Wolfsbane and Mistletoe (Page 3)

"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.

"I grew up with them," he said. "And when I started raising them, they grew up with me. We just got to know each other better than most humans and dogs do."

"But the training," she persisted. "They respond to you like nothing I’ve ever seen."

"Something in my voice, I guess," he said. "I probably have all these auditory cues I use without even being aware of it."

"And they pick up on them," she said. "Maybe you’ve gotten it all wrong. Maybe the dogs are the ones who trained you, not the other way around."

"Could be," he said, letting his fingers trail gently down the curve of her body. "I never thought of it like that before."

He let his hand wander and explore, and she arched her back.

"How did you get to be so good with me?" she gasped, and he drew her to him in response.

"We’re tight," he said to Carson as he punched in the numbers on the last lock and pulled the door shut. "Carson, patrol."

The dog began loping about the building.

The watcher pulled out his cell phone and pressed a single button.

"Did you get the security code?" he asked quietly.

"Affirmative."

"Good," said the watcher.

He broke the connection and waited impatiently. He had been spending the day in a state of forced calm, but now, with the moment so close, he was nervous, jumpy. You would think that the killing urge would die out over the years, he thought. That the rage would gradually fade given time. Time that heals all wounds. A laughable notion in his case. With each kill, the wound seemed to rip open more, the bloodlust increased, and the only thing he could think about was the next one. Maybe Lehrmann would satisfy the urge for a while. He thought he might. Lehrmann was going to be a good one. Lehrmann was his Christmas gift to himself.

Edwards lay prone in a cornfield, watching the front of the warehouse until he saw Lehrmann go back inside. Then he crawled backward through the dried stalks until he could get to a crouching position unobserved. Still staying low, he scuttled to the rear of a barn where the surveillance van was parked. He tapped twice, then three times, on the side door. It slid open, and he clambered inside.

Kenner was behind the wheel. Hidalgo was in the back, monitoring the police radio.

"Any of that coffee left?" asked Edwards.

"In the pot," said Hidalgo. "Make it quick. It’s almost time."

Edwards poured himself a cup, threw in three sugars and some creamer, and stirred it. He drank it in two gulps, then began putting on the padding.