“It would save time if you showed me Atlas. I could introduce myself to him while you’re making your call.”
He halted; his temper simmered back up to the surface. “With all due respect, Miss Jones, you’re not meeting Atlas until I’ve straightened out exactly what is going on here.”
“It’s fairly straightforward. I’ve been brought in at the request of the Pentagon to work with the dog you refuse to introduce me to.” At the edge of his peripheral vision, her movement caught his attention. A slight raise of the chin. “It would save you time if you would take my suggestion before I make a call of my own.”
He studied her for the few seconds it took for his irritation to cool enough for polite conversation again. All bravado and possibly some real bite behind her threat. It depended on exactly who at the Pentagon had contracted her.
“You could save us even more time and leave now.” He turned to face her, calling her bluff. Lesser men backed down immediately under his glare. Took her a full five seconds to drop her eyes. “As far as the United States Air Force is concerned, Atlas was placed under the care of Hope’s Crossing Kennels with me as his official trainer. Currently, I’m willing to go through due diligence and consider a joint effort if your consulting credentials are confirmed. But if you truly did your homework on Atlas and this facility, you would know you either work with us or you are escorted off the property. This is not a general kennel where consultants are allowed to stroll in and work independently.”
After all, Hope’s Crossing Kennels wasn’t just a training facility for domestic pets. And the trainers who lived here weren’t civilians.
He strode into his office and resisted the urge to slam the door behind him. Bad enough she’d goaded him into a pissing contest. Instead, he managed a creditable quiet close without shooting her a dirty look as he did so. He stepped around his desk, fired up his computer. Logging in always took longer than he’d like. Then again, there wasn’t a computer system fast enough to keep up with the advancing demands of security and surveillance needs and the equipment he had installed throughout the interior—and exterior—of the kennels gave him constant streaming feed whenever he needed eyes on a particular part of the property.
At the moment, Miss Jones remained seated and sipping her coffee. Good. Even better if her very attractive behind stayed put. It’d be a damn shame if she took her bluff further and did something stupid, like wander off.
Gaze trained on the video feed, he reached for his Bluetooth earpiece and made sure his smartphone was connected. “Call Beckhorn.”
A few rings. “Beckhorn here.”
Beckhorn always recognized Cruz’s number so it wasn’t a surprise when the man answered right away. Cruz was glad his longtime friend had been free enough to take a call at all.
“Please tell me you didn’t send her.” Not likely, since Beckhorn was at Lackland Air Force Base down in Texas. But hell, influence didn’t always have to do with geographic location.
A pause. “Unless I forgot I sent you a stripper for your birthday, I got no idea what you are talking about here. And I’m sure as hell I don’t know when your birthday is off the top of my head.”
Shouldn’t. But he did. Visuals of Miss Jones doing a sensual striptease superimposed the real woman still sitting on the edge of a chair just outside his office. A lot of potential there, but he’d best file the fun thoughts for some later time tonight.
“A Miss Evelyn Jones arrived today with a very official statement of work to provide consultation for Atlas.” And didn’t that just chafe his butt. He was the best military dog trainer on the East Coast. He didn’t need a…dog whisperer.
“Huh.” Beckhorn had a few other choice utterances. Man hadn’t lost his touch with the creative expletives. But then, men like him and Cruz tended to not lose the survival skills they’d accumulated over multiple deployments. “Send me scans of the documentation. I’ll need to track it down but I’m gonna say up front I’m not surprised.”
“There’s a reason you flew me down there to meet Atlas.” Cruz probably didn’t need to remind Beckhorn but it could always be said for the benefit of the lady who’d left her seat and was now standing with her ear pressed against the door. Maybe he’d raise his voice a notch or two for her benefit. “The dog comes first. I won’t waste time playing nice with any handpicked consultants if it compromises the dog’s progress. If she’s a help, she stays. If she’s a pain in the ass, she’s out.”