The darkness was alive with fall smells: foliage, grass, the perfume of a softener-sheet in somebody's clothes dryer's exhaust. The air was sensually cool on her skin where she was not covered with makeup. The stars glittered through the city glow, hard gems in a mostly clear sky. A moth fluttered by, and his flight left ghostly trails in the night air. Sensations always turned psychedelically sharp when the life-and-death game came to its final moves. This was another part of the attraction.
One was never so alive as when dancing with Death.
She looked around, and saw she was alone. She urged Scout into the bushes to the left of the front door, where he couldn't be seen. "Scout, down, stay," she said.
Obediently, the little dog sat, then stretched out. She'd tested him, and he'd held that position for at least an hour.
She wouldn't need but five minutes at the outside. The Selkie moved to the door and rang the bell.
In bed, Alex Michaels dozed, the technical report balanced on his knees. The sound of his front doorbell jarred him awake. He looked at the bedside time display. Who'd be here this hour of the night?
He got up, slipped a robe on over his naked self and belted it shut.
The doorbell rang again.
He frowned, still half asleep. It was probably somebody from work.
Yeah? How come they didn't call? They have your numbers.
He opened the drawer in his bedside table, took his issue taser from the drawer and dropped it into the robe's pocket. Not that he was really worried, but there had been some robberies in D.C. where a couple of strong-arm types had knocked on doors and then forced their way inside. Better prepared than not.
When he looked through the peephole, he saw the old lady who had the poodle. He relaxed as he opened the door.
She looked upset. "I'm so sorry to bother you," she said, "but Scout got off his leash." She waved the little plastic roll-up case with the dangling clip. "I think he wiggled through your gate into the back. If you could open it for me? I didn't want to be yelling for him in the middle of the night, waking people up and all."
"Sure," Michaels said. "Why don't you just come on through the house to the back."
"Oh, I don't want to trouble you. I can go around."
"No problem." He smiled, had her come inside, then closed the door. "Follow me." He led her through the living room.
Behind him, the old lady said, "I don't know what got into him. He never does this. I think he heard something in the bushes."
"My neighbors all have cats," he said. "Though most of them are bigger than your dog. He might get in trouble if he catches one."
They were in the small kitchen, almost to the sliding glass door, when Michaels heard the little dog bark. It sounded like he was out front. Probably had lost the cat and gone back looking for his momma.
"Oh, there he is," he said. He turned—
— and saw the old lady with her cane held over one shoulder like a baseball bat.
The expression on her face was cold but determined.
She swung the stick at him as if she were trying to belt one out of the park—
Shit!
Michaels tried to do two things at once. He dug for the taser in his robe's pocket and jumped backward. He didn't do either of them well. He hit the edge of the breakfast table, tangled his robe around one of the chairs and pulled it over. The chair fell between him and the old lady — and that was what saved his ass.
The cane whistled as she whipped it back and forth, but as she stepped toward him, she hit the toppled chair with her shins and stopped.
"Fuck!" she said. The word was not only unladylike, it was in a deeper, smoother, younger voice.
Still stumbling backward, Michaels banged into the sliding door. The crown of his head thumped against it hard — it made an almost metallic gonging sound, but the glass held—
The old lady kicked the fallen chair out of her way, started to take another step, the cane pulled back to brain him, but he had the taser out now and he pointed it at her and pressed the firing stud—
No, not the firing stud, he'd accidentally hit the laser sight instead! Damn!
A tiny red dot appeared — but on the wall next to the old lady. He moved the taser, put the gyrating dot on the old lady's chest—
She snarled and threw the cane—
It hit Michaels low, below his outstretched arm, across the belly. He didn't feel any pain, but it was hard enough to jolt his aim. The laser dot jerked to the side, off the old lady—
She spun and ran. By the time he recovered, she was mostly out of his line of sight, almost to the front door. Jesus, she was fast! Taser needles were only good for five or six yards, even if he could hit her this far away—
He started after her. He didn't know who the hell she was or what she was doing here, but this was his goddamn house and now his surprise gave way to rage—
Just who the hell did this woman think she was? How dare she?
He heard her yell something he couldn't make out, but by the time he got to the front door, she was twenty yards away and going strong. In the back of his mind, the sight of a seventy-year-old lady sprinting like an Olympic athlete was pretty amazing, even though he knew she was a younger woman in disguise.
He started after her, but she'd had too good a start. And she was fast. No way he was going to catch her wearing a robe and slippers.
The danger was over. He'd chased her off. Now what he needed to do was call the cops. Let them hunt for her.
Michaels started to step back into the house, but stopped when he heard something in the bushes. He leveled the taser, and swept the laser's red dot back and forth, seeking a target. "Who's there? Don't move, I'll shoot!"
He was ready to blast somebody, anybody who got in his face.
Nothing.
He stepped cautiously toward the bushes.
On the ground in a down position, front legs stretched out and looking up at him, was the little old lady's toy poodle. It yapped once. Wagged its tail.
Michaels shook his head. Jesus H. Christ!
He bent down. "C'mere, boy. Here, Scout."
The dog came up and hurried over, head lowered and tail going like crazy. Michaels picked the little dog up. It licked his hand.
Michaels frowned, realized he was breathing way too fast. He blew out a big sigh and tried to calm himself.
What in hell was going on here?
22
Goddammit!
In her clean-car, driving into the Maryland night, the Selkie's smoldering rage flared yet again. She pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her right hand. "Shit, shit, shit!"
She knew it was a waste of her energy, that it did no good at all. Done was done, and there was nobody to blame but herself. It was her fault. She'd put the damned dog into a down-stay, but she hadn't told him "quiet." One of the goddamned cats must have spooked the dog, and naturally, he'd barked at it because she hadn't told him not to!"
Stupid. An amateur's mistake, so simple it never occurred to her. But even though it was a waste of her energy, it still pissed her off. She beat on the steering wheel again.