Chapter 1 Read online

  “Not the kind who get themselves interrogated by federal marshals and drug enforcement agents.” I felt grubby and grouchy. I ran my hands through my flattened hair trying to fluff it up.

  Now Nick assumed the role of grand inquisitor. “Your turn. What about Philip?”

  Uh-oh. Did he know? Of course not. How could he?

  I tried not to sound defensive. “What about Philip? You mean does Philip use drugs? No, he does not.”

  “No, I mean what does your perfect Philip do?”

  Was that a hint of jealousy in his voice? Okay, he’d asked for it, so I laid it on thick.

  “For one thing, he doesn’t have run-ins with the law. He’s…well, he’s very sweet…and handsome. Blond hair, brown eyes. He’s intelligent, educated, and he loves me.”

  Nick laughed. “I mean, what does he do for a living?”

  “Oh, he’s…he’s got a private income.” I knew I was making Philip sound like a milquetoast, but I wasn’t going to lie.

  “You mean he’s out of work.”

  “He doesn’t have to work.”

  “Sounds lazy to me.”

  “Think what you want. He’s good for me, and he loves me for myself, not—” I broke off before I said too much. The less of my background Nick knew the better.

  We didn’t talk much after that. At my insistence we hadn’t taken time to eat before we left New Orleans, and both our stomachs were growling so loud you could hear them over the roar of the plane’s engines. That and sleep deprivation had us both on edge.

  By the time Nick pulled the BMW into the circular driveway at Casa del Lago, his brown shirt could have served as body double for a shar-pei, and I still had a crease in my face from using my purse as a pillow.

  The overpriced toothbrush kit I’d bought from a vending machine and my efforts at cleaning up in the FBO bathroom left a lot to be desired. All I could think about was food, shower, and sleep.

  Nick left the engine running. “I’m going to drop you off here. I’ve got some business I need to take care of in town.”

  He was going to dump me out and leave me to face Carmen alone? I made no move to get out. “What about Carmen? You will be back to explain to her what happened, won’t you?”

  “I’ve already explained it all on the phone. Besides, you told me you could take care of yourself, remember?” He gave me a mock salute.

  I shot him a searing look, grabbed my purse, and yanked open the door. “Fine. Thanks for everything.”

  He drove off without looking back. I stood in the driveway, watching as the BMW faded into the distance. The fragrant morning air was filled with the scent of roses and freshly mown grass. I breathed deeply. Lucky for me, it was too early for Carmen to be up, so I headed for my apartment, thankful I didn’t have to face her just yet.

  I was almost to the pool when I heard someone running behind me, breathing heavily. The feds. The feds had followed us to Waco and were after me again. I spun around, ready to declare my innocence one more time. To point the finger at Nick. Couldn’t they have waited till I’d had a shower and some breakfast?

  “Julie! Wait!” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. It was Berto, not the feds. But this was not the debonair Berto I’d met before. This Berto’s hair stuck out in all directions, and his clothes were rumpled like mine, as if he’d slept in them. And he claimed the dogs were ruining his sex life?

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  My mouth grew drier, my palms wetter.

  Back in New Orleans, Agent Solomon had flashed a badge first, but Berto’s next demand was the same.

  “Come with me.”

  Chapter Six

  Carmen stood on the patio, her hair loose, a few dark wisps clinging to her tear-stained face. Her long white cotton nightgown was streaked with dirt. Her tiny feet, bare.

  “Noche! Come, Noche!” she cried, her eyes frantic.

  “Get inside,” Berto said, teeth clenched.

  Instead, Carmen grabbed his arm, her face contorted with grief. He brushed her off, opened the back door, and herded us inside. Without the scowl, he would have made a great border collie.

  Carmen turned to me. “Julie, you’ve got to help.”

  Berto snorted. “She was supposed to be helping you yesterday. You expect her to help you now?” He shot me a look that made me want to hunker down and whimper.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Nick can explain.”

  “Never mind that,” Carmen wailed. “Noche is gone!”

  “What do you mean, gone?” I searched their faces for some explanation.

