“When do you suppose he needs to walk?”

“My guess is this dog always needs to walk. Look at the muscle he’s got. He looks like my cousin Vern. Vern really bulked up in prison. By the time they let him out he had no neck. He looked like one of them big ol’ gorillas. When’s Marty coming home?”

“I don’t know. He said he was doing a private party in Aruba, but he didn’t say when he’d be back. Evian has him scheduled for Friday.”

The doorbell chimed, followed by a fist pounding.

Cate looked out the peephole. “Oh no!”

“Who is it?”

“Kitty Bergman.”

“That woman scares the bejeezus out of me,” Julie said. “I swear she’s the Antichrist. I know her and Marty are real good friends, but I never could see the connection.”

“I know you’re in there,” Kitty Bergman yelled through the door. “I can hear you whispering. I can smell you.”

Cate opened the door and Kitty stormed in. “Where is he? Where is that double-crossing misery of a man… or woman?”

“He’s in Aruba.”

“Aruba? What the devil is he doing in Aruba?”

“He had a private party there last night.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Kitty Bergman said. “I’m going to track him down and surgically remove his nuts, and then I’m going to kill him.”

“Ouch,” Julie whispered.

Kitty Bergman was five foot two inches tall, weighed exactly one hundred pounds naked, and had ass muscles that were so well toned they could crack walnuts. She was fifty-five years old and had been nipped, tucked, and sucked by some of the best cosmetic surgeons in Boston. Kitty was married to Ronald Bergman, heir apparent to the Bergman Corrugated Box fortune. The Bergmans owned a Back Bay mansion on Commonwealth Avenue, and while Ronald was off clear-cutting virgin forestland in a voracious hunt for yet more wood pulp, Kitty lived to fund raise. Kitty didn’t give a flying fig about the various charities she supported, but she did love to see her sixty-thousand-dollar sparkling white porcelain veneers smiling out from the society page of the Boston Globe.

Kitty was hands on hips, platinum blonde hair lacquered into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, feet planted wide in Manolo heels. A Chanel purse hung on the shoulder of her aquamarine and crystal St. John knit suit. She leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes at Cate.

“I’m going to be on you like flies on a bad burger until you give up your precious roomie. I know you’re in on this.”

“This?” Cate asked. “What is this? What are you talking about?”

Kitty pointed her finger at Cate. “Don’t mess with me!”

Beast pressed himself against the back of Cate’s leg, doing his best to hide from Kitty Bergman. He looked out from behind Cate and whimpered.

Kitty gave Beast a cursory glance and made a sound of disgust. “Tsk.” She turned on her heel, swung her StairMaster ass out of the condo, and slammed the door shut.

“Hoy cow,” Julie said.

Cate tentatively patted Beast on the head. “It’s okay,” she said to Beast. “She’s gone.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a big, brave guard dog?” Julie asked.

“That’s what it said on his papers. It said he was a trained assassin.”

“Maybe he’s just having an off day,” Julie said. She fondled Beast’s ear, and he smiled at her. “Then again, you might have gotten stiffed on the killer dog thing. He looks to me like a great big sweetie pie. I bet you got a guard dog dropout. I bet this here dog flunked people eatin’.”

“Fine by me,” Cate said. “I don’t want a dog who eats people. It would be enough if he just looked scary.”

“I guess he could look scary,” Julie said. “But you’re gonna have to get him to stop smilin’. I swear I’ve never seen a dog smile like that.”

Beast wagged his tail and swept a crystal bud vase off an end table. He jumped when the vase hit the floor and tipped the table over with his butt.

“Poor thing’s just a bull in a china shop,” Julie said.

Cate bit into her lower lip and stifled a hysterical giggle. If Beast belonged to someone else she’d be laughing out loud at his goofy clumsiness. Unfortunately he was sort of her dog, and she was mildly terrified.

“You don’t want your dog steppin’ on these glass pieces with his big ol’ feet,” Julie said. “Why don’t you take him out for a walk, and I’ll clean this, and then lock up for you. I’d walk him with you, but I was writin’ in my journal, and I want to get back to it.”

Cate pocketed her key and a couple of gallon-size plastic bags, and coaxed Beast out the door and down the hall to the elevator. They rode to ground level, and Cate dragged Beast through the lobby to the building’s front door.

