I had Nina take the cop for a walk around the shelter, ostensibly to make sure Efram wasn’t hiding in some remote alcove, but also because I had the sense that the officer was interested in seeing our residents, and I wanted to encourage that. His partner, an older, no-nonsense female cop, pretended disinterest, but she accompanied them.

I returned to the welcome area. It was long past the time when the woman who’d called so often said she was bringing in her dog. Maybe she had at long last made the final decision to keep her pup at home.

But that wasn’t the case. A thin thirtysomething lady was standing there when I arrived. She wore tight jeans and a loose shirt in a colorful print pattern.

Sitting on the floor at her feet, his leash slack since he wasn’t moving, was a golden retriever mix. He looked toward me with anxious eyes as I joined them.

I believe that pets understand a lot more than most people give them credit for. Often, they recognize words. Even more, they read moods, especially of the people they love.

This dog clearly sensed something terrible was afoot.

“Hi,” I said, immediately taking charge. Approaching the woman with my hand outstretched, I continued, “I’m Lauren Vancouver, director of administration of HotRescues.”

“I’m Brooke Pernall, and this is Cheyenne.” Brooke didn’t shake my hand or meet my eyes. Her face was narrow and gaunt, her mousy brown hair a sparse, unstyled frame around it.

If I wasn’t mistaken, she was ill. Which made this situation potentially even more heartbreaking.

“Hi, Cheyenne.” I knelt beside the dog, whose tail gave a halfhearted wag. I couldn’t help it. I hugged him.

“I have to leave him here, with you. He needs a good home.” As Brooke spoke, her voice grew louder, as if she gained strength from expressing her decision.

“Yes, he does,” I agreed. “Please have a seat.” I motioned toward the chairs at the table near the window. I nearly shuddered, since the last time I’d seen anyone occupy one, it had been Efram. But helping to resolve this situation might cleanse the area of its bad karma—I hoped.

Brooke took the seat I indicated, and Cheyenne sat on the tile floor beside her, looking more alert, as if sensing an ally in me. If so, he was one smart dog.

“So,” I said, “I get it that you want a good home for Cheyenne. What I don’t get is why your home doesn’t qualify.”

What little color there was beneath Brooke’s papery skin drained away as if sucked quickly inside by an invisible vacuum. Her light amber eyes flooded with tears, making mine grow moist in empathy. I waited.

“I love Cheyenne,” she said hoarsely. “I wish I could keep him, but . . . my home is being foreclosed on. I’m not sure where I’m going to live, or if . . .” Her voice tapered off, and I realized that the emphasis on her last word was a statement.

She believed she was dying.

“Tell me about it,” I said gently, not sure how I could bear hearing her, but I felt certain she needed to talk.

Her story was probably not unique these days, after the economic crises over the last few years. She had a heart condition, was on medication that helped but the stuff was expensive. Interestingly, she’d worked for a major private investigation firm as an operative—until she became too ill to go out in the field. They’d given her an inside desk job for a while, but as the economy slowed, so had their business. They had recently let her go. When she’d lost her job, she’d also lost her medical insurance, and the combination meant she would additionally lose her home.

Now she was about to lose her beloved dog, too. But, unselfishly, she wanted to give Cheyenne the best possible chance at survival and happiness, no matter what happened to her.

“Where are you living now?” I asked her.

“I’m still in the house for the time being, but the bank has said they won’t extend that beyond another month or so. That’s why I need to make sure Cheyenne is taken care of right away.”

“Got any family who could help?” I had to ask, but anticipated the reply.

“Not really.”

Cheyenne stood and put his head on Brooke’s knee. She bent over and hugged him.

I wanted to hug them both. Fix things for them.

Well, I couldn’t cure Brooke. But I had an idea about how to make things better for them, at least over the short term.

“Okay,” I said briskly, standing. “Here’s what we’ll do. You take Cheyenne home with you for now. As Nina and I told you over the phone, we can help by supplying dog food. The moment the bank says that’s it, that you have to leave, you can bring Cheyenne back. If necessary, we’ll work out a good adoption for him, one where you’ll be able to visit if you want to. But before we get to that point, we’ll see if we can make things better.”

Brooke looked up skeptically. “How?”

“Can’t tell you now,” I replied. “And there are no guarantees. But let me do some checking, see if I can come up with anything so Cheyenne and you can stay together while you’re dealing with your illness. Is it a kind that could be . . .” I stopped. Her prognosis was really not my business.

“Fatal?” she finished. “Potentially, although there are new medications and other options I could try. I’d have a better chance if my insurance company hadn’t dumped me, though.”

“Got it,” I said cheerfully. “We’ll see what we can do. Are you okay to drive Cheyenne and you home?”

