Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(69)

D.D. arched a brow.

In answer to her unspoken question, Alex explained: “You like to run, now you have a partner. Jack likes to play ball, now he has a partner. And I like to boss everyone around, now I have a new victim.”

“You’ve put some thought into this.”

“Actually, it was completely magic.” His tone relented. “I know it’s hard for you, D.D. You would’ve liked to have been there, but once again your job took you away. I don’t want to rub your nose in it. But walking into the shelter, all those dogs. Puppies, adults. Barking, jumping, sleeping. We walked the whole row. I didn’t know what Jack was going to do. It was overwhelming. And a bit sad, really. So many dogs in need of a home.

“Then, Jack saw Kiko. Or she saw him. I don’t know. She walked right to the edge of the kennel. She sat down, stared straight at him. He dropped before her and said, ‘This one, Daddy. I want this one.’

“The shelter volunteer started to explain to me that she was very high energy, would require work, already had a reputation for chewing things and was nervous around other dogs.”

D.D. winced. Chewing things. Her precious shoes.

“But once I explained we had a fenced-in yard, an active five-year-old, and no other dogs around . . . I think they were meant for each other. Jack does, too.”

Kiko finally came trotting over. “Good girl,” Alex crooned in a tone D.D. swore he’d once used on her.

He handed D.D. a soft treat. “Give it to her so she knows you’re part of the pack.”

D.D. hadn’t grown up with dogs. She knew them, of course. Met them at other people’s houses or at the park. She was amazed now at how nervous she felt. Not about whether she would like the dog, but whether the dog would like her.

She held out some gluten-free, grain-free all-natural treat that Alex had purchased, which smelled better than what she and Phil had managed for dinner.

Kiko approached slowly. One long leg at a time. She had a lean, coltish build, all ears and limbs. Now, the spotted dog stretched out her neck. Very gently, she removed the treat from between D.D.’s fingers and swallowed it down.

“Oh,” D.D. said quietly.

“Stroke her ears,” Alex said. “Or she likes to be scratched under the chin.”

D.D. rubbed the dog’s silky ears, scratched under her chin. Kiko leaned in closer, sighed heavily.

“I’m going to have short white hairs all over my clothes, aren’t I,” D.D. said.

“Yep. Welcome to life with Dog.”

“And Jack?”

“Over the moon. Couldn’t be happier. Has already stolen my phone to take a hundred and one photos. He wants her to sleep in his room, so we set up the crate in there. But the moment we put her in, she started barking and crying. And not like a bark, bark, but more like a roo, roo, roo. Trust me, Jack will imitate it for you in the morning.”

“Lovely.”

“At the shelter, they said she’d need a week or so to acclimate. Crate training is best. Put her inside when we’re not around, then let her outside first thing to do her business. Lots of treats, lots of praise. We’re all going to have to get to know one another. In the meantime, all wastebaskets have been moved up high. Your shoes are shut up in your closet. And Jack has instructions to keep his bedroom door closed, or the lost Legos and future vet bills are coming out of his allowance.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah, except given a five-year-old’s attention span—”

“We have about sixty seconds before he forgets.”

“Kiko’s young. We’re newbies. I think we should all agree now, there’s going to be some mistakes along the way.”

“You’re talking about my shoes again, aren’t you?”

“You mean the black leather boots you kicked off the moment you walked into the house?”

“Ah, shit.” D.D. backtracked quickly. Kiko followed her this time, dancing at her heels. Fast movements clearly excited the dog. More things to remember. D.D. retrieved her boots, then noticed the three baskets Alex had placed high up on a shelf in the mudroom. “Oh.”

“What?” Alex walked in behind her. Jack’s light-up tennis shoes were on the bench. Off the floor, but still in reach of the long-legged dog. D.D. picked them up, too.

“The family today,” D.D. said softly. “They had a bench, basket, shoes. Including a pair for their son, which looked exactly like something Jack would wear.”

Alex placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Hate these scenes.” She managed to get her boots and Jack’s sneakers in the new baskets. Then she squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Someone walked right into the home. Shot the mother’s boyfriend in the family room, the mother in the kitchen. Then headed upstairs for the kids. They saw it coming. The older sister, thirteen, tried to shield her younger brother. One of those things . . . I’m never gonna get it out of my head. None of us will ever get it out of our heads.”

Alex turned her toward him. She was crying. Softly. In a way she hated, because she was a homicide detective and she should be tough enough. Except she was a mom now, too. And sometimes, compartmentalization failed her.

“You locate the missing girl? The teen from the Amber Alert?”

“No.”