“All right.” Cooper rose. “Thanks.”

“Where are we going?” Felicity stood, too, and followed her down the stairs, with Brittany bringing up the rear.

“A local company that makes animal crates has some spares they want to donate, and they’re not far from here. They told us last week they might be ours if we picked them up when they called.”

“Animal crates?”

“A rare few homeless shelters allow animals to be with their owners, as long as the pets are caged at night. Being able to donate these crates to our clients is a simple way we can help them sleep off the street.”

“Okay.” Made sense. “Why don’t all the shelters do that? Let owners keep their animals with them overnight in crates?”

“They have all sorts of excuses, mainly about cost and insurance issues, but unless the law changes, they don’t have to,” Cooper said. “Basically, no one’s making them.”

“Ah.” Felicity scanned the streets as they headed for the van. Despite some lively Spanish-speaking men crowded around the tables playing dominoes with a gusto that mystified her, the park was as cold and concrete as always. “Someone should make them.”

“No argument from me.” Cooper’s expression became defeated. “I’ve tried. My friends on city council have tried. There’s a lot of red tape in the way of making that happen.”

When Felicity slid into the passenger seat, Brittany was in her lap in two seconds.

“You’re nothing if not predictable,” she told the dog in exasperation.

Brittany snuffled and hunkered down.

Felicity sighed. “Well, it’s not like I can stop you.”

“You know damned well you can,” came Cooper’s voice from the rear of the van, where she was noisily making space for the crates.

Well, she had a point. “Move, dog,” Felicity said sternly. “Back in your seat.” She gave Brittany a half-hearted poke with her finger, then melted at how soft the dog’s coat was.

She was saved from doing something hopelessly pathetic when Cooper returned and ordered, “Brit. Back seat.”

The dog obeyed after a huff so disdainful and human it almost made Felicity proud. Hell, that dog was every kind of awesome.

“What I was getting at before,” Felicity said as she did up her seat belt, “is that Daniel has a choice in living where he does. Jasper doesn’t.”

“I always love that argument”—Cooper started the van—“as if people think, ‘I have all these options, but no, I really think it’s the streets for me.’”

“But just because Daniel means well and has no other choices, it doesn’t change the fact that Jasper’s life could be much better.”

“Better how?” Cooper asked as she put her foot down on the gas. “You met a dog today that is, aside from the marijuana high, healthy, fed, and well loved. He is loyal as hell to his owner. Jasper doesn’t care where Daniel sleeps. He’s hardy and strong. Daniel loves Jasper, and Jasper loves Daniel. Those two would die for each other. As long as that equation remains true, I’ll always do my best to keep them together.”

Felicity turned and gazed out the window as boarded-up shops, panhandlers, and gaudy signs flashed by. Maybe Cooper was right. It was hard to argue the logic that no one grew up wanting to live on the street.

Kristie flashed into her mind. There was a woman who might have freed herself from her addiction long ago, but she wouldn’t until Ruby could be with her at the treatment center. Which might be never. That was loyalty—or love.

“So quiet. Should I be afraid?” Cooper asked, tone faintly teasing.

“Processing,” Felicity murmured.

“Good,” Cooper said kindly. “I appreciate your capacity to do that. Not everyone can.”

Felicity turned to look at her. “How long have you been doing this? For Living Ruff?”

“Ten years.”

“How aren’t you burned out?” Felicity eyed her. “All the bad things you see, day in, day out?”

“I don’t look at it that way. I see the best of us. I see a man who’d go hungry rather than deprive his dog because that’s how much he cares. And then I see him overjoyed when I turn up and he realizes his dog won’t be hungry for a while.”

“Glass half full.” Felicity thought about that. She closed her eyes. What a life it must be for people like Cooper, viewing the world with a whole lot less cynicism.

They drove on in silence for a few minutes. Then Cooper spoke. “Out of curiosity, how strong are you?”

“If you’re about to ask for help in moving a bunch of animal cages, you’d have more luck with Brittany.” Felicity opened her eyes. “My doctor says I have all the muscle tone of an earthworm. Which is a bit insulting, given how often I hit the gym in my building.”

“How can you go to the gym and have no muscle?” Cooper asked, eyebrow lifting.

“Well, I don’t lift weights or anything. The treadmill’s an excellent place to get my thinking done. I jog. A lot.”

Cooper laughed. “I’d knock my front teeth out on a treadmill—I’d never figure out the speed. I don’t bother with the gym. Why pay when I get a free workout every day? I cycle to and from work.”

Felicity now had a rather marvelous visual image of Sandy Cooper powering along on a bicycle. She wondered what she wore. Tight Lycra bike pants maybe? Or she just tossed a muscled leg over, jeans and all? Probably tucked the jeans into work socks poking out from her sturdy boots? She licked her lips. “How far is your place from work?”

“It’s only a three-mile ride. Some of it’s even scenic along the river. I’ll miss it.”

“Why miss it?”

“My building used to allow pets. A new owner bought it and changed that. So no Brit for me at home. I’m looking to move.”

“A new owner can’t just arbitrarily change the rules.” Felicity frowned. “There are regulations to prevent that.”

“No, he can’t, and he grandfathered the rules so any existing pets could stay, but residents would be banned from having new animals. The problem is, I was listed as having a cat when I moved in. When Molly died, I adopted Brittany but never changed my status officially. I didn’t think it would be an issue. Now the owner’s management team says they have to treat Brittany as a new pet.”

She slapped the steering wheel. “I’ve got a few neighbors prepared to testify that I’ve had Brit three years. The owner says the paperwork is all that matters and told me either I had to leave or Brit did. So great, now I’m apartment hunting. And Mrs. B’s been fantastic, taking Brit home with her each day, but I really miss my girl at night. I can’t even lounge around my place with her on the weekends.”

“Would you like me to look at the bylaws? See if I can find a solution?” Felicity asked. “Believe it or not, I’m very good at what I do.”

“Don’t judge you by how you handle small talk, random pets, and moving crates, you mean?” Cooper laughed.

“Something like that. I don’t mind. It’d be a nice change to use my knowledge of the law to examine something at the micro level instead of macro.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve already had a lawyer look at this, and he says the new owner is perfectly within his rights. And since the building manager lives two doors down from me, I can’t just sneak Brittany in or anything.” She exhaled. “It’s just a pain to be looking for somewhere new, that’s all.” Cooper’s expression turned thoughtful. “So that’s what you do, then? Examine the law at a macro level? What does that even mean?”

“It means big-picture things. I’ve spent years negotiating with or overseeing lawyers who do deals to take over media publications. Over a hundred lawyers worldwide report to me.” She paused. “Well, they did. In my new role, that’s something I’m a step above now. I’m soon to be the one deciding which mastheads get bought out, which get stripped and sold, which employees are kept or fired. I deal in the lives of thousands of employees and turnovers of many millions.”

“That’s a lot of power,” Cooper said quietly. “A whole lot for one person.”

“I suppose it is,” Felicity said slowly. “I don’t think about it like that too often. In terms of power.”