The next morning, Marlo put an hour aside to prepare for a magazine interview she’d been asked to give. This was a part of the job she wasn’t comfortable with, but CRAR was always in need of publicity to assist with their fundraising efforts and right now, dog rescue appeared to be a hot topic. Normally these interviews were for pet-based magazines and blogs, but this particular story was for a lifestyle magazine with a very large circulation. She still couldn’t get her head around how rescuing dogs was going to be a good editorial fit, but that wasn’t her concern.

Keeping her private life, well, private was paramount. She found it easy to gloss over any difficult questions with a mundane sort of bio. Being the person who rescued her, Mae knew the truth about her upbringing and teenage years, and Marlo suspected some of the hierarchy in CRAR also knew. A reason she was so well-respected with CRAR was her knack for discretion, particularly for cases like Justice’s. The CRAR board, she knew, reciprocated accordingly.

There was that pull of a smile. She’d had dinner with a policeman. Wow. That was a large demon she’d beat down. He hadn’t tried to manipulate her or coerce her. Her seventeen-year-old self had allowed that to happen and no policeman, no other man would do that to her again. So now she had to think of Adam as a person, not a policeman.

Illogical as it seemed, the deep-set fear caged within her was the basis of her life’s motivation, the thing upon which all her decisions were made. Mostly she kept it smothered beneath a dense pillow of hard work. That was the problem with damaged people. They survived by being emotional liars because it was impossible to build an honest façade. That was why she understood how to break and cure a damaged dog. One day, someone might break and cure her.

Wouldn’t that make Mae happy?

With Fala at her side she headed down to the kennels to check on the new interns. The old dog didn’t always come down to the office, preferring these days to spend her retirement in the yard, where she could shift from sunbathing to shade without being bothered by the noise and chaos at the kennels and barn.

“You know a journalist is coming today, don’t you? Little supermodel wannabe! One last magazine spread, is that what you’re after?”

Fala wagged her tail and broke into a run to prove she was still as spritely as the rest of them. She pulled up when they approached the kennels and went to lie in the dappled light beneath a large white oak.

Marlo found Lulah in the food preparation kitchen, addressing the interns. “Initially you’re going to spend so much time cleaning out kennels you’ll think you are on some sort of prison detail.”

Go Lulah!

“But we have fun, too. I hope you can all ride a bike…” She waited. “Can you all ride a bike? Hello? Did the mothership only drop off bodies today, or did they come with personalities, because I’m not hearing anything…”

Low murmurs seemed to indicate they were familiar with bikes.

“That’s better. Hope I don’t have to coax every response out of you because that could become a little bit tiresome. As I was saying, we have fun here, too, and most summer days around mid-afternoon we all grab a bike and head off with a bunch of dogs to the lake. If you want to bring your swim things, you’re most welcome to join the dogs.”

Marlo waited as the group disbanded to their duties. One of the guys held back then approached Lulah. When he’d finished, Lulah gave the guy a quick appraisal, a visual body sweep before saying something and turning away. The tightness of the guy’s shoulders suggested he was annoyed.

As Lulah joined her, Marlo asked, “Is someone not getting his own way?”

Lulah gave her a quick nudge on the arm. “Aw, you’re good, boss. Got it in one. That’s Jarrod. He’s an unusual character. Anyway, he says he doesn’t want to ride a bike so I told him he could jog to the dam instead.”

Marlo nearly choked. “Lulah, you’ve seen the shape of him. If you make him jog to the dam in this heat you’ll probably kill him.”

“The exercise will do him good.”

“It’s not boot camp.”

“Okay, he can walk. Quickly. It’s just…there’s something odd about him.”

“Odd? Like what?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. He’s inquisitive, asks lots of questions, but it’s weird. It’s more like he’s nosy rather than trying to learn. And he’s odd with the dogs. I almost get the feeling he doesn’t like them.” She shrugged and smiled. “It’s probably me.”

“Keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, boss!” Lulah saluted and clicked her heels.

Marlo laughed and watched Lulah set off to wrangle the interns. “Lulah?”

“Boss?”

“Remember, it’s not boot camp.”

Marlo walked away, smiling at what she imagined the interns would be thinking about a casual bike ride down to the dam. Lulah tended to ignore the simple track, choosing to take the less-groomed route that allowed her to practice her mountain biking skills. Perhaps Jarrod merely had well-honed clairvoyance when he said he didn’t want to use a bike.

She made a note to remind Lulah that she must show them the option of the easier bike track. One broken arm or concussion and they would be eating lawsuit-on-toast for breakfast. The problem with Lulah was that she was completely fearless.

As Marlo approached the office, she saw the journalist had arrived early and was poking about. Not only that, she’d brought a photographer with her, something which was usually pre-arranged. CRAR had its own contracted photographer for a very good reason. The usual form was to provide stock images for the re-hash stories or find out from a particular editorial department what their image requirements were and provide that for them.

She startled the journalist when she approached and saw the photographer was rummaging in his bag on the floor by the filing cabinet. “Oh, hello, you’re early.”

The journalist gave a small laugh, stepping towards her with an extended hand. “Janine Stockton, pleased to meet you.”

Marlo took hold of the woman’s dry hand. Nerves had already dampened her own. “Marlo Croft,” she replied.

Releasing her grip, Janine continued, “If you’re not ready for us, Clarke here can get a few more photos, some background shots.”