  Carmen slumped to the floor. “Berto put him out. And now he’s gone.”

  Berto reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Carmen. Enough of the drama queen routine.” She hung over his arm like a drunk on a dance floor.

  “Is it true?” I asked him.

  He ran a hand through his hair, while trying to extricate himself from Carmen. “I’ve put him out before, and he never goes far. The property is partially fenced. But it’s a big area.”

  Carmen moaned. “He’s been gone over an hour. And this time is different. You didn’t just put him out. You yelled Out! Out!” She pushed away from Berto, grabbed my arm, and pointed a quivering finger at him. “He talked to Noche like he was…like he was…a dog!” She leaned against me and began to sob.

  I could see I would have to be the voice of reason. I silently cursed Nick for not being here to help me deal with this crisis. Berto had a point. If I’d been here where I was supposed to be, maybe none of this would have happened. Though Nick couldn’t have controlled the fog, it was his fault we’d ended up stranded in New Orleans. But right now, more important issues were at stake.

  I hugged Carmen and frowned at Berto. “Look, let’s find Noche, and then you can fire me if you want. The longer he’s gone, the less likely our chances of finding him.” I almost added alive. “You say he’s been gone an hour?”

  Berto and Carmen exchanged glances; Berto checked his watch. “Maybe a little longer.”

  “The first twenty-four hours are crucial.” I’d picked up this bit of trivia from a TV program about missing persons.

  Carmen pulled away from me. “Twenty-four hours? We have to find him now!” She squinched her eyes and wrinkled her nose as if in pain. Then, suddenly, she straightened her back and opened her eyes wide. “I know! We can let Blanco out. She can find him.”

  “Not a good idea. Then you might end up with two missing dogs. Unless you put her on a leash.” I looked up at Berto. “Where does Noche usually go when you let him out?”

  “Just around here. Close to the house. Or out there by the trees.” Berto swept his arm out toward the lake. “He’s never out for long. And never out of my sight.”

  “Well, he’s out of your sight now!” Carmen shouted. “And all because you…you…”

  “I’m going to start looking,” I said. “Let’s hope he knows me well enough by now he’ll come if I call.” I knew this was expecting a lot, since we had yet to master the recall command, but Noche did come to Carmen most of the time. I grabbed her arms, forcing her to look at me. “Tell Ramón to start looking. Get everyone else in the house to search. Call the neighbors if you know them. Call animal control, give them a description, and ask if they’ve picked him up.” I unclipped the shoulder strap from my purse. “I can use this as a leash if I find him.” I dropped my purse to the ground. “If we don’t find him in the next hour, we’ll call the Humane Society, all the vets in town, post signs, and run an ad in the newspaper offering a reward. Don’t worry. We will find him.”

  With that, I trotted off toward the area where we’d worked out the day before. I tried to think like a dog. What would I do if my master yelled at me and told me to get out? Where would I go? How long would I even remember I’d been yelled at? Dogs lived in the present. They usually ran if someone or something chased them or they found something to chase. They sniffed, they peed, they rooted around looking for someth
ing nasty smelling to roll in. But in the course of all the peeing and rooting, they wandered. I just hoped Noche hadn’t run.

  “Noche!” I called, then stopped to listen. After being around Carmen, I halfway expected him to answer back. She anthropomorphized her dogs more than I did Philip. I slowed to a fast walk, keeping my eyes on the ground in case Noche was trapped or unconscious. In the distance, I could hear Carmen and Berto calling his name.

  At one point, I crossed paths with Ramón. He shook his head when he saw me and said, “No find.” We moved on in separate directions.

  Maybe Noche had headed for the swimming pool or the lake. Poodles were originally hunting dogs, bred to retrieve waterfowl, not foo-foo French dogs with weird hairdos and shaved body parts. Poodle was actually a derivative of the German word for puddle, pudel. I crossed my fingers, hoping if Noche headed for water, he’d remember his German roots and stay afloat.

  “Noche!” I called. “Come, Noche!” I stopped to listen, but all I heard were birds twittering. A squirrel clung to the side of a tree, swishing his bushy tail and eyeing me suspiciously.

