"Okay," she said.

  She stayed close enough to the bowl that his hair brushed against her as he nosed into the food. She reached out and stroked the top of his head. He growled and snapped, his teeth coming within a centimeter of her forearm. She lowered her hand and calmly slid the bowl behind her. The Ovcharka backed up a body length, hair bristling, the urge to attack burning in his eyes.

  "I'm overlooking your one attempt to kill me," she said, her voice soft but deadly firm. "But if you attack me again, you're dead meat. Do you understand?"

  Gradually the giant dog's nape hairs lowered, his jaws closed, and the malevolent intent faded from his eyes. She slid the bowl out in front of her again.

  "Come," she said.

  The dog pondered her as if it was a trick question. This time he approached one cautious step at a time, not taking his eyes off her. When he dipped his head in the bowl, she placed her hand on the top of his head again. His whole body stiffened. He stopped eating, his eyes rolling up at her. A growl started and died in his throat. She stroked his head – long, leisurely, calming strokes that did not acknowledge his tension. By the fourth stroke the tension in the big dog's powerful muscles eased and he resumed eating.

  "That's good," Thalma murmured. "There may be hope for you yet."

  Louis rumbled up in his Toyota pickup. The Ovcharka backed off from the food, hackles rising, and barked twice – hard, baseball bat cracking sounds that made Thalma want to cover her ears. Louis paused in the driveway, rolling his window down.

  "Are you feeding wolves now?"

  "He's not a wolf. You don't recognize him?"

  Louis's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. Holy fuck – that looks like the dog with those white power assholes on the picnic table!"

  "You got it."

  "But...what is he doing in our yard?"

  "Oh, that." Thalma smiled. "He tried to kill me."

  Louis's smile, already strained, folded in on itself. "If that's a joke, it's not even remotely funny."

  "No joke."

  "Okay, well..." The garage door started to rise. "Can we talk about this inside? I don't like the way that alleged dog is looking at me."

  As the truck rolled into the garage, Thalma stood up, making eye contact with the Ovcharka and pointing to the bowl before entering the house. Louis came in from the garage and hung up the truck keys. They hugged. She inhaled his grease-jockey odor.

  "I like your transmission fluid perfume," she said.

  He laughed. "I was floating in a sea of it at one point. Someone forgot to tighten a drain plug." He stared at her forearm. "What happened to your arm?"

  Thalma nodded toward the front yard.

  "You're kidding me." He pulled back from her. "The dog attacked you and now you're feeding it? Aren't you taking your canine love a tad too far?"

  "It wasn't his choice. One of the white power clowns sicced him on me. The huge guy with the red hair was waiting up on the trail to ambush me during my run."

  Louis ran a shaky hand through his long hair. He stepped away from her and slumped down at the kitchen table, making a noise like a punctured tire.

  "What happened?"

  "I took out the guy. I took the dog home."

  "'Took out'? Does that mean you knocked him unconscious or into the next world?"

  "The latter."

  Louis laid his arms out on the table and stared at her.

  "You're getting grease on the table," she said.

  "A guy the size of a mountain tries to kill you, and a dog the size of an African lion chomps on you. And you're worried about some fucking grease."

  "Maybe because I'm the only one who cleans up around here."

  He smiled at her with a disgruntled shake of his head. She sat down at the table and grasped his oil-stained hands.

  "Baby," she said. "I'm okay."

  "What happened to the Aryan Nation dude?"

  "He fell." She shrugged under his hard gaze. "Off the side of a cliff."

  He breathed out. "Good. And then what happened? His dog followed you home?"

  "Yeah. I have a feeling he didn't like his owner all that much. He's a smart dog."

  "What happens when his white power brothers find out?"

  "I imagine they won't be happy."

  "What if there had been more than one waiting for you up there?"

  "I'm sure I would've heard them bumbling around in the woods. I had a warning even with those two, but I mostly ignored it."

  "You're not a god, you know. You can be killed." He gave her a small smile. "Can't you?"

  "Conceivably."

