Page 12 of Beckett
“Is it? Look,” Lark said, gentler now. “I’m not asking you to trust her. I’m asking you to let her work. She’s good with theanimals, Beck. Really good. And right now, she needs this job more than we need to know her story.”
I watched Audra exit one stall and enter another, her thin frame swallowed by work clothes that hung loose on her body. Something about her nagged at me. A familiarity I couldn’t place, like a word on the tip of my tongue.
“Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on her.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Lark’s smile carried a hint of sadness. “Just remember—sometimes the most dangerous people are the ones who’ve been hunted, not the hunters.”
Before I could respond, she was moving again, rattling off more instructions about feeding schedules and vet appointments. I let her words wash over me, filing away the important bits while the rest dissolved into background noise.
By afternoon, Lark had finally run out of things to fuss over. I helped load her suitcase into her car, endured another round of reminders about Princess Whiskers and her filtered water, and watched her drive away with one last worried look at the property.
The silence that followed felt heavy. Just me, Audra, and forty acres of animals who needed tending.
I headed for the training ring, wanting the familiar routine of working the security dogs. Duke, Rosie, Atlas, and Jet were already waiting in their kennel runs, tails wagging with anticipation. I leashed them up one by one, leading them to the fenced training area.
Duke fell into position immediately, all business despite washing out of police work for being “too soft.” He had the instincts but not the aggression. Still made him perfect for personal protection work—the kind where you wanted deterrence more than attack.
Rosie bounced at the end of her lead, barely containing her enthusiasm. She’d make someone an excellent companion dogonce we worked through her inability to focus on anything for more than thirty seconds.
Atlas, the Belgian Malinois, moved like liquid shadow, every muscle coiled and ready. He’d make the cut for security work. Had the focus, the drive, the controlled aggression when needed.
Then there was Jet.
While the others lined up for drills, the black German shepherd stood sideways, attention fixed on something near the barn. His tail wagged in slow, hopeful arcs, body language screaming distraction.
“Jet, focus.” I kept my voice firm but not harsh.
He glanced at me, tail wagging harder, then immediately looked back toward the barn. I followed his gaze and spotted her—Audra, watching from beside the water trough, frozen like she’d been caught stealing.
“Positions,” I commanded the dogs.
Duke, Rosie, and Atlas responded immediately. Jet took three steps toward Audra before remembering he was supposed to be working. He circled back, sat crooked, and immediately started creeping forward again.
I ran through basic defense drills with the other three while Jet continued his comedy routine. When Atlas executed a perfect controlled takedown on the padded sleeve, Jet trotted over to sniff the dummy’s face. When Duke held his ground against an approachingthreat, Jet tried to play-bow.
The sun beat down, warm despite the early fall day, and sweat soaked through my T-shirt. I called a water break, letting the dogs lap from the bowls I’d set out earlier. All except Jet, who beelined for the fence where Audra still stood.
I’d been trying to work with him for three months now. Lark had asked me to evaluate him for security work, but it was becoming clear that Jet’s talents lay elsewhere. Problemwas, he wasn’t suited for therapy work either—too energetic, too distractible, too…something.
“Jet.” My command carried enough authority to stop him mid-stride. “Here.”
He looked between Audra and me, clearly torn. His whole body vibrated with the need to go to her, but training held. Barely. Good. Obedience was important whether Jet worked security or not.
“Back in position.”
He obeyed, but his heart wasn’t in it. Every few seconds, his head swiveled toward Audra. When I gave the command to heel, he walked sideways, neck craned to keep her in sight.
After ten more minutes of failed attempts, I admitted defeat. “Free,” I told him.
Jet launched himself toward the fence as if he’d been shot from a cannon. He skidded to a stop just short of crashing into the chain link, whole body wiggling with joy. Audra’s hand came through the fence, tentative at first, then more confident as Jet leaned into her touch.
I’d never seen him react to anyone like that. Not even Lark, who’d bottle-raised him after his mother rejected the litter.
“I’m sorry,” Audra called, not quite meeting my eyes. “I didn’t mean to distract him.”
I walked over, the other three dogs trailing behind me. Up close, I could see the shadows under her eyes, darker than they’d been yesterday. The way her free hand stayed fisted at her side, ready for flight or fight.
“Where’d you learn to handle dogs?” The question came out more interrogation than conversation.
