Mr. Judge: A Man Who Knows What He Wants

I stay where I am for a minute, my hand extended, waiting for him to settle down. I’m not sure he’s going to, but finally, his barking stops, his chest heaving as he pants from exhaustion.

Inching a little closer, then a little bit more, I move my hand toward his snout. I hold it close enough so he can sniff me if he wants to.

He cringes away, tail tucked between his legs.

“Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again,” I whisper. “I swear.”

I meet his eyes. My heart almost shatters when I see the hope in his eyes, but it’s a cagey sort of hope, as though he thinks I’m going to turn on him at any second.

I’m not sure how long we stay like this, minutes, maybe longer. But eventually, Bones starts to sniff at the air. His tail doesn’t completely untuck, but it shifts, as though his fear is slipping away, slowly.

I choke back a sob when he pads towards me, sniffing my hand. I stay completely still. I can’t let him sense my fear. He might lash out, not with malice, not because he’s a bad dog, but because Chris has conditioned him that way.

Bones sniffs my hand, retreats, and then sniffs it again. I give him all the time he needs.

And then he does the most heart-melting thing ever.

With a soft whine, he begins to lap at my hand. The dryness of his tongue against my skin makes a dark part of me wish Chris was here, so I could find a way to hurt him, to make him pay for what he’s done.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I whisper. “Doesn’t that sound nice? We’ll get you some water and something to eat.”

Moving carefully and slowly, I release the chain from around his neck. He springs at me. I yell and fall back, and Bones jumps on me, his forepaws resting against my chest. I grin when he leans down, his nose brushing all over me, sniffing with curiosity.

“You scared me, boy.”

He tilts his head, mirroring my grin, as if to say, Don’t be silly, I’d never hurt you.

I’m in love already.

“You have to be quiet,” I whisper, kneeling in the corner of my room with my hands softly caressing his fur.

He’s curled into a ball, eyes blinking open every few moments, his legs still trembling a little.

How long has it been since I broke into Chris’s house?

A few hours, at least. I heard him come home a while ago, his Mustang making that obnoxiously loud purring noise, as though he needs the whole neighborhood to hear how expensive his car is.

Bones devoured the dog food I bought, in preparation for my plan. He lapped at the water greedily, and now he seems exhausted from all the excitement. But already I can see the sort of dog he was supposed to be, the curiosity in the way he sniffed around the room, in the way he looks at me as though wanting to play… even if he’s too scared to yet, and might be for some time to come.

“Mom can’t know you’re here. She’ll freak.”

He yawns, a soft whine accompanying the gesture. I read somewhere once that dogs’ yawns don’t necessarily mean they’re tired. It can also be a sign of stress.

Lowering my head, I gently kiss the top of his head.

“We’ll give you a nice bath soon, okay? But I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

I flinch when somebody starts hammering on the door downstairs. Bones explodes, barking, leaping up, springing onto the bed, and running around the room.

“Hush, boy. Quiet. Please.”

I run to the window, looking down.

Chris stares up at me. He’s wearing his usual wife beater and shorts, his swollen steroid-infused arms looking ridiculous compared to his skinny legs. “I knew it. That’s my dog barking. You bitch. Did you really think you could get away with this? Give it back.”

“It?” I rage, holding back from slamming my hand against the window. “It? He’s a he, and you don’t deserve him. You never did.”

“Don’t make me call the cops.”

I laugh, trying to sound like I don’t care, even as unease pricks at me. “Fine, go ahead. Call them. I’m not giving him back.”

“I will,” he snarls. “You can’t just steal a man’s property.”

He takes out his cell phone, looking up at me, as though expecting me to back down.

But I won’t, not after the way I saw Bones chained up in that dirty place.

“Have it your way,” Chris snaps.

CHAPTER TWO

Pearce

My blood starts to race in my veins when she walks into the courtroom. I try to remind myself that I’m turning fifty this year, and this woman is – according to the court records – twenty years old.

That means there’s a gap of thirty years. I can’t let myself feel a thing for her.