Have Mercy. Jo Leigh

was busy, of course. She was mopping the small dog pen. Chance, a very spoiled Lhasa Apso, was on a comfy pillow, happily chewing on a stuffed mouse.

      After Mercy filled Gilly in, they swapped places. Mercy much preferred mopping up pee to appeasing a client, and she sighed happily as she got down to work.

      Lightning stretched, her signal to be let down. Mercy put her on the floor outside the pen, and the large cat meandered toward Mercy’s office, where she would flop down and rest until the urge to perch on a warm neck struck once more.

      Mercy headed for the grooming room, still pleased about the growing popularity of PetQuarters as the animal destination for those who lived and worked in midtown Manhattan, and not just as a pet hotel for those who stayed at Hush.

      Soon, perhaps even this year, there would be enough profit to warrant the expansion into the building next door. And that would mean that Mercy would earn her bonus. And that would mean she could finally move out of the hellhole of her apartment, a notion that was becoming more and more urgent as each day passed.

      WILL MADE IT TO PetQuarters in the nick of time. There was a young man behind the desk who looked up from the computer as Will stepped inside. It was just a front office with some retail space. He couldn’t see any of the other animal guests, which wouldn’t do.

      “May I help you, sir?”

      “Will Desmond, here to check Buster in.”

      “Yes, we have your registration.”

      For the next several minutes, Will filled out forms as the kid, name of Andrew, checked over Buster’s bona fides. There was a lot to make up, as Buster had been acquired just this afternoon, but he didn’t think he’d set up any red flags.

      “He’ll be fine, Mr. Desmond,” Andrew said, after the last paper had been signed. “There’s plenty for him to do, and lots of friends to play with.”

      Will moved the carrier slightly back. “I’d like to speak to the concierge, if you don’t mind.”

      Andrew didn’t let the request alter his Hush smile. “Of course.” He picked up the phone, pressed a button. “Mercy, could you come to the front desk, please.”

      Will looked at all the pet goodies while he waited, determined to get into the back room. Now would be a good time. They were getting ready to close the doors, which meant that staff would be busy, careless perhaps. He’d make sure to take his time, to see everything he possibly could.

      The inner door opened. A young woman stepped up to the desk, and while she wasn’t the most beautiful of the staff he’d seen today, there was something about her that had his immediate attention.

      Mercy Jones, according to her gold nametag. Pet Concierge. She looked to be in her late twenties, with long, straight blond hair, wispy bangs over her forehead and slightly frightened green eyes.

      Frightened. Why? Did she know who he was? Had Drina warned her?

      Andrew introduced him, but something told Will not to attempt to shake her hand. He hadn’t imagined it, the woman was nervous.

      Then she saw the pet carrier with Buster inside and her demeanor changed. Her slender shoulders relaxed, her generous lips formed a slight smile. She moved toward Buster with a confidence that had been completely lacking only seconds ago.

      “How can I help you, Mr. Desmond?”

      “It’s Will. And I’d very much like to see where Buster’s going to stay. Ask you some questions.”

      “Not a problem,” she said. “Andrew knows everything about PetQuarters. He’d be happy to—”

      “Nothing against Andrew,” Will said, “but I’d prefer to do the walk-through with you.”

      She looked at him then, and that haunted expression came over her face. Too bad such a lovely woman had such obvious issues, but for his purposes, she was absolutely ideal. “I—”

      “You are the concierge, yes?”

      She smiled. “I’d be happy to show you around. Let’s get Buster out of that cage first, shall we?”

      He nodded, knowing she was going to use Buster as a sort of safety blanket when showing him around. He’d seen the behavior before, and he considered it one of his great strengths that he could size up a character quickly and, for the most part, accurately. He wondered about Mercy’s story, although whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He’d get what he wanted and then he’d be gone. Since he wasn’t going to keep Buster, he’d never return to PetQuarters.

      After a few moments where she held Buster up to lick her face, she tucked the pup into the cradle of her arm, then lifted the hinged desk, giving Will access. He saw it could be locked from underneath with an old-fashioned safety lock. That was in addition to the lock on the front door.

      Mercy held the inner door for him, and he entered a world of color, movement and odor. Not that the odor was necessarily bad, just definitely canine in nature. Canine and antiseptic.

      “This is the main floor,” Mercy said, petting Buster in a way that had the dog completely at ease. “The three pens are for group play. We separate the dogs by size and temperament groups. You’ll never have to worry about Buster getting into too much trouble. Our goal is to wear out the pups with vigorous play, long walks and socialization.”

      He’d give her one thing—despite her discomfort, she didn’t skimp on the tour. He met half a dozen staff members, all wearing black jeans, black lab coats with a pink Hush embroidered on the lapels and pink satin bow ties. Most of them wore black Hush baseball caps.

      Mercy was the only one whose bow tie had tiny black dogs printed on the pink satin. He wondered if that was something management had thought up, or if it was her own touch. If he had to bet, it would be on Mercy. Just watching her with the animals told him more about her than she’d probably be comfortable with.

      Her voice didn’t quaver and her step, now that she was inside, was confident, but there was a story there, and not a pleasant one. She’d found herself a refuge, though. One with a lot of wagging tails.

      They went to the pet suites in the back of the main room, and he focused once more on business. Mercy might be interesting, but she was a bit player. The star was here. Somewhere. There was no other reason for Drina to have come here with a dog of her own. Drina, who was about as fond of dogs as he was of spiders.

      They passed a yapping Chihuahua that looked more like a rat than a dog, a German shepherd, several dogs who looked like mutts to his untrained eyes, and then he saw it. A little dog, one with a great deal of white fur. Combed to within an inch of its little life. A bow in the hair, pink painted nails and a collar that was studded with diamonds.

      Mercy said his name, and when he looked at her, he realized he was smiling a bit too brightly. It didn’t matter. Let Ms. Jones think it was because he was delighted with the accommodations.

      This wasn’t going to be a difficult job, after all.

      2

      MERCY KEPT HER eyes peeled for Gilly as she showed Mr. Desmond—Will—the pet suites. It was a good thing for him that he’d made a reservation as all the suites had been booked. That was one of the things that would change when they took over the building next door. They would triple the number of pet suites, add another grooming salon and so much more.

      “These are nicer than some hotels I’ve stayed in,” Will said. He was standing in the currently unoccupied Southwestern suite. Each pen was its own room, complete with a twin bed, TV, piped-in music, food and water station, toys and, if a guest so desired, blankets and trinkets brought from home.

      “They’ve all got themes,” she said, “although that’s more for the parents than the pets.”

      “I can tell Buster’s going to be spoiled.”

      “We discipline the dogs, gently,