Page 14 of With A Little Luck
I move to glare at him next.
I will mess someone up for talking shit about my dog.
Not that he isn’t a fat little fucker, because he is. He can’t help that, though. It’s genetics. He goes on walks twice a day, and the vet put him on a weight control diet.
The little guy is a tank.
He’s cute.
I’m the only one allowed to make fun of his chubby ass, and that’s only because he knows I don’t mean it.
I took out a bookie a few years ago who called himself a breeder. King was just a puppy, but those big blue eyes caught mine as he jumped around in the shit-covered crate, and that was that.
I couldn’t leave him behind, and I even made sure animal control knew where to raid to find the others. He’s a little smaller than normal. Maybe because he was the runt or maybe because of the lack of proper nutrition when he was a puppy, but he’s healthy now, and that’s all that matters.
“Can we get back on track?” Trigg asks in a clipped tone. “I was pulled away from my lunch to be here, and I greatly value routine.”
Oh yeah, me and him?
We’re going to be like oil and water.
I’m chaos personified.
He’s going to hate having to put up with me, which gives me a nice little buzz of enjoyment.
“What made this meeting an emergency, anyway?” I ask.
Trigg sighs heavily. “I spotted several members of Costa’s team earlier today. They strolled directly past the glass at the restaurant I was eating at.”
“Damn,” I grumble. “So, we have confirmation they’re in Burlington.”
“Indeed,” he agrees. “I don’t believe they’ve made me, but it is a strange coincidence.”
“Why wait until now to tell me?” I ask Easton. “At the very least, you could have warned me to watch my back.”
“You live in my neighborhood,” Easton says, shrugging. “The gate guards, as well as the neighborhood patrol, have upped their game since you got back. Your built-in backup is less than two minutes away. Leo and Shaw live legitimately right across the street, while my pack is just down the road. You’re moody after traveling. I thought it best to give you some time to recuperate in peace before springing something else on you.”
He’s not wrong.
I am a terrible traveler.
Burgers and pizza are my comfort foods. I know it makes me a cliché American, but I like what I like. I ate some foods in the Netherlands and Germany that I probably would have been happier not knowing what I was served.
Not that it was bad.
It was delicious, but I psych myself out in my own head.
Not to mention, I’m a literal fucking giant. Hotel beds are never meant for people my size, and I missed my damn dog. There are plenty of guys who get excited about taking jobs halfway across the world.
I’m just not one of them.
Yes, fine.
I’m frustrated that I haven’t been able to find Quincy, and it’s spilling into annoyance about everything. I’ve had more than afew thoughts about quitting just to get a fucking break so I can search for her without being pulled away on some new contract.
“I need this handled quickly,” I say before I can stop myself. “I have personal business that I want to address once Costa is no longer a threat. I’ve been trying to get to it for months, and I’m not putting it off anymore.”
“I’m fine staying at the hotel,” Trigg says before Easton can acknowledge my request for time off. “I’m actually allergic to most dogs.”
