Fiona deliberately scheduled a solo behavioral correction as her last client of the day. She often thought of those sessions as attitude adjustments—and not just for the dog.
The fluffy orange Pom, Chloe—all four pounds of her—ruled over her owners, reportedly wreaked havoc in her neighborhood, yipping, snarling and lunging hysterically at other dogs, cats, birds, kids, and occasionally tried to take a Pom-sized chunk out of whatever crossed her path when she wasn’t in the mood for it.
Struggling to crochet—her newest hobby—Sylvia sat on the porch with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and butter cookies while Fiona listened to the client repeat the gist of their phone consult.
“My husband and I had to cancel our vacation this winter.” Lissy Childs stroked the ball of fur in her arms while that ball eyed Fiona suspiciously. “We couldn’t get anyone to take her for the week—or house-sit, if she was in it. She’s so sweet, really, and so adorable, but, well, she is incorrigible.”
Lissy made kissy noises, and Chloe responded by shivering all over and lapping at Lissy’s face.
Chloe, Fiona noted, wore a silver collar studded with multicolored rhinestones—at least she hoped they were just rhinestones—and pink booties, open at the toe to show off matching pink toenails.
Both she and her human smelled of Vera Wang’s Princess.
“She’s a year?”
“Yes, she just had her very first birthday, didn’t you, baby doll?”
“Do you remember when she started showing unsociable behavior?”
“Well.” Lissy cuddled Chloe. The eye-popping square-cut diamond on her hand flared like fired ice, and Chloe made a point of showing Fiona her sharp, scissorlike teeth. “She’s really never liked other dogs, or cats. She thinks she’s a person, ’cause she’s my baby.”
“She sleeps in your bed, doesn’t she?”
“Well . . . yes. She has a sweet bed of her own, but she likes to use it as a toy box. She just loves squeaky toys.”
“How many does she have?”
“Oh . . . well.” Lissy had the grace to look sheepish as she flipped back her long blond mane. “I buy them for her all the time. I just can’t resist. And little outfits. She loves to dress up. I know I spoil her. Harry does, too. We just can’t resist. And really, she is a sweetheart. She’s just a little jealous and excitable.”
“Why don’t you put her down?”
“She doesn’t like me to put her down outside. Especially when . . .” She glanced over her shoulder where Oreo and Fiona’s dogs sprawled. “When other d-o-g-s are around.”
“Lissy, you’re paying me to help Chloe become a happier, better-adjusted dog. What you’re telling me, and what I’m seeing, is that Chloe’s not only pack leader, she’s a four-pound dictator. Everything you’ve told me indicates she has a classic case of Small Dog Syndrome.”
“Oh, my goodness! Does she need medication?”
“She needs you to stop allowing her to lead, fostering the idea that because she’s little she’s permitted to engage in bad behavior you wouldn’t permit in a larger dog.”
“Well, but, she is little.”
“Size doesn’t change the behavior, or the reason a dog displays it.” Owners, Fiona thought, were all too often the biggest obstacle. “Listen, you can’t take her for a walk without stress, or have people over to your house. You told me you and Harry love to entertain, but haven’t been able to have a dinner party in months.”
“It’s just that the last time we tried, it was so stressful with Chloe so upset that we had to put her in the bedroom.”
“Where she destroyed your new duvet, among other things.”
“It was awful.”
“You can’t leave her to have an evening away without her having a tantrum, so you and your husband have stopped going out to dinner, to parties, to the theater. You said she bit your mother.”
“Yes, it was just a nip really. She—”
“Lissy, let me ask you something. I bet you’ve been on planes, or in the shops, a restaurant where a child’s been running wild, disturbing everyone, kicking the seat, arguing with his parents, creating a nuisance, whining, complaining and so on.”
“God, yes.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. “It’s so annoying. I don’t understand why . . . Oh.” Cluing in, Lissy blew out a breath. “I’m not being a responsible mommy.”
“Exactly.” Or close enough. “Put her down.”
The minute Chloe’s pink booties hit the ground, she leaped onto her hind legs, yipping, scrabbling at Lissy’s lovely linen pants.
