The Search

by Nora Roberts

  Fiona stepped back to watch. She was, she knew, training the human every bit as much as—possibly more than—the dog. Progress, and a satisfied client, would depend on the human’s willingness to adhere to the training at home.

  “She’s listening!”

  “You’re doing great.” And both of you are relaxed, Fiona thought. “I’m going to walk toward you. If she exhibits unacceptable behavior, I want you to correct. And don’t tense up. You’re walking your cute little dog. Your cute, polite, happy little dog.”

  At Fiona’s approach, Chloe barked and pulled on the leash. Fiona wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Pom or master, when Lissy hissed out a no-nonsense Stop and brought Chloe to heel.

  “Excellent. Again.”

  She repeated, repeated until at her approach, Chloe simply continued to walk politely at Lissy’s heel.

  “Well done. Syl, would you mind? Syl’s going to walk by now. Syl, stop and chat, okay?”

  “Sure.” Sylvia strolled up, crossed paths. “Nice to see you.”

  “Okay. Gosh.” Lissy stopped, blinking when the pretty little Pom did the same without snarling or yipping. “Look what she did.”

  “Isn’t that great? What a pretty dog.” Sylvia bent over to stroke Chloe’s fluffy head. “What a well-behaved dog. Good girl, Chloe.”

  “We’re going to add Newman in,” Fiona announced.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Lissy, don’t tense up. Stay relaxed. Newman won’t react to her until I allow it. You’re in charge. She depends on you. Correct firmly, quickly and as necessary.”

  With Newman by her side, Fiona walked across Chloe’s eye line. The Pom went ballistic.

  “Correct,” Fiona ordered. “Firmly, Lissy,” she added when her flustered client faltered. “No, don’t pick her up. Like this. Chloe, stop! Stop!” Fiona repeated, making eye contact, pointing sharply.

  Chloe subsided with a few grumbles.

  “Newman’s no threat. Obviously,” Fiona added as the Lab sat placidly. “You need to keep relaxed and remain in charge—and be firm when she’s exhibiting unsocial behavior.”

  “He’s so much bigger. She’s scared.”

  “Yes, she’s scared and she’s stressed—and so are you. You have to relax, let her relax. She’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.” At Fiona’s hand signal, Newman lay down, sighed a little.

  “You said there was a park near you, and several people take their dogs there.”

  “Yes. I stopped taking Chloe because she’d just get upset.”

  “It’d be nice to be able to take her, so she could have playmates, make friends.”

  “Nobody likes her,” Lissy whispered. “It hurts her feelings.”

  “Nobody likes a bully, Lissy. But people, especially dog people, generally enjoy a well-behaved dog. And one as pretty and smart as Chloe could make a lot of friends. You’d like that for her?”

  “I really would.”

  “When’s the last time you took her to the park?”

  “Oh gosh, it’s been three or four months. There was this little incident. Really she barely broke the skin—barely—but Harry and I felt it best not to take her back.”

  “I think you can give it another try.”

  “Really? But—”

  “Take a look.” Fiona held a finger up first. “Don’t overreact. Stay calm—keep your voice calm.”

  Lissy glanced down, then pressed her free hand to her mouth as she watched Chloe sniff curiously at Newman.

  “She’s checking him out,” Fiona said. “Her tail’s wagging, her ears are up. She’s not afraid. She’s interested. Stay calm,” she added, then signaled Newman.

  When he stood, Chloe retreated, then froze as he lowered his head to sniff her in turn. Her tail wagged again.

  “He gave her a kiss!”

  “Newman likes pretty girls.”

  “She’s making a friend.” Lissy’s eyes filled. “It’s silly. I know it’s silly to get so emotional.”

  “No it’s not. Not a bit. You love her.”

  “She’s never had a friend. It’s my fault.”

  Mostly, Fiona thought, but things were never quite that simple. “Lissy, you brought her here because you love her and you want her to be happy. She has a friend now. How about we let her make a few more?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me.”

  Lissy reached out, a bit dramatically, to clutch Fiona’s hand. “I really, really do.”

  “Correct if necessary. Otherwise, just relax and let her deal.”

  Fiona called the dogs off the porch, one at a time, to give Chloe a chance to acclimate. There were a few corrections, some retreat and advance, but before long they had what Fiona thought of as a sniff-and-wag party going on.

