Griffin’s jaw dropped. “Like, the Anderson Brooks? Captain Zaltan Anderson Brooks? Too Fast to Kill Anderson Brooks?”
She nodded and rubbed Spencer’s shoulder.
“Wow. I freaking love him. Galaxy Force was my show when I was little. I even had the lunch box! How did Leo get the job? Are you a professional dog trainer or something?”
“You mean Spencer,” she corrected automatically. “I’m not a professional trainer, but I guess I’m on the way with this gig.” She paused, realizing just how much she liked that idea.
She didn’t feel like explaining her connection to Monty. Any supporting details about her life would give him clues about how to track her down.
“What kind of show is it? Everything Anderson does is so . . . actiony. Is Leo a bomb sniffer? Attack dog?”
“Spencer,” she corrected again. “It’s a new thing for Anderson, I guess. Maybe his action days are taking a toll on his body? It’s a series about prohibition in New York. Spencer is going to play the speakeasy’s guard dog.”
“Huh,” Griffin replied. He leaned away and crossed his arms. “Is it safe? I mean, are they going to have that ‘no animals were harmed’ stuff going on?”
Justine’s hackles went up. Why was Griffin acting like an overinvolved stage mom?
“Of course they are. The director told me that we’ll be meeting with the Humane Federation rep before we start filming. He’ll be on set making sure everything is safe for Spencer, plus I would never put him at risk.” She couldn’t resist pushing back. “Do you really think I’d do anything dangerous with him?”
“Well, based on what I’ve picked up about you in the past thirty minutes, I’d say no. But I barely know you. You haven’t even told me your last name.”
He activated his customer service smile so that his dimples appeared, but she wasn’t about to let him disarm her with a stupid grin. Her last name was going to remain a mystery so there’d be no chance he could track her down once she walked out of his apartment.
“Aw, no need to worry about Spencer. He’s going to be just fine,” Justine said, avoiding giving him an answer. She reached over and gave Spencer a pat on the leg.
“Has he gotten over his car sickness?” The way he was studying her made Justine feel like she was in a job interview. Griffin’s eyes never left her face. “When he was with me it was pretty bad. It was like car anxiety. Car phobia. Took him forever to normalize after drives. How are you going to deal with going into the city with him?”
“I think we’ll be okay, thanks.” She locked on to his eyes and smiled in a way that made it clear she wasn’t going to say anything else on the subject. But the truth was she was nervous as hell about how her dog was going to handle all the driving. They’d made the journey into the city more than two hours before she was due to meet with Ted and Anderson, but it wasn’t something she could afford to do once they were on a regular shoot schedule.
Griffin finally seemed to realize that he was overstepping a touchy boundary and stood up abruptly.
“Hey, Spencer, want a drink?” Griffin said as he walked to the kitchen. Justine watched as he filled a regular bowl, not a dog bowl, and realized that he must have gotten rid of all remnants of Spencer when he lost him.
“Guess not,” he answered himself when Spencer didn’t move from his spot on the couch. “How about you, Justine? I’ve got sparkling water, kale and spinach juice, fresh-squeezed orange juice, vodka, or beer,” Griffin said as he surveyed his refrigerator. “The beers are perfect because they all have dog names. Imports from a little brewery in England called Lost Dog. I’ve got a Husky Hefeweizen or a Sealyham Saison.”
“I’ll have the Husky.” Her stomach growled, and she worried how fast the beer would hit her on an empty stomach. She needed to keep her guard up, because she kept glancing at Griffin and finding new angles to admire.
He walked back to the sitting area with pint glasses, his cheerful expression replaced with a furrow. “I’d like to tell you the whole story about what happened with Leo now. And I want to talk to you about something too.”
“Um, sure,” she replied and took a huge gulp of beer. It was heavier than the wimpy beers she usually drank, and she had to concentrate to keep from gagging. She placed the glass on the floor beside her and put her hand over her mouth, trying to delicately hold back a massive burp-cough.
The second the glass touched the ground Spencer rolled into action. He was on the ground with his nose in the glass before Justine could grab him, slurping the beer so fast that it sloshed onto the floor.
“Whoops, old habits,” Griffin said with a laugh. “I always let him have a sip of my beer.”
Justine shot him a look and reached for the glass, causing Spencer to drink faster and knock it over.
“Crap, I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to hold Spencer’s collar to keep him away from the mess. Spencer strained so hard to get back to the beer that his legs slipped out from beneath him, Bambi-on-ice-style, and kicked the ottoman halfway across the room. “Maybe I should take him outside for a quick walk?”
“Good plan,” Griffin said. “But please come back, okay? I really need to talk to you.”
The intensity in his face freaked Justine out. Was this the part where he tried to murder her?
“Okay,” she replied cautiously. “But I have to leave soon. I have plans with my boyfriend later.” Fake Nick was more dependable than real Nick.
“There’s that boyfriend again, ruining my murderous plans,” Griffin said with the dimpled smile. “It won’t take too long.”
