The Boss’s Dog

“I’m taking your scary dog for a ride!”

The little girl’s voice carried across the manicured lawn so clearly that three armed men turned at the same time.

One of them nearly dropped his radio.

The second whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

The third simply stared.

Because six-year-old Lily Bennett was standing beside the most feared animal on Vincent Rourke’s estate with one hand resting on its head and a pink silk scarf tied around its neck.

Titan was a ninety-pound German Shepherd with a scar cutting through the fur above his left eye.

He had bitten one professional trainer badly enough to end the man’s career.

He had put a security guard in the emergency room.

He tolerated exactly one person touching his food.

Vincent Rourke.

And now Lily was pointing toward a child-sized pink electric convertible parked beside the rose garden.

“Come on,” she told Titan sternly. “You’re holding up traffic.”

Titan looked at the car.

Then at Lily.

Then, to the horror of every adult watching, he climbed inside.

He was much too large.

His front paws crowded the tiny passenger compartment. His ears brushed the plastic roof. His tail hung over the rear bumper.

Lily climbed behind the wheel.

She pushed the pedal.

The little car began humming toward the mansion at three miles per hour.

Titan sat beside her wearing the pink scarf with the grave dignity of a decorated general being driven through a parade.

Nobody moved.

Nobody knew what to do.

And then the black sedan carrying Vincent Rourke turned through the iron gates.

Vincent was thirty-seven, tall, dark-haired, and known throughout parts of New York and northern New Jersey as a man whose quiet voice frightened people more than another man’s shouting ever could.

Officially, he owned a shipping company, several restaurants, warehouses, and commercial real estate.

Unofficially, people avoided asking questions about what else Vincent Rourke owned.

He had spent the afternoon in Manhattan meeting attorneys about a waterfront contract worth millions.

He was irritated.

Tired.

And in absolutely no mood for surprises.

His driver opened the rear door.

Vincent stepped out.

Then he heard the sound.

Bzzzzzzzz.

A tiny electric motor.

He turned.

The expression on his face vanished.

Coming down the enormous stone driveway was a pink toy convertible.

Behind the wheel sat a little girl in a yellow dress.

Beside her sat Titan.

Wearing a bow.

Vincent stared.

His driver stared.

Two guards slowly lowered their hands from their jackets because even they had no idea what weapon could possibly be appropriate for the situation.

Lily stopped the car directly in front of Vincent.

She looked up.

“You’re in the road.”

Vincent blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re blocking us.”

From across the lawn came the sound of running feet.

Arthur Bennett appeared around the hedge so quickly he nearly fell.

“Lily!”

He stopped when he saw Vincent.

The color drained from his face.

Arthur was the estate gardener, a widower who had been living with his daughter in the small groundskeeper’s cottage for almost a year.

He was quiet, hardworking, and so determined to attract no attention that Vincent sometimes forgot he existed.

Now he looked like a man waiting for a sentence.

“Mr. Rourke,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry.”

Vincent said nothing.

“I’ll take her inside immediately.”

Still nothing.

Arthur swallowed.

“This won’t happen again.”

Vincent’s eyes moved toward Titan.

The dog was sitting comfortably beside Lily, his scarred head almost touching the plastic roof.

Then Lily leaned toward Vincent.

“He likes the car.”

Titan’s tail thumped once against the side.

Vincent heard it.

Something inside him cracked.

A short sound escaped his chest.

Arthur looked up.

The guards exchanged glances.

Vincent covered his mouth.

It didn’t help.

The short sound became laughter.

Not polite laughter.

Not a controlled chuckle.

Real laughter.

It doubled him slightly at the waist.

The man who had terrified dockworkers, lawyers, contractors, politicians, and criminals was standing in his own driveway laughing helplessly because his supposedly vicious protection dog was wearing a pink scarf in a six-year-old’s plastic car.

Lily smiled proudly.

“I told Daddy Titan needed more fun.”

Vincent wiped his eyes.

Arthur looked even more confused.

“How long has she been doing this?” Vincent asked.

Arthur hesitated.

“Three weeks.”

Vincent stopped laughing.

“Three weeks?”

Arthur stepped instinctively closer to Lily.

“I supervised every interaction. I understand what the dog is capable of.”

Vincent’s gaze sharpened.

“How?”

Arthur’s face changed.

Only slightly.

But Vincent noticed.

“I’ve worked around dogs.”

Titan turned his head toward Arthur.

His ears shifted forward.

That interested Vincent even more.

Arthur continued, “The first time Lily saw him, I taught her how to behave. No running. No shouting. Never reaching over his head. Let him approach first.”

“You know more than someone who’s ‘worked around dogs.’”

Arthur looked at him.

For a moment neither man spoke.

Then Lily honked the toy horn.

Beep.

Everyone looked at her.

“We’re still on our ride.”

Vincent almost smiled again.

He stepped aside.

“Apparently I’m blocking traffic.”

Lily drove past him.

Titan went with her.

Arthur stared after them.

Then Vincent said quietly, “Let her visit him.”

Arthur turned.

“Mr. Rourke?”

“Titan hasn’t looked that peaceful since he came here.”

Vincent glanced toward the disappearing pink car.

“Whatever your daughter is doing, I’m not stopping it.”

That evening, Vincent sat alone in his study.

Titan lay near the fireplace.

The pink scarf was gone, but a faint line remained in the dog’s fur where it had been tied.

Vincent looked at him.

“You like the kid.”

Titan’s eyes opened.

“You hate everybody.”

The tail tapped the rug.

Vincent leaned back.

“Of course.”

For years, his home had been built around silence.

His mother had died when he was nine. His father had raised him to believe affection made a man vulnerable. By twenty-five, Vincent had learned the lesson so well that nearly everyone close to him was either paid to be there or afraid to leave.

Titan had suited him perfectly.

A wounded animal.

Suspicious.

Dangerous.

Loyal to almost nobody.

Then a child in a yellow dress had tied a pink scarf around him.

And Titan had surrendered.

Vincent stared into the fire.

“Why her?”

Titan offered no answer.

But someone else on the estate had begun asking a different question.

How much did Lily know?