“Foster, you are a fickle friend.”
Foster’s head came up at the sound of Liam’s voice. He saw him, galloped forward, and sat down, head on his paws. He whimpered.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Liam said, bending down to offer a scratch. “This is a ploy for attention.”
Liam opted for Foster’s ears, and the dog’s tail thumped heavily on the worn oak floor.
Maybe there was more to Liam than the gruff exterior. After all, a dog this nice couldn’t like a jerk, could he?
When Liam stood up again, Foster rolled onto his back, scratched it against the wooden floor with little piggy grunts of pleasure.
“He is a dog, right?”
“Forty percent Lab. Thirty percent cat. Thirty percent porcine something or other.”
Foster rolled over again, stood, and shook from nose to tail with a delicious shiver. Then he sat down again and stared up at Liam, waiting for affection, instructions, or snacks. He caught sight of the paper bag, made a low whine.
“He’s a clever one.”
“He’s a spoiled one,” Liam said. “You have any pets?”
“No.” I shrugged. “Although I do feed a stray cat in the Quarter now and again.”
“That hardly counts.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“She’s upstairs,” Liam said. He pointed toward the front door. “Keep an eye on the door, Foster.”
Foster made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and howl, but he rose and trotted to the door, nails clicking, and sat down in front of it.
“He’s a good dog,” I said.
“He is. And part of the family.”
“Do you think there’ll be trouble? I mean, do we really need a guard dog?”
His eyes darkened again. “There will always be trouble. The only issues are where, when, and how well you’re prepared for it.”
“You’re such an optimist, Liam.”
I looked up at the new voice, found a woman standing in the hallway with an empty plastic pitcher. She was trim and fit, with short, dark hair and brown eyes and high cheekbones. Her dark skin contrasted against bright blue scrubs.
“Victoria.”
She smiled at him. “Good to see you today.”
“This is Claire. Claire, Victoria. She’s one of Eleanor’s nurses.”
Without hesitation, Victoria walked forward, offered a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her hand was cool, her handshake firm. “You, too,” I said.
“How is she?” Liam asked.
“Today’s been a good day. She’s tired, but she ate some soup.” She chuckled. “There weren’t any good pears in the market today, so we didn’t have any at the clinic, and she didn’t get any for lunch. She was most displeased.”
Liam chuckled. “Typical.”
“Yep.”
“She up for visitors?”
“As much as ever. You know she loves to chat.”
Liam nodded. “You heading back to the clinic?”
“Yeah. Finishing up a double, then off tomorrow. I’m actually leaving a little early, but Maria will be here in half an hour or so.”
Liam nodded. “You want an escort back?”
She lifted her shirt to reveal the gun clipped to the waistband of her pants. “Official issue. Drops a peskie at twenty paces.”
“Then stay twenty-one paces ahead of them,” he said. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Liam. You, too.”
Foster didn’t move from his spot in front of the door, so Victoria stepped over him to get outside, and he sat down morosely when she closed the door again.
“The Devil’s Isle clinic,” Liam explained. “She’s on staff.”
That explained why another human seemed to have free rein in Devil’s Isle. Maybe that was precisely the tone the Commandant was trying to set—humans will always be here, and will always be watching.
“What’s a peskie?” I asked him as I followed him to the staircase, which was covered by a tired running carpet.
“Small, flying Paras. Irritating little assholes that like to bite.”
The hallway at the landing led to several closed doors, I guessed bedrooms from the layout of the house. Liam walked to the last one, knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said a soft and faded voice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Compared to the rest of the house, which was empty and scarred, the room was a palace. It was a large bedroom with high ceilings and large windows. The floors were wood, and nearly every inch was covered in gorgeous woven rugs. The plaster walls had high crown moldings and were painted a warm, dusky green. Gilded frames held portraits of aristocratic men and women Dad would have wept over, and they were still outshone by gorgeous French empire antiques. There was a small bed, a high chest of drawers, and a round table with chairs. Although it was October, the house was still in summer dress, and gauzy white fabrics covered the furniture.