I forced the thought aside.
She began. “I was out for a jog?—”
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why jog at midnight?”
“Why not?”
“Security. Safety. … Common sense.”
“Would you say the same to a man?”
“I’d say it to Imi Lichtenfeld himself. Answer the question. Why were you jogging in the city park at midnight?”
“I’d just gotten off work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a dog trainer.”
I blinked. Of all the jobs I expected Sunny Harper to have, a dog trainer was not one of them. Supermodel, actress, WWE ring girl, jazzercise instructor, Playboy bunny, mime…
“You train dogs for a living?”
“Yes.” Her tone thick with attitude. This told me two things: Sunny took pride in her job, and also, it wasn’t the first time she’d defended her choice in occupation.
“What kind of dogs?”
“The furry ones.”
“Ah. So for comedy acts, then?”
Her lip twitched. “I train security dogs.”
Nowthatmade sense.Thatfit her personality.
“How’d you get into that line of work?”
Her shoulder lifted, gaze shifted.
“Why didn’t you have one of these security dogs with you on your midnight jog?”
“Because I don’t like to take them on long trips in the car.”
“So you’d left town today?”
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“A kennel in Missouri.”
