Part 6 (2/2)

”Ready for the movie?” she asked Druid, who c.o.c.ked his ears to their most alert angle, tipping his head to the side as if at any moment he would burst into spoken commentarya”or maybe she'd start talking in dogspeak. Between the ears and the bright white symmetrical blaze, he was probably close to illegally cute. ”Never mind,” she said, when he couldn't place her words into his vocabulary. ”How about this onea”want to come up on the couch?”

Fast learner, that dog. He was waiting by the couch by the time she scooped up the video and followed him into the den. He waited just long enough for her to settle into the corner of the coucha”a quick procedure, given the extent of the dip that many years of use had formed therea”and open her arms to him, and then sprang into her lap to curl into a pleasantly boneless cuddle. His nose twitched at the malted milk b.a.l.l.s, but he'd quickly learned there was no point to outright begging. A subtle gleam of drool formed on his lips as he heaved a great sigh and resigned himself to sleep.

Brenna gave herself up to the movie, forgiving all of its weak parts so she could enjoy the clever bits. She smiled with the characters, got drawn up enough in the story to sniffle in all the right places, and noted that the hero character didn't lie to the heroine character.

If he didn't somehow matter, you wouldn't be so mad.

Never mind that. Watch the movie.

The first time Druid s.h.i.+fted uneasily in her lap, she thought he'd just become uncomfortable. The second time, he also whined softly, and she put a hand on the dome of his head. ”Shhh.”

The third time, she turned off the movie and muted the television volume. They sat in the dimly lit room together, the dog tense in her arms and Brenna puzzling at the night, not hearing anything but the rhythmic grate of Sunny's teeth against bone.

Until it struck, an astonis.h.i.+ng intensity of dark spirit clenching down on them all, driving the air from Brenna's lungs like a bad fall.

Brenna barely had time to gasp before Druid sprang from her lap, digging his nails into her thigh and arm and leaping away. But her reflexes were well-trained; some thinking part of her brain realized he was headed not for the floor but up the back of the couch and aiming for the shelves behind it, the very shelves full of breakable mementoes. She s.n.a.t.c.hed Druid out of midair despite his st.u.r.dy heft.

Panicked, he turned on her, snapping and screaming. She felt his teeth sink into her hand and reacted instantly, grabbing his scruff and yanking him away, letting gravity do the rest; he fell to the floor, still in her grip.

The darkness let go of her but Druid was lost to it, flipping and struggling in her grip. And while a little voice in her head said let go, you idiot, she didn't; the last thing she wanted to do was to offer him successa”his freedoma”in return for this behavior. Even dazed and bitten and sc.r.a.ped raw by emotional darkness, her long-ingrained instincts held true. On her knees on the floor, her worn jeans torn and her hand throbbing, she eventually got the right angle on the scruff-hold to push his face to the floor and hold him there . . . and by then, he was coming out of it, distressed and exhausted.

And appalled, for even in his wild flight, some part of him knew what he had done.

Bitten her.

When she released him to cradle her handa”and it didn't look so bad, not as bad as it could have been, just throbbing from the force of his jaws but barely bleeding although the swelling was coming up fasta”he crawled to her with his ears flat and his tail tucked. Beyond woeful. Looking for a way to apologize for the unforgivable.

”Don't even try,” Brenna said, and burst into tears, hot but short-lived. Grouchy, ill-mannered grooming customers were one thing, but her dogs? Her dogs didn't bite her. Not since she was young and proved herself to have a special way with them, the girl who could take in any dog and turn it sweet and happy, the girl who could handle the worst of them simply because they gave their hearts to her so quickly.

When had she lost that?

And then she heard her own thoughts. Her dog. Somewhere along the way she'd made that decision, letting herself believe that Druid's owner would never appeara”and admitting how quickly he'd made himself part of her.

Not a biter.

For the first time in memory, she was in over her head. Not objective enough to form a strategy for dealing with Druid, and not ever faced with a puzzle on this level before. So much of her response to dogs was instinct, and not knowledge.

She needed knowledge.

She cleared her throat, smeared her face dry, and disentangled her hair from where it was trapped between her thigh and calf. When she went to the kitchen to run cold water over the heel of her hand and the base of her thumb, her gaze fell on the business card she had eventually taken from the break room table and then dropped on the counter when she'd cleaned out her pockets the same evening.

Gil Masera, Dog Obedience and Behavior Specialist.

