and smart, and Rocko the terrier was sweet on her.
"All right, go out and stay out. Sleep in your doghouse and see if I care." She opened the door and watched both dogs disappear into the darkness of the side yard.
Something drew her outside. It wasn't the taste of winter on the night air, or the sprinkling of stars in the sky. It was the incredible stillness. The wind had stopped, no sign of lightning, and yet the air felt charged. Sylvia felt it. The dogs did, too.
CHAPTER NINE
A T THE FENCE , Nikki planted her feet and began to bark. Within seconds, Rocko was at the shepherd's side, growling, fur erect. Just outside the gate, the motion-sensor light flashed on. Nikki bared sharp teeth—ninety pounds of dog in attack mode. Sylvia's body reacted, tightening with fear. Had someone been in her yard? She froze, then forced herself to take two steps away from the light.
Seconds passed. The frenzied barking shattered the night's stillness.
And just below the animal sounds, there might have been the soft whine of a car engine.
Now Nikki was racing back and forth along the coyote fence, sniffing, searching for access. Rocko followed like a small, dark shadow. There was no way for either dog to escape. Abruptly, the light went black, responding to an automatic timer.
Sylvia ordered Nikki to her side. The dog ignored the command. Sylvia called again; this time Nikki obeyed, bounding across the yard, sitting alert and trembling with energy. A low growl rumbled from her throat.
Rocko would have no part of discipline. He changed focus and began to prance near the doghouse. The ruff on his neck bristled. His short, high-pitched yips signaled quarry; the terrier had cornered something inside the yard.
Sylvia glanced around for a weapon to wield and grabbed the closest object at hand—a rake. She pictured the skunk that had doused Rocko days earlier. She stepped forward, wary, in case her dogs had ferreted out a rabid animal.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the salt cedar's branches. A raindrop hit Sylvia's cheek. She stepped down from the deck and started across the yard. Nikki heeled at her side, whining but controlled.
The doghouse cast a shadow along the coyote fence and the chamiso that grew at the foot of the posts. Sylvia didn't see any sign of a cornered animal, but now both her dogs were intent on the small shelter. Whatever it was must be inside. She said a quick prayer that it wasn't a porcupine—that would be worse than a skunk.
Nikki sat down suddenly, threw back her head, and howled. Clearly, the shepherd was no longer in attack mode. Her tail was wagging. Sylvia squatted down beside her dogs. She saw pale fingers curled around the opening of the doghouse.
She let out a yelp of surprise, and the fingers disappeared inside the plastic shelter like a turtle into its shell. Realization hit—a hand, an arm, the outline of a face. Relieved, Sylvia held out her arms to the huddled child and said, "It's okay, Serena."
While she waited to see if the child would appear, she tried to make sense of events. Somehow the child had managed to end up here, hiding inside the dog's —Sylvia's chain of thought broke as Nikki knocked against her and she fell back on her butt abruptly. She wrapped her arms around her dogs. She could feel Serena's fear. She knew the child was watching from the darkness like a small, frightened ghost.
Sylvia kept still, trying to read her next move. After a minute of puzzling, she lay back on the grass and stared up at the stars. Another raindrop hit her cheek, and another. Rocko immediately scrambled onto his mistress's belly. Worried, Nikki pushed a cool nose against Sylvia's cheek but kept her attention focused on the child.
Sylvia listened for any sign that the child was going to come out into the open. She knew Serena must be
"All right, go out and stay out. Sleep in your doghouse and see if I care." She opened the door and watched both dogs disappear into the darkness of the side yard.
Something drew her outside. It wasn't the taste of winter on the night air, or the sprinkling of stars in the sky. It was the incredible stillness. The wind had stopped, no sign of lightning, and yet the air felt charged. Sylvia felt it. The dogs did, too.
CHAPTER NINE
A T THE FENCE , Nikki planted her feet and began to bark. Within seconds, Rocko was at the shepherd's side, growling, fur erect. Just outside the gate, the motion-sensor light flashed on. Nikki bared sharp teeth—ninety pounds of dog in attack mode. Sylvia's body reacted, tightening with fear. Had someone been in her yard? She froze, then forced herself to take two steps away from the light.
Seconds passed. The frenzied barking shattered the night's stillness.
And just below the animal sounds, there might have been the soft whine of a car engine.
Now Nikki was racing back and forth along the coyote fence, sniffing, searching for access. Rocko followed like a small, dark shadow. There was no way for either dog to escape. Abruptly, the light went black, responding to an automatic timer.
Sylvia ordered Nikki to her side. The dog ignored the command. Sylvia called again; this time Nikki obeyed, bounding across the yard, sitting alert and trembling with energy. A low growl rumbled from her throat.
Rocko would have no part of discipline. He changed focus and began to prance near the doghouse. The ruff on his neck bristled. His short, high-pitched yips signaled quarry; the terrier had cornered something inside the yard.
Sylvia glanced around for a weapon to wield and grabbed the closest object at hand—a rake. She pictured the skunk that had doused Rocko days earlier. She stepped forward, wary, in case her dogs had ferreted out a rabid animal.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the salt cedar's branches. A raindrop hit Sylvia's cheek. She stepped down from the deck and started across the yard. Nikki heeled at her side, whining but controlled.
The doghouse cast a shadow along the coyote fence and the chamiso that grew at the foot of the posts. Sylvia didn't see any sign of a cornered animal, but now both her dogs were intent on the small shelter. Whatever it was must be inside. She said a quick prayer that it wasn't a porcupine—that would be worse than a skunk.
Nikki sat down suddenly, threw back her head, and howled. Clearly, the shepherd was no longer in attack mode. Her tail was wagging. Sylvia squatted down beside her dogs. She saw pale fingers curled around the opening of the doghouse.
She let out a yelp of surprise, and the fingers disappeared inside the plastic shelter like a turtle into its shell. Realization hit—a hand, an arm, the outline of a face. Relieved, Sylvia held out her arms to the huddled child and said, "It's okay, Serena."
While she waited to see if the child would appear, she tried to make sense of events. Somehow the child had managed to end up here, hiding inside the dog's —Sylvia's chain of thought broke as Nikki knocked against her and she fell back on her butt abruptly. She wrapped her arms around her dogs. She could feel Serena's fear. She knew the child was watching from the darkness like a small, frightened ghost.
Sylvia kept still, trying to read her next move. After a minute of puzzling, she lay back on the grass and stared up at the stars. Another raindrop hit her cheek, and another. Rocko immediately scrambled onto his mistress's belly. Worried, Nikki pushed a cool nose against Sylvia's cheek but kept her attention focused on the child.
Sylvia listened for any sign that the child was going to come out into the open. She knew Serena must be
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