Page 37 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

And I couldn’t deny, expecting judges to always do the right thing was optimistic, even for me.

I couldn’t promise her a win in court. All I could do was say, “Hey, if it comes to that? If they say you have to go back? Brooklyn and I won’t give up.

” I took a breath and promised recklessly, “If they ship you home, we’ll show up there and get you loose. One way or another. Law or no law.”

“You can’t say that. And you’re the one saying we have to talk to the cops.”

“Because it’s your best shot. And we obey the law, almost always. Except when our conscience says no.” I took a breath. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure?” She took her eyes off the whirling emergency lights to look my way.

“A few years back, there was this local guy who had two Dobermans he kept on his business property as guard dogs. He used to abuse them to make them mean. People nearby knew it, and one of the neighbors recorded some stuff and called in the cops for animal cruelty.”

“Good!” Cheyenne said fiercely.

“Yeah. Except when it went to court, the recording was ineligible as evidence and the neighbor changed his story. I think the bastard threatened him. So he got the dogs back. No consequences.”

“This isn’t making me feel better.”

“You’re too tough to let Harvey intimidate you and all three of us were there,” I reassured her.

“But the moral of the story is that those two Dobermans vanished from the property a week later. The guy never found a trace of them. He raged and blustered but no one knew anything. So he put in cameras and bought an expensive pair of so-called-trained Presa Canarios. And guess what?”

“What?”

“Those Presa Canarios somehow dug under the fence and escaped and were never seen again. And now he just has his cameras and a lot of old Beware of Dog signs.”

“All right!” She eyed me. “Did you have something to do with that?”

“Me?” I set a hand on my chest and smirked. “If I happen to know someone down in San Diego who rehabilitated a pair of abused Dobermans, and I have a friend who knows camera angles and I’m also good at digging? Pure coincidence.”

“Sure it is.”

“The Presas took some work to place safely,” I admitted.

“I’d have preferred to get more evidence and use the courts, but every day he had those dogs was a day they became more traumatized, and they were scary big.

A hundred and thirty pounds apiece.” The crimson and gold grew brighter overhead and the world was settling down a bit.

I tried a tentative step and didn’t fall over. “Come on. Let’s head back.”

“Don’t wanna,” she muttered but she walked at my side as I hobbled toward home, my leg on fire but the dizziness easing.

Twain and Eb kept Sadie between them, and she seemed to be doing okay, sticking close to her buddies.

“Should we take Sadie to the vet now?” Cheyenne asked. “That might be urgent, right? If Harvey hurt her.”

“Looking for more escapes?” I shook my head.

“She’s walking okay, breathing okay, she’s alert, she took treats.

I’ll check her over later, but right now what she needs is less handling, less trauma.

” Same as you, I thought, but I couldn’t protect the girl in the same way.

“We’ll go in the side gate and leave the dogs in the yard for now.

” I could give her one more minute to prepare.

We coded through the outer gate lock and then opened the inner gate. I set Twain loose, and bent to unhook Sadie’s leash. She eyed me but didn’t snap as I unclipped her, just scampered after the beagle across the grass. Eb galumphed behind them.

“We’ll give them some decompression time,” I told Cheyenne. “Come on.”

When we slid the patio door open, a bunch of people turned to us. Brooklyn, four cops, and to my surprise, Wynn Cavannah.

Brooklyn leaped to his feet. “Did you find Sadie?”

“Safe in the backyard,” I told him.

“Oh, thank God.”

His eyes met mine, and I really wanted to cross the room and fold him into a hug. Maybe get a hug too, because I was not in great shape. This wasn’t the time, though. We had to focus on Cheyenne. “Cheyenne caught her. She was brilliant,” I said, because every bit of praise had to help.

“Cheyenne West?” the female deputy said. “I need to take a statement from you. Is there somewhere private you feel safe?”

“My room?” Cheyenne glanced at us. “Can Brooklyn and Arthur come?”

“Sorry. We need your independent statement.”

“I, however, will come along as her attorney,” Wynn said. “That’s why Mr. West sent for me. If that’s all right with you, Cheyenne?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She hadn’t moved from her spot a foot inside the door.

I stuck my head back out and called, “Ebony, come!” When the big dog trotted over I brought him inside, closing the door on the other two. “Here, Cheyenne, take Eb with you too. He’ll lick the mouth of anyone who’s mean to you.”

That got me a twitch of a smile, but she took his collar in a tight grip.

“Just don’t let him on the bed,” I added. “Lead on.” I waved toward the hallway. Best for her to get this over with.

Cheyenne raised her chin and coaxed Eb with her toward her room, while the female deputy and Wynn followed her.

The oldest male cop said, “She’ll be okay. Deputy Rampersad is great.”

“Thank you.” I took one careful step after another, leaning on my cane, until I could ease down onto the sofa. The groan I let out as I took my weight off my leg was nearly orgasmic, and I saw Brooklyn’s lips twitch before he hurried over.

“Did you hurt yourself? Is it bleeding?” He knelt by my feet.

“I don’t think so. I’m fine, just a bit more exercise than my doctor recommended.”

“I texted you to stay away, you and Cheyenne.” Brooklyn’s tone took on a bit of bite.

“You did?” I rolled my ass to one side to dig out my phone. The screen was blank, free of notifications, even after I touched my way in. “I don’t see—” As I spoke, the phone pinged. “1 new message.” The time said, “1 min.” I opened it and sure enough, —Don’t come home…—

I laughed helplessly and turned it for Brooklyn to see. “The risk of counting on technology. Although, Brooklyn?” I met his eyes. “I’d never make you face Harvey alone, and I’d bet Cheyenne wouldn’t either.”

“I wanted you to keep her safe.”

“He had you pinned up against the door. You deserve to be safe too.”

The oldest cop said, “And on that note, we need to take your statement too, Mr. Bjornsson. If there’s a space we can use?”

Brooklyn pushed to his feet and set a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t move, Arthur.” He frowned at the cop. “You can take his statement right here. I’ll go to the kitchen and, um, fetch him an ice pack. Because he was shot, in case you don’t remember, and he’s still healing.”

The cop sat in the armchair and looked at me. “I do remember. Two violent incidents in less than a month, Mr. Bjornsson? Is there a pattern there?” He sounded curious, not accusing, but still, Aaaaargh. No. Pure coincidence.

I took a breath, preparing my answer, and Brooklyn sucked air through clenched teeth before stomping off to the kitchen to fetch me some sweet relief.