When she went to the kitchen to run cold water over the heel of her hand and the base of her thumb, her gaze fell on the business card she had eventually taken from the break room table and then dropped on the counter when she'd cleaned out her pockets the same evening. Gil Masera, Dog Obedience and Behavior Specialist. She immediately rejected the impulse to call him. She didn't trust him. He'd lied. And the circumstances under which he'd taken those pit bulls... But she didn't have to like him to learn from him. And she didn't know any of the other local trainers, hadn't spoken to them. Couldn't call them cold at half past eight in the evening. She kept her hand under the faucet and reached for the card—turning it in her fingers, nibbling the edge of it in indecision, glancing at the clock. In the background, Sunny had gone back to chewing her bone, her jaws tireless. Druid clung to the wall between the kitchen and den, drawn to her and yet too mortified to slink the rest of the way to her feet.