“Come on now, baby, don’t—”
“No,” Fiona said. “Don’t give her that kind of attention when she’s misbehaving. You need to dominate. Show her who’s in charge.”
“Stop that right now, Chloe, or no yummies on the way home.”
“Not like that. First, stop thinking, But she’s so little and cute. Stop thinking about her size and think of her as a misbehaving dog. Here.” Fiona took the leash.
“Step away,” she told Lissy, and positioned herself between them. Chloe yipped and snarled, attempted a quick lunge and nip.
“Stop!” Voice firm, Fiona kept eye contact and shot a finger toward the dog. Chloe made grumbling sounds, but subsided.
“She’s sulking,” Lissy said with indulgence.
“If she was a Lab or a German shepherd sitting there growling, would it be cute?”
Lissy cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.”
“Spoiling her isn’t making her happy. It’s making her a bully, and bullies aren’t happy.”
She began to walk the dog. Chloe struggled, trying to turn back to Lissy. Fiona simply shortened the leash, forcing Chloe to fall in line. “Once she understands there’s no reward, no affection shown for bad behavior, and that you’re in charge, she’ll stop. And be happier.”
“I don’t want her to be a bully or unhappy. Honestly, that’s why I’m here. I’m just terrible at discipline.”
“Then get better,” Fiona said flatly. “She depends on you. When she’s already excited and heading out of control, speak to her firmly, correct her quickly, don’t placate her in that high baby-talk voice. That only increases her level of stress. She wants you to take control, and you’ll all be happier once you do.”
For the next ten minutes, Fiona worked with the dog, correcting and rewarding.
“She listens to you.”
“Because she understands I’m in charge, and she respects that. Her behavior problems are a result of how she’s been treated by the people around her, how she’s come to believe she should be treated and now demands to be treated.”
“Spoiled.”
“It’s not the squeaky toys, the yummies, the outfits. Why not indulge yourselves there if it makes all of you happy? It goes back to allowing, even encouraging, unacceptable behavior and giving her the controls. She goes on the attack with big dogs, right?”
“All the time. And it was funny at first. You just had to laugh. Now it’s gotten a little scary every time we take her for a walk.”
“She does it because you’ve made her pack leader. She has to defend that position every time she comes in contact with another dog, human, animal. It stresses her out.”
“Is that why she goes on those barking jags? Because she’s stressed?”
“That, and because she’s telling you what to do. People think of Poms as yappy dogs because their owners often allow them to become yappy dogs.”
Not yapping now, Fiona thought as she stopped and Chloe sat and watched her with those almond-shaped eyes. “She’s relaxed now. I want you to do the same thing with her. Walk her back and forth. Stay in control.”
Fiona led Chloe to Lissy, and the dog rose up to paw the air, to scrabble at Lissy’s legs.
“Lissy,” Fiona said firmly.
“Okay. Chloe, stop.”
“Mean it!” Fiona ordered.
“Chloe, stop!”
Chloe sat, tipped her head from side to side as if evaluating.
“Now walk her. Insist that she heel. She’s not walking you.”
Fiona stepped back to watch. She was, she knew, training the human every bit as much as—possibly more than—the dog. Progress, and a satisfied client, would depend on the human’s willingness to adhere to the training at home.
“She’s listening!”
“You’re doing great.” And both of you are relaxed, Fiona thought. “I’m going to walk toward you. If she exhibits unacceptable behavior, I want you to correct. And don’t tense up. You’re walking your cute little dog. Your cute, polite, happy little dog.”
At Fiona’s approach, Chloe barked and pulled on the leash. Fiona wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Pom or master, when Lissy hissed out a no-nonsense Stop and brought Chloe to heel.
“Excellent. Again.”
She repeated, repeated until at her approach, Chloe simply continued to walk politely at Lissy’s heel.
“Well done. Syl, would you mind? Syl’s going to walk by now. Syl, stop and chat, okay?”
“Sure.” Sylvia strolled up, crossed paths. “Nice to see you.”
“Okay. Gosh.” Lissy stopped, blinking when the pretty little Pom did the same without snarling or yipping. “Look what she did.”
