Operation Blind Date. Justine Davis

toward his car. The dark gray SUV was parked about twenty feet away. He made it five before Cutter reacted.

      Tail up, ears alert, the dog turned back. He trotted toward him, then right past him, just as Teague had expected. He stopped in front of a surprised Laney, nudged her hand, then tried the walk and look back routine again.

      “What is he doing?” she asked.

      “I think,” Teague said with a wry quirk of his mouth, “he’s saying it’s time for us to go tell your story to Foxworth.”

      * * *

      This was, without a doubt, the craziest thing she’d ever seen.

      She loved dogs, she’d worked with them for years now, but she’d never seen one act like Cutter before. Except maybe in movies or on TV, where the animal did what it was trained to do, no more thought process behind it than a willingness and a need to please.

      But this, this was all Cutter’s doing, born out of his obviously uncanny canine brain. He had a Plan, Teague had said, and woe be unto the human who didn’t get that.

      She liked him for that, Laney thought. One of the many things she could like him for; he was a good listener, he didn’t laugh at her or make her feel as if she were being silly, to be humored, sent on her way and then forgotten.

      Of course, there were the blue eyes, the lean, strong build, the air of quiet confidence, the easy grace and that smile...oh, yes, that smile.

      She tried to shake off the feeling that was growing. She had no time for this. She needed to focus on Amber, on finding her, even if she had to do it alone.

      But Teague was saying she might not have to do it alone.

      “I can’t promise anything, except that they’ll listen. And take you seriously.”

      Her first instinct was to doubt that. But Teague had done just that, hadn’t he? He would hardly take her to his boss if he didn’t think there was something to her suspicions, would he?

      “I can’t afford to hire anyone.”

      “If Foxworth takes it on, it won’t cost you.”

      “So Foxworth is a charity?”

      “It is, in some ways. In other ways, it’s something completely different. Come on, lock up and I’ll explain on the way.”

      “But—”

      He gestured at Cutter, who was pacing now, from where they stood outside her shop to Teague’s car and back. “You might as well give in, because he’s not going to give up.”

      “So you’re saying you’re letting a dog boss you around?”

      He grinned suddenly. It took her breath away. “Yep.”

      She found herself grinning back, unable to stop it.

      She went back into the shop, Cutter on her heels. He truly wasn’t going to let up until she followed him. She went into the small bathroom and quickly switched her scrubs for the jeans and lightweight cabled sweater she’d worn in this morning, grabbed up her keys and her slouchy bag and headed back out. She flipped the Open sign to Closed and locked the front door.

      Cutter was clearly happier now, and she followed him back to where Teague was waiting. The SUV obediently chirped twice as Teague unlocked it and he opened the passenger door for her, the door behind it for Cutter, who leaped in then turned on the seat to look at her expectantly. She was nearly laughing as she got in.

      Teague walked around and slid into the driver’s seat. Cutter let out a soft, clearly happy woof.

      “You got what you wanted,” Teague said to the dog. “Way back.”

      Without hesitation the dog jumped over the back of the seats into the cargo area of the SUV.

      “Safer for him back there,” Teague said as he turned the key.

      “This is insane,” she said as she fastened her seat belt.

      “Yep.”

      “He’s a dog.”

      “Maybe.”

      Laney laughed out loud. The relief of having someone actually listen to her worries must have made her giddy.

      “Foxworth,” she began.

      “Is the most amazing place, full of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

      “Doing what, exactly?”

      “A little bit of everything,” Teague said. “But it’s all aimed at one single goal.”

      “Which is?”

      He glanced at her as they were caught by a light turning red, the newest of the three signals in the small town. He’d pulled into the left turn lane, heading away from the main road toward the next, bigger town.

      “Helping people in the right, when they have nowhere else to turn.”

      She blinked. “That’s...quite a goal.”

      “We do what should be done but isn’t, for whatever reason.”

      “You must have hoards pounding on your doors,” she said wryly.

      “We work only on referral,” he said. “We don’t advertise.”

      “Then how did you find them?”

      His mouth quirked upward at one corner, as if he liked the question. “I didn’t. They found me. There was this online military forum, and some of us got into some pretty heavy discussions. I used to post a lot. Turns out it was monitored by Foxworth, and they noticed. Thought I might be a good fit.”

      So she’d been right about the military air. But she thought she heard something else in his voice as well. “You miss it,” she said.

      “I do. I was a marine,” he said, as if that answered all. Perhaps, to him, it did. “The corps was the greatest fighting force in the world.”

      She wasn’t sure what the past tense referred to, but there was a finality in his voice that kept her from asking. Or asking why he’d left, if he loved it so much.

      “So Foxworth, what, recruited you?”

      He shrugged. “It was pretty clear I wasn’t happy with the way things were going. I wasn’t re-upping, anyway. I didn’t know what I would do. They gave me an alternative.”

      “So now you work for Quinn?”

      “Yes. And Foxworth is a private foundation, so the only limits on what we can do are our own.”

      “And now you sound very...proprietary.”

      He gave her a sideways glance, and she saw that grin flash across his face again. It had the same effect it had had before. He answered as the light finally changed and they made the left turn.

      “Yeah, I guess I am. We do good work. I’m proud to be part of it.”

      She liked that. So many people just griped about their jobs all the time. “How long have you been there?”

      “I’m the new guy. Only two years—three if you count the vetting process—but I’m there as long as they’ll have me.”

      She drew back slightly. “A vetting that lasts an entire year?”

      He nodded. “Quinn and Charlie Foxworth are very, very particular.”

      “They run the foundation?”

      He nodded as they slowed for a truckload of topsoil pulling out of a side driveway. “It’s a family thing. Quinn’s idea, mostly, but Charlie makes it possible.” He grinned again. “It’s nice to have a financial and logistical genius in the family, I guess.”

      “Are there more Foxworths?”

      “Just