“Well, yes,” she said, sitting up fully in her chair. Cheyenne backed away slightly, and for the first time he started really wagging his tail. “But—”

“But you’d braced yourself for going back alone. I get it. Cheyenne doesn’t, though. Are you willing to take a chance on being able to keep him now?”

“Well, yes,” she repeated. “But I don’t see how—”

“Even if I can’t help, you’ll at least have had more time with Cheyenne. Isn’t it worth it to try?”

“Oh, yes!” Brooke bent again to hug her best friend—and then came over to hug me.

I only hoped I wasn’t just blowing smoke around both—all three—of us.

That meant it would be handled quickly, efficiently, and well. It also meant I couldn’t follow through on my idea to help Brooke Pernall right away—and I hated delays, even if I couldn’t control them. Especially then.

My idea? Throw money at her. Dante’s money, not mine, since I hadn’t much to spare. But maybe he would lend me his clout to lean on Brooke’s former insurance company. Or—

Hey, a lawyer could do that. I could talk to his lady friend, Kendra Ballantyne. She might have some ideas, too.

I lifted the phone in my office again, but the door from our reception area burst into the room, followed by Nina.

“Lauren, everyone here knows about Efram, and how he acted. They’re worried. Could we talk to them?”

My second in command looked worried, too. Justifiably. Brooke Pernall’s woes had distracted me from my own. HotRescues’ own.

The bank hadn’t kicked Brooke out yet. I didn’t have to fix things for her this instant, if I could at all. But addressing the menace around here couldn’t wait.

“Absolutely,” I told Nina. “Let’s get everyone who’s here together in the meeting room upstairs in twenty minutes.”

“I’m on it.” Nina looked relieved as she left again, pulling the door closed after her.

If only some inspiration would leap into my fragmented thoughts so I could convey genuine optimism to my gang—some way to permanently banish Efram and his threats from HotRescues.

The upstairs was planned around a conference room. Doors opening onto it led to offices used by staff members like Nina and Mona to meet with potential adopters and decide if they were worthy. And, in Mona’s case, counsel them. There was even a shrink’s couch in her room. I preferred to have my office downstairs in the mainstream of what was going on.

When time for our impromptu meeting arrived, I stayed in our welcome area as the others headed up the stairway near the exit to the shelter grounds. I didn’t count heads, but after a few minutes I followed—not before locking the outer door. Any visitors could ring the doorbell.

By the time I arrived at our meeting, nearly everyone else had, too, massing around the conference table. They’d thoughtfully left a chair at one end for me—a good idea, since I had every intention of presiding over this gathering.

Like our reception room, this one’s walls were decorated with photos of our successes—pets and their new owners. I know I’m prone to anthropomorphism, but yes, even the animals seemed to smile. Why not? They’d each found a new home.

I planted myself on the empty seat—wood that matched the table, blue upholstery, and wheels for ease of movement.

“What’s going on, Lauren?” Mona frowned beneath her narrow glasses. She held a notepad and pen, clearly prepared to take notes. No surprise that she spoke first. As a psychologist, she liked to know what everyone was thinking—human and not. “Does this have something to do with Efram?”

“It sure does,” said Angie. “The S.O.B. threatened us, and the animals, too. He has some nerve, hurting those poor pups, then coming here.” A veterinary technician—clad, as usual, in a turquoise lab jacket—she always seemed highly empathetic with animals.

Of course, everyone in this group gave a damn, or they wouldn’t be here. I’d make sure of it.

“I don’t understand the guy.” Si Rogan shook his head. “I worked with him a lot. Really thought he was coming around, doing a good job learning how to care for animals.” He looked at me as if for confirmation, and I nodded.

“Too bad you couldn’t train him as well as you train animals,” Pete Engersol said to Si, drumming his aging fingers on the table. Our all-around caretaker had spent a lot of time with Efram, too, but I didn’t bring that up.

Our young volunteers, Ricki and Sally, looked from one speaker to the next, both wide-eyed.

“What kind of threat did he make?” Sally ventured. She was a short brunette with lovely Hispanic features, dressed, like Ricki, in a yellow HotRescues knit shirt. The actual employees—me included—wore similar shirts in blue.

“Nothing specific,” I replied, “but the fact he’d threaten HotRescues at all is why I called this meeting. You’re all on notice to be careful. If you see Efram, stay away and come get me. Better yet, if you feel even a little nervous, call 911 first, then warn the rest of us.”

“I don’t get it.” Nina had taken a seat beside me. “I hated what the guy did with Quincy. But he always seemed so nice around here—took orders, even showed initiative in doing things for our residents.”

I’d hated his abuse of Quincy, too—enough to work out a way to make sure we’d gotten the dog from a shelter, since our permit doesn’t allow us to take in strays. Efram had claimed we were wrong about the abuse. He’d also claimed we hadn’t looked at all for Killer’s owner. I had . . . but not very hard.