“Isn’t that great? What a pretty dog.” Sylvia bent over to stroke Chloe’s fluffy head. “What a well-behaved dog. Good girl, Chloe.”
“We’re going to add Newman in,” Fiona announced.
“Oh my God.”
“Lissy, don’t tense up. Stay relaxed. Newman won’t react to her until I allow it. You’re in charge. She depends on you. Correct firmly, quickly and as necessary.”
With Newman by her side, Fiona walked across Chloe’s eye line. The Pom went ballistic.
“Correct,” Fiona ordered. “Firmly, Lissy,” she added when her flustered client faltered. “No, don’t pick her up. Like this. Chloe, stop! Stop!” Fiona repeated, making eye contact, pointing sharply.
Chloe subsided with a few grumbles.
“Newman’s no threat. Obviously,” Fiona added as the Lab sat placidly. “You need to keep relaxed and remain in charge—and be firm when she’s exhibiting unsocial behavior.”
“He’s so much bigger. She’s scared.”
“Yes, she’s scared and she’s stressed—and so are you. You have to relax, let her relax. She’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.” At Fiona’s hand signal, Newman lay down, sighed a little.
“You said there was a park near you, and several people take their dogs there.”
“Yes. I stopped taking Chloe because she’d just get upset.”
“It’d be nice to be able to take her, so she could have playmates, make friends.”
“Nobody likes her,” Lissy whispered. “It hurts her feelings.”
“Nobody likes a bully, Lissy. But people, especially dog people, generally enjoy a well-behaved dog. And one as pretty and smart as Chloe could make a lot of friends. You’d like that for her?”
“I really would.”
“When’s the last time you took her to the park?”
“Oh gosh, it’s been three or four months. There was this little incident. Really she barely broke the skin—barely—but Harry and I felt it best not to take her back.”
“I think you can give it another try.”
“Really? But—”
“Take a look.” Fiona held a finger up first. “Don’t overreact. Stay calm—keep your voice calm.”
Lissy glanced down, then pressed her free hand to her mouth as she watched Chloe sniff curiously at Newman.
“She’s checking him out,” Fiona said. “Her tail’s wagging, her ears are up. She’s not afraid. She’s interested. Stay calm,” she added, then signaled Newman.
When he stood, Chloe retreated, then froze as he lowered his head to sniff her in turn. Her tail wagged again.
“He gave her a kiss!”
“Newman likes pretty girls.”
“She’s making a friend.” Lissy’s eyes filled. “It’s silly. I know it’s silly to get so emotional.”
“No it’s not. Not a bit. You love her.”
“She’s never had a friend. It’s my fault.”
Mostly, Fiona thought, but things were never quite that simple. “Lissy, you brought her here because you love her and you want her to be happy. She has a friend now. How about we let her make a few more?”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
Lissy reached out, a bit dramatically, to clutch Fiona’s hand. “I really, really do.”
“Correct if necessary. Otherwise, just relax and let her deal.”
Fiona called the dogs off the porch, one at a time, to give Chloe a chance to acclimate. There were a few corrections, some retreat and advance, but before long they had what Fiona thought of as a sniff-and-wag party going on.
“I’ve never seen her like this. She’s not scared or being mean or trying to claw up my leg so I’ll pick her up.”
“Let’s give her a reward. Let her off the leash so she can run around with the boys and Oreo.”
Lissy bit her lip but obeyed.
“Go play,” Fiona ordered.
As the others ran off, bumping bodies, Chloe stood, shivering.
“She’s—”
“Wait,” Fiona interrupted. “Give her some time.”
Bogart raced back, gave Chloe a few swipes with his tongue. This time when he ran toward the pack, Chloe raced after him on her little designer booties.
“She’s playing.” Lissy murmured it as Chloe leaped to latch onto the frayed end of the mangled rope Bogart snagged. “She’s really playing with friends.”
Fiona draped an arm around Lissy’s shoulders. “Let’s sit on the porch and have some lemonade. You can watch her from there.”
“I—I should’ve brought my camera. I never thought . . .”
