3 Panthers Play for Keeps by Clea Simon Read Free Book Online Page A

on the dog, so I couldn’t tell if Laurel was smirking. I really didn’t want to know.
    “Where to?” I turned toward Spot, wanting to clear my head. Wanting to make contact. I honestly did have a job to do, and once again I was reminded of why I prefer animals. They’re direct. Honest. If they have an agenda, they let you know right away. Even if that involves eating you for lunch. Once they pounce, they don’t try to make small talk.
    Spot turned toward me, his big ears pricking, and I realized that he was catching some of this. Maybe all of it. Like the other service animals I’d met, he was so focused, I sometimes forgot how smart he was. How aware of his surroundings, and those included me.
    “What?” I couldn’t help smiling at those big, dark eyes. His tail thumped on my leather seat. “Aren’t you ever territorial?”
    At that, he turned and pressed his nose to the window, and I sensed a moment of regret. No, he couldn’t be, could he? Not with what I was training him for. He was a working animal, born for it. But was this asking too much?
    “What you said .” The voice was quiet, but I heard it. Spot was staring out the window as the thought came to me. “Not the scent, not the… ” I got that feeling of frustration again, like tugging on a leash to go another way. “Listen .”
    That’s what I got for anthropomorphizing. Spot was reminding me of what I already knew. I was the one who wanted freedom. He’d be happier as a service dog than a lone wolf. Or—I couldn’t help a bitter smile—as someone’s pampered pet.
    Blocking the thought of Laurel Kroft and her glossy grooming, I homed in on what she and I had planned. Spot was almost ready to be tried out. Two weeks ago, Laurel had told me about a potential client: one Richard Haigen. Haigen wasn’t that old, she’d explained, but he had severe macular degeneration that hadn’t responded to treatment. He’d be blind within the year.
    I’d gone to meet him after that, to get a feel for where he was—and what Spot would need to do. I hadn’t known Haigen before. He was one of the new crowd: moneymakers who move here once they’ve sucked their native playground dry. They’re predators, same as any raptor, and I don’t blame them for past crimes. Besides, the estate—there was no other word for it—might have become a housing development otherwise, situated as it was on a gentle hill abutting the state preservation land. This way, the big old farm had been preserved, more or less, the open land turned into landscaped gardens.
    The first time I’d visited, I’d felt bad for Haigen, despite an introduction that bordered on hostile. I knew the type, from my city days. Tall, broad rather than fat, and with a booming voice that demanded to be heard, he was a former master of the universe now exiting the known galaxy. His coke-bottle glasses were the obvious indicator of his changing status, despite boxy frames just a little too hip for his jowled face. Whatever crimes he’d left behind, he was trying for a new start: country gentleman in a bucolic setting refurbished with all the mod cons. That faded as I watched him barking at a wife, who clearly was in over her head, and grumbling at the pretty maid when she startled him with a tray.
    He had a lot to hold together, and I’d bet his command had ranged over significantly larger turf back in town. But the two women he’d growled at? Not their fault, and since both were considerably younger, I guessed he’d chosen them for reasons other than their efficiency. And he wasn’t that miserable. I didn’t see any staff, none of the usual factotums you’d expect around the rich and powerful. But he’d had a buddy with him when I’d visited, a superannuated good old boy who’d probably served as his wingman back in the day. Nick, I thought he’d called him. Nick Draper. “Here’s Nicky,” he’d said, propelling him toward me with a wave. Like I might find the dark-haired lunk more