The instant Beast hit the sidewalk, his nose went up, his eyes went wide, and he bolted for the vest-pocket park across the street, dodging traffic, dragging Cate behind him. He stopped short when his feet hit grass. He squatted and did a two-minute tinkle. When he was done with the tinkle he chased a squirrel up a tree, sat down in a patch of shade, and refused to budge.

Cate pulled on the leash, and Beast did a little growly sound. Terrific, Cate thought, now he decides to be assertive. Cate didn’t want to annoy the trained assassin, so she sat on a bench beside Beast, and they watched the world go by. After a while Beast flopped down and fell asleep. An hour passed and Beast was still sleeping, but Cate was feeling restless.

“I have things to do,” Cate said to Beast. “And this bench is getting uncomfortable.”

Beast opened an eye, looked at Cate, and went back to sleep.

Kellen had been doing a periodic surveillance of the condo building and was caught off guard when he saw Cate sitting in the little park with the dog. His research hadn’t included a dog, and he felt a stab of jealousy that Cate already had a virile male in her life. The fact that the male happened to have floppy ears, floppier lips, and feet that were two times too big for his body did nothing to help Kellen’s cause. He was going to have to compete with a Bullmastiff. And, what was worse, he was going to have to shoehorn himself into Cate’s bed because he suspected there wasn’t a lot of room left after the dog climbed on board.

Kellen crossed the street and approached Cate’s bench. He noticed the dog open an eye and give a nose twitch to check him out. The eye stayed vigilant, but the dog didn’t move, and Kellen assumed he’d passed the first test.

Cate turned at the sound of footsteps, and sucked in some air when she saw Kellen McBride slide onto the bench beside her. The man looked damn good in the daylight. He was wearing a lightweight sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, jeans, and running shoes. His watch looked expensive. No wedding band.

“It’s not a good sign when you sit on a park bench and talk to yourself,” Kellen said.

“I was talking to the dog,” Cate told him.

“Honey, the dog is asleep.”

“I was hoping he’d wake up. I’m tired of sitting here.”

“And?”

“I’m a little afraid of him. I don’t exactly know how to get him back to the condo.”

Kellen had his arm across the back of the bench, his hand lightly resting on Cate’s shoulder. Friendly without being overtly aggressive. He smiled and leaned into Cate when he spoke, and Cate decided Kellen McBride was a master at inching up to the line separating acceptable behavior from un-acceptable behavior. Kellen McBride knew how to move forward without getting kneed in the groin.

“I have the feeling I’m missing important information,” Kellen said.

“I rent a room from Marty Longfellow. He left for Aruba yesterday, and this morning some man came and delivered this dog. He’s supposed to be a trained guard dog. Marty thought I needed protection while he was away. Problem is, I know nothing about dogs. And this one is so big. And clumsy.”

“Why did Marty think you needed protection? This is a relatively safe neighborhood.”

“Marty was getting some weird phone calls, and I guess he panicked.”

“What’s the dog’s name?”

“Beast.”

Kellen thought the dog looked more like a Floyd. He reached out to Beast, and Beast picked his head up and sniffed Kellen’s hand.

“He’s clumsy because he’s young,” Kellen said. “He’s still a puppy.” Kellen took Beast’s leash and stood, and Beast stood with him. Kellen gave Beast a hand signal, and Beast sat and wagged his tail. “Good dog,” Kellen said to Beast. Kellen looked at Cate. “I don’t suppose you have any dog treats on you?”

“No. Should I?”

“It’ll help if you reward him for good behavior. And if you’re really in a bind you can bribe him. He’s going to be a terrific pet, but he’s too young to be worth anything as a guard dog.”

“It said on his papers he was a trained assassin.”

Kellen grinned down at Cate. “I bet you own swamp land in Florida.”

Five minutes later they were all standing in Marty’s condo.

“So this is where the famous Marty Longfellow lives,” Kellen said. “Very nice. He’s obviously making some serious money.”

“He works hard,” Cate said.

“You like him?”

“I do. We aren’t close friends. We keep different hours, and Marty’s away a lot. Still, he’s a comfortable roommate.” Cate unhooked Beast’s leash, and Beast wandered off to investigate the condo. “Lucky you came along to help me,” Cate said to Kellen.

“I live a couple blocks from here. I pass by that little park a lot.”

“On the way to work?”

“Sometimes.” Kellen went to the kitchen and prowled through cabinets until he found a large bowl. He filled the bowl with water and put it on the kitchen floor for Beast. Beast rushed in and drained the bowl.

“I have an appointment I need to keep right now, but I can come back at one and walk him with you. He should be okay until then.”