“Tell you what. Sit with Sylvia. I’ll go get mine and take some shots. I’ll e-mail them to you.”
“I’m going to cry.”
“You go right ahead.” Patting Lissy’s shoulder, Fiona led her to the porch.
LATER, SYLVIA ROCKED and sipped and watched Lissy drive away with Chloe. “That must be very satisfying.”
“And a little exhausting.”
“Well, you did give her two solid hours.”
“She—they—needed it. I think they’ll be all right. Lissy has to keep it up—and bring Harry on board. But I think she will. Our guys helped, a lot.” She lifted her foot and gave Peck’s rump a rub.
“Now that we’ve solved Chloe’s problem, what about yours?”
“I think that’s going to take more than a firm hand and some dog treats.”
“How mad is he?”
“Pretty mad.”
“How mad are you?”
“Undecided.”
Now that the dog party had ended, a trio of jewel-winged humming-birds dashed and darted along the flowering red currant that Starr had written about in the cursed article.
The blur of color should have charmed her, but it only served to remind Fiona of the harshness of the morning.
“I’m trying to stay calm, to be sensible—because otherwise I think, I really think I’d run screaming and never stop. And Simon’s angry I don’t run screaming. At least I think that’s part of it, and I’m not all ‘Oh, you’re so big and strong, please take care of me.’ Or something.”
Sylvia continued to rock, to sip. “It’s a wonder to me, it really is, Fee, how someone as insightful and sensitive as you can’t seem to understand how painfully hard this is on the rest of us.”
“Oh, Syl. I do! Of course I do. I wish—”
“No, honey, you don’t. Your solution is to block us out of some of the details, and your own fears. To make the decisions, on your own, about what to do and how to do it. And since I can’t completely disagree with that, I’m in a quandary.”
Guilt mingled with frustration, and irritation wrapped them with a frayed bow. “I don’t block you out.”
“Not often. You are a sensible woman, and you’re justifiably proud of your ability to take care of yourself and deal with your own problems. I’m proud of you. But I worry that your need to do that will box you into believing you have to do that, always. You have an easier time giving help than asking for it.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe. But honestly, Syl, I didn’t think telling Simon or you, or anyone, about that damn reporter was an issue. Was a thing. It happened, I dealt with it. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped her from writing the article.”
“No, but telling us would have prepared us for it.”
“All right.” Tired, next to defeated, Fiona pressed her fingers to her eyes. “All right.”
“I don’t want to upset you. God knows I don’t want to add to your stress. I’d just like you to think about . . . to consider that it’s time to really let those who care about you step in.”
“Okay, tell me what you think I should do.”
“I’ll tell you what I wish you could do. I wish you could pack up and go to Fiji until they catch this maniac. And I know you can’t. Not just because it’s not in your makeup, but because you have your home, your business, your bills, your life to deal with.”
“Yes, I do. It’s maddening, Syl, because I feel like people don’t really understand that. If I crawled in some cave, I could lose my business, my home, not to mention my self-confidence. I worked hard to build all of those.”
“In my opinion, honey, people do understand that, but they wish you could dig into that cave. I think you’re doing what you can, what you have to do—except asking and allowing others to genuinely help. It’s more than having James watch your house and dogs while you take a little trip, or letting Simon share your bed at night. It’s opening up to someone, Fiona, fully. It’s trusting enough to do that.”
“God.” Fiona huffed out a breath. “I’ve practically thrown myself at Simon’s feet.”
Sylvia smiled a little. “Have you?”
“I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. I didn’t get quid pro quo out of that.”
“Is that what you were after?”
“No.” Irritated with herself and everything else, she shoved to her feet. “No. But he’s not exactly the sort who tells you what’s on his mind—unless he’s mad. And even then . . .”
“I’m not talking about him, or to him. If I were, I’d probably have quite a bit to say. But this is you, Fiona. It’s you I’m worried about, worried for. It’s you I want happy and safe.”
“I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you. And I won’t make a mistake like I did with the reporter again.” She turned back, lifted her hand, palm out. “Solemn oath.”
