Page 39 of The Shop on Hidden Lane

“Looks sort of like one of those dogs the military uses,” the attendant said.

“Yes, he does,” Luke said. “I’ll put the vehicle in the garage myself. You can take my wife’s suitcase.”

Sophy automatically opened her mouth to correct him—she was not his wife—but belatedly remembered their cover. She closed her mouth and smiled at the attendant.

“No problem,” the attendant said, oblivious. He hurried around to the other side of the SUV and opened Sophy’s door.

“Thanks,” she said.

She reached into the rear seat, grabbed her trench coat and tote, and climbed out. Bruce followed.

“I’m afraid the dog will have to be on a leash, Ms. Ainsley,” the attendant said.

Sophy looked back at Luke. “Uh, do you—?”

“Here you go,” Luke said from behind the wheel. He reached into the console and retrieved a pink, rhinestone-studded collar and a dainty matching leash. “You’ll need these.”

She caught the leash and collar, looked at Bruce, who was sniffing around the base of a nearby fountain, and then turned back to Luke.

“Where in the world did you get this stuff?” she hissed. “It’s ridiculous for a dog like Bruce.”

“Talk to Bruce. He’s the one who picked it out in the pet supply store.”

“I thought you said Bruce didn’t like being on a leash.”

“Tell him it’s a formal occasion. I’ll park the car and meet you in the lobby.”

He put the SUV in gear and drove past the entrance before she could respond.

Sophy winced. “Uh, Bruce, this is a formal occasion. Do you mind?”

She had no idea what she would do if Bruce ignored her, but he didn’t. He left the fountain and trotted back to where she stood. He waited patiently while she attached the glittery pink collar and dainty leash.

“Good dog,” she whispered. “Thanks for not being difficult about this.”

Bruce did not actually shrug but he somehow managed to send the message that he was okay with doing her a favor.

The attendant grabbed her suitcase and headed toward the lobby door. She clutched the end of the leash and started after him. Bruce fell into step beside her. They were walking past the fountain when she felt the hair on the back of her neck lift. The icy little frisson of awareness sparked across her nerves.

She stopped and glanced around, trying to see what had pinged her senses. Bruce halted and looked up with an inquiring expression.

When she saw nothing that appeared menacing or unsettling, she started to walk forward again.

Another ping sent a shiver of awareness through her. And not in a good way.

The chill of wrongness was coming from the fountain.

The focal point of the feature was an abstract sculpture that sent sprays of water cascading into the pool. A constantly shifting aurora of different-colored lights transformed the miniature falls into liquid jewels—emeralds, sapphires, amethysts.

Pretty, she thought. But that was not what intrigued her. She took a couple of steps closer—and got the ping again. Sharper this time. She was picking up a whisper of focused energy. It gave hera little buzz, but there was a dark side to what should have been an effervescent flutter.

This is way off. You should not be feeling this way.

“Ms. Ainsley?” the attendant said. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “I just want to take a closer look at the fountain. It’s a very interesting piece of art. I’ll meet you inside.”

“Okay.”