“You breed?”
Her brow cocked.
“Dogs.” I said quickly. “You breed the dogs?”
“No.”
“Why were you going to a kennel then?”
“To purchase a few to train. I’m a dog trainer,” she reminded me, impatiently. “I get dogs, train them, then sell them.”
“This still doesn’t explain why you decided to go on a jog in the park at midnight.”
“Have you ever been in a car for eleven hours in one day?”
“I’ve been in a car for twenty-four hours in one day.”
“Then you understand the need to stretch your legs.”
My gaze dropped to her legs before quickly shifting back up.
“I prefer the public trails,” she continued. “I’ve jogged that trail more times than I can count, day and night. The concrete’s easier on me. And then there are the lights.”
“The security the light provides?”
She nodded.
“Your gun isn’t enough?”
She sat up straighter, her chin lifting. “I carry it when I don’t have one of my dogs with me.”
“Do you have a license?”
“Yes and also—a hell of an aim.”
I envisioned the victim’s face.
“Do you carry it all the time?”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Meaty gun. Where’d you get it?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Who taught you to use it?”
“Why do you assume I need to be taught?”
“Meaty gun.”
“A gun is a gun. I’m not the only one who carries one on their hip.”
“Not when they’re jogging.”
