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wouldn’t query his expense account.
    “Yeah. That sounds good.” He had to force his voice to sound genuinely interested. Delete any note of skepticism.
    “What about Doga or Pawlates?”
    This time he couldn’t mask his reaction quickly enough and his expression must have given her the answer.
    “Uh, I take it that’s a ‘no’?” she said.
    “I . . . uh . . . might consider Pawlates at a later stage.” Whatever the hell Pawlates was.
    Serena rewarded his in-character-as-doting-dog-owner reply with a disbelieving lift of her dark brows.
    A small group of dogs had followed Serena to the gate. Now they poked their noses through the bars. She leaned down to pet the closest. “I know I shouldn’t have favorites,” she whispered, “but I’m so fond of this particular little gang.”
    Nick had to lean forward to hear her. So close he felt intoxicated by her subtle, sensual scent.
    But she only had eyes for the dogs. Among the throng, he identified a low-slung basset hound with mournful eyes, Snowball, and a number of fluffy lapdogs of various sizes, colors, and markings. Bessie stuck close to Snowball.
    One of the smaller dogs was quite possibly the ugliest he’d ever seen, a short, squat animal with brindle fur, turned-out legs, and a pugnacious face with a jutting underjaw.
    Serena’s face glowed with affection as she looked at the dogs. “Aren’t they just gorgeous?”
    Nick pointed to the ugly one. “Except for him. Hell, what kind of breed is that?”
    “You mean Brutus? He’s a Heinz type of dog. You know, fifty-seven varieties. Don’t you recognize him?”
    “Should I?”
    “He’s famous. His owner died and left him millions. There was a court case. It was all over the media.”
    “So what’s he doing here?” A millionaire mutt? What a prize that would be for a scammer.
    “Brutus is a major investor in Paws-A-While.”
    Was the woman loony? His doubt must have shown on his face. She laughed.
    “Brutus belongs to my friend Maddy. She inherited him. I had the idea to start this place when she needed somewhere safe to leave him and his wife for the days Maddy works away from home.”
    “His wife. The millionaire mutt has a wife.” His own words echoed in his head.
    Serena’s eyebrows arched. “Coco. The little black poodle next to him. The one in the pink sweatshirt. Isn’t she adorable? They had the cutest wedding ceremony on the same day Maddy married her husband, Tom.”
    Nick cleared his throat. This was surreal. He had dealt with some oddballs both in his time at the FBI and after he’d left. But this took the cake.
    “I know all kinds of marriage ceremonies are legal in California. But refresh my memory as to when canine commitment became one of them?”
    She smiled that alluring smile. Only this time the curve of her lips made him suspect she was—once again—making fun of him. “It was just for a laugh. Maddy works in magazines and it made a great feature story. Besides, she wanted to make an honest dog of Coco as she’d already had five of Brutus’s puppies.”
    She pointed to a little Brutus look-alike, only marginally more attractive. “That’s their daughter Tinkerbelle. Maddy kept her, found homes for the others.”
    Nick could not suppress a groan. “Don’t tell me. All the puppies had christening ceremonies.”
    “Of course not. But they were blessed at the animal blessing service that’s held at the shrine of Saint Francis of Assisi in North Beach.”
    Nick shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Tell me I’m hearing things.”
    “Welcome to dog world, Nick,” Serena said. Her eyes narrowed. “I guess you must be new to it?”
    It was a question, not a statement. Dammit. Why wasn’t Bessie more of a doglike dog? She should have been the perfect cover. Maybe he should have waited to find a bigger, more believable animal for him to own.
    But solving the identity frauds was too urgent to wait around while he searched for the right canine cover.
    He shrugged.