Page 155 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

I took a breath. “Max.”

Rafe’s face went still.

Moira’s brows rose.

“Of course, not in any unsafe way,” I said quickly. “He’s trained. He’ll stay in my sight. He’s not going to approach Fenwick aggressively or trip anyone. But Fenwick is a wolf shifter, a racer, and he’ll notice a loose dog in a parking lot before most people do. If he tries to help corral him, I can run up with the leash, thank him, confirm his name, and serve him.”

Cressler stared. “You want to use your dog as bait?”

“Bait sounds ugly. I prefer ‘canine social engineering.’”

Rafe’s voice dropped. “Absolutely not.”

The room went very still.

I looked at the screen. “This is a professional suggestion.”

“This is using your elderly dog to approach an evasive wolf shifter in a parking lot alone.”

“An exhausted hobbyist racer at a charity event.”

“That doesn’t improve it.”

“It improves our chances exponentially.”

“Quinn.”

“Rafe.”

Moira made a small sound that might have been a cough if one was generous.

Helena held up one hand. “Enough. Quinn, I understand the concept, but don’t like the risk to Max.”

“Neither do I; I would never put Max in actual danger,” I said. “That’s why it will only work if I control the environment. Max is a professional. It will be in a public space. No traffic lanes. My friend and expert dog handler will be with me. Fenwick thinks he’s helping with a lost dog. Max recalls to me the second I give the command. If anything feels wrong, we leave.”

Helena studied me intently.

I forced myself not to look at Rafe, but I could feel his eyes on me. I knew he was angry. I also knew this could work.

Finally, Helena said, “Draft the plan. I want specifics, safety measures, and legal requirements for valid service. Moira will review. No one attempts anything until I approve it.”

I glanced up, and Rafe’s jaw flexed on the screen.

I didn’t smile.

“Understood,” I said.

After the meeting, the day blurred into research, drafting, and the exhaustion of trying to write safety protocol for using one’s own dog in an attempt to serve a wolf shifter. Avery texted me four videos during the afternoon: Max standing calmly while five-month-old Czechoslovakian wolf dog puppies orbited him like chaotic moons. Max correcting one overexcited pup with a single look. Max lying down while the largest puppy copied him three seconds later. Max, regal and unimpressed, as Avery’s caption read: your son is conducting a leadership seminar for illegal wolf babies.

The puppies had been seized in a raid after someone bred them without permits or the faintest understanding that wolf dog puppies were not aesthetic accessories for men with podcasts. Avery was trying to get them accepted into a working-dog program, and apparently Max’s presence helped. He established boundaries without intimidation. He tolerated nonsense until nonsense became rude, then ended the matter with one calm correction.

Watching the videos got me through the afternoon.

That, and the client-funded lunch.

At six-thirty, Avery texted that she was outside with Max and Socko. I packed up my things, waved good night to Moira, and found them on the sidewalk.

Max saw me and immediately leaned his full weight into my legs.