  “I’ve never seen her like this. She’s not scared or being mean or trying to claw up my leg so I’ll pick her up.”

  “Let’s give her a reward. Let her off the leash so she can run around with the boys and Oreo.”

  Lissy bit her lip but obeyed.

  “Go play,” Fiona ordered.

  As the others ran off, bumping bodies, Chloe stood, shivering.

  “She’s—”

  “Wait,” Fiona interrupted. “Give her some time.”

  Bogart raced back, gave Chloe a few swipes with his tongue. This time when he ran toward the pack, Chloe raced after him on her little designer booties.

  “She’s playing.” Lissy murmured it as Chloe leaped to latch onto the frayed end of the mangled rope Bogart snagged. “She’s really playing with friends.”

  Fiona draped an arm around Lissy’s shoulders. “Let’s sit on the porch and have some lemonade. You can watch her from there.”

  “I—I should’ve brought my camera. I never thought . . .”

  “Tell you what. Sit with Sylvia. I’ll go get mine and take some shots. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

  “I’m going to cry.”

  “You go right ahead.” Patting Lissy’s shoulder, Fiona led her to the porch.

  LATER, SYLVIA ROCKED and sipped and watched Lissy drive away with Chloe. “That must be very satisfying.”

  “And a little exhausting.”

  “Well, you did give her two solid hours.”

  “She—they—needed it. I think they’ll be all right. Lissy has to keep it up—and bring Harry on board. But I think she will. Our guys helped, a lot.” She lifted her foot and gave Peck’s rump a rub.

  “Now that we’ve solved Chloe’s problem, what about yours?”

  “I think that’s going to take more than a firm hand and some dog treats.”

  “How mad is he?”

  “Pretty mad.”

  “How mad are you?”

  “Undecided.”

  Now that the dog party had ended, a trio of jewel-winged humming-birds dashed and darted along the flowering red currant that Starr had written about in the cursed article.

  The blur of color should have charmed her, but it only served to remind Fiona of the harshness of the morning.

  “I’m trying to stay calm, to be sensible—because otherwise I think, I really think I’d run screaming and never stop. And Simon’s angry I don’t run screaming. At least I think that’s part of it, and I’m not all ‘Oh, you’re so big and strong, please take care of me.’ Or something.”

  Sylvia continued to rock, to sip. “It’s a wonder to me, it really is, Fee, how someone as insightful and sensitive as you can’t seem to understand how painfully hard this is on the rest of us.”

  “Oh, Syl. I do! Of course I do. I wish—”

  “No, honey, you don’t. Your solution is to block us out of some of the details, and your own fears. To make the decisions, on your own, about what to do and how to do it. And since I can’t completely disagree with that, I’m in a quandary.”

  Guilt mingled with frustration, and irritation wrapped them with a frayed bow. “I don’t block you out.”

  “Not often. You are a sensible woman, and you’re
justifiably proud of your ability to take care of yourself and deal with your own problems. I’m proud of you. But I worry that your need to do that will box you into believing you have to do that, always. You have an easier time giving help than asking for it.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe. But honestly, Syl, I didn’t think telling Simon or you, or anyone, about that damn reporter was an issue. Was a thing. It happened, I dealt with it. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped her from writing the article.”

  “No, but telling us would have prepared us for it.”

  “All right.” Tired, next to defeated, Fiona pressed her fingers to her eyes. “All right.”

  “I don’t want to upset you. God knows I don’t want to add to your stress. I’d just like you to think about . . . to consider that it’s time to really let those who care about you step in.”

  “Okay, tell me what you think I should do.”

  “I’ll tell you what I wish you could do. I wish you could pack up and go to Fiji until they catch this maniac. And I know you can’t. Not just because it’s not in your makeup, but because you have your home, your business, your bills, your life to deal with.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s maddening, Syl, because I feel like people don’t really understand that. If I crawled in some cave, I could lose my business, my home, not to mention my self-confidence. I worked hard to build all of those.”

  “In my opinion, honey, people do understand that, but they wish you could dig into that cave. I think you’re doing what you can, what you have to do—except asking and allowing others to genuinely help. It’s more than having James watch your house and dogs while you take a little trip, or letting Simon share your bed at night. It’s opening up to someone, Fiona, fully. It’s trusting enough to do that.”

  “God.” Fiona huffed out a breath. “I’ve practically thrown myself at Simon’s feet.”

