“Talk about kicking me when I’m down.” Marlo sat in her office fingering the soft leather collar custom-made for Justice. His name was engraved on the brass plate, along with the symbol for justice—a blindfolded lady holding aloft a pair of balanced scales and a double-edged sword. She brushed her thumb over the etching before dropping the collar on her desk beside where Adam sat. “The irony almost kills me.”

“I’m sorry, hon. There are no shortcuts on this one…we have to let it follow its course.”

He’s right. This was out of our control. “You know, I promise every dog coming through these gates that I’ll be with them until rehabilitation is complete. Sometimes completion is simply retirement to a place of permanent sanctuary for the poor devils that are so spiritually and emotionally battered that a real-world situation for them is impossible to endure.

“Others go on to live amazing lives as companions or service dogs. Every dog is equally precious, but there’s one particular scenario that gets to me more than the others.” She took hold of the collar again, rubbing her thumb over the symbol on the brass plate as if it would release a genie. She could feel Adam willing her to continue, but she was struggling now.

“Sometimes our volunteers are damaged people. Like attracts like, I guess. Many arrive completely shut down with all kinds of trauma, PTSD, ferocious anger…often they’re from the services and have been deployed. I’ve not had one through here who hasn’t connected with a damaged dog. Not one. And you should see the difference it makes to them. Their troubled souls unite and the healing begins. Both the dog and the person.”

She tapped her forefinger on the collar tag, as if by concentrating on that small, rhythmic movement, she could beat away the tightening in her chest. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed, watching a dog and person mend each other without the need or intervention from ‘experts.’ Often, every form of therapy available to these people has failed them. In the process, their marriages have fallen apart, and they’ve sabotaged many relationships with their family and friends…” She paused for a couple of beats, “and the damaged dog, which has invariably been failed by people, helps them.” More irony.

“Is that what Fala is to you?”

Marlo’s eyes brimmed with tears. She looked up at Adam as they spilled down her cheeks. “No, that’s what Justice is to Fala and me. It took a while for the right one to come along.” Dog and man. Some of us need two saviors.

Wiping her eyes, she continued. “We need Justice. I had no idea how much my hyper-vigilance controlled my life. I was on edge all the time, as if permanently under physical threat, and I’ve been able to relinquish to Justice, that constant state of being on guard. I never understood how stressful my life was until he turned up to take care of it.”

Adam nodded. “Yes, you need Justice. I understand that.”

“When can I see him?”

“I’m not sure, hon.”

She reached for the collar and raised it to her face. “It smells of him.”

He held out his hand. “May I see it?”

She passed it over and watched as he fingered it, examined the stitching and traced his finger around the brass nameplate, just as she had.

“It’s beautiful.”

She nodded.

“Where did you get it?”

“Vince made it. He was one of those broken people who came through the gate and he left with Calliope, to help him repair and reform. When he arrived to do volunteer work, Vince wouldn’t talk. To be honest, he frightened me. He had this air of barely contained aggression about him, but I noticed that when he was about to erupt, he’d remove himself from the group and go off alone. Well, the first day at least. After that, Calliope, who had only recently come to us—and she was a mess, too—would sense his tension and be at his side in a flash.

“The first time she followed him, I watched Vince try to send her back. In the end, he shouted and flung his arms at her to shoo her away, but instead she lay down and showed him her belly. He’d frightened her. He kept shouting at her to get up and go back, but she refused. She wouldn’t give up on him. I was about to intervene when suddenly he dropped to the ground and lay alongside her and cried like a baby. What an unimaginable scene…this great big Marine, lying in the dirt with his arms around a skinny, scab-covered dog.

“From that day, they’d disappear at lunch time for a couple of hours. After a week, I noticed Calliope wore the most stunning collar. Vince had made it for her. He’d picked up the skill from his father who had been a saddle maker. Now he makes a collar for each dog that comes through here and completes rehabilitation. He sees it as a binding symbol of devotion in the partnership between a dog and that person the dog goes to live with. He learns the traits and personality of the dog and creates something representative.

“He gave Calliope her name. She’s still his muse.”

Adam handed back the collar. “It’s stunning work.” It bothered him that she had this whole other part to her life, a nurturing and healing part that benefitted others, but not herself.

She stood and glanced around the room. “Damn! I keep looking for him.”

“Are you okay?”

“I was until you asked. I’ve never so royally fucked things up for a dog before. And I’m not apologizing for my language.”

“No apology expected.”

“I think I’ll phone Animal Control and ask how Justice is getting on. Maybe let them know how he needs to be handled.”

Adam quickly blocked the phone from her, because that call could really stuff things up. “Not a good idea. They’ll be giving me a report this afternoon, but until then we don’t want to go stirring things up.”

“Is Justice safe there?”

“Yes, hon, of course he is. So what are you doing now?”

“I need to talk to the staff, especially Lulah. Somehow I have to explain what’s been going on, and you know what? I’m stuck. I have no idea which bits to tell them and which to leave out. If I don’t tell them enough, and they get more information from somewhere else, it’ll look as though I don’t trust them.”

“Would you like me to come and help? I could tell them, in a sort of police capacity.”

“Thanks, but I should do it.”

“Let me help you.”

“I’ll be okay.”

He took her warm, soft hand, and played with her fingertips. She didn’t pull away. He turned her hand over, traced down the backs of her fingers. “Marlo, when you constantly reject someone’s help, you’re rejecting them as a person, too.” He tightened his grip as she tensed and tried to take her hand from his grasp.

“I don’t mean…”

He put a finger up to her lips. “Think about it, okay?”

