Luke surveyed the cozy living room with its large hearth, reading chairs, thickly cushioned sofa, braided rug, and wooden coffee table. An old-fashioned desk stood in the corner, its top cluttered with papers and books.
“This will do,” he announced, looking pleased.
“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to hear that. I’ll let you haul Mack in here, unless you plan to leave him out there on the shop floor.”
“No, I want to keep an eye on him, and I can’t do that from here.”
“I’ll get some blankets and a couple of pillows.”
She went up the stairs, switched on a wall sconce, and turned to go down the hall to the linen cupboard. The click of dog nails on the steps made her pause and turn around. Bruce was following her.
When he reached the top of the stairs she touched his head. “It’s okay. Just a storm. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the other hellhounds that thunder makes you anxious.”
Bruce seemed to accept the reassurance, but he followed her to the linen cupboard, waited while she gathered up an armful of quilts and pillows, and then followed her back downstairs.
Luke was waiting for her. “What are you doing to my dog?”
“Nothing. He’s a little nervous because of the storm. I told him it was going to be okay. We’ll probably lose the power soon. There’s a generator but it’s just big enough to keep the refrigerator, hot water heater, and stove going.”
“All the necessities.”
She looked at Mack, who was snoring softly on the braided rug. “I take it he’s the one who will be sleeping on the floor?”
“We flipped a coin for the sofa. He lost.”
“Maybe because he’s asleep?”
“You snooze, you lose.”
“Good night, Luke. And whatever you do, do not attempt to intimidate Mack when he wakes up. This is my house, at least it is while Aunt Bea is gone, so my rules. One more thing—remove the handcuffs.”
“And you called me a hard-ass.”
Seven
The sofa was not asuncomfortable as he had feared. Or maybe, Luke thought, he was more exhausted than he had realized, because he fell into the wrong dream…
…The next curve comes up in the headlights. He automatically reduces the speed of the SUV. It’s late. The fog is getting heavier. The night feels endless. So does the road. He can’t remember why he needs to keep driving. He only knows he’s looking for something important. He can’t stop until he finds it.
He drives out of the curve, accelerating gently because he does not know what lies in wait on the other side. He is surprised to see a straight stretch of pavement ahead of him. Good. He can increase his speed.
But he can’t accelerate, because there is a dog in the middle of the road, wolflike eyes gleaming a hellish gold in the deep night. It’s a medium-sized animal, not a large one, but there is nothing fluffy about him—nothing to disguise the predator under the surface.
The creature does not move. Just stands there, waiting. Panting.
He brings the SUV to a halt a few yards away. Still the dog does notmove off into the forest. In the glare of the headlights, it’s obvious there is something wrong with the animal’s shoulder. The fur is wet. Matted.
The dog is bleeding. In shock.
He climbs out of the SUV and walks cautiously forward. An injured animal is a dangerous creature. But the dog does not snarl a warning; he just stands there, waiting.
Luke stops and holds out a hand. The dog swipes his tongue across Luke’s fingers.
“Can you make it to the car?” Luke asks.
The dog starts toward the SUV as if he understands the words. But he doesn’t get far. He’s too weak. Luke lifts him and carries him to the rear of the SUV, loads the animal into the cargo bay, and wraps an emergency blanket around him.
That is when he realizes the creature is not wearing a collar.
