“Shit,” I muttered. “Honestly, I wasn’t thinking Reeves was dirty.”
“Yeah, me either. Seemed pretty enthusiastic about the badge. It was kind of refreshing, actually.” Donovan was already on his feet. “We’re on him tonight.”
I nodded. “Could be a long night.”
“It’ll be worth it if we catch our dirty cop.”
I checked my watch. Seven fifteen. “Get the car set up. Dark windows, no interior lights.”
Donovan grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment. If we were tailing Reeves until morning, Jolly would be alone overnight. He had the doggie door, food, water. He’d done it a hundred times on longer ops. He’d be fine.
But there was a six-year-old next door who had a standing appointment with that dog every morning, and Jolly would be in the yard at first light, waiting for pinecones from a boy who wouldn’t know his friend was unsupervised.
I crossed the yard in the dark. Through the gap in the fence, I could see the warm glow from Kayla’s kitchen window. I went around to the front and knocked.
Kayla opened the door in leggings and an oversized sweater, pencil behind her ear. Working on Barley, probably.
“Hey.” She stepped back, surprised but not unhappy.
“Hey. Sorry to just show up.” William was behind her in the living room, cross-legged on the floor with a book open in his lap. “I have to go out tonight for work. Might be gone until morning.”
“Okay.” She searched my face, reading what was there.
“Jolly’s staying here. He’ll be fine—he’s got the doggie door, food, water. He’s used to it. But I was wondering if William might want to check on him in the morning. Play with him in the yard.”
William’s head came up the moment I said Jolly’s name. The book was abandoned. He was on his feet and beside Kayla before I finished the sentence.
“I can do that.” His face carried the gravity of a surgeon being called into an operating room. “I’ll check on him first thing.”
“First thing after breakfast,” Kayla corrected.
“First thing after breakfast,” William amended, though the look on his face said breakfast was a negotiable concept where Jolly was concerned.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out Jolly’s ball—the red one, the reward ball, the one he earned after every successful find. Scuffed and tooth-marked and years worn.
I held it out. “This is Jolly’s favorite. He’ll do anything for this ball. You throw it, he brings it back. Every time.”
William took it with both hands. Cupped it the way you’d hold something alive. He turned it over, running his thumb across the tooth marks, the patches where the rubber had gone smooth from years of use.
“This is his special ball,” William said. Not a question.
“Yes. His special ball.”
He looked up at me, and his expression was the most unguarded thing I’d seen from him—open, serious, full of a trust that landed somewhere I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’ll take really good care of it.”
“I know you will.”
He held the ball against his chest and looked at his mother. Whatever he saw was permission enough. He walked back toward the living room with careful, measured steps, sat on the couch, and set the ball on the cushion beside him. His hand stayed on top of it.
Guarding it.
Kayla watched him go. When she turned back to me, she blinked hard, once.
“He’s not sleeping tonight,” she said quietly. “You realize that.”