  "Well, what are we going to do about this? And about that damn video? Someone who's looking for you is bound to see or hear about it someday."

  "Murphy's working on suppressing that video. I met with him today. His contacts in federal law enforcement say no one's talking about it yet."

  "Speaking of your Mr. Murphy, one of his people showed up today at the shop." Louis frowned. "A girl, actually. She says she's supposed to keep an eye on me when I'm not around you."

  "A girl?"

  "Yup."

  "What does she look like?"

  "I don't know. Tall, blond, pretty buff, I guess." He shrugged.

  "In other words, a babe."

  "I wouldn't necessarily say that."

  "Because you value your health?"

  Louis released a choppy laugh. "That's part of it. But seriously, Thal, she can't hold a candle to you."

  "Murphy sends a babe to protect you. I'll have to talk to him about that."

  "For what it's worth, she got the office records and appointment book in great shape. It was a total mess before. Now it's organized so everything's right at your fingertips!"

  "A beautiful bodyguard slash private secretary." Thalma attempted to smile through her scowl. "Doesn't get much better than that."

  "Ha, well, remember – it wasn't my idea. You and your ex- archenemy decided I needed protection without bothering to tell me."

  Thalma sighed, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

  "Personally, I don't see a lot of risk while I'm at work. The police department's only a few streets away, and the area is crawling with people."

  "It was Murphy's idea. He was concerned about the threat to you, and so am I. In fact, we talked about you maybe leaving the area for a while."

  Louis was shaking his head halfway through the sentence. "No way. My business is finally taking off, Thal. I've got work lined up for the next couple of months. I'm not walking away from that because of a bunch of brain-dead Nazis!"

  "Yeah, I know." Thalma felt like dropping her face into her arms and blotting out the world. "But it's not just those losers. That video is like a beacon guiding every law enforcement agency in the country to South Lake Tahoe. Not to mention Murphy's former employers. You may not have noticed, Louis, but I carry a lot of baggage. Most of it's armed and dangerous."

  "It would've been nice if you'd told me that before we got married," he grumbled with faux bitterness.

  "We're not really married. In reality, you're a free man. You could be with someone who doesn't have any baggage. A nice, simple girl whose idea of trouble is maxing out her Sally Beauty card."

  "Now you're scaring me." Louis gave a mock shudder. "Have I ever told you how cute you are when you're being a martyr?"

  "No, and I wouldn't recommend starting now."

  Louis reached across and held her nearest hand. "Baby, look. If the feds show up, we're both leaving. That's just the way it is. But that's not happening because of those white power losers. We can handle them. You can handle them."

  Thalma nodded slowly. If it just came down to handling these cretins, she could do that. They were just an annoying distraction from her real worry.

  "I'm guessing you aren't planning to tell that gang control cop about what just happened?"

  "God, no. That would mean an investigation and even more fodder for local and probably national media. The Aryan Nation people will figure it out, but they won't say anything, either. We'll have to work out our differences in private."

  "Your own private little war."

  Thalma raised an eyebrow. "That's why I thought it might not be a bad idea for you to take a vacation somewhere safe for a while."

  "For how long? Speaking hypothetically."

  "I don't know. Until I come to an understanding with these psychopaths."

  "What kind of understanding can you come to with psychopaths?"

  Thalma gave him a sour look. "The kind where they are more afraid of me than of losing their chance for revenge?"

  Louis released her hand and made another punctured tire sound.

  "I'm sorry, Louis," she said. "I had no idea this would happen, obviously, but with a little thought I would've seen the possibility. I acted before thinking it through."

  "I know."

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Starving." He looked out the front window to where the Ovcharka lay beside the now-empty bowl. "What are you planning to do with the hellhound?"

  "I don't know. Turning him over to Animal Control would be signing his death warrant, so..."

  "You're thinking of keeping him, aren't you?"

  Thalma gave him a small smile. "Maybe temporarily, until we can find a suitable place for him."

  "Right. And you'll just temporarily fall in love with him."

