Ginger’s tail gave a small thump under the fabric. Apparently, she already knew that.
The moment the door to the penthouse shut behind us, we exhaled like a choir of deflating balloons.
“Operation Smuggle Ginger complete,” Gray said with a satisfied smile. “Nobody saw anything. No arrests, no alarms. I call that a win for fun.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Just get her off me.”
Gwen peeled off the poncho and tossed in on the back of the couch. Basia and Gray started unwinding the shawl. Gray caught Ginger before she fell and set her down gently on the carpet. Ginger stretched, her fur a little rumpled but no worse for wear. She shook a couple of times, like she’d just gotten out of the bath, and then started wagging her tail.
“Good girl,” Basia cooed, scratching her behind the ears. “You’re a natural criminal, just like your mommy.”
“I am not her mommy,” I protested. “And I’m not a criminal, either.”
Basia gave me a sweet smile. “Sure, card shark. Whatever you say.”
I stretched, raising my hands above my head, and then rolled my back and shoulders until the feeling came back into them again.
“I think we should celebrate the successful mission with room-service pizza and wine,” Gray said. “But water for you, since you’re the only one actually pregnant here,” she said to Basia. “You in, Lexi?”
“Pizza and wine? Yes, but only after I disinfect,” I said, already backing toward the bathroom. “Maybe you all forgot I’ve been wearing a dog as outerwear. And make my pizza cheese, please.”
I used the facilities and scrubbed my hands twice. When I opened the door, Ginger was waiting there for me. “Seriously?” I leaned on the doorjamb. “We need to discuss personal space.”
She wagged once and sat directly on my feet.
I changed my clothes to make sure I was hair-free and returned to the living room. Forty minutes later, we sprawled on the huge sectional, pizza boxes on the coffee table, shoes off, watching a crime thriller. Ginger, naturally, had glued herself to my side even while accepting bites of pizza from the other girls. Every time I shifted, she shifted. When I reached for my wine, she rested her chin on my knee. When I sighed, she sighed louder.
“She’s obsessed with you,” Basia observed.
“I think she’s plotting something,” I said. “This is not devotion. It’s reconnaissance.”
Gray snorted and Ginger tilted her head at me, as if weighing the truth of that. I stared directly into her brown eyes. “Who just materializes out of the woods, picks a random human, and hitchhikes to a casino? Where did you come from, Ginger?”
The dog immediately rose and jumped off the couch, padding toward Basia’s and Gwen’s room.
We watched her stalk off. “Well, looks like she didn’t want to answer my question,” I said.
Gwen shrugged. “You probably insulted her.”
“Please, she’s a dog,” I countered. “She has no idea what I’m saying.”
I stretched out a bit more now that I didn’t have a dog on top of me and became engrossed in the TV show. Then suddenly Ginger reappeared, carrying a tube of lipstick in her mouth. She padded straight over to me and set it delicately at my feet.
I sat straight up. “Lipstick? Is she giving me makeup advice?”
Basia leaned forward, frowning. “Hey, that’s my lipstick. She must have dug that out of my purse.”
“Was your purse open?” I asked Basia.
“Probably,” she admitted.
“Well, we may have a klepto dog on our hands, so I suggest zipping up everything.” We stared at the lipstick, then at the Ginger, who sat patiently staring at me as if asking me to do something with the lipstick.
“What are you trying to tell us, Lassie?” Gray mused. “That Lexi needs to wear more makeup?”
If dogs could roll their eyes, I would swear Ginger did. Then she gave a sigh and trotted off again.
Baffled, we watched her go.