  Sylvia smiled a little. “Have you?”

  “I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. I didn’t get quid pro quo out of that.”

  “Is that what you were after?”

  “No.” Irritated with herself and everything else, she shoved to her feet. “No. But he’s not exactly the sort who tells you what’s on his mind—unless he’s mad. And even then . . .”

  “I’m not talking about him, or to him. If I were, I’d probably have quite a bit to say. But this is you, Fiona. It’s you I’m worried about, worried for. It’s you I want happy and safe.”

  “I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you. And I won’t make a mistake like I did with the reporter again.” She turned back, lifted her hand, palm out. “Solemn oath.”

  “I’m going to hold you to it. Now, tell me what you want from Simon. With Simon.”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Don’t know, or haven’t let yourself dig down and think about?”

  “Both. If things were just normal—if all of this wasn’t hovering around the edges of my life—maybe I would dig down. Or maybe there wouldn’t be anything to dig for in the first place.”

  “Because what’s hovering is why you and Simon are where you are now?”

  “It’s certainly influenced it. The timing, the intensity.”

  “I’m full of opinions today,” Sylvia decided. “So here’s one more. I think you’re giving a murderer too much credit, and yourself and Simon not enough. The fact is, Fee, things are what they are, and you and Simon are where you are. That’s something to be dealt with.”

  She lifted her brows when the dogs went on alert. “And I bet that’s what you have to deal with coming over your bridge. I’m going to go so you can.” Sylvia rose, gathered Fiona in a fierce hug. “I love you, so much.”

  “I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Then don’t try. And think of this,” she murmured. “He left mad, but he came back.”

  She kissed Fiona’s cheek, then picked up her enormous straw bag. She called Oreo as she strolled toward Simon’s truck. Fiona couldn’t hear what Sylvia said to him, but noticed he glanced toward the porch as her stepmother spoke.

  Then shrugged.

  Typical.

  She stood her ground, though she wasn’t quite sure where the ground lay, as Sylvia drove away. “If you’re here due to obligation, I’ll relieve you of it. I can ask James to stay here tonight, or go bunk at Mai’s.”

  “Obligation for what?”

  “Because I’m in trouble, which I freely admit. I know you’re mad, and I’m telling you you’re not obliged. I won’t stay here alone.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “I want a beer.” He walked up the steps and into the house.

  “Well, for—” She strode in after him. “Is that how you solve problems? Is that your method?”

  “It depends on the problem. I want a beer,” he repeated, and pulled one out of the fridge, opened it. “I have a beer. Problem solved.”

  “I’m not talking about the damn beer.”

  “Okay.” He moved past her and out to the back porch.

  She caught the screen on the back swing, slammed it behind her. “Don’t just walk away from me.”

  “If you’re going to bitch, I’m going to sit down and drink my beer.”

  “If I’m going to—You left here this morning pissed off and bossy. Interrupting me every five seconds. Telling me to shut up.”

  “I’m about to repeat that.”

  “What gives you the right to tell me what to do, what to think, what to say?”

  “Not a thing.” He tipped the beer in her direction. “And right back at you, Fiona.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m giving you a choice, and I’m telling you I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

  His gaze fired to hers, molten gold sheathed in ice. “I’m not one of your dogs. You won’t train me.”

  Her jaw dropped in sincere shock. “I’m not trying to train you. For God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, you are. Second nature for you, I guess. Too bad, because I’d say it’s a pretty sure bet I have a lot of behaviors you’d like to change. That’s on you. If you’d rather James stay here tonight, give him a call. I’ll take off when he gets here.”

  “I don’t know why we’re fighting.” She pushed her hands through her hair, leaned back on the rail. “I don’t even know. I don’t know why I’m suddenly considered someone who’s closed in or blocked off or too stubborn or stupid to ask for help. I’m not. I’m not any of that.”

  He took a long pull as he studied her. “You got yourself out of the trunk.”

  “What?”

  “You got yourself out. Nobody helped you. There wasn’t anybody to help you. Live or die, it was up to you. It must’ve been a hell of a thing. I can’t imagine it. I’ve tried. I can’t. Do you want to stay in the trunk?”

  Tears stung behind her eyes, infuriatingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You can keep getting out on your own. My money’s on you there. Or you can let somebody give you a hand with it, and get it through your head that it doesn’t make you incapable, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known some strong women. So figure it out, and let me know.”