A feeling of heat—not unlike the lick of a flame—came over her. It was accompanied by a sinking sensation that stopped in her stomach and decided to take up residence there. When Oscar had first presented her with this case, he’d said that Harrison’s main duties involved training new firefighters and playing a supportive role on the front lines. Digging ditches, coordinating teams, making sure supplies got where they needed to go—it had sounded an awful lot like a war zone, but that was okay. Sophie could work with a war zone. Bubbles could too. Dogs were often called on to serve in areas of danger—just look at what they were capable of anytime an earthquake hit or someone went missing in the wilderness.

She’d known from the start that Bubbles was brave and strong and willing to do just about anything. It hadn’t even occurred to her that flames would be where the puppy would draw the line.

Partially to avoid having to respond to Harrison and partially because she really was worried about Bubbles, she sank to her knees near the bed to peek at the puppy for herself. If the room was grubby, the floor was even more so, with several dust bunnies bigger than Bubbles wafting about underneath. Bubbles hid behind one now, only distinguishable by the dark flash of her wide, terrified eyes.

“Come on, love.” She waited until her own eyes adjusted before shifting to her stomach. Now that she was officially on the job, she wore her usual dog-training attire of khaki pants and their official company polo shirt. There was no chance she’d give Harrison a free peep show.

Not that he’d be the least bit interested in one from me anyway.

“We have lots of work to do today,” she said, adopting the voice of one settling in for a long, comfortable chat. Her ability to hold long, one-sided conversations was a real boon in this line of work. Most dogs, like most people, just wanted to feel as though they weren’t alone. Nothing helped stave off anxiety better than someone chatting away at you as though everything was just fine.

It was a thing she’d learned from personal experience. During her long hospitalizations as a kid, she’d most looked forward to visits from her sisters. With the exception of their parents, they were the only people who didn’t tiptoe around her. They’d done what sisters do best: bickered and complained and generally made pests of themselves.

In moments of vulnerability, nothing was more comforting than bickering sisters. It was a proven fact.