“Wow,” he said again, genuine amazement warming the word. “You’re already so prepared.”
Of course he sounded impressed. Of course he was smiling like that, wide and earnest, bright enough to make something low in my stomach twist. I told myself it was only annoyance.
He kept talking. “I mean, it’s not even noon. And you already have a match, and a plan, and?—”
There it was again. Thateagerness. That shine in his voice.
The exact kind I’d seen in a hundred trainees who wanted to climb the ranks fast, who thought going into a specialty, like K9 tactics, made them look competent and indispensable.
I swallowed that thought and kept walking.
Chris didn’t seem to notice the shift in my mood. “So what’s the dog’s name? The one you’re picking?”
“Pampi,” I said shortly.
“That’s cute.” He grinned. “Like… Pampers?”
I closed my eyes. “No.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Still cute, though.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. If I didn’t redirect this conversation, I was going to start growling.
“Look,” I said, a bit too sharp. “I’m good here. Why don’t you go back and pack? Prepare whatever you need for tomorrow. I’ll catch up after I check on the dog.”
“Oh.” He blinked, pulled back a little. “Right. Yeah. Sure. I’ll just call you then?”
I just made a noncommittal sound. “Mm.”
He hesitated, but the door clicked shut behind him a moment later. The room felt quieter instantly. I realized I’d stopped walking, that I was already standing directly in front of Pampi’s kennel.
I crouched down and opened the small latch. The Papillon inside yawned and trotted forward, her plume of a tail wagging like she knew she’d just become important. I stroked her head gently, letting her sniff my hand.
“Hey, girl,” I murmured. “You ready to pretend you’re someone else for a couple days?”
She licked my fingers like that was a stupid question.
As I lifted her out, a prickle crept under my skin. Guilt? Frustration? Something in between.
Maybe I’d been just a little too brusque with Chris. But every time I heard that determined, eager tone in his voice, it set off alarms in me I didn’t want to think about.
Because I’d known wolves like that before. Wolves who said they wanted to help, who wanted to learn, who wanted to “serve the pack.”
Wolves who praised my skills and then used them, pushed me, pressured me, until I was working every hour of the day monitoring shifters, managing crises, enforcing rules I’d never agreed with.
Wolves who made me the solution to every problem and then blamed me when everything went wrong. When I’d agreed to come to Pecan Pines, I’d been clear with Cooper. I would help build the K9 unit.
I would consult when necessary. Handle administrative work. Training protocols. The kind of work that kept me with the dogs and out of the spotlight. I wasn’t taking a frontline position again.
The deal had been simple: I stayed low. I handled the dogs, the paperwork, the structure. No command decisions. No becoming the face of anything.
Cooper had agreed, no questions asked. He’d taken me in when I needed a place to land. That counted for something.
So when he asked for this favor, I couldn’t say no. But he’d also promised that if at any point I felt uncomfortable, if it became too much, I could tap out and someone else would step in.
I intended to hold him to that. I wouldn’t let what happened before repeat itself. Not here. Not with these people.
And definitely not because an eager, overly bright trainee saw this investigation as a chance to prove himself.