“I’m going to hold you to it. Now, tell me what you want from Simon. With Simon.”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or haven’t let yourself dig down and think about?”
“Both. If things were just normal—if all of this wasn’t hovering around the edges of my life—maybe I would dig down. Or maybe there wouldn’t be anything to dig for in the first place.”
“Because what’s hovering is why you and Simon are where you are now?”
“It’s certainly influenced it. The timing, the intensity.”
“I’m full of opinions today,” Sylvia decided. “So here’s one more. I think you’re giving a murderer too much credit, and yourself and Simon not enough. The fact is, Fee, things are what they are, and you and Simon are where you are. That’s something to be dealt with.”
She lifted her brows when the dogs went on alert. “And I bet that’s what you have to deal with coming over your bridge. I’m going to go so you can.” Sylvia rose, gathered Fiona in a fierce hug. “I love you, so much.”
“I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Then don’t try. And think of this,” she murmured. “He left mad, but he came back.”
She kissed Fiona’s cheek, then picked up her enormous straw bag. She called Oreo as she strolled toward Simon’s truck. Fiona couldn’t hear what Sylvia said to him, but noticed he glanced toward the porch as her stepmother spoke.
Then shrugged.
Typical.
She stood her ground, though she wasn’t quite sure where the ground lay, as Sylvia drove away. “If you’re here due to obligation, I’ll relieve you of it. I can ask James to stay here tonight, or go bunk at Mai’s.”
“Obligation for what?”
“Because I’m in trouble, which I freely admit. I know you’re mad, and I’m telling you you’re not obliged. I won’t stay here alone.”
He said nothing for a moment. “I want a beer.” He walked up the steps and into the house.
“Well, for—” She strode in after him. “Is that how you solve problems? Is that your method?”
“It depends on the problem. I want a beer,” he repeated, and pulled one out of the fridge, opened it. “I have a beer. Problem solved.”
“I’m not talking about the damn beer.”
“Okay.” He moved past her and out to the back porch.
She caught the screen on the back swing, slammed it behind her. “Don’t just walk away from me.”
“If you’re going to bitch, I’m going to sit down and drink my beer.”
“If I’m going to—You left here this morning pissed off and bossy. Interrupting me every five seconds. Telling me to shut up.”
“I’m about to repeat that.”
“What gives you the right to tell me what to do, what to think, what to say?”
“Not a thing.” He tipped the beer in her direction. “And right back at you, Fiona.”
“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m giving you a choice, and I’m telling you I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”
His gaze fired to hers, molten gold sheathed in ice. “I’m not one of your dogs. You won’t train me.”
Her jaw dropped in sincere shock. “I’m not trying to train you. For God’s sake.”
“Yeah, you are. Second nature for you, I guess. Too bad, because I’d say it’s a pretty sure bet I have a lot of behaviors you’d like to change. That’s on you. If you’d rather James stay here tonight, give him a call. I’ll take off when he gets here.”
“I don’t know why we’re fighting.” She pushed her hands through her hair, leaned back on the rail. “I don’t even know. I don’t know why I’m suddenly considered someone who’s closed in or blocked off or too stubborn or stupid to ask for help. I’m not. I’m not any of that.”
He took a long pull as he studied her. “You got yourself out of the trunk.”
“What?”
“You got yourself out. Nobody helped you. There wasn’t anybody to help you. Live or die, it was up to you. It must’ve been a hell of a thing. I can’t imagine it. I’ve tried. I can’t. Do you want to stay in the trunk?”
Tears stung behind her eyes, infuriatingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You can keep getting out on your own. My money’s on you there. Or you can let somebody give you a hand with it, and get it through your head that it doesn’t make you incapable, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known some strong women. So figure it out, and let me know.”
She turned away, pressing a hand to her chest as it ached. “I got myself into the trunk, too.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“How do you know? You weren’t there. I was stupid and careless, and I let him take me.”
“Jesus Christ. He killed twelve women before you. Do you think they were all stupid, careless? That they let him take them?”
“I—no. Yes.” She turned back. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I know I made a mistake that day. Just a little one, just a few seconds, and it changed everything. Everything.”
