CHAPTER ELEVEN
“HOW IS SHE?” FABIANA’S husky Cuban accent made the question sound even more intense than it was. She held a wriggling, whining Moxie in her arms and fixed him with a serious brown gaze.
Percy frowned. “She’s finally sleeping. Though she’s really restless.”
Warwicke wrapped an arm around Fabiana and pulled her close. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, bro.”
“I’m fine. It’s Brita I’m worried about.”
Fabby smiled. “We are too. That’s why we sprung this little cutie from Bud’s evil clutches and brought her here.”
Chuckling, Warwicke smoothed a finger over the little dog’s long nose. “He didn’t want to give her to us. You’d think he’d made a promise to protect her from terrorists or something.”
“It was nice of him to keep her for us.” Percy took one of Moxie