“Because he was paid to,” Mona reminded Nina. Efram’s threat of a lawsuit, and the settlement we’d entered into, were no secret, though the actual amounts Dante was paying were.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m through, unless anyone else has anything to discuss. Just be careful. Don’t trust Efram. We’ll do what we have to, to ensure he gets what he deserves and leaves us alone.”

“Amen,” said Mona, and the gang all started to dissipate.

As I began to follow, Si joined me on the narrow stairway. “I really hate that Efram threatened you, Lauren.” He peered down from the step above me. His hair was dark with gray strands, with a similar pattern in his five o’clock shadow. His narrow-lipped scowl turned his high forehead into a contrail of parallel wrinkles.

“I hate that he threatened everyone around here,” I replied. “As well as our animals. We’ll all have to be cautious.”

“Let me know later when you’re ready to head home. I’d be glad to make sure you get there safely.”

We’d reached the bottom of the steps, and I smiled at Si. “Didn’t I hear that you were teaching a new beginner’s dog training class starting tonight?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not until seven o’clock.”

“I’ll be fine, Si. Besides, the rumor I heard said you’ve been hired to give a class at a major pet store chain that doesn’t belong to our chief benefactor. If that’s true, you’d better just slip away late this afternoon without any fanfare.”

“Really?” He looked horrified.

I was joking. Si did a great job of retraining some of our most challenging dogs to help squelch objectionable traits that could hinder the possibility of finding them homes. But he was free to work for whomever he chose when he wasn’t busy here.

“Just kidding. I know it’s not your first gig for that outfit, which shall remain nameless around here.”

He smiled back. For an instant, I had the impression he was going to bend down and try to kiss me.

I pivoted and edged away. “You’re one great dog trainer, Si.” I hoped he heard my silent message—again: I gave homage to his training skills, but, personally, I had no interest.

Maybe one day I’d have to say it out loud, openly hurt his feelings. I liked the guy . . . as a friend and employee. And I’d hate to have to start looking for a new trainer.

But men and I . . . Well, my beloved first husband, Kerry, had been the absolute best, but he’d died years ago from a rare and untreatable form of cancer. Thinking the kids needed another father—and I needed company—I’d remarried. That second marriage had been an utter mistake. Now, I liked my life. My independence. My non-reliance on any man.

So even if Si was the most outstanding guy in the universe—I simply wasn’t interested.

“Let me know how your new class goes tonight,” I finished, and headed for my office.

“Hey, thanks for calling back,” I said, settling into my chair.

I glanced toward the window, which opened onto the shelter area. Ricki and Pete were checking on our doggy residents, and I saw Sally enter the central building’s back door. Everything looked fine. No sign that we were under pressure from that miserable Efram. But I hoped that enough had been said to put everyone on guard.

I intended to tell Dante first about my discussion with Brooke Pernall and Cheyenne so I could ask how charitable he felt that day. Before I could start, though, he said, “In case you’re wondering, I’ve stopped all payments to Efram Kiley, as of today. Didn’t get around to it earlier this week. I’d arranged for automatic deposits into his bank account, subject to his keeping his promises, but he’s reneged on them big time. Of course Kendra reminds me that the guy’s innocent under the law till proven guilty. But she’s the lawyer, not me. If he’s found innocent, I’ll make up any amounts he should have been paid.”

“Good move.” I wished I’d known about Dante’s actions before our meeting, though, since Efram was even more likely to turn his threats into frightening reality once he learned his money source had terminated. At least nearly everyone had been warned. I told Dante about the threats, and he was clearly angry and concerned. “You be careful, too,” I warned him, “in case Efram includes you in his vengeance.”

Next, I told Dante about Brooke Pernall and Cheyenne. “So . . . what do you think? Can we help her?” I finished.

“You mean, can I help her?” He at least sounded cheerful again. “Get me more info about her and her predicament, like confirm what her medical condition is and how money might help cure her, that kind of thing. Then we’ll see.”

“Thanks.” I smiled as I hung up. I had a feeling that some assistance would soon be dancing Brooke and Cheyenne’s way.

I wondered now, though, as I had in the past, if we should hire someone to stay overnight. But some other private shelters made do with even less, and this system had worked fine since HotRescues opened.

We’d never been threatened before, though, and now not even all that security was enough to ease my concerns about Efram.

I decided to call Captain Matt Kingston to update him and ask obliquely whether Animal Services could do anything else to rein in Efram.

Matt had called me the day after the puppy mill rescue to keep me in the loop about the conditions of the dogs who’d been saved—and he had better firsthand knowledge than Nina’s sources. All were expected to survive, even the parents, who were in the worst health. Matt promised to let me know if any of their lives became at risk due to overcrowding in public shelters.

