I remembered the woman on Pete's phone, wondered why hearing her voice felt like a kick in the gut. I know postcoital somnolence when I hear it, but so what? Pete and I were both adults. I'd left him. He was free to see whomever he pleased.
Condemn not and ye shall rock.
I wondered how I really felt about Ryan. I knew he was a bastard, but at least he was a winsome bastard, though I could do without his smoking. He was smart. He was funny. He was dizzyingly handsome, but completely unaware of his effect on women. And he cared about people.
Lots of people.
Like Danielle.
So why had Ryan's number been one of the first I'd started to dial? Was it just that he was nearby, or was he more than a colleague, a person I would think of for protection or comfort?
I remembered Primrose and was again flattened with remorse. I'd involved my friend and now she was dead. I'd gotten her killed. The guilt was crushing, and I was sure it would follow me the rest of my life.
Enough. Read the letter Ruby brought. It will thank you for the lecture and say it was splendid.
It did. The envelope also contained a copy of the student newsletter with its photo of me and Simon Midkiff. To say I looked tense would be like saying Olive Oyl was on the thin side.
But Simon Midkiff took best of show. I studied his face, wondering what had been in his mind that day. Had he been sent to pump me for information? Had he come on his own? My scientific colleagues often attend one another's lectures. Was it he who had faxed me the code name list? If so, why would he divulge his complicity?
My musings were interrupted by a sharp yip, followed by another.
Poor Boyd. He was the only being on the planet whose loyalty never wavered, and I ignored him. I checked my watch. Eight-twenty. Time for a quick run before Crowe arrived at nine.
I locked my computer and briefcase in the wardrobe in case Eli decided on a return engagement. Then I threw on my jacket, grabbed flashlight and leash, and headed downstairs.
Night had taken full control, ushering in a zillion stars but no moon. The porch lights did little to dispel the darkness. As I crossed the lawn, my limbic system began firing questions.
What if someone is watching?
Like Eli the Avenging Adolescent?
What if the call was not a prank?
Don't be melodramatic, I reasoned. It's the weekend after Halloween, and kids are kicking up their heels. You left messages with McMahon and Crowe.
What if they don't check?
The sheriff will be here in forty minutes.
A stalker might be out there right now.
What could happen in the company of a seventy-pound chow?
That seventy-pound chow yipped again, and I sprinted the last few yards to his pen. Hearing footsteps, he placed forepaws on the chain-linking and raised himself to a bipedal stance.
When he recognized me, Boyd went ballistic, pushing back, bounding forward, jumping up, and pushing off the fence again. He repeated the cycle several times, like a hamster on a wheel, then stood again on hind feet, threw back his head, and barked steadily.
Saying doggy things, I ruffled his ears and clipped on the leash. He nearly dragged me chowside in his lunge toward the gate.
“We're only going to the end of the property,” I warned, leveling a finger at his nose.
He cocked his head, twirled the brows, and yipped once. When I lifted the latch, he bounded out and raced in circles, nearly toppling me.
“I envy your energy, Boyd.”
He lapped my face as I disentangled the leash from between his legs, then we started up the road. Light from the porch barely reached the edge of the lawn, and within ten yards I clicked on my flash. Boyd stopped and growled.
“It's a flashlight, boy.”
I reached down and patted his shoulder. He rotated his head and licked my hand, then doubled back, did a little dance, and pressed his body against my legs.
I was about to move on when I felt him tense. His head dropped, his breathing changed, and a low rumble rose from his throat. He did not respond to my touch.
“What is it, boy?”
More rumbling.
“Not another dead squirrel.”
I reached out to stroke him and felt hackles. Not good. I tugged the leash.
“Come on, boy, we're turning back.”
He would not move.
“Boyd.”
The growl grew deeper, more savage.
I aimed my light where Boyd was staring. The beam crawled over tree trunks and was sucked into dead zones of blackness between.
I yanked the leash harder. Boyd whipped left and barked. I swept my light in that direction.
“This isn't funny, dog.”
Then my eyes made out a form. Or had it been a trick of shadow? In the moment I glanced down at Boyd, what I thought I'd seen vanished. Or had it been there at all?
“Who's there?” Fear crimped my voice.
Nothing but crickets and frogs. A fallen tree lodged against one still standing groaned and creaked in the air.
Suddenly I heard movement behind me. Footfalls. The rustling of leaves.
Boyd turned and snapped, lunging as far as the leash would allow.
“Who's there?” I repeated.
A silhouette emerged from the trees, denser than the surrounding night. Boyd snarled and tore at the leash. The dark shape moved toward us.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
I thrust the flashlight and leash into one hand and reached for my cell phone with the other. Before I could autodial, it slipped from my shaking fingers.
“Stay back!” It was almost a shriek.
I raised the light to shoulder level. As I was readjusting the leash for better control, about to reach for the phone, my grip loosened. Boyd broke free and charged, teeth gleaming, a fierce growl rumbling from his throat.
In an instant the silhouette altered shape. An arm uncurled.
Boyd leaped.
A flash. A deafening crack.
The dog bounced off the silhouette, dropped to the ground, whimpered, and lay still.
“Boyd!”
Tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted to tell him I'd take care of him. Tell him he'd be all right, but my body was paralyzed with fear, and no words came from my mouth.
The form moved swiftly toward me now. I turned to run. Hands grabbed me. I twisted, wrenched free. The shadow coalesced into a man.
He hit me with his full weight, his shoulder beneath my armpit. The shock of the impact sent me falling sideways.
The last thing I remembered was breath on my face, sprawling. Then the crack of my skull against igneous rock.
The dream was frightening. An airless place. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. Then something stroked my cheek.
I opened my eyes to a reality more hellish than any nightmare.
My mouth was stuffed and wrapped with tape. I was blindfolded.
My heart shrank in my chest.
I can't breathe!
I tried raising a hand to my face. My wrists were tied over my chest.
The rag filled my mouth with an acrid taste. A tremor began below my tongue.
I'm going to vomit! I'm going to choke!
I felt panic, began to shake.
Move!
I tried shifting, and a cocoon of fabric moved with me. I smelled dust and mildew and spoiled vegetation.
I kicked out, thrust with my head.
The movement shot arrows through my brain. I lay still, waiting for the pain to subside.
Breathe through your nose. In. Out. In. Out.
The throbbing lessened slightly.
Think!
I was imprisoned in some sort of bag. My hands and feet were bound. But where was I? How had I gotten here?
Disjointed memories. The morgue. The empty county road. Ruby's troubled face. Primrose Hobbs.
Boyd!
Oh, dear God. Not Boyd! Had I killed the dog, too?
In. Out.
I rolled my head and felt a lump the size of a plum. Another wave of nausea.