Jack Emery, Cyrus on his heels, walked aimlessly from room to room in the old farmhouse that he and Nikki had recently purchased from Judge Cornelia Easter. Nikki, along with the other girls, had been gone only two days on a special project for Interpol that was so NTK, she wasn't even able to tell Jack where she was going, much less why. All she could tell him was that she and the sisters would be gone for at least a month, possibly longer.

Jack looked down at the massive German shepherd, which, in his opinion, was more human than animal, and said, "A month, maybe longer! Do you have any idea how long that is, Cyrus? It means you have to make your bed probably forty-five times. With our luck, it will turn out to be two months. We have to cook for ourselves, clean, do laundry, plant the garden, go to the office to check on things, and try not to be lonely. It sucks! I don't mean that Nikki did all that stuff. We share everything, you know that. Here's the straight skinny. I'm pissed that Nik wouldn't tell me anything. I'm her husband, for God's sake. Like, who am I going to tell? If you can't trust your spouse, who can you trust?"

He dropped to his knees and cupped the big dog's head in his hands until they were eyeball-to-eyeball. Jack was so close that he could feel the dog's warm breath on his cheek. Cyrus whined until Jack hugged him and whispered, "It's going to be okay. We're going to survive. We did the last time Nik and the girls went away."

This time, Cyrus reared up and let loose a shrill bark, which Jack took to mean that Cyrus was in agreement.

"Okay then. I say we head into town and hang out at the BOLO Building and get caught up on our paperwork. We can always plant those flowers when we get back. The weatherman said it might rain later this evening, so that will work. While I get my stuff ready, it's your job to fold the towels, so get cracking, pal. And ... get your gear ready. Two things, Cyrus, and not your security blanket."

Jack grinned to himself as he watched Cyrus head to the laundry room, where he slapped one massive paw on the dryer door, stood back, then nudged it all the way open. Then he dragged the four towels out onto the floor. He barked once, a shrill sound, to let Jack know he'd done his chore before he trotted off to the family room, to his basket of treasures. Jack quickly folded the four bath towels and set them on top of the dryer.

A year into ownership of the big shepherd, Nikki had heard that a dog whisperer was in town, and she wanted to take Cyrus because she thought he was acting depressed. Jack had gone along with her and had watched, absolutely amazed, as man and dog seemed to communicate with each other. The end result was that, according to the dog whisperer, Cyrus was depressed because he had no duties to perform and didn't feel worthwhile. "He needs a schedule, praise, and a timeout when he doesn't hold up his end of the bargain." The expert had gone on to say they both needed to sit down with Cyrus and lay it all out for him as to what they expected. Which they had, and to their amazement, Cyrus now made his own bed, took the towels out of the dryer, picked up after himself, and answered the phone by knocking the receiver off the hook and barking once. The only other rule he had to obey, apart from performing his duties, was that though he was allowed to chase the squirrels, he was not allowed to catch them.

Jack opened the back door to let Cyrus out. "Don't take all day, okay?"

Cyrus looked over his shoulder, as much as to say, "You're kidding, right?"

Jack shrugged; the dog had it down to thirteen minutes. While Cyrus was doing his thing, he spent the time checking and packing up his briefcase for the trip into Georgetown. He heard the sound then, one that was familiar, one that he hadn't heard in a long time. The ringtone of the special encrypted phone Avery Snowden had supplied to all of them, the sisters and the boys, too. Where was it? Somewhere in the bottom of his briefcase, buried in a mound of papers. Finally, he found it.

Cyrus let himself in the kitchen door and ran to the table the moment he recognized the strange sound coming from Jack's briefcase. He forgot all about the treat he always got when he came in from doing his business, because he knew that when he heard that particular sound, it meant action. He sat back on his haunches as he listened attentively to what Jack was saying.

"Bert!" Jack's trouble antenna went straight up in the air. "Talk to me, big guy!" Cyrus was on his feet, his tail between his legs, his ears flat against his head at his master's tone of voice. Jack listened, frowned, grimaced, and finally said, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll call a meeting. We're on it! You do know the girls are off on some mystery mission that Interpol requested. Except for Maggie. She's holding down the female fort, so to speak. No, no, no communication until their return. Six weeks, possibly longer. Yeah, yeah, we're on our own here! That's not a bad thing, Bert!"

He listened again and said, "Abner will be my first call. I'll get back to you sometime later, after I call a meeting. Other than that, how are things in Macau?" He listened again to a detailed progress report, then broke the connection.

Jack stuffed the encrypted phone into one of the pockets in his cargo pants. He looked down at Cyrus, knowing the big dog wanted an explanation. "Trouble is looming, buddy. Gotta call the guys for a meet at the BOLO Building. You know that old saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get your wish.' Well, ten minutes ago, I was wishing for something out of the ordinary, and here it is. Saddle up, Cyrus. Get your gear, and let's hit the road."

Cyrus didn't need to be told twice. Within minutes, he had clutched in his teeth a tattered, whiskerless yellow tabby named Goldie and a pink-and-purple dragon with half the stuffing missing that Nikki had sewn and resewn, a gift from Lily Wong that was the dog's pride and joy and that Nikki had named simply Dragon. He was good to go.

There was a lilt in Jack's voice and a spring in his step when he ordered Cyrus to the kitchen door that led to the garage and his brand-new farm pickup truck. Cyrus was as excited as a six-month-old puppy. In dog language he noted that at last he had something to do besides make his bed, fold towels, and chase squirrels he wasn't allowed to catch. Life was good, he thought as he hopped into the F150 and secured his seat belt. For now, along with his owner, he was king of the road. Yep, life was good.

* * *

An hour later, Jack parked in a no parking zone at a deli across the street from the BOLO Building. The name BOLO, an acronym for "be on the lookout," was a law-enforcement term. He ran in to pick up the order he had called in en route. Ham, cheese, and roast beef on rye, along with a tub of pickles, for himself and the guys. Yogurt and salad for Maggie, and three all–roast-beef sandwiches for Cyrus. He paid for his order and sprinted back to his truck at the curb, grateful no diligent cop had stuck a parking ticket under one of the windshield wipers.

Jack unlocked the security door, which had a special, one-of-a-kind lock, and entered the building, turned on the lights, and reset the thermostat. He moved around, getting out paper plates and utensils, something Maggie usually did, but since he was the one who had brought the food, he'd decided to save her the trouble. He then prepared the Bunn coffeemaker,...