Challenging Matt. Julianna Morris
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up his face and using his eyes with the skill of a silent-screen actress. It was why Connor had picked him as a puppy.
“It’s very thoughtful of you, boy, but that belongs to someone else. Aunt Dee doesn’t take the paper. Did you go for a walk with someone and get away?” The girl’s voice was amused, coming clearly through the radio receiver in Connor’s ear.
Finn yipped again. “It’s all right, I’m harmless.” She held out her hand. “Give me a sniff. I probably smell like my aunt’s cat, but JoJo is okay with dogs as long as they let him be the boss.”
Finnster allowed himself to be coaxed and was soon on his back, legs waving in the air as he got his tummy rubbed, along with the place behind his ears that turned him into mush. He was in canine heaven.
Rolling his eyes, Connor belatedly lifted his camera and began shooting pictures.
“What have you got there, Lani?” he heard another voice ask a minute later.
Startled, Connor realized he’d missed Dorothy Hudson’s arrival. Damn it all, he couldn’t afford to get soft. He eased down in the driver’s seat to be less visible and continue taking photos. Since Layne McGraw had seen him the day she’d come to talk to Matt, she might recognize his face if she got a good look in his direction.
“He’s a marshmallow, Aunt Dee,” Layne declared. “His owner probably took him out for a run and he got away. See? He’s dragging a leash and brought us somebody else’s newspaper. Maybe the house looks like his home.”
“What a good boy.” The newcomer added to the caresses Finn was receiving.
If possible, the rottweiler melted further, wriggling along the flagstone driveway to position himself equally between them. His hind legs were even paddling, a sure sign of his pure and complete surrender.
Connor flipped through the Davidson file and found a picture of Dorothy Hudson. The woman petting his dog was just as beautiful as the woman in the photo, though her smile didn’t have the same merry quality. In fact, something about that sad smile reminded him of his sister back in Ireland, who’d never really gotten over her husband’s death.
“What should we do about him?” Layne asked, drawing Connor’s attention. His instincts told him that Layne McGraw and her aunt were decent people, an opinion Finnster would certainly endorse. Yet even decent people did strange things, and they could make serious trouble with the best of intentions.
“Let’s see if he has a license tag.”
Time for their exit strategy. Connor lifted a dog whistle to his mouth—it was outside the audible range for humans—and blew three short blasts, followed by another two.
What the...?
Connor stared. The bloody animal barely twitched an ear, instead he reached out a leg and pawed Layne McGraw’s knee. He was utterly ignoring the command to leave...the toughest guard dog in the state, with highly specialized and unique training, had been corrupted by a pretty girl and her aunt.
Connor sent the command again and Finn finally scrambled to his feet, cocking his head as if he’d heard something.
He barked twice, looking intently down the street and dashed away before the two women could grab his leash.
Scowling, Connor drove after him. Two blocks away he stopped, leaned over and opened the passenger door. Finn climbed in, panting from running, tongue happily hanging from one side of his mouth.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Connor scolded. “Do you have nothing but fur between those ears?”
Finn didn’t appear abashed. He settled down with a pleased sigh and wagged his tail the way any other dog remembering a treat would wag—certainly not like an animal that had been schooled to follow whistled commands without question. The first time those commands were given.
Connor wasn’t superstitious, but he couldn’t help wondering if the whole thing was an omen.
Perhaps the McGraw woman and her aunt were going to be an even bigger problem than he’d anticipated.
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