"Does this mean a lawsuit?" Joe had asked her when they were alone, slipping into the passenger side of the truck.
"I doubt it. But between Dad, Max, and Dallas, we'll come up with an unbeatable lawyer if we need to. Personally," she said, grinning, "I think she'll drop it. Maybe try to hit us up for more money later." She looked deep into Joe's eyes. "Clyde and I aren't worried. Neither should you be."
Clyde slid into the driver's seat, cutting her a look, but said nothing. Heading home, Ryan kept telling Joe over and over, "It's all right." Holding him close, looking down into his worried face. "It's all right, Joe. You didn't hurt the little brat. We have pictures. Don't sweat it."
Joe had listened, hiding a smile, as Clyde explained to the woman the many steps she would have to go through if she sued him, the forms she would have to fill out, the time she would have to spend with an attorney, and in court, and the probable cost of an attorney. This, and the whining of her restless kids who were hungry and had to pee and wanted to go home, had at last induced her to accept the money, load up her unruly family, and leave the three of them in peace.
One thing for sure, Joe thought, purring against Ryan. He never wanted to see the San Jose airport again. Not in all his nine lives. For a while there, he'd thought if he didn't starve in that oversize concrete crypt or get run over by some hurrying driver racing to catch a plane, he would be picked up by animal control, imprisoned behind bars for maybe the rest of a very short life.
Now, Ryan's concern went a long way toward dispelling that icy fear of abandonment. And as the three of them hit the freeway, heading home, he snuggled down in her lap, smugly comfortable, filled once more with macho confidence.
37
MUCH EARLIER that evening, Dulcie had stood on the roof of Clyde's house watching the red pickup pull out of the drive, watching Clyde and Ryan head for San Jose. They didn't want me! Clyde and Ryan didn't want me. She had been left behind. She was hurt, she was worried about Joe, and she was mad as hell. Where else should I be when Joe's in danger?
"Please, Dulcie," Ryan had said, "Rock's so upset and nervous. When I'm upset, he gets like this. I'll have to shut him in the house so he won't try to climb out of the patio and follow us, but…Please stay with him until he calms down. A Weimaraner can tear a whole house to pieces when he's frantic. Please, stay for a while. Later, when he settles down, if you go somewhere, please come back and check on him. Or call Charlie."
She knew they were trying to keep her out of trouble, that they didn't know what kind of danger they were heading into. But when Ryan asked like that, what else could she do? And Rock was upset, he was a basket case, pacing and panting and pawing at the doors.
Who would guess that a big strong dog like Rock could get so undone, could be so sensitive to Ryan's distress? Pacing nervously from room to room, he reared up to peer out the windows and to paw at them until Dulcie backed him away, hissing at him.
"Sit, Rock!" the tabby told him. "Sit, now!"
Rock sat, with that puzzled look he got when any of the three cats gave him a command. Dulcie kept talking and talking to him, to calm him. She'd seen him upset before, when Ryan was stressed over a job, but never this bad. The Weimaraner's sensitivity to human feelings showed his intelligence, but it made him a challenge to live with. Rock would never be a phlegmatic house dog who easily rolled with the punches.
But talking to him helped. He was always attentive when she or Joe or Kit spoke to him, he had never gotten over his amazement at the wonderful talking cats. At last she got him to lie down on the rug, and she stretched out close to him.
"They'll be back soon, Rock. It's all right, everything's all right."
He turned to nose at her; he was still shivering. Could he be upset not only because Ryan and Clyde were distressed, but because of some elusive canine sensitivity that told him Joe was in trouble? No human really knew the extent of an animal's perceptions. She could tell animal researchers a number of stories they'd find hard to believe.
Rock was still for a while, but then he rose nervously again, heading for the kitchen. He pushed and pawed at the locked doggy door, then looked at Dulcie angrily, as if she was the one who had locked it. She tried to get him to eat some kibble, but he turned his face away. At last he headed back to the living room, gave a sigh of deep resignation, climbed into Joe's ragged easy chair, and curled up tight, his nose hidden in his flank.
Dulcie didn't know whether to laugh at his dramatics or lick the big dog's face. Leaping into the chair beside him, she curled up in a little circle against his side, and began to purr to him; but worry about Joe ate at them both.
When at last Rock slept, snoring, worn out from his concern, she slipped down carefully, silently, and left him. Just for half an hour, she thought. Just for a little while.
Padding up the stairs, she sailed from the desktop to a rafter and quietly pushed out through Joe's cat door. And she headed over the rooftops, galloping across the village toward the Gibbs condo, her mind on a possible laptop and printer, on the source of that second anonymous note left at the back door of the station.
Landing on the roof of the complex, she dropped down to Gibbs's terrace, and peered in. Why waste the perfect time to toss the place, with Gibbs an hour's drive away, hopefully detained by the law.
Nothing moved in there. No lights. The TV dark and silent. She could hear no sound. She had the place to herself, and she had plenty of time for a thorough search. Sliding the screen back, she wondered if they'd been in too much of a hurry to secure the door.
No such luck. The glass slider was locked tight.
There were three windows facing the condo's terrace. Leaping up, clinging to the sills with stubborn claws, she found all three screens locked, and she could see that the locks on the windows were engaged. Going over the roof to the front door, near the stairs, she found that locked, too.
The kitchen had one window, which was on the outside wall, two stories above the street and with no roof access. A thorny bougainvillea vine clung to that two-story wall, but it was a five-foot leap from this landing onto the vine. If she missed, it would be a straight drop, two stories to the sidewalk.
She crouched, made the leap. Was scrambling through the bougainvillea toward the kitchen window, hoping they hadn't bothered to lock this one, when a squad car pulled to the curb two floors below.
Peering down through the leaves and red blossoms, she watched Juana Davis step out, tucking a folded paper into her uniform pocket. Could that be a warrant? Dulcie thought with excitement. She's been to the judge already? Well, Davis wasted no time. Maybe Ray and Ryder's hasty departure, plus the body at the ruins, had given her enough to request a search warrant.
Clawing her way back through the bougainvillea, away from the window, Dulcie managed to leap back to the landing, where she crouched behind a small potted tree, waiting for Juana, waiting to slip inside behind her.
Coming up the stairs, Juana used a key with a large white tag that, Dulcie supposed, she'd gotten from the landlord. As she pushed the door open, Dulcie made a fast dash…She got only as far as Juana's heels when Juana turned, closed the door in her face, and stood looking down at her. Dulcie didn't know if she'd made some tiny sound, or if Juana had felt a change in the air current behind her stockinged legs. The tabby stood frozen, staring up at her. Did Davis have to be so perceptive?