Challenging Matt

Connor focused his camera on the classic Mustang parked in the driveway. It was the same car he’d seen Layne McGraw driving when she left the Eisley Foundation building. Something about her name had bothered him from the beginning, so he’d pulled his file on Peter Davidson after Matt’s visit to his house and found a reference to her in Hudson’s obituary, which was included with Davidson’s file.

William Hudson is survived by his beloved wife, Dorothy; nieces Layne, Stephanie and Jeannette McGraw; and nephew Jeremy McGraw...

The obit didn’t discuss William Hudson’s suicide, or that he’d been facing arrest and indictment for embezzling.

The rottweiler whined again.

“Patience, my friend,” Connor murmured, watching for signs of waking in the household, perhaps a curtain moving or a light coming on.

Ah...or miniblinds being opened.

Finnster nudged Connor’s elbow.

“All right. Let’s see how they react to you.”

He checked the microphone on Finn’s collar to be sure it was secure, tested the receiver in his ear, then let the dog out of the Jeep and tossed him a folded newspaper. He made a gesture with fingers, giving the command. The rottweiler drifted across the street and dropped the paper on the driveway before running to the front door, scratching and barking. When it opened, he pivoted and dashed back to the newspaper.

Layne McGraw followed, yawning. She put her hands on her hips and grinned at Finn. “What are you doing, making all that fuss out here? It’s Sunday morning—don’t you know people are catching up on their sleep?”

Finn nosed the newspaper forward a few inches. The newspaper routine was a maneuver they’d used more than once—how someone acted with a dog was revealing. Besides, Finnster was a good judge of character; his approval could be measured in how close he let someone get to him.

Finnster barked eagerly. He crouched down and cocked his head to one side, looking at Layne.

The ham.

Rottweilers had a reputation for ferocity in some circles, but Finn could make himself into a clown, scrunching up his face and using his eyes with the skill of a silent-screen actress. It was why Connor had picked him as a puppy.

“It’s very thoughtful of you, boy, but that belongs to someone else. Aunt Dee doesn’t take the paper. Did you go for a walk with someone and get away?” The girl’s voice was amused, coming clearly through the radio receiver in Connor’s ear.

Finn yipped again. “It’s all right, I’m harmless.” She held out her hand. “Give me a sniff. I probably smell like my aunt’s cat, but JoJo is okay with dogs as long as they let him be the boss.”

Finnster allowed himself to be coaxed and was soon on his back, legs waving in the air as he got his tummy rubbed, along with the place behind his ears that turned him into mush. He was in canine heaven.

Rolling his eyes, Connor belatedly lifted his camera and began shooting pictures.

“What have you got there, Lani?” he heard another voice ask a minute later.

Startled, Connor realized he’d missed Dorothy Hudson’s arrival. Damn it all, he couldn’t afford to get soft. He eased down in the driver’s seat to be less visible and continue taking photos. Since Layne McGraw had seen him the day she’d come to talk to Matt, she might recognize his face if she got a good look in his direction.

“He’s a marshmallow, Aunt Dee,” Layne declared. “His owner probably took him out for a run and he got away. See? He’s dragging a leash and brought us somebody else’s newspaper. Maybe the house looks like his home.”

“What a good boy.” The newcomer added to the caresses Finn was receiving.

If possible, the rottweiler melted further, wriggling along the flagstone driveway to position himself equally between them. His hind legs were even paddling, a sure sign of his pure and complete surrender.

Connor flipped through the Davidson file and found a picture of Dorothy Hudson. The woman petting his dog was just as beautiful as the woman in the photo, though her smile didn’t have the same merry quality. In fact, something about that sad smile reminded him of his sister back in Ireland, who’d never really gotten over her husband’s death.

“What should we do about him?” Layne asked, drawing Connor’s attention. His instincts told him that Layne McGraw and her aunt were decent people, an opinion Finnster would certainly endorse. Yet even decent people did strange things, and they could make serious trouble with the best of intentions.

“Let’s see if he has a license tag.”

Time for their exit strategy. Connor lifted a dog whistle to his mouth—it was outside the audible range for humans—and blew three short blasts, followed by another two.

What the...?

