Chapter 1 - THE WORD NERO REMEMBERED
For several seconds after Nero swallowed the second piece of food, nobody moved.
Not Miles Drummond.
Not the two armed men near the doorway.
Not the veterinary specialist standing beside the enormous leather sofa with a stethoscope still hanging around his neck.
And definitely not Jared Kensington.
His gaze stayed fixed on Nero’s head resting against my hand.
Then he looked at me.
“What did you say to him?”
“One word.”
“I heard the word.”
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
“Why that word?”
I glanced down at Nero.
“Because sometimes frightened animals need something familiar before they need food.”
“You've never met him.”
“No.”
“Then how could ‘home’ be familiar?”
I looked up.
“I didn't know it was.”
Something changed behind Jared’s eyes.
Not suspicion exactly.
Recognition.
He stepped closer.
Nero’s ears moved.
The dog did not growl.
That seemed to surprise Jared.
“Say it again.”
I frowned.
“He isn't a vending machine.”
Miles looked down abruptly.
Probably hiding a smile.
Jared did not.
“Please.”
That word sounded unusual coming from him.
I turned back to Nero.
His breathing remained shallow.
His body was terribly thin beneath the loose gray skin characteristic of his breed.
I placed my palm flat against the marble.
“Home.”
His eyes opened.
Not fully.
Enough.
His nose touched my wrist.
Then he looked toward Jared.
For the first time since I arrived, the frightening man in the expensive black suit looked less like a criminal legend and more like someone watching the last living thing he loved move toward the edge of a cliff.
I understood that face.
Grief has a language.
Different bodies.
Same grammar.
I fed Nero a third piece.
Then stopped.
Miles frowned.
“Why stop?”
“Because he hasn't eaten properly in weeks.”
“I don't know what his stomach will tolerate.”
I looked at the veterinarian.
“You have recent bloodwork?”
Dr. Patel nodded.
“Normal except mild dehydration and nutritional changes consistent with prolonged inadequate intake.”
“Imaging?”
“Twice.”
“Pain?”
“No meaningful findings.”
“Dental?”
“Clear.”
“GI obstruction?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“Then don't turn the first eating he's done into another emergency.”
Dr. Patel gave me a long look.
“You worked as a veterinary technician?”
“No.”
“Behaviorist?”
“No.”
“Degree?”
“No.”
That should have embarrassed me.
It didn't.
“I clean your floors.”
Miles raised an eyebrow.
I continued.
“And before that I volunteered at three shelters because I couldn't afford the certification program I wanted.”
Dr. Patel crouched beside Nero.
The dog tolerated him.
Barely.
“What do you think is happening?”
I looked around the penthouse.
Marble.
Glass.
Art.
Armed men.
Four untouched food bowls.
Three expensive dog beds.
Everything a dog could supposedly need.
Except perhaps one thing.
“He's waiting.”
Jared’s expression hardened.
“For who?”
“I don't know.”
I touched the old leather collar around Nero’s neck.
Unlike everything else in the penthouse, it was worn almost to softness.
“This matters.”
Jared became very still.
“Why?”
“Because you've replaced everything else.”
Fresh beds.
New bowls.
Medication bottles.
Medical equipment.
But the collar looked years old.
“Who gave it to him?”
No one answered.
I looked at Miles.
He looked at Jared.
Finally Jared said:
“My sister.”
Past tense.
I stopped.
“She died?”
“Five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
His face closed.
People like Jared Kensington probably hated condolences from strangers.
I understood that too.
“What was her name?”
“Lucia.”
I looked at the collar again.
“Was Nero hers?”
“Yes.”
That explained some things.
Not enough.
“How long has he lived with you?”
“Since she died.”
“And when did he stop eating?”
“Thirty-eight days ago.”
Not five years.
Something recent.
“What happened thirty-eight days ago?”
Silence.
Jared’s jaw tightened.
Miles answered.
“Gabriel Shaw disappeared.”
“Who?”
“Nero’s handler.”
Jared’s voice became flat.
“He worked for my family fourteen years.”
“He trained Nero with Lucia.”
“He moved into this building after she died because the dog refused everyone else.”
I looked down at Nero.
There it was.
Lucia gone.
Then Gabriel.
Two attachment figures.
One dog.
“You think Gabriel abandoned him?”
Jared’s expression sharpened.
“I don't know what happened.”
“Did he leave voluntarily?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“His wallet was in his apartment.”
“Car downstairs.”
“Phone smashed in an alley six blocks away.”
My skin chilled.
Miles added:
“No body.”
“Nothing else.”
“And since then Nero stopped eating?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed the dog’s cheek.
“You're not treating a mysterious appetite problem.”
Dr. Patel looked at me.
“What are we treating?”
“Loss.”
Jared’s voice was colder.
“Five specialists considered depression.”
“Then why did nothing work?”
I looked at Nero.
“Because maybe everyone has been trying to convince him Gabriel isn't coming back.”
“What would you do?”
“I wouldn't lie to him.”
Jared frowned.
“He's a dog.”
“Yes.”
“Meaning?”
“He doesn't need explanations.”
“He needs predictability.”
“Same feeding time.”
“Same room.”
“Same person offering meals.”
“Stop rotating specialists through here like he's a medical conference.”
Dr. Patel opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
“And?”
Jared asked.
“I'd find out exactly what Gabriel did with him.”
“What commands.”
“What routines.”
“What scents.”
“What route he walked.”
“What music played.”
“Dogs build safety from repetition.”
Miles looked at Jared.
“We have Gabriel’s logs.”
“Get them.”
Miles left.
I looked at the money still sitting inside the leather case near the door.
“One more thing.”
Jared followed my gaze.
“The hundred thousand is yours.”
“No.”
“You came.”
“I came for the dog.”
“I don't work for free.”
“That is not what I said.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Interesting.
“I’ll take a normal consultation fee.”
“You don't have a consultation fee.”
“I’ll invent one.”
For the first time, Jared almost smiled.
Then Nero moved.
His muzzle pushed against my wrist.
I looked down.
Something beneath the leather collar scratched my skin.
Metal.
I frowned.
“What?”
Jared asked.
“Nothing.”
I slid two fingers beneath the collar.
The inner seam was thicker near the buckle.
Not ordinary padding.
I looked closer.
One section had been hand-stitched with darker thread.
“Was this collar ever repaired?”
Jared’s expression changed.
“No.”
Miles returned carrying a black binder.
“What?”
I pointed.
“This seam.”
Jared crouched beside me.
Carefully, I removed the collar.
Nero whined.
“Easy.”
“Home.”
He settled again.
The stitched section contained something narrow and hard.
Miles handed me a small pair of medical scissors.
I cut one thread.
Then another.
A brass tube no longer than my little finger slid onto the marble floor.
Nobody spoke.
Jared picked it up.
One end unscrewed.
Inside was a rolled strip of paper.
Miles leaned closer.
Jared opened it.
Three words.
DON’T TRUST CAL.
The room changed.
Miles looked at Jared.
I looked between them.
“Who's Cal?”
Jared’s face became unreadable.
“My uncle.”
He stood.
“Calvin Kensington.”
“And what does he do?”
Jared looked toward Nero.
Then toward the worn collar his dead sister had given the dog.
“He oversees family security.”
I felt the back of my neck go cold.
Gabriel Shaw had disappeared.
Before he vanished, someone had hidden a warning inside the one object he knew Jared would never throw away.
May you like
And for thirty-eight days, the message had been hanging around Nero’s neck.
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