than usual.

“Then why are you calling me?” he growled, already feeling his brain waking up, because if Seth was calling him it had to be an emergency of some sort.

“Deke's disappeared. I woke up this morning, and he was gone.”

Teddy sighed, letting his head fall back on the pillow with a hard thump. “Goddamn it.”

“Teddy, we need to find him. He's going to do something stupid.”

“Yeah, I got that. All right, look, I'll call Jon in early, and between the three of you, you can cover today's shifts. You're dog in charge, all right? If Patrick calls, tell him
nothing
.”

“But I—”

“I need you to be at the bar. Don't worry, Seth. We're on it.”

He ended the call and stared at the ceiling, then texted Ginny, giving her the bare essentials and telling her he'd be there in an hour. Hopefully, she'd be awake, and not too badly hungover.

Or maybe he hoped she was. If he had to suffer,
everyone should.

He gave himself time for a shorter-than-normal run, just enough to get his blood moving and his skin sweaty, and then threw himself into the shower while the coffee brewed. The drive to her place was quick—for once there were no construction delays—and he slid the Saab into a barely legal parking space, double-timing it to her apartment.

It was only as he was coming out of the elevator on her floor that he remembered that she'd had plans last night. He wanted to meet the guy she was dating, but he kind of hoped he'd gone home already, assuming he'd stayed the night, because this was an awkward as hell way to introduce yourself.

Ginny met him at the door, fully dressed, awake, alert, and not too obviously hungover. “Seriously? Seriously? This was not supposed to be a missing persons case, Tonica.”

“It still isn't,” he said, following her inside. There was no sign of another person in the apartment.

She was staring at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression one of cool disbelief. That had been one of the things he'd liked about her, back when they first met: that cool, like she could play with the boys even wearing high heels and lipstick. It was the attitude, the “I can deal with this, don't try to bullshit me” vibe.

And never mind that he knew her tells now, too; knew that she wasn't anywhere near as cool as she wanted to be. “He's not missing,” he went on. “He's running away from
home. Or not-home.”

“Oh, because that's so much better.” Her hazel eyes were filled with scorn, but he could see the worry underneath—the same worry he was feeling. “What the hell was Seth thinking, to let him walk out like that?”

She'd dropped down onto the sofa while she was talking, legs pulled up under her, and was tapping her fingers against her leg. He looked down and saw Georgie and Parsifal sprawled together under the table, the remains of toasted bagels and cream cheese scattered on the table's surface. Only one mug, so no mystery boyfriend today.

“He was thinking Deke was a grown man who can't be kept under house arrest?” He was trying to keep his tone mild, for his own sake as well as hers.

That got a snort, and a look. “Seth should have known him better. Hell, I barely know the guy and I know better.”

“All right, yeah.” He admitted defeat on that one. “I don't know what he was thinking except he can't stay awake twenty-four-seven and guard the guy, Gin.”

And now, even though Seth had sworn he'd cover for him at Mary's, Teddy was pretty damned sure that Seth was out there looking, taking his old Honda CB750 around town to all the haunts he thought Deke might run to, the places he might hide.

“We're not going to find him,” he said to Ginny, taking a seat in the armchair opposite the sofa. He was pissed, almost as pissed as Ginny, but he'd had time to cool down and think it through on the drive over. “And there's no point in us worrying about what he might or might not be
doing, because we can't know. We need to stay on the case. Find out what's going on, ideally before that idiot makes it worse.”

Parsifal came out from under the table and tried to chew on the end of his bootlace. Teddy lifted him away with one hand, but when the puppy came right back, he let him. “We don't know his hideouts, his bolt-holes. We'll let Seth look; he'll call us if he hears anything.” He hoped. “Does he have your number?”

She gave him another look; he was collecting the entire set today. “Why would Seth have my number?”

“Right.” And Seth didn't have a cell phone, so there was no point in texting it to him. “So I'm contact person. Once the bar's open, I'll call Stacy and bring her up to speed.” And warn her about not talking to Patrick, too.

“I feel bad, dragging her into this,” Ginny said.

“Don't. She's enjoying it, trust me.”

Ginny seemed to accept the truth of that. “Do you think we should call that guy, Zimmerman, see if he knows where Deke might go?”

“No.” Teddy's reaction to that was immediate. “And you got his number? I thought you were in a relationship?”

“I always get people's business cards,” she said primly. “It's just basic networking. You never know who might need my services . . . or vice versa. But yeah, you're right. He seemed like a good guy, but not high on Deke's confessional list. Odds are he wouldn't have any more idea where to look than we do—and he obviously didn't know what was going on in the house.” She sighed. “So we stick with
what we were doing, chasing down who was actually behind the dogs being there—and who took them?”

“And why, yeah. I think so. But carefully,” Teddy said. “Everything Deke said, it sounds like the people involved are unpleasant, to say the least. And now that we've started poking the nest . . .”

They investigated crimes, yeah, but mostly the jobs had been reasonably benign: looking for a missing person, or missing money. They'd gotten surprised by the violence before, and somehow, weirdly, that made it okay. Going in
knowing
that there was violence lurking underneath, that was different. It was stupidity aforethought.