NATO was Jude’s dog. Duchess was Free’s. Both were bloodhound mutts, but somehow, NATO had ended up with the temperament of a happy-go-lucky Lab, while Duchess was a bloodhound to her bones.

Her Ladyship was not getting in that tub.

“Cady would say,” Free commented cheerfully as she tried—and failed—to grab hold of Duchess, “that this serves me right.”

Everything else came easy to Free—school, people, boys. But she’d chosen the one dog that she could never outstubborn. She’d spent hundreds—maybe thousands—of hours training Duchess. Her Ladyship was an excellent tracker.

But baths were a different matter.

“Care to take a stab at this, K?” Free was the only one who ever shortened my name—the only one I let shorten it.

I crouched down to Duchess’s level. For several seconds, we appraised each other. Duchess didn’t want to be sweet-talked.

“That man is in there getting under Cady’s skin,” I told the dog, feeling about as agreeable as she did. “He’s hurting her.”

“Mom can take care of herself,” Jude interjected. “She’s the great Cady Bennett. She laughs in the face of danger and cantankerous relatives.”

I kept my focus on Duchess, whose expression was mutinous. “Someone doesn’t like being boxed in,” I murmured. “Someone doesn’t like surprises.”

Free looked from Duchess to me. “Someone doesn’t like changes that are out of her control.”

Free’s observation hit me harder than it should have. Pushing down the unexpected emotions roiling in my gut, I snagged the hose from Jude and tossed it to Free. “Splash around a little,” I told her. “Let Duchess come to you.”

Obligingly, Free ran her hand back and forth beneath the spray. Duchess cocked her head to the side, but Free knew better than to so much as look at the dog. Instead, she flicked a stream of water at me.

I jumped back, landing in a crouched position. A rumble made its way up my throat—a laugh. Free got a wicked gleam in her amber eyes and advanced on me slowly. Feeling like Saskia on the verge of a run, I dodged.

Play.

I needed this, and Free knew it. She feinted toward me, then, with an evil expression on her face, pivoted and turned the hose dramatically on Jude.

Full blast.

Jude shrieked like a banshee, sputtered, and fell smack on his haunches—in that order. “You know, of course,” he said, soaking-wet hair drooping into his face, “that this means war.”

An instant later, the three of us were grappling for the hose. I came out on top—but only for a second.

“Take that, you fiend!”