“More photos?” Her stomach flipped. If they had come across Justice she was in big trouble. She turned to the photographer. “Can you show me what you’ve got, please?”

His glance flicked to the journalist before he flashed an easy grin at Marlo. “Sure, sweetie.”

The dislike was instant. With a skittering gaze that took in an inventory of the office he shuffled in close. Leaning against her shoulder he lifted the camera to let her view the images. Marlo could smell his stale breath and inclined her head away. He scrolled through the shots with rapid flicks and she was relieved to see that he did not appear to have captured anything controversial.

“If you’ve got something to hide, I haven’t found it.” His laugh was as insincere as his words.

Marlo ignored the comment. Give them the interview and get them off the property. From the filing cabinet, she drew out a spiral-bound book that gave a background on CRAR and her particular setup. “You’ll get all the background you want from this. Let me know if you need any photos and I’ll have them sent on.”

“That’s okay, I’ll take care of any photography,” Clarke butted in.

The journalist flicked the book pages, scarcely looking at it before placing it on Marlo’s desk. She fixed her with a determined look. “I know most of this stuff, so why don’t we get on with some questions?”

Marlo held her gaze. “Fire away.”

Instantly Marlo got a feel for the angle the story would take. It wasn’t about CRAR or the Sanctuary; this was a pit bull/dog fight story. Now she had to gauge the line it would follow; pro- or anti-pit bull. Rehabilitate or destroy.

Then the journalist asked about the Richmond Thirty-Two. “Don’t you think it’s strange that those thirty-two dogs seem to have vanished from the face of the earth? If CRAR had them, surely their poster girl, Marlo Croft, would have got her hands on a few?”

Marlo straightened. “That’s not how it works.” Her voice was steady but her poker face had vanished with the last pack shuffle. They’d played cat-and-mouse for nearly an hour. She had to finish the interview without raising suspicion.

“So why don’t you tell me how it works.”

“Because, Janine, I’m an animal behaviorist. I can share as much information about dog behavior and rehabilitation as you’d like to know. But that’s about it.”

“Strange. It doesn’t matter who I ask. Nobody can come up with the thirty-two dogs.”

Marlo pushed back. “So, do you have any questions about rehabilitating dogs?”

Janice stood. “I think we are done. You’ve been most helpful.”

Christ, I hope not, Marlo thought as she watched them leave the office. She waited at the office door to make sure the trail of dust that followed their car continued out to the road. She didn’t trust them not to return to the property and take the photos they really wanted.

* * *

“Rack ’em up.”

Adam passed his pool cue over to Butch. “I’ll sit this one out. You have a go, mate.” He went back to the table and took a slug of beer. He’d returned to Halo Peak late that afternoon and gone straight to the police station to organize his notes. Now he was playing pool with a bunch of guys from the station when what he really wanted to do was drive out and visit Marlo.

He’d put a handbrake on his emotions. That attraction between him and Marlo was something he hadn’t experienced in years, but Marlo was too vulnerable to mess about with. He hadn’t phoned her. Not that he didn’t want to. Hell, he’d spent the entire day with his hands mentally cuffed to stop from doing that.

The days in Richmond had been harrowing. Several deep pits in a wooded area each held the bodies of up to fifteen dogs in various stages of decomposition. Some had been bound with wire, others had horrendous wounds. The bodies had been taken away for necropsies but clearly, old age had not taken these dogs.

He still carried the scent of death and decomposition on him, which was overwhelming his senses, and he wanted to be free from that before he saw Marlo again. Her focus had to be on the positive side of rehabilitation.

The property had similarities to what he’d seen in New Zealand, but on a much grander scale—if that’s how you wanted to describe the ability to house more dogs and create more pain and chaos.

On arrival in Richmond, he had taken a moment to envision how it had been for Justice. He could picture him chained to a car axle, pacing in a short weary arc. The boredom would only be relieved by random jolts of anxiety as he smelled the fear in the other dogs and heard the petrifying sounds of abuse. He would always be on edge because whenever a human appeared it could mean food, fresh water, a beating, or it might be his turn to fight.

Justice had every reason to be angry. That he chose to withdraw until he was safe and well enough to tune back into life was true testament of the courage in the breed and the stoic temperament of the dog himself.

On the second night in Richmond, Adam had battled the urge to phone Marlo, and finally called Mae instead. If he couldn’t talk to Marlo, he could still talk about her. From Mae he was hoping for the merest hint of encouragement that would give him permission to go to Marlo. Instead he struck Mae’s maternal desire to shelter Marlo and all he’d managed to get out of her was that Marlo’s upbringing had been forty-grit rough. Through Marlo’s late teens, Mae had been her guardian.

“That’s public record,” Mae had said to remind him that she didn’t intend to be indiscreet. Adam was no wiser for the conversation, but right before they finished Mae added one more nugget: “For a number of valid reasons, Marlo’s leery of cops. I thought you should know.”

So much for his shit-hot interrogation techniques. Oh, and thanks for the encouragement.

He rubbed at the day-old growth on his chin. Sleep hadn’t stuck with him much the previous night and the beer in front of him now wasn’t doing a lot of good to his dry mouth. He stood, drained his glass, and turned to leave.

“Grab me another if you’re going to the bar, Kiwi?” Butch called out, holding up an almost empty beer.

“I’m going to turn in.” Adam gave a nod to the small gathering of cops as he headed for the door.

“You smooth bastard. Who is she?”

Raucous laughter ushered him from the bar.