Free Retribution by Elizabeth Forrest

off his tuxedo jacket and threw it over Jagger as his wife knelt over Charlie's form. The dog shot out from under the jacket. Canines shining, he bucked, snarling and snapping, forty-five pounds of animal fury, and swung his head, his nose to the enemy.

    "Shit!" The balding man danced back a step. Not far enough to evade Jagger's anger.

    He barked and snapped. His teeth grazed the air at the man's knee as he scrambled backward off the platform, gasping. Jagger swung around, targeting her, and his wife scampered after, shrieking.

    Stiff-legged, lips curled and ivory teeth menacing, Jagger emptied the stage of anyone who might think of helping his mistress. His ears flattened as he retreated back to Charlie's body, his snarls amplified by the live microphone. At least two cell phones were whipped out of jackets and handbags, their owners shouting, "I'm calling 911."

    And the woman beside Rubidoux, her face creased in worry, surged forward. John instinctively followed in her wake as she shouted, "Someone get that damn dog away from her!" She got out something else, words garbled by an emotional catch in her throat that John recognized. His mother had sounded like that rushing through the hospital parking lot the day his father had been shot and brought into ER, only to die. Suddenly he knew the woman in blue had to be Charlie's mother. He had never met her, dealing only with Quentin Saunders, never Mary.

    He caught her by the elbow as she gained the edge of the platform. "I'll get the dog."

    She blinked at him almost without seeing him. "Can you handle him?"

    "That's what I do," he answered. Without waiting to explain further, John took the stage in one step, his long legs bringing him to Jagger in a second step. The wooden platform gave under his weight, almost like the springboard on a pool. The dog shifted uneasily, unnerved by the sudden sway and trembling of the boards under his paws, and by Ruby. Guilt flickered through his caramel eyes as if Jagger suddenly realized he was not doing the right thing. Snarling still, he cast his eyes on John as if looking for guidance in a world gone suddenly awry.

    "Good boy," he said. "Down." He watched the dog calmly, levelly.

    Jagger stopped growling, and his lips quivered a little, his brown gaze flicking to Charlie and back to Rubidoux. The tail came out, wagged very slowly and stiffly, showing his aggression, acknowledging the fact that he might no longer have domination here, warning of his intent to protect himself if threatened. Like a barometer, Ruby watched the tail and when it seemed to him that he'd relaxed even more, John moved his hand to catch the harness. Jagger erupted, teeth gnashing, and barking sharply in warning.

    John did not withdraw, but froze until the golden quieted to take a breath. He snapped his fingers. "Jagger, down."

    Charlie rolled slightly, letting out a faint moan, and the dog's ears went up and back, and he whined, in clear distress. John looked down at the dog, in almost as much distress, seeing what he had feared might happen, warring inside the animal. The companion or service training was in conflict with the guard training and without a conscious Charlie to give him commands, Jagger did not know what to do or how to react.

    Someone just offstage, at Rubidoux's elbow, said, "I've got a stun gun. Use it on the dog if you have to."

    A stun set to disable a human could kill a dog. Yet John knew that they might have to resort to that if he could not calm Jagger down. He stifled his protest. He had no time to waste persuading them otherwise, as Charlie's body twitched in the faint convulsions of the unconscious.

    He looked into the caramel eyes, focusing, aware that Charlie lay just beyond, her fallen body framing the dog's, a background of beauty and distress.

    "Jagger. Down." And he made two clicks at the back of his throat, similar to the little metal cricket he used in training.

    Jagger shook. His tail tucked between his hindquarters