“Spike,” the boy announced with no irony whatsoever.
Daisy chuckled, because the dog looked no more like a Spike than her pup looked like a Brutus. “That is a very good name.” She handed a clipboard with paperwork to the mother and a list of necessities to the father. “A few things you’ll need. You can sit down to fill that out, if you like,” she said to the wife as the husband and the boy went off to shop.
“Thank you.” She sank into the chair and rubbed her back. “I’m glad we picked a little one. I’m not going to be able to see my toes soon, much less handle a big dog.”
Daisy smiled at her. “Congratulations!”
The wife smiled back. “I could say the same to you.” She looked over at where Gideon stood, just inside the doorway, arms casually crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, scanning the crowd in a way that made it look like he was idly observing.
He was . . . wow.
“Um, Poppy?”
Daisy looked at the woman sitting next to her, who had pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said that your boyfriend is very handsome. But I think you already know that.”
Daisy’s cheeks heated, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. “He is, isn’t he?”
“He is. And he looks at you the way a man should.” She gave a decisive nod, finished filling out the paperwork, then went to the register to pay the adoption fee.
Another satisfied customer, Daisy hoped, waving as the family took their new pet home.
“Oh, good.”
Daisy spun in her chair to see that the man wanting to get a job in radio had slid onto the chair beside her. Gideon was not going to like this.
“Good what?” Daisy asked cautiously.
He smiled at her flirtatiously as his Airedale curled up at his feet without being told. “I wanted to talk to you without your pit bull hovering.”
And Gideon had been right. The guy was trying to pick her up. She pasted a kind smile on her face. “How can I help you, sir?”
His expression fell. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive, but I clearly have been. He seems like a nice pit bull,” he added lightly, as if trying to mollify her. “I was just hoping I could ask you some questions about your job. To see how I can get into the business. I know this isn’t the time because you’re busy with the adoptions, but I was hoping you’d call me to set something up. We can meet anywhere you’d like, wherever you’re most comfortable.” He frowned suddenly, all lightness disappearing from his eyes. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m getting desperate. I’m about to lose my home. I’d have to give George away.” He looked at his dog, devastated. “If I have to move, I won’t be able to find a place that’ll take a dog as big as he is.”
Daisy’s heart squeezed in sympathy. “Why don’t I give you my e-mail address at the station?” She wrote it down on one of the flyers for the adoption event and handed it to him. “I’m happy to answer all your questions that way. I can even forward you a job application.” They were going to have a hole in the lineup due to Tad being fired for his diatribe the day before, so maybe, once the existing employees were moved around to fill the gaps, there would be a place for this guy. “I’ll put in a good word for you with the station manager. He’s over there by the cats. I’ll introduce you when the event is over and you can demonstrate your radio voice.”
His gaze softened. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I hate to think of you and George losing your home. George is such a nice boy, aren’t you?” She leaned down to scratch the dog’s ears and he gave her hand a lick. “You are nice.”
“I can’t stay any longer, but I’ll be sure to e-mail you. I’d still love to meet you for coffee or tea sometime. George has taken a liking to you.”
“Send me an e-mail, and I’ll be sure to answer back right away. If you don’t want to wait, you can download a job app from the station’s Web site, but it’s not very user-friendly.” She dug into the big jar of Milk-Bones and pulled out a large one for George. “Is it okay if I give him a treat?”
He nodded, a faint smile on his lips, but worry in his eyes. Poor guy.
Daisy leaned over to give the dog treat to George, who took it gingerly from her fingers. “What a polite boy you are.” She looked up and smiled at the man. “You’ve trained him so well.”
“Thank you.” He rose and offered his hand. “I appreciate your time.”
She shook his hand firmly. “I only hope we can find you a job. I have a few friends who are teachers. I’ll ask them about openings in their schools’ drama departments, too.”
“That’s . . . nice of you.” He tugged on the dog’s leash. “Come along, George. We have to go.”
When he was gone, Gideon sat in the chair he’d vacated. “I don’t like him.”
She kissed his cheek, next to the clean line of his goatee. He’d showered and shaved at her place and his skin was soft and smooth. “I know. I didn’t offer to meet him. I just gave him my work e-mail address, which is available on the station’s Web site anyway. But I wasn’t going to be rude. That’s just not nice.”
“All right.” Gideon checked his watch. “It feels like things are winding down.”
“We can start cleaning up now.” She frowned. “Trish was supposed to have come today. She was talking about adopting a cat.”
“Maybe she got busy. Or she knows you’re peeved that she told that reporter about you yesterday.”
“I never talked to her. I don’t call or text her when she’s working. Her boss gets annoyed. And then we fell asleep.”
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “And then we woke up.”
She had to smile back. “That we did.” She took out her phone. “Let me call her now. I was hoping you could meet her.” She dialed and frowned when her call went straight to voice mail. “That’s not like her. I hope she’s not sick.” Then a more horrible thought struck her. “Oh God. I hope she’s not drinking. We were upset on Thursday night even before the attack. One of the men in our AA group died. He was special. One of our leaders. Trish had known him for years.”
“We can check on her when we’re done here, if you want to.”
She nodded, trying to put her panic aside. “Okay. Have you gotten back the sketch from your friend in Philly?”
“Not yet. So we’re not on a clock.”
“And the swim team kid in SoCal?” she asked. “The one with the almost-tattoo? Should we head down to San Diego first?”
“No, I think finding Eileen is more critical at this stage, both to your case and mine. I need to know if she’s all right and if she was also attacked by the man who hurt you or if she parted with her locket willingly. If we find her, I’m also hoping she knows where the community is now. I told my boss about the photos of the other Eden tattoos. She called the San Diego field office and they’re going to the university today to make sure he’s still there so that I can arrange to interview him. I haven’t heard back from them yet, either.”
“And the tattoo artist who did the dragon on your friend, Judah?” she asked, thinking of the other Eden tattoo she’d found.
“The tattoo shop is in San Francisco. I called them to set up an appointment with the artist, but they said he’d moved away. They claimed he left no forwarding address. I’ll track him down once I’ve found Eileen. Or at least once we’ve traced her locket’s chain of ownership if she sold it.”
“All right, then.” Things were at least progressing. “We can check on Trish, go to your house for that map, then head up to Redding. Sound good?”
He gripped her chin and kissed her mouth soundly. “Sounds perfect.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2:00 P.M.
He sat unmoving in his car for several minutes after buckling Mutt into his safety harness. Mutt, who’d taken to the Dawson woman like a kid to Santa, who’d eaten from her hand and licked her fingers. Like she was the best thing since sliced bread.
“Traitor,” he muttered to the dog, who sat there panting happily.
And yet . . . spot on, he had to admit. Mutt had been right. Daisy Dawson was nice.
Dammit.
“Why’d she have to be so nice?” he growled. There had been no trace of the tigress who’d fought him on Thursday night. No sign of a bitch.
Just a nice woman who helped dogs in her spare time.
And talked to supposed out-of-work high school drama teachers, trying to help them back on their feet.
He’d watched her for a long time, under the pretense of shopping for Mutt’s needs. She’d been genuine with each person who’d come to the table, going out of her way to make them feel welcome and at ease with choosing a pet. Several of them had called her Daisy, because she’d apparently volunteered there before.
She’d been so damn nice.