Connor stared. The bloody animal barely twitched an ear, instead he reached out a leg and pawed Layne McGraw’s knee. He was utterly ignoring the command to leave...the toughest guard dog in the state, with highly specialized and unique training, had been corrupted by a pretty girl and her aunt.

Connor sent the command again and Finn finally scrambled to his feet, cocking his head as if he’d heard something.

He barked twice, looking intently down the street and dashed away before the two women could grab his leash.

Scowling, Connor drove after him. Two blocks away he stopped, leaned over and opened the passenger door. Finn climbed in, panting from running, tongue happily hanging from one side of his mouth.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Connor scolded. “Do you have nothing but fur between those ears?”

Finn didn’t appear abashed. He settled down with a pleased sigh and wagged his tail the way any other dog remembering a treat would wag—certainly not like an animal that had been schooled to follow whistled commands without question. The first time those commands were given.

Connor wasn’t superstitious, but he couldn’t help wondering if the whole thing was an omen.

Perhaps the McGraw woman and her aunt were going to be an even bigger problem than he’d anticipated.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I WONDER IF Jeannie spent the night with Matthew Hollister?” Layne said as she pulled into her parents’ driveway.

“You think she’d go home with a man an hour after meeting him?” Aunt Dee asked. She didn’t exactly have a hangover from drinking too much at the gala, but she looked a little worse for wear and had been quieter than normal.

“I have no idea, but you saw her expression when she met him, and he’s been linked with several women since returning to Seattle.” Layne parked next to her brother’s Acura and behind Steffie’s Lexus. Only Jeannie’s sporty BMW was absent. She looked at the house and sighed; usually she tried to get there when dinner was already on the table, but Aunt Dee liked to arrive early.

“Come on, Lani. It’s just Sunday dinner with your parents,” Dee chided as they got out, each collecting their contributions for the meal. In Aunt Dee’s case, fresh home-baked rolls and dessert, with Layne’s contribution being sparkling cider, a pint of cream and two pounds of Seattle’s Best Coffee beans.

“I know. That’s the problem.” Inside the house Layne dutifully kissed her mother and father and greeted Steffie and Jeremy. “Isn’t Jeannie coming?” she asked, giving her mom the coffee and putting the cream and cider in the fridge.

“I’m here,” Jeannie called as she sailed through the front door. “I got held up at the office.”

“It’s Sunday,” Layne said, nibbling on a piece of celery from the vegetable tray. “Doctors may be on call 24/7, but don’t executives get the weekend off?”

“Hey, I work in the real business world, not a two-bit joint like the Babbitt.” An uncomfortable silence followed and Jeannette flushed. “Oh, Layne, I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Layne shrugged and popped a piece of cauliflower in her mouth. It was hardly a surprise how Jeannie and the rest of the family felt—working at the Babbitt wasn’t prestigious or high paying and would never make her famous. But what was wrong with just being good at your job?

One of these days she’d meet a terrific guy and they’d have two or three kids. She couldn’t be the kind of mom who baked cookies—she was too lousy of a cook—but she’d get them from a great bakery and go to all their school programs and accept whoever they wanted to be. You could do that when you were an everyday person rather than a famous heart doctor or supremely confident orthopedic surgeon and expected all your kids to be supercharged versions of yourself.

It wasn’t even that she resented her parents’ careers—they’d helped thousands of people over the years—but she wanted something like what her aunt and uncle had shared. Though Uncle Will’s company had become hugely successful, it was his marriage that had meant everything to him. Besides, she was tired of feeling as if she’d failed her family because she hadn’t been born as gorgeous and ambitious as the rest of them.

“Uh, well, can I get anyone a drink?” Layne’s father asked. He was a big believer in smoothing over discord.

A hasty chorus of requests followed as Layne stepped down into the open great room to where most of the trophies and awards her brother and sisters had gotten were displayed, among them Jeannie’s Phi Beta Kappa key, a letter of appreciation to Dr. Stephanie McGraw for saving the governor’s wife, and Jeremy’s track-and-field Olympic gold medals. His silver and bronze medals weren’t on display—anything that wasn’t the best wasn’t good enough in the McGraw family.