Part 8 (1/2)
”Nothing,” he said, but there was a subtle note to his voice that she hadn't heard before. And a distraction to his expression as he looked at the sink and the b.l.o.o.d.y token that was left of Sunny, then glanced at his watch, told himself, ”Ucher,” as if that were a word, and shook his head. He leaned over the kitchen sink to catch a glimpse of the moon out the big window, heavily waning and still high in the sky. ”Medusa Moon,” he muttered, and frowned.
”What moon?”
He'd been lost in thought; the look he gave her was surprised. ”Nothing,” he said. ”What it means depends on who you are. But thisa”” and he reached into the sink; she heard the clink of Sunny's ID tag moving against the old porcelain.
Brenna cleared her throat sharply. ”Still think there's no dog pack?”
He dropped the collar and abruptly ran cold water over it, watching the blood swirl away. ”I never said that.”
”You did,” she told him. ”You said it to Sammi. Maybe not in so many words, but that's what you meant.”
He grimaced. ”No,” he said. ”I don't think it was a feral dog pack.”
She tilted her head at him; one hand found her braid and drew it up to play with its end. ”You say a lot,” she told him, ”in what you don't say.”
”Then I suppose I'll have to stop saying anything at all.” He turned the collar under the uneven stream of watera”stronger when the well pump ran, weaker in between as the water pressure ran down enough to kick off the pump again. ”In any event, the day might shed some light on what happened here tonight.”
”I doubt it,” Brenna muttered.
He gave her a quick grin, that dark expression he'd so perfected. ”You know what? So do I. But we've got to look.”
”We?” she said, lowering her head to give him an even stare from beneath her brows.
Blue met blue. ”Or not. Your call.”
She fiddled with the end of her braid, considering. She knew this property. She knew what was out of place from day to day, and she'd grown up playing trailing games. She didn't know what he thought he could add to that.
Just being there, maybe. In case she didn't want to mourn her dog alone.
But no, he had an interest here. He wanted to know as badly as she, for all he was willing to walk out and leave her to it.
”You said you wanted to work with Druid,” he offered. ”This would be a chance to get that in.”
”I thought you said you were busy tomorrow.”
”I am. Sometimes I change my priorities. But you need to make up your mind now, because I've got calls to make if you want to do it.”
Work with Druid. Have someone else there as she scoured the yard for signs of Sunny or of Sunny's flight. And did she really want to be alone if she found anything? She stuffed her braid into her back pocket and gave him a nod. ”Okay then. It's supposed to rain, though.”
”Drizzle. And I won't melt. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not made of sugar.”
”Actually,” she said, feeling some of her strength come back now that the morrow didn't loom so empty before her, ”I had noticed.”
”Just as well,” he said. ”It won't come as any great shock later on.” And his grin this time was genuine if self-knowing. He turned off the water, shook off his hands, and made a visible decision not to use the towel hanging off the stove. ”Call me when you're up and ready to go. I'll be there.”
That was it? He had arrived suddenly, swooping in to survey the wreckage, and just as suddenly he was going? And then she'd be alone, with Sunny's collar in the sink and her hand throbbing and her grief lurking.
Well, she'd said it. She could take care of herself. ”I'm an early riser,” she said.
”Fine by me.” But he hesitated by the door, his hand on the k.n.o.b, his gaze first on the sink, then on Druid, then on her. And this time, she knew what she looked like. ”Listen,” he said. ”Do you have someone you can call, so you're not alone tonight? Family?”
She snorted without even thinking about it. Call who, her mother? Rhona Fallon was already firmly convinced that her daughter couldn't handle the life she'd chosen. Or Russell? Then she'd get to hear about his latest success and hey, at least it hadn't been a child, lost in the night. No, better to be here by herself, even if it meant tears in a quiet house, or dreading the return of the horrifying darkness that had somehow descended upon her and Druid both.
”Listen,” he said again, watching her face intently enough that she suddenly knew how much it revealed. ”I've got a sleeping bag and an air mat.” As her eyes widened, he held up a still-damp hand and said, ”I'm not up to anything. I'll sleep out there,” and he nodded back at the dog room, ”if you like. I justa””
”The floor in the den,” she said in a rush of words, and looked down at her feet for a long moment. Not that Masera could do a thing about the inexplicable intrusions into her life.
Not a thing but keep her from facing them alone.
He nodded. ”I'll get my stuff, then.”
”What about your dogs?” she blurted. ”Will they be okay?”
In the moment of silence between them, he searched her face, asking and answering his own questions and coming to the obvious conclusion that she'd seen them or been told of them. ”I have a housemate,” he said. ”They'll be fine. If you've got a phone that's not broken, I'll give him a quick call when I get back in.”
By the time he reappeared with the rolled sleeping bag and air mat tucked into one arm and an overnight kit dangling from that hand, Brenna had retrieved the bedroom phonea”she never used it except to answer late-evening phone calls from a family that couldn't seem to remember her schedulea”and replaced the broken phone. Not a portable, but she'd have to save up to get another one of those. She handed him the slimline receiver and he dialed the number with his thumb, shoving the phone up under his chin for a quick conversation in a language that totally baffled her.
”There,” he said, letting the phone slide down into his hand and replacing it on the cradle. ”Taken care of.” And then, because he must have been used to the question forming on her lips, he said, ”Euskotar. It was Basque.”
”He only speaks Basque?” she said, a little confounded by how difficult it would be to find translations and services to accommodate that language here in the States.
”No,” he said, more like his usual self. Well, his usual self as judged by a few moments in the break room.
Fine, then, he'd just wanted a private conversation. Whatever. She wasn't up for a rejoinder right now, though she rather crossly thought that he could have simply asked for privacy; she could have gone to ready the den.
Not that there was much to ready. The floor s.p.a.ce was adequate even if the carpet was worn, the light switches were self-evident, and all she had to do was find the television remote. She'd forgotten it was on all this time, silently flickering patterns of light across the empty room. She'd forgotten all about the half-finished movie.
”That wasn't a bad flick,” he said, catching sight of the video case on the floor by the couch.
”I didn't finish it,” she said. ”I mean, I liked it, I just got . . . interrupted.”
”Watch it now,” he suggested, unrolling the air mat with a practiced flick and release.
”That doesn't seem . . .” Right. It didn't seem right somehow. But the alternative was to go to bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of Sunny and darkness and terror, and the kind of screams no one should ever hear.
She sat down on the couch and picked up the remote.
Chapter 9.
INGUZ.
Beginnings
The smell of brewing coffee woke Brenna. Disoriented, she lay quietly, adding up clues. The sagging, comforting cus.h.i.+ons of the couch enfolded her; not unusual circ.u.mstances. Druid lay tucked up under her arm; also not unusual for this past week or so, though her hand throbbed and must be stuck in an awkward position. But the light seemed brighter than it ought, and who'd made coffee?
She cracked open her eyes and peered through wispy bangs at the room around her, discovering that the VCR clock proclaimed it an hour later than her natural rising time of half past five and that the rolled sleeping bag proclaimed she wasn't alone.