Of course, if David was to walk in, he’d probably think he was interrupting a therapy session. Only she was the one on the couch talking about her emotional baggage while Atlas was the shrink listening.
There was a method to what she was doing, though. Atlas was getting used to the cadence and tone of her voice. Her scent surrounded him in this room. And every movement she made was being cataloged in a library in his mind associated to her. The introduction process was a long one, and the more time the dog had to interact with her, the more comfortable he’d be because he’d know what she was likely to do.
Her phone rang, the tone bringing her bolt upright in her seat. Atlas was on his feet beside her, his entire body tense and his ears forward at alert. A low growl rumbled from his chest.
“Sorry, Atlas. Easy.” She took a deep breath, calming herself so the dog would take her cue and go back to resting.
Damn it. As much as she hated the distinctive ringtone—or rather, the caller it was assigned to—she figured she better answer it before the caller decided to blow up her phone again.
“Hello, Captain Jones.” Neutral. She was going for a nice, civil exchange.
A pause. “I have repeatedly instructed you to call me ‘Father.’” The voice on the other end was surly.
Make no mistake, his feelings weren’t hurt. In her twenty-eight years of experience, he’d gone around in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction with the world. Well, at least twenty-five. Theoretically, the first few years of her life hadn’t been formative in terms of actual memories. Her mother had married him when she’d been just a toddler.
Instead of arguing the point, she decided to go for pleasantries. “I hope you’ve been well. Is there a reason you’re calling?”
“Don’t try to sidetrack me, miss. Each time you insist on your lack of respect for familial ties, it becomes more of a habit. One of these days you’re going to do it in front of admiralty and the reflection on me will be absolutely inappropriate. I will not have it.” His words came low and fast, as they always did whether they were speaking face to face or over the phone. Given the choice, she preferred the distance. Then she could pretend the admonishments didn’t give her cold chills anymore. The impact of his intense, quiet speeches was worse for her than all the screaming in the world.
“You’re one promotion away from Rear Admiral.” She commended herself for a cool, even delivery there. “Surely your service record outweighs the impact of a few words from me.”
Besides, he hadn’t ever let her call him “Daddy” or “Dad,” and not “Papa,” ever. Not what had come naturally to her as a child. It’d always been “Father” for as long as she could remember. Proper. Formal. And pronounced properly as soon as humanly possible.
“It’s amazing you ever graduated from college.” His words dripped with disgust. Oh, what a surprise. “Even basic classes and interaction with professors should have demonstrated that perception is a distinct advantage in every situation. Never underestimate it.”
What will people think? echoed through her childhood. “Of course. I do remember those lessons from you.”
“Then apply what you learned.” A command, not a request. With him it was never a request.
She waited. He’d called her and she’d asked why. He could either continue to rant or actually get to the reason for this contact in the first place.
“I was informed you experienced an attack.” Was that a note of discomfort? Surely not.
“There was an incident at my hotel last night. I gave a detailed report to the police.” She waited to see where this was going.
There was an intake of breath. “Did you see your attackers well enough to identify them?”
A leering grin flashed across her mind’s eye. Her heart kicked hard in her chest and she swallowed the sudden taste of bile. Atlas was on his feet in front of her, pulling her focus with a somber stare.
She was safe. Atlas had made sure of it.
Regaining her composure, she stood and tried to walk off the residual nerves as she answered, “Not last night.”
Maybe her stepfather was concerned? Hard to tell with him, but there was always room for surprise in the day.
“No? It would have been useful if you could give a sketch artist something to work with.”
Ah. Of course. How easy it was to find a shortcoming. “The man I saw was wearing a ski mask. The other attacker came from behind and I never saw him.”
This was her stepfather’s chance to express concern. Two attackers. Didn’t he wonder how she’d come through in one piece?
“As your point of escalation on your current contract, I was notified about the encounter and your physical status but not given the details of the sequence of events.” He paused. “I assume you were able to trigger an alarm of some sort to call for aid.”