Justine clipped the leash on Spencer and jogged him down the three flights of stairs. The moment they were on the street he reverted to his usual good behavior. Justine watched as Spencer sniffed around trying to find the best places to add his pee signature.
“Do you like it better here with him, Spence?” Justine asked him.
She checked out Griffin’s street while Spencer made his rounds marking every vertical surface. His neighborhood felt like a work in progress, where the industrial roots of the past were slowly giving way to new traditions. The outside of Griffin’s building wasn’t anything special, but she loved the brick warehouse that was being renovated a few doors down, dotted decorative metal stars, huge arched windows, and curved shutters. She could only imagine the gorgeous lofts to come and she tried not to be jealous.
Justine led Spencer back up the steps to Griffin’s and he gave a little whine when they reached the door, which landed like a dagger to her heart. She needed to leave before her dog started to think that he was back home.
Once again she was panting by the time they reached the third floor. In their haste to leave, Justine had left the door cracked, so they slipped in quietly. Griffin was on the phone in the kitchen with his back to her.
“Yeah, she’s nice.” He paused to listen to the person on the other end. “About our age, I think.” He grabbed another beer. “I don’t know yet. We’re about to talk about it.” He laughed. “Nooo, she’s not my type. She’s okay.” He paused to listen. “Like a less-cute Reese Witherspoon, I guess.”
Justine felt her cheeks get hot. People had compared her to Reese Witherspoon before, but without the “less-cute” part.
Spencer barked at Griffin and he whirled to them. Justine caught a microexpression of embarrassment before his features settled into their usual stock-photography-model expression. He had to know how good-looking he was, because he was weaponizing it at that very moment. He waved at them, and Justine nodded back, scanning the room for her bag.
“Okay, I’ll catch you later,” Griffin said into the phone as he walked toward her. “Yup, bye.” He slid the phone into his back pocket. “All good? Did he go?”
“He did,” Justine replied in a clipped voice, trying to pretend that his insult didn’t matter. “Hey, we have to head out. I didn’t realize how late it is
and we still have a long drive. But it was really nice to meet you.”
“Wait,” Griffin replied. “Please give me five minutes. It’s important.”
Justine sighed and looked at Spencer, who was jumping up and greeting Griffin like they’d been gone for days.
“Please.” He gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”
* * *
• • •
“I want you to know that I didn’t lose Leo. That’s not what happened. I would never be that irresponsible.” Griffin was on the ottoman staring at Justine with mug-shot intensity and she felt like she had no option but to nod.
“I was dealing with some stuff around the time he went missing . . .” His jaw clenched as he paused. “My dad had died a few months prior, and Leo really helped me through the grief. I was still traveling a ton and I wasn’t taking care of myself, so I got the flu. I was basically flat on my back in bed for two weeks except when I had to take Leo out, and he never left my side. Then I left for my first trip after it, and I guess Leo was having a hard time with me being gone. He was staying with his usual dog sitter, Amanda, like he did every time I was away. She let Leo out in her backyard for a final potty trip of the night but didn’t realize that someone had left the gate open. Leo took off and we assume he was looking for me. I flew home the next morning and we searched everywhere, but obviously we never found him. That’s why when you called, I was so caught off guard. I never thought I’d see him again.”
His eyes got misty, and they both looked at Spencer, who was sniffing where he’d spilled the beer.
There was no mistaking the dull ache in her chest; just imagining what he went through, and seeing how it still impacted him, made Griffin’s pain hers. She started to reach for his hand to give him a comforting squeeze but managed to stomp down the impulse.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your father,” Justine said.
“Thanks. Thank you,” he said with a nod. He grabbed his beer and took a huge gulp.
Griffin paused and shifted in his seat, and Justine could tell that there was something else coming.
“I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything since you called and let me know he was okay,” Griffin continued. “I talked to a bunch of people to try to figure out what to do.”
Justine went cold. “What do you mean by that?” she asked slowly.
“Well, my uncle is a divorce attorney, and he said . . .”
“Wait, a what?” Justine’s tone stopped Spencer in his tracks as he nosed around the room. He trotted back to her with his ears back and tail low, immediately aware that the mood had shifted.
“Just hear me out before you get upset,” Griffin said in a way that sounded like he was seconds away from telling her to calm down, which was her second-most hated c-word. “It turns out that dogs fall under property laws, and ownership is determined by a few factors like records and microchips.”
“Ownership?” Justine sat up straighter. “Wait, you’re really going there? Holy shit, you lied to me. You asked me to come here to try to take my dog.”
There was no way he was going to steal Spencer back with paperwork. She thought of the manila folder stuffed full of his records, and the stacks of papers that surrounded it on the shelf in her home office that included receipts and forms all the way back to her dog Flynn. Then she remembered the loose sheets in the trunk of her car. And a few that migrated to her messy back room at Tricks & Biscuits. She had records; it would just take her a few hours to sort through everything to find specific documentation.
He pushed on, frowning. “There isn’t a ton of precedent for this sort of situation, but records help paint a picture . . .” He trailed off.