  Her guilty smile conceded the point.

  "As if it's not enough to have one dog that can tear off my limbs," Louis grumbled. "Now both of them working together could split me right down the middle."

  Thalma laughed. "Socrates likes you now – he wouldn't hurt a hair on your head."

  "I think it's more like tolerance. Speaking of which, don't you think those two dogs would try to kill each other?"

  "Probably. And that would be a deal-breaker. Two dominant male dogs together – not a marriage made in heaven. I know it's crazy, with everything else that's going on, but there's something about that dog. Something in his eyes. The light's on in there. And he's young, not more than three years – maybe only two."

  "God, you've already fallen for him!"

  Thalma smiled and winced at the same time. "No, but I see – or think I see – a potential there. But believe me, if there's any chance of him being a threat to either you or Socrates, he's history."

  "Thanks – not that I have any doubts you felt that way. It's just that you can let your heart get you in trouble sometimes – like you did rescuing that girl. Not that I'd want to change your heart – it's one big reason I love you - but under the circumstances I think we need to keep a clear head about our priorities, don't you?"

  Thalma bowed her head to him. "You make good points. Damn, I can be such a girl sometimes."

  "True, but that beats the alternative, if you know what I mean." Louis wriggled his brow at her. "Hey, I need to take a shower. You want to join me, help me get clean?"

  "Sure." She smiled. "I could use some help cleaning up myself. It's been a dirty afternoon."

  Chapter 4

  A LOUD BARK SHOOK Thalma out of a half-dream. That bark, coming from outside, was seconded by a woomph from Socrates, who entered the bedroom and hopped up on the windowsill to peer through the blinds. More barks from outside followed. The Ovcharka. Overnight, she'd almost forgotten about the new guest they had chained in the front yard.

  Thalma joined Socrates at the window. Some men were moving on the trail some eighty yards below just past the outer edges of her property, their figures visible through the trees. She reached for the binoculars on the chest by the window. The mens' swagger, size, and their tattoos – along with their glances up at her house – gave them away. They were looking for their buddy and at this point probably suspected foul play. What were the odds they'd find the redhead's body? She doubted enough time had passed for the smell to reach the trail, but she guessed there was enough blood and signs of a struggle at the spot to direct them to the cliff's edge and the sight of his exposed arm.

  She retrieved the laptop from the end table at her side of the bed. Socrates followed her downstairs, grumbling and woofing under his breath. He'd been in a predictably agitated state since becoming aware of their canine guest, spending several hours in the front windows studying him and offering occasional muted growls by way of commentary.

  Thalma set the laptop on the kitchen table and keyed into the home security network. Camera views spaced around the edges of her property showed no trespassers. She started a breakfast of fried eggs, sausage, and hash browns while Socrates resumed his vigil at the front windows.

  After breakfast, she brought out some wet kibble topped with sausage and a fried egg to the Ovcharka, who seemed happy to see her. He accepted her hand on his head and though drooling with hunger waited until she okayed him to eat. She continued to pet him, her eyes on the trail below, as he devoured his food with great shark-like chomps.

  Inside, she fed Socrates his liver and kibble breakfast, and decided it was time for the two titans – now sated with food - to meet. She snapped a leash on Socrates and stepped out the front door. Socrates immediately started for the Ovcharka, but Thalma made him sit just beyond the reach of the bigger dog's chain. The two regarded each other warily. The eye contact was intense, though it didn't strike her as terribly aggressive. The Ovcharka was calm and calculating in the face of a possible threat, which matched Socrates' own calm and dominant temperament. Thalma snapped her fingers until the Ovcharka met her gaze.

  "You need to understand," said Thalma, "that if you can't get along with Socrates" – she tapped her Rottie's big head – "that you can't stay. If he doesn't approve of you, you can't stay. So my strong suggestion is to play nice. Friends – or you're gone."

  She'd always believed that she could read animals and communicate with them beyond what most people could. Now would be a good test of that theory.