After talking with the staff, they walked back to the office together.

“That went quite well. Apart from Lulah, but I’ll talk to her later. She can see the gaps in the story. Thankfully she’s smart enough to not raise her concerns in front of the others.”

Adam put his hand to the nape of her neck, working at the tightness as they walked. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Yeah, I know…and Adam, thanks for doing that with me. You’re right, having you there did make it easier.”

“Good, because now I’m going to make things difficult for you again.”

Marlo stopped. “Really?”

“Yup. You and I are going into town, and we’re going to talk with Butch about last night.”

Marlo raised her hands in front of her shoulders and started backing away. “No, not going in there, Adam.”

“Yes, we are. Otherwise they’ll send a patrol car out for you.”

Not a patrol car. Surely they wouldn’t. She dragged her gaze up to meet Adam’s. She could see his concern in the furrow of his brow, but it did little to stop the tremor that quaked her insides.

“I’ll be with you.”

She shook her head. “Can’t…”

“Can, and going to.”

She let him reach for her, take her hand. “Come on. Together. Let me help.”

They continued slowly along the path and once inside the office, Marlo sat against the edge of her desk. Breathe in for three, hold for three, out for three. She could feel Adam watching as she tried to calm herself. Gradually the pounding in her chest eased, and the sounds of the outside world drifted back. Adam was speaking to her.

“What do you need?”

“Justice.”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“Water.”

* * *

By the time they parked at the back of the sheriff’s department it was late afternoon. Adam hopped out of the car and went around to open Marlo’s door. He held out his hand to her. “Come on, you’ll be fine. Butch only wants to chat.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You won’t be sick, hon. If it’s Barrett you’re worried about, forget him. He won’t be here—Justice saw to that. Anyway, he’s stood down for the moment.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Asking for help. Breakthrough. “That’s up to Butch.”

Inside, Adam led her along the corridor to an office at the rear. He knocked on the door, and Butch called them in. He seated Marlo and asked Adam to leave.

“Can’t he stay?” Marlo asked.

Butch shook his head.

Adam held his arms wide. “Come on, Butch!”

“Adam!” The man scowled.

He touched Marlo lightly on the top of her arm. “I’m right outside the door.” She looked pale, frightened and tiny. This is what they’d done to her. He left the office, closing the door with a soft click. Moving a few paces along the corridor, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and waited. He was like a schoolboy summoned by the headmaster. Marlo was safe with Butch. Nothing would happen to her. He wouldn’t frighten her.

He turned to the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and saw Margaret carrying a tray with coffee and cookies. He opened the door for her and heard the soft voices inside stop, pleased that there was no evidence of a meltdown taking place.

Margaret came back out. “Can I get you something, Kiwi?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

At the sound of laughter, he looked at his watch. Forty-five minutes had passed. He started to wish he’d accepted that coffee from Margaret after all. He thought about going to his desk, but he’d told Marlo he’d be outside the door, so that was where he was going to stay. He’d done enough recently to derail the merest glimpse of trust she might have had in him. The last thing that was going to happen was for her to come out of that office to an empty corridor.

Once they got out of here, he’d go over to the deli and pick up something special for dinner. Cook for her…feed her, like that night at the restaurant.

“Kiwi!”

At last. He pushed off the wall and entered the office.

“Butch?”

“It’s all good. I got enough information from Marlo, although we may need to talk to her again further down the track. But for now, take her home. Relax. Take care of her.”

* * *

Adam had insisted she sit at the table and talk to him while he fixed dinner. He was accomplished and quick, and she fell ever-so-slightly, just-one-step-further in like with the guy in her kitchen.

They talked about some of the dogs that had been through Dog Haven. He told her about the farm dogs he’d had: Black-and-tan huntaways with a big, deep bark and a little eye-dog called Sprite who was quick as a flash and nipped around the cows like a dervish. She used to disappear once the cows had come into the milking shed and reappear minutes before they were to be returned to the paddock. It took months before he discovered Sprite was, in fact, making a dash to the farmhouse and spending a couple of hours asleep on his favorite chair by the fire in the kitchen while Emma prepared dinner.

“Do you miss your dogs?”

“Oh, yeah, but they probably don’t miss me. Ultimately, they’re the farm dogs with a drive to work the cows, so they continue to do their job whether I’m there or not. My brother, Clive, and the sharemilkers care for and work them. In the past few years, I’ve filled in for holidays, stuff like that. I’ve not really been part of the day-to-day scene for quite some time.”

“I like to hear about Emma, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It makes you so superbly normal.” In her life, ‘normal’ had been rare and she found it unbearably attractive.

He crossed the room, kissed her on the top of her head. “Do you have any idea how good for me it is to hear that? To not have to hide Emma, keep her buried and pretend she didn’t exist? Pretend that I’m over her because talking about her makes everyone uncomfortable?”

“I understand what it’s like to have stuff to say that makes people uncomfortable. You don’t have to do that with me.”

His arms encircled her, pulled her hard against him. In his strong grip, she found his own desperation and fears.

“Thank you for being so special,” he whispered.

“What a broken pair we are.”

“Not broken, just a bit cracked.”

“And we’re not carrying life sentences. You’ve shown me that, Adam.” She looked up at him and saw in a brief flash of pain, the sentence he still carried.

He pulled away. “Come on, let’s eat outside. You grab the plates, and I’ll bring the food.” She’d never had a man cook for her, but if this meal was anything to go by, she would be quite happy for Adam to cook any time he wanted.

After dinner she let him lead her to the patio daybed. “Lie face down. I want to try something with you.”