Fine, he’d take Whiskey.
Gabriel gave Penelope a nod.
They signed papers.
They shook hands.
The work of a lifetime was distributed.
Man, it was empty.
Twenty minutes.
Done.
The receptionist was back with her pity eyes and half-smile, waiting to escort them out.
Gabriel picked up Whiskey’s lead and followed Cathy and Dave out the door into the sunshine. The asphalt was still wet and shiny from the earlier rain. Gabriel thought there might be a metaphor in that—in from the rain out into the sunlight—but he didn't like it, so he sent his thoughts off to the side.
He watched as Dave drove over to transfer Whiskey’s things to Gabriel’s car.
From the driver’s seat, Dave pressed the trunk button, and it raised automatically.
Cathy climbed out of the car and came to help Dave with the food and bowls, Whiskey’s bed and toys.
Gabriel was a dog dad.
Wholly unexpected.
How was he going to manage this? His work called him in when there were emergencies. He wasn't on anybody's timetable. When he wasn't working hard, he was playing hard. His kind of fun was traveling the world and participating in adventure races. There he’d be in constant motion for days on end. Taking little cat naps against a tree. He liked the sensation of pushing himself.
He could do both.
He could live his life, and he could take care of Whiskey.
What it meant was he'd need to hire a good pet sitter with a key to his house, whom he could call at the spur of the moment to come over and take care of Whiskey's needs.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Gabriel asked.
Cathy stopped and blinked. “It didn't occur to me.” And she seemed to realize that wasn’t good enough. “I'm not thinking straight. I'm sorry.” She reached out to put her hands on his arms, but before they landed, Gabriel’s phone rang loudly in his jacket pocket.
He stepped to the side to take the call.
He listened while Cathy spread a plastic bag on his front seat, then loaded Whiskey in.
One hand on his hip, with his chin tucked, he scuffed his foot against the rough pavement. Turning his head to see who might be around and who might be listening, Gabriel asked, “What have you got?”
“A video came in from a bystander. It was someone in an FBI jacket. They were dragged into a building. Nothing good is happening for him. We need boots in action. We don't know where to start.”
Gabriel fished his keys from his pocket. “On my way.” He rounded the car. “Hey, Cath, sorry, I’m going to have to take off. I've got an emergency at work. Can I pick up Whiskey tomorrow?”
“We can't take Whiskey with us. We’re not heading home.”
What could he say? He was Whiskey’s dad now.
He’d have to figure things out.
Chapter Three