“You lived. Greg Norwood died.”
“I know that it wasn’t my fault. I had therapy. I know Perry’s responsible. I know.”
“Knowing isn’t always believing.”
“I believe it. Most of the time. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t pull the chains of that with me.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but they’re rattling now.”
She hated, hated that he was right. “I built a life here, and I’m happy. There wouldn’t be this . . . I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t happening again. How can it be happening again?” she demanded. “How in God’s name can this happen again?”
She drew a shuddering breath. “Do you need me to say I’m scared? I told you I was. I am. I’m terrified. Is that what you want me to say?”
“No. And if I get the chance, he’ll pay for making you say it, for making you feel it.”
He watched as she swiped a single tear from her cheek. He’d pay for that, too, Simon thought. For that one drop of grief.
And that one drop doused the last sparks of the anger he’d hauled around with him all day.
“I don’t know what I’m after with you, Fee, exactly. I can’t figure it out. But I know I want you to trust me. I need you to trust me to help you out of that f**king trunk. To trust me enough for that. Then we’ll see what happens next.”
“That scares me almost as much.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He lifted the beer again to drink, eyeing her over it. “I’d say you’re in a spot.”
She let out an unsteady laugh. “I guess I am. I haven’t had a serious relationship since Greg. A couple of short-lived pretenses. I can stand here now and look back and see very clearly they weren’t fair to anyone involved. I wasn’t dishonest, and the other party wasn’t after any more than it was. But still, not fair. I didn’t intend to have a serious relationship with you. I wanted the company, some conversation, the sex. I liked the idea of having an affair. Look at me, all grown up. Maybe that wasn’t fair.”
“I didn’t have a problem with it.”
She smiled. “Maybe not, but here we are, Simon, and it’s pretty clear we’re both after a little more than we bargained for. You want trust. I want what I guess is the next level of commitment. I think we’re scaring each other.”
He stood up. “I can take it. Can you?”
“I want to try.”
He reached out, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let’s see how we do.”
She moved in, sighed as she locked her arms around him. “Okay. This is already better.”
“Let’s try something different.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “Let’s go out to dinner.”
“Out?”
“I’ll take you out to dinner. You could wear a dress.”
“I could.”
“You have them. I’ve seen them in your closet.”
She tilted her head back. “I’d like to put on a dress and go out to dinner.”
“Good. Don’t take all night. I’m hungry.”
“Fifteen minutes.” Rising on her toes, she brushed his lips with hers. “This is better.”
Even as she walked inside, the phone rang.
“Business line. One minute. Fiona Bristow.” Immediately she reached for the pad, the pen. “Yes, Sergeant Kasper. How long?” She wrote quickly, nodded as questions she didn’t have to ask were answered. “I’ll contact the rest of the unit immediately. Yes, five handlers, five dogs. Mai Funaki will run our base, as before. We’ll meet you there. You still have my cell number? Yes, that’s it. We’ll leave within the hour. No problem.”
She hung up. “I’m sorry. We’ve got two missing hikers in the Olympic National Forest. I’ve got to call the others. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have any experience,” she began even as she speed-dialed Mai. “Mai, we’re on.” She relayed the information quickly. “Phone tree,” she said to Simon as she clicked off and began to move. “Mai makes the next call.”
“I’m going with you. One, because you’re not going alone. Once you start the search it’s just you and the dog, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And two, if you’re going to train my dog to do what you’re about to do, I want a better sense of it. I’m going.”
“We won’t get there before dark. If they haven’t found them by then, we’re going to start the search at night, and very likely spend the night in very rough conditions.”
“What, am I a pu**y?”
“Hardly.” She opened her mouth to push back again, then realized what she was doing. “Okay. I’ve got a spare pack. I have a list of everything you need to take. Most should be in there already. You take the list, make sure it’s complete. And I’ll need you to call Syl and ask her to keep an eye on the dogs we don’t take.”
She pulled out her spare pack, tossed it to him. “When we get there, I’m alpha dog. You have to deal with that.”
“Your show, your rules. Where’s the list?”
