Night Broken

Page 13

After twenty minutes of questioning and checking out various breeds, Lucias tones changed from cautiously professional to profoundly sympathetic. Christy was good, even over the phone.
What language was the dogs name in? Lucias voice was soothing.
I dont speak any foreign languages, Christy apologized.
Shes been to Europe, I murmured.
Did it sound German? Lucia asked. The Broholmer might fit.
Not German, Christy said even more apologetically. Maybe it was Spanish or even Latin.
Lucia stared at her white dog as she thought. Finally she said, The fila Brasileiroa Brazilian mastiffmight fit. They are rare and very much one-person dogs. They can be very aggressive if not socialized when they are young.
Christy made her spell it out so she could look it up. After a few minutes, she said, No. These dogs their heads were more in line with their body size. And the fila Brasileiro look like bloodhounds to me. Kind of friendly. There was nothing friendly-looking about his dogs. This is sort of stupid, but I just remembered something. She paused, and said, sounding embarrassed, The dogs breed. It sounded like a birds name.
Perro de presa Canario, Lucia said immediately. Some people call them dogo Canarios, presa Canario, or just presas or Canarios. She spelled it for Christy without prompting.
After a minute Christy made a disappointed noise. No. These dogs ears are too small. His had long ears, like the last breed we looked at.
Presas usually have their ears clippedlike boxers or Doberman pinschers. They do it to the American Staffordshires like my own dogs, too. I chose not to. They say it is because they are used with livestockto prevent damage. We had a Doberman once who was not ear-clipped, and he always had trouble with his ears being sore where they bent over. But the primary reason for clipping is that it makes them look more fierce. There are people who breed presas who do not crop their ears. See if you cant find a photo of one with natural ears.
I will keep looking Christys voice trailed off. Theres one with unclipped ears. Thats it. Presa Canario.
I took the phone back. Ill call Warren and let him know what hes looking for.
Ill let Adam know, too, Christy said brightly. Hell be glad I figured it out.
Sounds good, I responded after sorting through the things Id rather have said to her and remembering that I had resolved not to be spiteful or petty today.
I disconnected my phone.
So, I asked, just how rare are presa Canarios?
They are rare in the US, Lucia said. But a few years ago there was a man who wanted to breed them for pit fighting. He was put in jail, and his lawyers ended up with a pair of his dogs. The dogs had been mistreated, and the lawyers had no idea of how to handle them. The dogs killed a woman in their apartment building who was coming home with her groceries. Lucias pretty mouth tightened, and her white dog bumped her leg to comfort her. Do you know what happened?
I nodded, because I remembered the incident, though I hadnt known what the breed of dog had been. They became suddenly popular.
She made a growling noise, and the big dog who had been sleeping with his back to us turned around so he could see her. He didnt get up, but he remained alert. The dog whose head was on my knee leaned on me a little harder and sighed, groaning a little as I let my fingers search out another good itchy spot.
Canarios are not evil dogs, Lucia told me, any more than my Amstaffs are evil. Canarios are guard dogs, bred to protect their people, their herdsand to hunt for food by taking down big animals. Trained and raised with common sense, they are useful and valuable members of the family.
It sounded like a rant. I have a few of those, usually involving idiots who try to replace fuses with pennies, people who text while driving, and tax codes so Byzantine not even the IRS really knows what they meanso I nodded sympathetically.
I know that you are married to the werewolf, Lucia told me. You understand about animals who can be dangerous under the right circumstance. If your friends stalker has Canarioshe could train them so that they kill on command.
Honey bared her teeth and growled. All four dogs rose to their feet and surrounded Luciabut they didnt act upset, just ready. Dogs are better than people at reading body language.
Big dogs are just dogs, said Honey. I am a wolf. She looked at the Amstaffs, who returned her look unafraid and ready to defend their person if they needed to.
But you, little brave cousins, Honey said, half-amused under their regard, you I would take with me on a hunt.
Not many people could call Lucias dogs little and mean it. I would guess that it took a werewolf to feel that way; they looked plenty big to me.
Lucia, far from being intimidated by Honey, smiled. Brave? Yes. They will take on anything to defend Joel or me. Her smile dropped away. Your friendChristy had promoted herself from my husbands ex to my friendsaid that this mans dogs were difficult, but he had no trouble with them. That tells me that they are his dogs and that they are very well trained. His dogs then will be as mine. They will not know that he is a man who attacks women who cannot fight back: a man who is a coward. They will only know that this man is their god, the one they must listen to and protect. Canarios are courageous. They will not run from you just because you are a werewolf.
Im not actually a werewolf, I told her apologetically. But I appreciate the insight. Do you know anyone who raises Canarios? Someone we can talk to about other breeders?
She nodded. I do. She left and returned with a card. These people live in Portland and breed Canarios. They are very well-known and reputable. If Christys stalker is a breeder or an avid fancier, they will know of him.
I called Warren as soon as we were in the van. He took the information and assured me that he was doing his best to find Juan Flores, so Christy could go back to Eugene.
Thank you, I told him sincerely, and he laughed as he rang off.
Honey was thoughtfully silent on the drive back to her house. I stopped in her driveway, and she opened the door. But she stayed in the van for a moment as she looked at her house. Maybe I need to get a dog, she said.
