Chapter 9 - THE GALA
By six the next evening, Roman Calder looked like a man attending his own funeral.
Black tuxedo.
Black tie.
No visible weapon.
Too calm.
Titan stood beside him in a new harness.
No electronics.
No hidden devices.
No pain.
I wore a borrowed dark blue dress that cost enough to feed every rescue dog in Boston for a month.
I hated it.
Roman looked at me.
“You’re pulling the sleeve.”
“It’s trying to strangle my shoulder.”
“That isn’t how sleeves work.”
“You have clearly never worn women’s formal clothes.”
“Correct.”
Titan leaned against my leg.
Roman sighed.
“He’s doing it again.”
“He likes me.”
“He loves me.”
“Apparently love is complicated.”
Roman almost smiled.
For hours that afternoon, I had worked with Titan using simple cues.
No pressure.
No force.
No repetition when he froze.
Come.
Wait.
Find.
Home.
Roman participated.
At first he gave commands like he was negotiating hostile acquisitions.
I made him stop.
“You don’t need to dominate him.”
“I’m not dominating him.”
“You sound like you’re ordering a country to surrender.”
Titan sneezed.
I pointed.
“Even he agrees.”
Roman learned.
Slowly.
Now we entered the Calder Grand Hotel ballroom together.
Two hundred guests.
Politicians.
Executives.
Celebrities.
Old Boston money.
People who probably thought fourteen-dollar dog treats were cheap.
Luca monitored cameras from a secure room.
Police contacts loyal to Roman waited nearby, but we couldn’t involve too many officers because Owen’s files suggested somebody inside law enforcement was compromised.
Roman’s uncle Malcolm appeared near the stage.
Silver hair.
Expensive smile.
Perfect posture.
The same voice that had threatened my father fifteen years earlier.
He embraced Roman.
“My boy.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Malcolm looked at me.
“And who is this?”
“Nora Hayes,” I said.
His smile stopped for half a second.
Hayes.
He remembered.
Roman saw it.
Malcolm recovered.
“A pleasure.”
“No,” I said. “Probably not.”
Roman touched my elbow lightly.
Not to control me.
To warn me.
Malcolm looked down at Titan.
“I heard we had some trouble with him.”
Titan stared.
No growl.
No fear.
Interesting.
Malcolm wasn’t the person who had hurt him directly.
Roman said, “He’s fine now.”
“I’m glad.”
Malcolm’s eyes met mine.
“Animals can be unpredictable.”
“So can old men with secrets.”
Roman coughed.
I’m pretty sure he was hiding a laugh.
Malcolm walked away.
Thirty minutes later, Roman took the stage.
I stayed near Titan.
The dog seemed calm.
Until a waiter passed us carrying champagne.
Titan suddenly turned.
He followed the waiter with his eyes.
Then pulled me toward the service hallway.
“Titan?”
He sniffed the air.
Pulled harder.
I looked toward Roman.
He was speaking under bright lights.
Malcolm stood behind the stage.
Applauding.
Titan dragged me through the service door.
We reached an elevator.
The dog froze.
Same rigid posture as my store.
Then he scratched violently at the elevator seam.
The doors opened.
Inside was a housekeeping cart.
Nothing else.
Titan barked at it.
I pulled back the towels.
Underneath sat a black hard-shell case.
May you like
A red light blinked.
And a digital timer counted down from eleven minutes.
