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back under the mattress.
    “One of these days you’re gonna shoot somebody.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    He suddenly felt dizzy, like his head was disproportionately larger than his body. His mouth was dry, his throat scratchy. It was hard to swallow. He looked for a glass of water and saw only empty beer bottles. The woman—Hannah—had already started picking them up. There were scattered paper plates, too, filled with pizza crusts and other unidentifiable leftovers.
    He’d had the loft apartment custom built over the dog kennels so he could hear if any of the dogs were distressed and sometimes when he needed their company they were close by, just like Rufus alerting him with his slobber-licks. It was the one comfort he allowed himself.
    The loft’s open floor plan included a gourmet kitchen, a high beamed cathedral ceiling, cherrywood floors—though you’d never know there was wood beneath the clutter he had allowed to pile up. Clothes and shoes, electronic equipment and file folders were everywhere. An assortment of maps in various sizes were spread across every major surface, anchored down with coffee mugs and dirty dishes. Truth was, he didn’t like seeing the place like this. He didn’t like Hannah seeing it like this either. And he didn’t like her seeing
him
like this.
    She wouldn’t care. It would take much more than filth and disarray to send her packing. Or at least, he hoped so. Other than the dogs, she was all he had in this world.
    She was quiet now, perhaps satisfied that she had sufficiently rattled him. She tossed the beer bottles into his metal wastebasket, letting each one bang against the side. The insides of his head exploded with each hit. She smiled when she noticed him wincing, as if she had scored a major point.
    She continued to pick up a few pieces of clothing from the floor and toss them onto a pile. Something caught her attention. She gave him a hard look then bent down, pinched the item up by as little fabric as possible, and held it up for him. It was a pair of women’s panties. A pink thong.
    “Do you even remember who these belong to?” she asked.
    “They’re not yours?”
    “Only in your dreams.”
    Creed smiled.
    He’d known Hannah for only seven years but it felt like a lifetime. He trusted her more than anyone else in the world. She was like a big sister, only meaner. They became business partners five years ago. Creed trained and took care of the dogs. Hannah took the assignments, managed the finances, scheduled the other trainers and handlers.
    “None of the women complain,” he said, referring to the panties that she now tossed aside.
    “That’s true,” she admitted. “Those I’ve seen, always leave here with a smile. I guess even as they’re leaving their panties behind.”
    He thought she looked more amused than angry, but then she became serious again.
    “When you drink you depreciate the business,” she said, looking him square in the eyes.
    “You don’t need to worry. I have that all under control.”
    “Right. That’s exactly what I was thinking when I walked inhere.” She said it as she waved her hand around the room like Vanna White on
Wheel of Fortune
, showing him what he had won.
    He knew he wouldn’t win this argument. She was right. He was drinking too much, but he tried to defend himself anyway.
    “I only drink on weekends.”
    “It’s Tuesday.”
    “Are you sure?” He rubbed at his eyes. That couldn’t be right. How could he lose a whole day?
    She shook her head at him.
    “I just took an assignment for you. Some bodies dug up in Iowa. Might be more buried.”
    “Maybe you can send Felix.”
    “Felix is on vacation.”
    “I thought he wasn’t going until the eighteenth.”
    “Yesterday was the eighteenth. You sure you’re okay?”
    The sarcasm was gone. Now she sounded concerned. That wasn’t good. Ryder would rather take the sarcasm.
    She continued when he didn’t respond. “This has been a bad stretch for you, Rye. I’m