Between the prison trip and Lucias help with the dogs, I managed to come home very late on Tuesday and escaped quality Christy-time, for the most part. Though I hadnt planned to, I left before breakfast was made the next morning. I had a last-minutefix Wednesday night that kept me nearly an hour later than usual. The thought occurred to me that if I could avoid home long enough, maybe I wouldnt have to talk to her before she left.
I went home, confident Id be too late for dinner, but when I came in the door, Christy met me with a smile.
You are in luck, she told me. Adam had an errand to run so I waited dinner for him. You have about fifteen minutes to shower. She wrinkled her nose.
Thanks, I said, as if she hadnt just sent me off to clean up. Id intended to shower because I was sweaty and dirty. I wasnt going to behave like I was thirteen and refuse to do it because shed told me to. No matter how strong the impulse.
I was in my bathroom, pulling off my clothes, when I heard Adam come into the bedroom. I didnt want to have him see how agitated shed made me, so I just continued to get ready to shower.
Three days since Christy got here, and weve made no progress, Mercy. Adams voice came, slightly muffled, from the bedroom. Its not that Juan Flores doesnt leave tracesits that none of them mean anything. Its starting to look as though he might really be someone dangerous. My connections with the DEA tell me that they have ten Juan Floreses on their watch listnone of them up high enough in the money to be Christys Juan Flores.
He neared the bathroom, and I heard him open a drawer. They say it might mean that hes not a drug trafficker, or that hes so big no one talks about him. Ive worked it out with a few of my people so I can work from home until we find him. He paused, then said in a low voice, You should know that Christy asked me to stay home because she doesnt feel comfortable with the wolves if Im not here.
I turned on the shower to let it warm up as well as give me a chance to think about what I wanted to say to Adam. But when I turned, I was confronted by a large plastic see-through box covered with sparkly pink rhinestones that held a huge collection of makeup. Christys makeup was in my bathroom, on my counter, next to my sink. At least, I thought, she hadnt put it next to Adams sink.
Dont we have another bathroom upstairs that Christy could use to store her makeup? I asked.
There was a long silence, then Adam said, There wasnt room for her stuff and Jesses stuff in the smaller bathroom. Another pause. I told her you wouldnt mind.
I got in the shower and stuck my head under the hot water, so I couldnt say anything I would regret. Coyotes werent as territorial, as a rule, as werewolves, but we still had our hard lines. Having Christy flouncing in and out through my bedroom into my bathroom crossed one of my hard lines. I washed my hair and tried to let things, the ugly, unpleasant things I was feeling, slide down the drain with the rest of the grime that had covered my skin.
The shower door opened, and Adam stepped in.
Im sorry, he said.
I shook my head and leaned against him. The feel of his skin next to mine went a long way toward restoring my equanimity.
She probably asked you if Id mind, I said. And managed to imply that only a small-minded, petty person could possibly object to her husbands ex-wife moving her makeup into the larger, brighter bathroom. If you told her she couldnt, then youd have been implying that I was a petty, mean-spirited person.
And jealous, he added. Im sorry.
I shook my head. I love you, I told him. I love the man you are. But her makeup is not staying here. I wont have her in our bedroom. In our bathroom. But I will take care of it. I smiled at him. I dont care if she calls me jealous or petty. Not your worry. So still no real information on Flores?
No, he said, soaping up his hands and starting to wash himself off briskly. The Reno pack sent a couple of wolves to talk to the hotel where Christy met Flores. Turns out he comes there every year about the same time, checks in under different names for which he has IDbut that is apparently not unusual despite government regulations. Theres an actor who regularly checks in there under the name of the secret identity of the last superhero he played. But the staff remembers him because of the dogsand confirmed that whatever name hes registered as, he still goes by Juan Flores.
I had followed Adams example and scrubbed myself down as he talked. I even managed to soap my hair and condition it before the magnetic draw of Adams skin forced me to touch him.
He can speak native-quality Spanish, but his accent is weird, Adam told me, but his voice was a little unsteady, and he braced himself against the corner of the shower. Not from Spain, Puerto Rico, Cuba, or Mexico. The Argentinian maid said he sounded Colombian. The Colombian maid said maybe Venezuelan, and he used very old-fashioned
Old-fashioned what? I asked, letting my mouth follow my hands.
Mmmm, Adam answered.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. Hurry up, Mercy, Auriele said briskly. Christys made her famous Szechuan chicken, but it needs to be eaten right now.
I backed away, and Adam snarled soundlessly.
Yeah, I said. Me, too.
On the way down for dinner, I collected Christys things and set them down in front of her door.
You arent going to talk to her? Adam asked.
I dont need to, I told him. Shell get the message. If I had to give it again, shed be buying new makeup and a new case. But I was pretty sure this would be enough.
I always start work earlya habit formed in summers when the afternoon sun can heat the garage ten degrees hotter than the triple-digit figures outside. But Thursday morning, I had left home while the sky was still dark just to get away from the breakfast Christy had been in the process of making. Nothing horrible had happened at dinner, but I didnt want to repeat it, either. Tad didnt show up at work until almost an hour after I did.
No brownies? he asked.
Christy has taken over my kitchen, I told him as I wrote the last check for the garages bills. No stress relief for me. No chocolate for you.
No chocolate? he said, leaning on the counter. Thats terrible. He waited hopefully, and when I didnt say anything more, he asked, So what did she make for us today?
I waved him at the brown paper bag sitting next to my keyboard.
He sniffed, then opened it. Cinnamon rolls?
You can eat these in here, I said, and licked the last envelope closed. Eat them both. They have Christy cooties.