  Thalma led Socrates toward the Ovcharka, who stood his ground, his eyes never leaving the Rottweiler's. She sensed the tension in the air, but it hadn't reached red alert levels. The Ovcharka's non-aggressive behavior made her think he'd heard her words. But I don't really know this dog, do I?

  She led Socrates within a few feet of the Ovcharka, positioning her body between them. Socrates moved forward, within nose-touching distance. Thalma concentrated on making her own energy calm.

  "Behave, Soc," she murmured. "Give him a chance. He could be a good friend."

  They sniffed each other. Cautiously at first, and then more robustly, tails wagging. The Ovcharka surprised Thalma by dropping onto its front legs in a classic play posture. Socrates responded with a playful grunt. So far, so good.

  Their friendly greeting evolved into an hour of roughhousing around the front yard under Thelma's watchful and rather disbelieving supervision. It was as if they were old friends renewing their acquaintance. She'd always thought of Socrates, at 140 pounds, as being a large dog, but he looked like a puppy next to the Ovcharka – a deer playing with a rhino.

  A couple of times an edge of hostility entered their play – both times instigated by Socrates – but the dogs fell back in line after a firm warning. The default relation between them seemed amicable, to a puzzling if not miraculous degree.

  Both dogs stopped playing suddenly and turned toward the trail below, their stances stiffening. Voices carried up to them. Angry voices, Thalma thought. She walked to the edge of the yard, the dogs moving to either side of her. The Aryan Nation men stepped into view on the trail between the trees, gesturing and arguing. They stopped abruptly – one man noticing her and the others turning their gazes up toward her in a kind of domino effect. Thalma reached down and scratched the heads of both dogs as the six men below stared at her. One of them started up the hill but was restrained by a tall, skinny guy she recognized as the spokesman/leader at the picnic table.

  So they found the body.

  More furious conversation followed. Thalma guessed they were arguing about her. Maybe some of them wanted to kill her now while others – the skinny dude - preached restraint.

  The skinny dude prevailed, apparently. The men moved on, the echoes of their argument fading. Thalma breathed out. The inevitable was postponed. They'd go home and plot their revenge. Probably a lot of alcohol and meth would be involved. Then they'd attack – maybe a drive-by in town but more likely they'd come for her here - and she'd kill them. Not something she feared but certainly nothing she looked forward to. Killing people, even ignorant, evil pieces of shit, wore on her soul.

  Thalma took the dogs for a brisk run around the property before taking them inside. Soc trotted down to the basement – he often cooled down by lying on the bare cement there – and after a quick exploration of the ground floor Plato planted himself by the front window. Thalma wondered if he was thinking about the Aryan Nation members he'd seen on the trail. He surely would've recognized his old pack, but had shown no friendly interest in them that she'd observed.

  Thalma joined Soc in the basement. On today's workout menu was weighted one-arm pull-ups. She warmed up with her body weight before grabbing a one hundred dumbbell for sets of twenty or thirty pull-ups with either arm. She'd purposely held back in the Army, since that kind of display tended to freak people out, and fortunately her muscles didn't grow to the bulging shape that a normal person would need to perform on her level. They did get a bit bigger, but mostly just grew denser, so she could keep most of her girlish figure while being strong enough to press two large men overhead or jam a fist through three inches of hardwood.

  She was wolfing down a post-workout 12-ounce steak with sweet potatoes when Plato leaped to his haunches and started barking – joined an instant later by Socrates in the basement. Thalma moved to the side windows overlooking the trail. Were they coming?

  Instead, an ambulance and two Tahoe police SUVs, lights flashing, were headed slowly up the trail. Oh. So the gang had called the authorities instead of trying to haul their walrus-sized friend up the hill. She glanced at the microwave clock. 2 P.M. Now would be a good time to drive into town and do some shopping. The Nazis wouldn't dare do anything with the cops so close, and she needed some fish and mixed veggies for the stir-fry she had planned tonight. If she was feeling sufficiently fifties-housewife-ish she might even throw together a loaf of banana bread. Louis had a thing for her banana bread.

 

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