Yuh, that sounds smart. So how was she going to answer?
She caught movement in the distance as John came back around the barn.
We need to know about this guy, she decided. Her usually reliable sources were still strangely mute. Von Rossbach might be nothing to worry about, as his public record suggested, but he didn't feel like a nothing to her and she hadn't made it this far by ignoring her instincts. To her he felt like trouble. And she'd be armed, of course. So he won't be a problem if he is human. Damn. Looks like I'm going on a date.
"What a gallant way of putting it," she said at last, smiling.
"Does that mean you accept?" he asked.
She shook her head in disbelief, then catching his expression, she hastily said,
"Yes! Yes, I'd love to go. It's just"—she shrugged—"no one has asked me out in such a long time. You took me completely by surprise."
"I'll pick you up at five, then," he said. "I hope that's not too early, but the concert starts at eight and I thought you might like to have dinner first. And with the drive taking an hour…"
She nodded, smiling as he explained. I wonder what this is all about? she thought. Maybe he was going to pick her brains. Maybe he was just a lonely guy looking for feminine companionship. Maybe peacocks can sing grand opera.
Time would tell.
And, hopefully, so would her contacts. She was surprised that she hadn't heard back yet and feared that when they did get back to her the news would be bad.
John clumped up onto the portal and flopped down into his chair.
"Ah," he said, reaching for another cookie.
"I see you've made another conquest," his mother said, plucking at a green stain on his sleeve.
He grunted his assent around a mouthful.
"My son is to horses what catnip is to cats," Sarah said. "They just can't get enough of him."
"Animals know whom to trust." Dieter looked at John, then glanced around. "I'm surprised you don't have a dog. Especially being alone here so much, with your son at school. I'd think you'd want a watchdog."
Sarah and John exchanged a glance. The Terminator look-alike was talking about dogs, and animals knowing whom to trust. Sarah turned and smiled at von Rossbach.
"You're trying to unload that disreputable little mutt that followed you home the day we met, aren't you?" she said. "It's not gonna happen; sorry."
"But he's such a nice little dog," Dieter cajoled.
"But it's you he adores," she reminded him. "It would break his heart if you left him here. He'd probably just follow you home anyway."
"Well, I've got another one that could use a good home," von Rossbach began.
"No, thank you, Dieter," John said seriously. "We don't want a dog."
"But it would be company for your mother when you're away."
"You're gettin' kinda pushy here, Dieter," John warned.
"Hey," Sarah said mildly, tipping her head forward and looking at him meaningfully.
John subsided, taking a sip of his Coke. This is too weird, he thought. The Coke stayed in his throat for an uncomfortable moment before he could swallow, then hit his stomach like acid. A dog, for God's sake!
"We had to leave the family dog behind when we moved here from the States,"
Sarah explained. "No way could we get him through all those countries we were going to drive through." She spread her hands helplessly. "We've just never had another."
Dieter was silent for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on one of Sarah's cookies.
"Then it's time you had one," he said firmly. "I've got just the one. I'll bring him with me on Saturday." He stood up, smiling. "I'll see you then." And with a jaunty wave he was gone.
Sarah watched him walk away with her mouth open. John watched him through
narrowed eyes, chewing, then he looked at his mother.
"Pushy, ain't he?" he said.
Sarah nodded slowly. "Shall we continue sparring?"
"Nah, let's just sit for a bit." John put his feet onto the table clumsily, upsetting the tray.
"John!" Sarah exclaimed, jumping to her feet and knocking over Dieter's chair.
"Oh, what's that?" She pointed to a small silvery object stuck to the bottom of the seat. She looked up at John, tightening her lips.
"Looks like some kind of battery," John said. He plucked it off. "What should I do with it?" He raised his brows at her. The thing was obviously a microphone.
"Throw it out, I guess," Sarah said, picking up spilled cookies and glasses. She pointed off in the direction of the barn and beyond. "We don't have anything it would fit."
She lifted the tray and stood, then looked up at him and nodded. He gave her a wink.
"Hey," he said. "Why don't you give me those broken cookies. I'll take 'em down to Linda."
"Good idea," Sarah said. "She'll like that."
She paused in the doorway; the tray in her hands, and watched John head for the corral. When he got there he'd throw the microphone von Rossbach had planted
as far as he could from the house. Microphones, yet! she thought. I have got to get some info on this guy. Stat!
She was just putting the last glass in the dish drainer when John walked slowly into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame.
"What?" she asked, sounding a little cross.
He stared at her until she turned to look at him.
"I've been thinking," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we have been getting complacent. And lazy."
Sarah turned around thoughtfully and leaned against the sink, her arms crossed.
"Because he snuck up on us?"
"Mom! He was right on top of us! Unless he slithered all the way up the driveway I don't understand how we could have missed him. I mean, it's not like he's short and skinny and disappears when he turns sideways. He's a very noticeable guy! He could walk through walls and leave a Terminator-shaped hole!"
Sarah nodded. "I know."
"I mean, I could see one of us missing him. But both of us!" John waved his hand between them. "Both of us overlooked him. And then he plants a bug on us! Not to mention that he's been living a mile from this place for over a month and we didn't even notice!" He took a few steps away from her, then turned.
"Mom, we're not safe."
"I know," she said softly.
"What are we going to do?"
Sarah looked at him: he wouldn't be asking her that question much longer. It wanned her heart that he was still doing so.
"We're going to do better than we did today," she said, pushing herself away from the sink and crossing the room. "For starters I'm going to send out some more e-mails, rattle a few cages if I can. I'm finding this silence rather ominous."
"I find that microphone a little ominous," John muttered.
"Maybe we would be better with a dog," Sarah said.
"Mom, any dog Dieter von Rossbach brings us is probably going to be trained not to notice when he's around. So, as a watchdog, it wouldn't be worth much. I mean, what if Skynet made itself a cyberdog, or something? Besides, you know how I feel about us having a dog."
She did; they'd had to leave Max, his German shepherd, behind at his foster parents' house and had no idea what had become of him. But they thought they knew. He would have been sent to the pound, and if unclaimed within thirty days, he would have been put down. John had refused to have a dog since then.
If you can't be sure of taking care of it, he'd often said, you shouldn't have one.
It had been hard, at first, to give in to him on the dog issue. She'd had a dog at her side since before John was born. At first it was because they could sniff out Terminators and she'd desperately needed the assurance of an early-warning