Teddy sets down Joe, who wiggles over to Bettina and lies down on her feet.
“We can all play hide-and-find,” says Teddy. “Or go to the dog beach at Del Mar and let him run free. I’ll text you every day to tell you how he’s doing, and send pictures too. Thank you so much for giving Joe back to me. I’ll protect him forever. He’ll never get shot again.”
And Jalisco New Generation won’t know where to find him, Bettina thinks. Even if they don’t believe Frank’s lie about the Gaslamp.
Leaving Bettina’s cubicle with Teddy, Joe moves forward on-leash in that small-footed way of his, almost a prance but not quite, checking out the floor smells, of course — dropped Food is always possible, maybe a crunchy dead fly — then looking up at his Boy as the air scents flow into his nose.
He recognizes the carpet cleaner and the random nameless smells that ride in on the soles of shoes, but the strongest scent is Teddy’s, huffing out from his pant legs with each step.
Joe’s heart is filled with love for Teddy and Dan and Bettina and his mother, even Aaron.
Catches the smell of Bettina behind him.
He’s surrounded by some of his favorite things.
He trots along, reaching around to grab the leash in his teeth, one of his favorite games with Teddy. Teddy yanks at it in small but increasingly strong pulls. Elated now, Joe lets go.
He’s going home, the happiest day of his life.
Again.
He tries to celebrate by chasing his tail but gets caught up in the leash and Teddy has to untangle him.
49
Bettina follows Wade Johnson’s truck under the sweeping porte cochere of the Delgados’ La Jolla mansion, and all four travelers disembark.
“My uncle and aunt are in Hawaii,” says Teddy with a glance at Mr. Johnson. “Want to come in? Our nanny won’t mind and my cousins are cool.”
“No, thank you.”
But she kneels and lets Joe clamber up against her; he leans in, full body weight, licking her temple and hair, favorites of his for the forty-odd days he’s had her in his life.
A boy roughly Teddy’s age comes to the front porch, a skateboard in one hand. Joe bounds over to greet him, then back to Teddy.
Who comes to Bettina and gives her an awkward hug. “Please visit soon.”
“I will.”
“You won’t be sad forever.”
Blubbering unrepentantly, Bettina picks up the freeway, heading not north for Laguna but south for Tijuana.
Half an hour later, she’s parked across the street from the Clínica de Veterinarea de San Francisco de Asís, adjusting the rearview for a look at her face, dabbing away the smeared mascara. Her blouse is damp at the neckline, and she’s got Strickland’s fifty grand in her purse.
They have good dogs here, she thinks:
You can do this, Blazak.
Acknowledgments
True respect and gratitude to the many authors who have written beautifully about humankind’s best friends throughout the ages. I humbly submit this novel to the canon. There is simply too much “dog lit” to mention here, but Jack London’s The Call of the Wild is an invaluable touchstone, as is James Herriot’s All Creatures Great and Small. Our modern-day writers have contributed entertainingly and insightfully to the party. To name a few — A Dog’s Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron, The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein, and the wonderful Chet and Bernie mysteries by Spencer Quinn. Special thanks to Robert Crais, whose wonderful novel, Suspect, inspired me to throw my hat into this timeless ring.
True gratitude to Kristin Sevick at Forge, no stranger to dogs and dog books, for her incisive editing and insight into all things canine, human, and literary. You made this a better book in a thousand ways.