He ended up chasing her around and around the pen with the hand holding the piece of food.

She did not eat it.

Later, when he was about to get in bed, she ran over to his mattress. Placing her front feet on it, she said without words, Lift me up, sucker.

He set her on top, flipped off the lights, and lay down.

Immediately, she burrowed next to him as she had the previous night. She yawned loudly, then made a weird little smacking sound. He braced for more frantic movement and noises.

But none came. The holy terror went to sleep. He’d never appreciated quiet this much.

Agatha’s new owners were going to inherit a dog who was used to sleeping in human beds. But, for those poor fools, that was going to be the least of their worries.

Can you close the window?” Kat asked Luke the next day.

“No.”

“The optimal indoor temperature in the winter is sixty-eight degrees.” She walked over to consult the thermostat.

“It’s my window.” They each had one in front of their desk. “And it’s only cracked half an inch.”

“Yes, but it’s freezing outside, and the cold air coming in through the crack has lowered the temp to sixty-seven.”

“The window stays like it is.” In prison, he had almost no control over his environment—other than behaving in a way that ensured he’d never get sent to solitary confinement. Here, he could keep his window open, and so he did. Less claustrophobic that way.

Trish entered, holding Agatha. Finley had led him to believe he wouldn’t have to deal with the puppy while at work. Wrong. The gluttons for punishment frequently brought the puppies into their workspace.

“You know, Luke,” Kat said in her lecture tone, “it would be best if you could expose Agatha to cars, sounds, different walking surfaces, people of all ages, and retail environments. Pet stores and some home-improvement stores allow animals.”

“I will be exposing her to none of those things.”

“It would be best—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Luke said. “You’re welcome to take her and manage her conditioning.”

Finley breezed into the space. “Agatha stays with Luke.”

Awareness prickled over his skin. Don’t look in her direction. It was too hard on him if he had to see her smile, the shape of her body, or the way her earrings swung against her throat a hundred times a day.

“The less change Agatha has to deal with right now,” Finley said, “the better.”

“God rest ye merry gentlemen,” Trish sang to Agatha. She attempted to place the dog on her thighs and scratch her tummy, but Agatha was having none of it.