“He’s getting away,” Shaw pointed out, trying to be helpful.

“He’s a moron. Why is he trying to run away on foot?”

“If he’s got an intellectual disability, it’s not really his fault.”

With a groan, North said, “Go catch the dog.”

“I thought maybe I’d—”

“No,” North said, starting forward at a trot. “And no jokes about dessert.”

“I’m just worried if I get too much time with Brickle, I might—”

“And no jokes about diabetes,” North called back.

“Not fair,” Shaw called after him, but by then North was in a full run, tearing along the shore like a bulldozer in a pair of Red Wings. Shaw watched him go, enjoying the shift of denim over North’s bubble butt, and then squatted down and held out his hand.

Brickle flounced around for a few more minutes, barking in circles, making three-legged sprints in random directions, expressing his general displeasure at the universe and at Donovan. Shaw just hunkered there and watched as Donovan went straight for the dock. Even from a distance, Shaw could hear North roar, “Oh no you fucking don’t.”

Shaw would have shrugged and told North it was just a lake. It was perfectly safe.

Donovan got on a jet ski and actually managed to get it started, pulling away from the dock as North charged down the wooden platform. Shaw watched, thinking about gators and bacteria breeding grounds and water moccasins and the murky brown water. Low on the horizon, the sun raked across the lake, turning North into a silhouette as he reached the end of the dock and took a running leap. For a moment, he flew across the sky like a shadow. Then he collided with Donovan in what looked like a perfect tackle, if American football ever introduced a lake and jet ski component. The two men splashed into the water, and a moment later, they surfaced. It was hard to tell at a distance, but Shaw thought the first big twist of North’s body was North landing a punch right in Donovan’s eye. Then North shouted, “Shaw! Shaw!” And Shaw knew he wasn’t imagining the faint note of panic.

A wet tongue tested Shaw’s palm, and he glanced over and met Brickle’s toffee-colored eyes. “Did you see that?” Shaw asked, scooping up the Löwchen and setting off toward the lake. “He just jumped. Didn’t even slow down.” Nuzzling the dog’s ear, Shaw whispered, “Don’t tell him I said it, but he’s absolutely incredible. Sometimes.”

7

INNSBROOK SECURITY took Donovan away until the police could arrive; Shaw and North returned Brickle to Quentin, who, in his terror, tried to take their heads off with a shoehorn before he recognized them. Then he dissolved into tears again, kissing Brickle, letting Brickle kiss him, and at one point holding out Brickle so the Löwchen could run a long, wet kiss up North’s cheek.