She immediately rejected the impulse to call him. She didn't trust him. He'd lied. And the circ.u.mstances under which he'd taken those pit bulls . . .

But she didn't have to like him to learn from him.

And she didn't know any of the other local trainers, hadn't spoken to them. Couldn't call them cold at half past eight in the evening.

She kept her hand under the faucet and reached for the carda”turning it in her fingers, glancing at the clock, nibbling the edge of the card in indecision. In the background, Sunny had gone back to chewing her bone, her jaws tireless. Druid clung to the wall between the kitchen and den, drawn to her and yet too mortified to slink the rest of the way to her feet. A spot of blood marred the pristine whiteness of his muzzle.

Her blood.

Brenna felt the decision click into place. She snapped the business card to the table like a poker hand being dealt and turned off the water, gingerly dabbing the hand dry. Darned good thing she had the following day offa”she'd never be able to work with this hand. And maybe not the day after, either; she'd call Roger tomorrow and give him a heads-up.

She looked at Druid, meeting his gaze directly this time. He sank a little lower to the ground. She sighed. ”C'mere, then.” Slink-walking, he approached her. She gave him a sad pat, which brought his ears up a little, and directed him toward the crate. ”Kennel up, then.”

Oh, unhappy dog. The picture of dejection, he entered the crate, turning as she closed the door but making no attempt to push his way out.

Sunny was harder to handle; exuberant as always, more than ready for some time outside, once released from the crate she bounded around the small enclosed porch room, whacking Brenna with her tail and singing Redbone joy to anyone who could hear her half-barked, half-howled excitement. Finally Brenna snagged her collar and, with a clumsy, fumbling hand, snapped the run cable in place. Only then did she open the door that had been closed on it, releasing Sunny into the yard.

Then she returned to the kitchen to rea.s.sure herself that Masera could let his machine pick up if he didn't want to answer the business line at this time of night, and nabbed the portable phone from its cradle. She dialed quickly, before she could think too hard about it or change her mind.

And he answered quickly, too. Whatever he was doing this evening, the phone was close by. ”Gil Masera.”

And she hesitated, suddenly not sure how to start or even what she wanted to call him. Enough of a hesitation so he said, ”h.e.l.lo?”

”Yes,” she said quickly, so he wouldn't hang up. ”It's . . . this is Brenna Fallona””

It was his turn to be silent a moment. ”Sorry,” he said. ”I wasn't expecting to hear from you.”

”I wasn't expecting to call,” she said, putting the conversation back on more familiar footing with that edge of antagonism. ”I hope it's not too late.”

”I wouldn't have answered the phone if it were too late.” But he didn't make it easy for her, didn't ask what he could do for her or why she was calling or if everything was all right.

Brenna had the sudden impulse to hang up, to go back to her movie and her malted milk b.a.l.l.s and pretend her hand didn't hurt. Or her heart, which Druid had bitten just as hard as her hand. But she closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the phone, and didn't. Instead she managed to say, ”You said to call, if I . . . if things got hard with the Cardi. And I could use an objective opinion. On what to do next, I mean.”

”What happened?” he asked, as if he knew she would never call him unless something had.

She hesitated, uncertain how to say it. ”He had another one of those . . . fear fits. And . . .” Her throat suddenly constricted, as if she were about to say something that should never be saida”and in truth, she supposed it was. She shoved the words out. ”He bit me.”

”Ah,” he said, but it was an understanding sound. As if he knew she wouldn't be upset about a snap-bite, a bite that was more a comment than an offensive, and the likes of which she fended off every day. That if she said he'd bitten her, it was more than broken skin and insult, it was jaws and teeth and power.

”The thing is . . . I think I know how to trigger a fita”there's a place on my property that seems to do it.” The spring, of course. She'd bet on it. ”I was wondering if I could hire you to come out here and help me get him through it. Help me deal with it.”

Another silence, though a short one. ”You said he was a stray.”

”He can't stay that way forever,” Brenna said.

”No.” There was a pause, and she heard background noisea”the pages of a book being closed, cus.h.i.+ons crunching gently as he got up. ”Let me check my book.”

Outside, Sunny gave an inquisitive hound h.e.l.loa”aowhuff? Druid whined from inside the crate, circling within its confines. She touched the wire with her toe, distracting him; it worked for a moment. Then Masera came back to the phone; she heard him flipping through the pages of his schedule book, a sound long familiar to her ears. ”When's the best time for you?”

<script>