He’d given me his cell phone number so, still sitting in my office with the door closed, I called it.

He answered right away. “Hi, Lauren. No, we’re not giving up any of the dogs for you to rehome yet.”

I laughed. “You’ve got me pegged. But as long as you find them great new families I’m fine with it. I’m calling about something else.” I filled him in on Efram’s threats. “Everyone here is on alert, so I’m sure we’ll be fine . . . but if there’s anything you can do to expedite his trial or whatever—”

“Damn!” he exclaimed. “I’ll contact the LAPD and make sure there’ll be extra patrols in your neighborhood. But be careful, Lauren. That guy’s a danger, even when he doesn’t make threats.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You up for dinner one of these days? To discuss the puppy mill operation and Efram and the other suspects, I mean.”

Grinning slightly, I told him I’d love to talk business with him, someday soon.

“I called EverySecurity to let them know we need additional patrols,” she said, brushing her long hair away from the shoulder strap of her pocketbook.

“Good idea,” I said. “I did, too.”

It was already dark outside. “Let’s both leave together,” she said. “We can watch each other’s backs as we get into our cars.”

“I’ll watch yours, but . . . well, I’m staying here tonight. Sleeping upstairs.” I’d done it before, when we had an ill animal that needed nursing or I had some unavoidable paperwork that kept me busy till long into the night.

“Bad idea.” Her normally pale face flushed, so I knew she was upset.

“Maybe, but I’ll feel better if I’m here.” Thank heavens my kids were at school and I had no pets at home. That gave me leeway to do what I needed to . . . and I wouldn’t worry that Efram could harm them, too. “Our security guys will call me if there’s anything suspicious outside or if the silent alarm goes off, or whatever. Plus, Captain Kingston of Animal Services promised he’d alert the LAPD. And I’ll call for help right away if I hear anything. I’ll be fine.”

We argued a little longer, but Nina finally caved. She’s worked with me long enough to know that, when my mind’s made up, that’s that. And so, she left.

I hung out downstairs awhile longer, going outside to check yet another time on our dogs, and inside the central building to look in on the smaller animals.

All seemed normal—as normal as could be with an environment filled with sadly homeless creatures. But I was uneasy enough to check other doors, like one into our large storage building at the rear of the fenced property that also contained our laundry facilities. Everything there seemed fine, too.

I eventually went upstairs in the main building and sat on the couch in Mona’s office. I’d slept there before—although that night I didn’t anticipate getting any real sleep. I slipped on the black hoodie I kept at HotRescues in case it got chilly, since I didn’t intend to put the furnace on. It was late April and unlikely to get very cold.

I actually must have conked out, since I was startled awake when the dogs outside began to bark. Sounded like all of them. Upset and loud.

I reached for my cell phone, but didn’t call the security company . . . yet. One dog might have thought he’d heard something, started barking, and spurred the others to join in.

Maybe.

But I’d be careful.

I pulled my shoes back on and tied the laces. I didn’t even turn on all the lights as I went downstairs. They could disturb the animals even more or alert an intruder—Efram?—to my presence and endanger me further. I’d been prepared enough to bring a flashlight.

I tried not to hurry, since I didn’t want to fall down the steps. I wished I could call out to the dogs. Calm them. Tell them I was on my way.

At the bottom, I turned toward the door to the shelter area. And then I opened it.

The barking was louder outside without the building’s insulation to muffle it. My nerves were even more frayed, making my trembling hands cause the light beams to scintillate. The hell with it. I flicked the switch to turn on the lights.

As I looked around, I hesitated. What was that? A pile of something lay on the pavement way down toward the far end of the closest row of enclosures. It hadn’t been there before.

It looked like clothes. Only . . .

I swallowed hard. Something—someone—was in those clothes.

Who else was here? Was he—she—hurt?

Had Efram somehow made good on his threats after I’d headed upstairs?

Holding my BlackBerry in my hand, fully on alert and ready to call for help the instant I needed it, I inched toward whoever lay on the ground. I wore athletic shoes—not that I’d have made much sound on the concrete walkway anyhow. Especially with the dogs still barking, telling me about the intrusion—or something else.

As I reached the lump of clothes, I recognized it. I also saw a large puddle of red seeping onto the ground.

Efram. Bleeding.

“Efram!” I shouted. Was this a trick? If I knelt to see if he was okay, would he lunge at me?

But he wasn’t moving. I didn’t even see him breathing. I took a few more steps and stooped, carefully reaching out to touch his neck.

“Freeze!” shouted someone behind me. Startled, I stood and pivoted at the same time.

Three cops stood there, aiming guns at me.