Page 58 of Into the Fire

Bouncing footsteps sounded inside the apartment after Evan rang the doorbell. Then a voice: “Are you a rapist?”

“Not funny, Joey.”

“So that’s a no, then?”

“Open the door.”

She did. Her lopsided grin faded when she saw the bag of kibble tucked under his arm. Her gaze tracked down to his hand and then along the leash he gripped to the Rhodesian ridgeback puppy panting at his side.

“Uh, no,” she said. “No way.”

Evan said, “They’re gonna put him down.”

“Why is that my concern?”

“You need a guard dog anyway.”

“I do not need a guard dog. Plus, it’s all banged up.”

“He was a bait dog.”

“A bait dog?”

“A dog they throw to bigger dogs to tear up so they’re blood-hungry before a fight.”

“Fuckers.”

“Language. But yes.”

After his oft-broken night’s sleep, Evan was feeling somewhat better. He could still feel the aftereffects of the concussion, but the symptoms had receded significantly, the ringing in his ears faint enough to ignore. The dog had been nicely patched up, the vet suturing his wounds and treating his raw skin. At Evan’s request she’d removed the dog’s tracking device and stitched up that incision as well.

“What’s with the stripe down its back?” Joey asked. “Did it have spine surgery or something?”

“No. He’s a ridgeback. They’re lion hunters from Africa.”

At this, Joey’s eyebrows lifted a millimeter, a poker tell that she was ever so slightly impressed. She stepped back with a sigh, her shoulders sagging operatically. “Fine. You can park it here—just until it heals up. I’m not keeping it.”

“He’s a him,” Evan said. “With the requisite parts and everything. At least most of them.”

The dog padded in at his side, nosing Joey’s hand as she walked off. She flung her arm away. “It got schlop on me. So gross.”

In a fall of pale early-morning light, a half-eaten breakfast burrito rested on the kitchen counter next to the ubiquitous Big Gulp. Music pulsed from the pod of the workstation—some remixed dance number heavy on percussion.

“Do you ever sleep?” he asked.

“Not with you coming over at all hours bearing dogs.”

Evan set a prescription bottle on the edge of her desk. “You’ll have to give him these antibiotics twice a day. Just mash the pill into a piece of cheese or something.”

“Great. A sick dog.”

“He’s not sick. It’s to prevent an infection from his injuries.”

She flicked a hand at the dog. “Go over there.”

The dog looked at her.

“It’s really well trained,” she said.