“Well, of course I have vet records, and obviously Spencer didn’t have a microchip when I got him; otherwise he would’ve found his way back to you.”
“He actually does have a chip, but if the rescue that found him doesn’t have a universal chip reader, they wouldn’t know it. Or the chip could’ve migrated. I did some research and they’ve been found in dogs’ elbows and by their ribs.” He was speaking in measured tones, like he was outlining his case for a jury. Was he going to drag out a whiteboard next?
It was possible that the tiny start-up rescue where Justine had gotten Spencer couldn’t afford a universal reader. She watched her dog make his way up the metal staircase to the bedroom loft. Even though he was perfectly house-trained, she hoped he’d have a major regression and poop on Griffin’s pillow.
“I can’t believe I agreed to meet you,” Justine muttered, scanning the room for her purse and Spencer’s leash so she could leave. “You really think I’m just going to hand over my dog? That threatening me is going to work?”
He leaned back like she’d slapped him. “What did I say that sounded like a threat?”
“Um, everything? Ownership, precedent, vet records, attorney . . . you’re like a live episode of Law and Order.” She jumped off the couch and whistled for Spencer.
“Okay, okay,” Griffin sputtered, his nostrils flaring. “Before you go, I just want you to know that based on my research it’s an open-and-shut case that he’s mine. Any small-claims court would side with me. But it doesn’t have to get ugly.”
“It’s already ugly, Griffin. You tricked me into coming here!” Justine didn’t care that she was shouting at him. In that instant she wanted Griffin’s entire building to know that he was an asshole. “You wanted to steal Spencer all along; the nice-guy stuff was just an act. Spence, come on. We’re leaving.”
“Wait.” It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and his tone caught her so off guard that she stood frozen in place with her mouth hanging open at his audacity. Suddenly the only murderer in the room was about to be her.
“Do you have his dog license?” Griffin asked.
Justine blanched.
License?
She’d done everything letter-perfect with Spencer in the year since she’d brought him home, but she’d totally forgotten about getting his dog license. It was a formality, really, another way to collect taxpayer money and track stats. Dog licenses didn’t matter.
Until it came to establishing ownership.
“I didn’t think this was going to be a custody hearing, so of course I don’t have it with me, for fuck’s sake,” she huffed, stalling for time as a numb feeling spread out from her core. Her mind raced to figure out whom she could bribe in Rexford to backdate a dog license for her.
Griffin opened a drawer on the end table and pulled out a red folder like he was checkmating her. “Well, I have mine right here. It’s a three-year license through New York State. It’s still valid. I have all of his important paperwork in this file, all the way back to copies of my receipt when I adopted Leo.”
“His name is Spencer.” Her shout echoed through the apartment.
Spencer peered down at them from the loft on cue. He was smacking his lips like he’d just devoured something, and Justine hoped whatever he’d discovered up there was important, like Griffin’s paycheck. But then she realized that the tidy motherfucker probably didn’t have stray paperwork strewn around his bedroom.
“Let’s go,” Justine called to him.
The dog came bounding down the metal stairs, and it sounded like the building was collapsing. He ran directly to Justine and danced in front of her while she struggled to clip his leash on with shaking hands, then jigged his way over to where Griffin was standing and did an encore for him.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be, Justine. I don’t want to fight with you.”
She turned to him with her eyes blazing. “Did you really think that I was going to just hand him over to you? Even after I told you about him getting cast in the show? And with your lifestyle? You’re never here!”
He took a step toward her and held her gaze. “I thought that maybe once you heard our history you might
rethink keeping him. You’ve only had him for a year.”
“Only a year,” she repeated in a mocking voice. She had her own sad backstory, but she wasn’t about to tell him what she’d been through with Spencer.
They stared at each other from a few feet apart, Justine scowling with her fists clenched and Griffin with his arms crossed over his chest, still clutching the red file. It didn’t even register that he towered over her. Justine was so filled with dog-mom rage endorphins that she felt like she could topple him with a single kick to the dick.
“You lost him,” she said quietly, hoping that it made her sound threatening. “The fact is, you couldn’t keep him safe and that’s why he ran away and ended up with me. And that’s exactly why he’s going to stay with me.”
Griffin’s shoulders slumped as if she’d bruised an already tender spot.
“Maybe we could work out visitation?” he asked, still clutching the red file.
“I think it’s better if we don’t. I’m not sure I trust you since you weren’t honest about why you wanted to meet me.” She headed for the door with Spencer.
“Then I’ll be in touch.”
It didn’t sound like a threat, but it didn’t sound friendly either.
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Justine snorted, and pulled the door shut behind her.
All he had was her phone number and first name.
She was never going to see Griffin McCabe’s face again.
chapter eleven
The first call from Jackass McAhole came as Justine was getting off the George Washington Bridge. She let her phone ring on the seat next to her until it went to voice mail. Then she heard a text. Then he called again. She finally picked up the third time her phone rang.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Is Spencer okay?”
“Of course he’s okay. Why?” She adjusted her rearview mirror to look at him curled up in the back seat.
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