Lehrmann was unfolding a six-foot cardboard Santa Claus and hanging it on a wall.
“Now, that one is just plain tacky,” said the watcher.
The cell phone monitor chirped. He squatted down and turned the volume up.
Lehrmann picked up his cell phone from his desk.
“Lehrmann’s Guard Dogs,” he said.
“Hi, Sam,” said a familiar voice, and he clutched the phone hard for a moment. “You still there?”
“Hello, Mona,” he said.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Sam,” she said. “I thought you might like some company.”
“I’ve got company,” he said.
“You know what I mean,” said Mona. “Dogs don’t count.”
“Man’s best friend,” said Lehrmann. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Only when the man has no woman,” said Mona. “You’re in Georgia, Sam. Not Alaska. Georgia. A man in Georgia doesn’t need to spend the only Christmas Eve of the year with a bunch of dogs.”
“You been drinking, Mona?”
“It’s going to be a beautiful night,” she continued. “Crisp and clear, with a full moon. A full moon on Christmas Eve, Sam. That doesn’t happen that often. Maybe we’ll see Santa’s sleigh flying across it. Yes, I have been drinking, Sam. I’m alone in Georgia on Christmas Eve, and I’m drinking. Can’t I come over? You shouldn’t be alone with a bunch of dogs.”
“Dogs are loyal, Mona,” he said. He wished immediately that he hadn’t.
She was silent. He thought for a moment that she had broken the connection, but then he heard her crying.
“How’s Nicky?” he asked, awkwardly changing the subject.
“Nicky’s a great, big, warm, wonderful pal,” she said. “I am going to cuddle with Nicky tonight. I could be with you, roasting marshmallows in the fire . . .”
“I don’t have a fireplace,” he said.
“Please let me back into your life, Sam,” she said softly. “You can’t shut me out forever.”
“Good night, Mona,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
He broke the connection.
The man in the woods checked his watch, then glanced up at the sky. The sun was nearing the horizon. It would be an hour until nightfall. He looked through his binoculars to see Lehrmann sitting disconsolately at the desk, staring at his cell phone, then turning it off.
“Poor Sam,” said the watcher. “Full moon and empty arms.”
An alarm signal went off, and Carson, a five-year-old German shepherd, looked up.
“Easy, boy,” said Lehrmann. “Still got an hour. Plenty of time. Finish your dinner.”
The dog went back to his meal, but kept glancing up at the windows.
She was drinking early today, thought Lehrmann. God knows that the holidays will do that to a person. Hell, he was all shook up from a two-minute conversation with her, and he was the sober one.
“Hell of a time to call, Carson,” he said, and the dog grimaced sympathetically.
Lehrmann thought back to when she’d first walked through his front door. What was it, three years ago? Three and a month. It was mid-November, and he was training a Rottweiler, a ten-month-old female.
The woman was slim, brunette, and built like a runner. Her clothes were carefully casual in a way only large amounts of money could accomplish. She had ruby drops dangling from each ear, with more strung along a gold necklace that plunged between her breasts.
He was playing tug-of-war with the Rottweiler, using a broomstick wrapped in several layers of cloth. The dog had clamped on tight, and was digging its claws into the mat, trying to pull the broomstick out of Lehrmann’s hands. She looked like she might succeed. The woman leaned forward, resting her hands on the wall of the pit, and watched.
“Here!” Lehrmann said suddenly.
The Rottweiler looked up at him, but refused to relinquish the broomstick.
“Here!” Lehrmann commanded her again.
The dog reluctantly let go, and moved to sit by Lehrmann’s right foot. She stayed there, a resentful glare on her face.
“Good girl,” Lehrmann praised her, and he handed her a small piece of beef. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“If I’m not interrupting,” said the woman, smiling. “Is that raw beef?”
“It is,” said Lehrmann.
“Then you won’t mind if I don’t shake hands just yet,” she said.
“I have been known to wash them on occasion,” said Lehrmann. “Give me a minute. You could shake the dog’s paw while you’re waiting.”
“Will she do that without attacking me?” asked the woman.
“She won’t attack unless she’s told to,” said Lehrmann. “At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“I’ll chance it,” said the woman, coming into the pit. She squatted down to face the dog. “Hello. My name is Mona Havelka. What’s yours?”
“This is Nicky,” said Lehrmann. “Nicky, shake.”
The Rottweiler immediately held out a paw, and Mona shook it.
“Very pleased to meet you, Nicky,” she said.
“Here, give her this,” said Lehrmann, holding up a piece of beef.
Mona took it and held it out for Nicky, who took it carefully from her, then licked her hand.
“No point in standing on ceremony now,” said Mona, holding her hand out to Lehrmann. “Are you the owner?”
“Sam Lehrmann,” he said, shaking it. “Pleased to meet you. Let me show you where to wash up.”
He escorted her to a washbasin in a tool room in back and tossed her a bar of soap.
“Guests first,” he said, turning on the taps. “Hope you don’t mind sharing.”
“A gentleman,” she said, scrubbing her hands thoroughly. “And such a romantic spot, too.”
“You’d be surprised,” he grinned as she handed him the soap. “So, how may I help you?”
“I came to see a man about a dog,” she said as he washed up.
“I’m the man,” he said. “What kind of dog have you got in mind?”
“Someone to protect me when I’m sleeping.”
“Apartment or house?”
“A town house,” she said. “In town.”
“You looking for something with more bark or more bite?” he asked as they walked back into the main room.
She looked at him, and the smile left her eyes.
“I want a bark that will put the fear of God into anyone stupid enough to break in,” she said. “And a bite that will send anyone stupid enough to ignore the bark straight to Hell.”
He rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and pondered her request for a moment.
“I have this really vicious dachshund that might fit the bill,” he said.
She stared at him in disbelief.
“No, seriously, I’ve been trying to get rid of the little bastard for years,” he continued, his nose crinkling for an instant.
“An attack dachshund,” she said, starting to laugh.
“Well, pretty much an ankle biter,” he conceded. “But let him get a running start, and that baby will take out a decent chunk of thigh.”
“Really,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“It’s the element of surprise,” he explained. “Gets them every time.”
“Be serious now,” she said.
“All right,” he said, opening the gate to the pit. “Nicky, here.”
The Rottweiler bounded up and sat before them expectantly. Lehrmann looked into the dog’s eyes, then back at Mona’s.
“This one,” he said. “This one is your dog.”
Lehrmann went back into the refrigerator, removed the lamb, and placed it on the butcher block. Then he took the saw and simply cut it in half. He put one part back in the refrigerator, then carried the other to a large empty cage set back from the others and placed it inside. He made sure there was plenty of water, then went back to his office, where Carson was waiting, idly scratching his ear with his hind paw.
“You done?” Lehrmann asked.
The dog nodded. Lehrmann let the dog out of the office, then went around the building, checking the locks.
“How did you get to be so good with dogs?” she asked him one night as they lay in bed together. Nicky was downstairs, exiled to her dog bed as usual when he stayed the night.