  I made a large arc and headed toward the lake to check the shoreline, just in case. As I neared the guesthouse from the lake side, I realized it was even larger than I’d initially thought. Because of the dense foliage and trees, most of what I’d seen had been confined to the area near my front door. But there was more. Much more. In fact, the guesthouse was like an el-shaped duplex grandioso—the other half, an entire wing, a mirror image of my own. I walked the length of it, wondering why the Espositos had built two large adjoining houses by the lake when they already had a palatial mansion on top of the hill. I mentally doubled the square footage of my portion and calculated the entire guesthouse must consist of almost four thousand square feet of living space. Just call me Peeping Julie, but I crept toward a window and tried to peer in through a gap in the drapes on the other side. Unfortunately, it was too dark inside to see anything. I began walking the perimeter, looking for Noche.

  “Noche,” I called, then waited. The lake was gray and still as death. I shuddered, thinking about Noche trapped beneath the surface, tangled in debris. Though all dogs, with the exception of basset hounds, were natural swimmers, they could drown. Or what if Noche had been bitten by a water moccasin?

  As I rounded the end of the building, I noticed a dark shape resembling a lawn and leaf bag on my front porch. Inching closer, I realized it was Noche. He wasn’t moving. I imagined him hurt, crawling onto my porch for shelter. Dying alone. Tears pricked my eyes at the thought of it.

  “Noche?” I said tentatively. His head popped up, his dark eyes met mine, and he began to wag a very wet tail. I rushed to him and wrapped my arms around him and squeezed, not caring about the mud or wet leaves that clung to his fur. “Noche! Good boy! Good boy! You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”

  Judging from his coat, he’d taken an early morning swim in the lake. His paws were caked with mud, and his coat curled in tiny corkscrews. Unfluffed, he closely resembled a giant Chihuahua.

  “Good boy,” I told him over and over, wanting him to know if he ever got loose again he could come to my door. He stood up and shook himself, spraying water and mud and muck and leaves. I didn’t care. “Good boy.” Because I was praising him, he looked expectantly at my right hand. To Noche it wasn’t a hand but a treat dispenser. Damn. I’d left my purse and the treats back at the big house. Not willing to take the chance he might opt for another swim, I hooked my purse strap to his collar and led him inside, too relieved to care about the mess he’d make. I rewarded him with half a fat-free wiener. He gulped it down whole, then licked my hand.

  After drying him off the best I could with one of Carmen’s designer towels, I mustered my courage to face the Espositos again. Even though I’d found their dog—or he’d found me—I doubted my next encounter with them would be pleasant. I felt stuck in the middle of The War of the Roses.

  “I’ve got him! I found him!” I called as I neared the back of the big house, Noche trotting beside me.

  The door burst open and Carmen ran out and fell to the ground, wrapping her arms around Noche’s neck. She covered his wet face with kisses as if they were two reunited lovers, while Berto stood on the back patio and watched, his eyes expressionless.

  “He’s back. Crisis over,” he said in a cavalier tone.

  Carmen stiffened, and her dark eyes turned fiery. “How can you be so…so calm about it? Noche could have died, and all you can say is crisis over?”

  Berto’s mouth tightened. “It’s more proof the dogs are out of control. And you”—he pointed at me—”were supposed to train them.”

  His use of past tense and the pointing put me on the defensive. I took a deep breath, trying to hold back my anger but not succeeding. “I am training them, but it doesn’t happen overnight. How could I have known Nick was taking me to New Orleans? He told me it would be a short flight. Then those federal agents cornered me, and then the fog rolled in. Talk to Nick. He can explain everything.”

  Berto blanched at the mention of federal agents. “I think you’re right. It sounds as if I do need to talk to Nick.”

  I thought about the package Nick had picked up at the hotel. Was it really for Carmen? Could it be for Berto? But if it had been drugs, wouldn’t the ICE men have found it?

  Now that Carmen had Noche back, her plucky personality returned. “Tell her what happened this morning,” she told Berto, her voice commanding. “Maybe she can help.”

