I didn’t like not knowing what that feeling was. I didn’t like that it hadn’t gone away.
“What about him?” Chris’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I turned and found him crouched by a kennel, scratching behind the ears of a yellow Labrador. Stocky, young, enthusiastic. The dog leaned hard into Chris’s hand, tail thumping like he’d found his soulmate.
“No,” I said. “Too big.”
Chris blinked. “He looks friendly, though. And he likes me.”
“Peter’s dog is a Papillon,” I reminded him. “We’re supposed to match the profile on their application. We can’t just show up with a Labrador and hope nobody notices.”
“Oh.” Chris straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah, that—okay, that makes sense.”
I frowned at him. “Did you even read the file?”
He hesitated. His expression said everything. “Not… fully?”
Of course not.
“Make sure you read it before we leave tomorrow,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Or you’ll blow our cover in the first five minutes.”
He winced, shifting his weight. Something in me twisted at that. I didn’t want to babysit him, but Cooper had only called him in this morning. I’d had the file since yesterday.
I sighed, then held out the file. “Here. Why don’t you read it now.”
Chris blinked in surprise, then took it carefully. “Thanks,” he murmured.
The Labrador whined at him as he straightened. Chris gave the dog one last scratch, then leaned against a column to start reading.
A minute passed in silence except for the occasional shuffle of paper.
“Oh,” Chris said suddenly, tapping a line midway down the page. “Peter and John only started competing last year. They’ve mostly done small regional shows.”
I paused. “Yeah.”
“That’s good for us, right?” He glanced up at me. “If they haven’t done many big circuits, fewer people will recognize them. Less chance someone notices we’re not them.”
I studied him for a beat longer than necessary.
“That’s right,” I said slowly. “Odds of someone calling us out are lower.”
Chris nodded, a small spark lighting his expression, and flipped the page with renewed focus. “Okay. Good. So we just need to make sure our details match what little exposure they’ve had.”
For a moment, I realized I’d been underestimating him. Maybe I’d judged him too harshly.
I had to look away before my thoughts wandered somewhere inconvenient.
After another minute, he lowered the papers and said quietly, “Wow.”
I glanced over. “What?”
“This dog. Peter’s Papillon.” He tapped the printed photo. “Do we have one that looks exactly like this?”
“Not exactly,” I said, moving further down the row. “But close enough. I wouldn’t have agreed if we didn’t at least have a similar dog to train with.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You already checked?”
I nodded. “My Papillon used to be a show dog too. Mostly agility competitions, and she’s got the look and attitude. Well, sort of. Enough that it won’t raise any questions, at least.”