  She turned to me, her eyes imploring. “Tell Berto you can help, please.”

  My pluck had also returned. “I’m doing all I can to help. But I need more time. It’s barely been a week.”

  Berto’s dark brows drew together. “That means you have a little more than three weeks left.”

  I looked at him, my face impassive, my tone businesslike. “Tell me exactly what happened. Why did you yell at Noche?”

  Minutes before, he’d been angry with me. Now he looked embarrassed. He squirmed and shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Tell her, Berto,” Carmen said flatly.

  He looked at Carmen, then at me. Then, without warning, he deflated like a blow-up toy, his swagger gone. “The dogs were in the bedroom with us as usual. Carmen read somewhere that the pack stays together at night, so the dogs sleep on the bed with us. I’m a big guy, and believe me, it gets pretty crowded with a wife and two poodles, even in a king-sized bed. Like sleeping with three grown people. Anyway, this morning...” He hesitated, pulled on his ear, and looked at Carmen as if asking permission to stop.

  “Tell her,” she said. “It wasn’t as bad as you made it seem.”

  Berto took a deep breath and avoided eye contact. “Carmen and I were…we were…we were trying to make love when Noche…he tried—”

  “I think I get the picture,” I said. How could I forget Noche hugging Carmen? This morning, Noche evidently had a ménage in mind, but not a ménage à trois.

  It got worse.

  “He growled at me,” Berto said, color rising to his cheeks.

  Uh-oh. Noche wanted Carmen all for himself.

  I held up a hand for Berto to stop before he became too angry to listen. “Let me try to explain it from Noche’s point of view. As I’ve told Carmen, Noche is now a teenager, with the same urges as most teenage boys.”

  “Yes, Berto, try to think back,” Carmen said.

  I gave her a sharp glance, hoping she’d take the hint and hush. If she wasn’t careful, Berto would storm out, and I’d be in the doghouse for sure.

  I continued my explanation, hoping he’d ignore her comment. “I’ve tried to explain this to Carmen. You see, in Noche’s eyes—I don’t know a delicate way to put this—but…well, in his eyes, Carmen is his woman.”

  Berto’s face turned a lighter shade of tan. “His woman?”

  “I know it sounds a little perverse, but Noche doesn’t know he’s a dog. He has run of the house; he’s sleeping in your bed. In Noche�
�s eyes, you’re the usurper. His competition. Think about it. You’re gone most of the time. When you are here, Noche thinks you’re the one moving in on his territory.”

  I had a feeling if it had been another man in the picture, Berto would have known how to deal with it. Instead, he’d almost been cuckolded by a dog. That was mighty hard for a man like Berto, maybe any man, to acknowledge.

  Berto slumped into one of the patio chairs and put his head in his hands, trying to digest the information. Finally, he raised his head, a look of amazement on his face. “My honor has been compromised.”

  He looked serious. I hoped he didn’t have a gun.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Maybe I could head him off at the pass.

  Berto’s eyes filled with hope. “Yes, we need to get rid of him. Both of them. You agree with me now, don’t you?”

  “Both of us!” Carmen screeched. “Get rid of both of us!”

  “Not you,” he said to Carmen. “I meant both dogs.”

  “Noooooooo!” Carmen howled.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, stalling, because I doubted they’d accept my recommendations willingly. “There’s a better solution.”

  Berto looked doubtful. “What could be better?”

  I looked him directly in the eye, and my voice didn’t waver. “First of all, you need to keep the dogs off the bed and out of the bedroom. Allowing them to sleep with you makes them think they’re your equals. It won’t hurt them to spend the night in another room. They have each other for company. Or you can crate them in the bedroom.”

  Carmen switched to her whiny voice. “But they’ve always slept with us.”

  How could I make her understand? I took a deep breath and massaged the back of my neck. I needed sleep. I needed food. I needed a shower. “Sleeping with them is a big part of your problem.” I paused, wondering how they’d take my next suggestion. I lowered my voice a notch. “There’s something else you should seriously consider.”