“There are good days and there are bad days, and this is one of them.” Lawrence Welk
The third time Finch stepped over Bear on his way to re-shelve one of his precious first editions, there was
an ominous growl.
Reese looked up from his own book. He was sprawled on the leather couch, relaxed. He’d offered to help with the relocation “ the most valuable books were being moved to less dog-accessible heights ” but Finch had snarled that he wanted it done correctly. John was pretty sure he should have been offended, but he was actually perfectly happy to spend the afternoon doing nothing. Finch was safe. Nothing else really mattered.
But the growl troubled him. Bear didn’t growl unless he was seriously provoked.
The dog, however, was still lying on the rug, with his eyes open but his head down.
Finch was the one who had growled.
Reese sighed, sat up and put his book down. It had been two days since he’s half-carried Finch out of the train station. The computer genius was still unsettled. He was jumpy, anxious, irritable. Cranky.
Reese’s instinct was to stay close to him. But he knew from experience that the recluse recovered better when he was left by himself. That had been true after Will Ingram had been kidnapped ” both times ” and on numerous other occasions. Finch needed downtime, and for him that meant being completely alone.
He wasn’t going to go far, Reese decided, but he could give Finch a few hours. He stood up, went into one of the side rooms, and changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt. Then he returned to the couch to put his running shoes on.
Finch glanced at him. “It’s going to storm, you know.”
“I won’t melt in the rain.”
“No, but you might if you’re struck by lightning.”
Reese considered this. “We’ll find a place to shelter if it gets bad.”
Finch merely grunted and went back to his precious books. John got Bear’s leash and they headed for the door. He paused at the top of the steps and looked back. Finch seemed more relaxed already.
It stung, just a little. After all he’d gone through to get his friend back ” but Harold had been a recluse most of his life, and what Root had done had just made his insular impulses worse. There was no sense in being offended by what couldn’t be helped.
Bear seemed happy to be out of the library for a while, anyhow. John jogged fairly slowly to start, letting them both warm up. Then he picked up the pace. The dog had no trouble keeping up.
The clouds were heavy and low over the city, and the windy was gusty in his face. It was a little chilly until he got warmed up. But once he was moving, his light fleece jacket was just right.
Lightning flickered to the east. Thunder rumbled softly, a good fifteen seconds behind.
It was mid-afternoon on a Tuesday, but the threatening skies had thinned out the pedestrian traffic. Reese kept off the main streets, and they moved through the city easily. He could feel his own tensions draining away as he ran. Finch was safe in his library. He would settle down, regain his emotional balance. A new Number would come. Their operation would continue. Everything was as it should be. For now.
Besides the trauma of the kidnapping, John knew, Finch was also deeply concerned about the level of cooperation the Machine had shown. He had made Reese go through the dialog several times, and he’d called up the various surveillance tapes and watched them repeatedly. The Machine’s response was gnawing at Finch’s mind. But if he had to do it over again, John thought, he wouldn’t do anything differently. It had worked. It had helped bring Finch home.
Still, if the Machine was starting to reprogram itself to protect its creator …
He stopped that line of thought. If it was, there was nothing John could do about it. You built it,Finch. Did you really think it wouldn’t be smart? He concentrated for a moment on his pace and his breathing. He glanced down at the dog. Bear was still keeping up, but he was about at the end of his endurance for running. Reese shook his head. Whatever the Aryan Brothers had done with the dog, they hadn’t tended to his conditioning properly. The dogs he’d worked with overseas could run for half a day. He pushed it five more blocks, then dropped down to a brisk walk. He was pleased by how quickly the dog recovered from the exertion. But they would need to run every day, if possible, to get Bear back into shape.
Regular exercise and mental stimulation would also eliminate some of the dog’s chewing behavior. Hopefully.
It occurred to John that he ought to make some effort to find Bear’s rightful owner. Then he brushed the thought away. He was the dog’s rightful owner now, and that was the end of it.
It was nice not to be looking for anyone for a change. He wasn’t following a woman or protecting a man or concealing a child. That didn’t stop him from observing things, of course. The couple huddled in the doorway was making up after an argument. The man walking on the other side of the street with his hands in his pockets was very late for something. The circle of young men were trying to figure out how much money they had between them. Nothing, at the moment, was a threat. It was all just exercise, and John could feel his tension continued to recede.
The thunder rumbled, much closer.
The wind shifted suddenly. Reese turned his head and caught the freshening breeze full in the face. He could hear the rain coming in with it. He didn’t mind the rain, really, but he saw no reason not to keep his word to Finch. If he and Bear waited out the storm somewhere, it was that much more time Finch had to himself. He looked around. There was an upscale restaurant across the street with a large covered patio. They wouldn’t let him take Bear inside, but since the patio was completely deserted, he doubted anyone would mind if he sat there. He shortened up his grip on the leash and turned to cross the street.
Bear pulled back so hard that he nearly yanked the leash out of Reese’s hand.
John stopped. The dog continued to strain toward an alley. His whole body was rigid, intent on whatever he thought was down there. Bear didn’t chase cats, had never shown much interest in rodents, and didn’t root in the trash. But something had caught his eyes or ears or nose.
“Forget it,” Reese told him. “Come on.” He tugged on the leash.
Bear looked over his shoulder at him, but he did not return to his side.
John straightened up and snapped, “Foei!”
The dog shrank down, almost hunkered. Then he straightened and lunged toward the alley again.
This wasn’t a power struggle, Reese recognized. Whatever was down there, Bear thought it was important. Important enough to defy the Alpha over.
He dropped his hand into his jacket pocket, closed his fingers around the familiar weight of his smallest gun. Then he moved toward the dog. Bear trotted into the alley as quickly as the leash would allow. He went directly to the third trash can, jumped up and scrabbled at the lid with his paws.
“Bear, no!” Reese barked. He was annoyed now, but also curious. He hadn’t seen the dog behave like this before.
The lid came off the can with a clatter, and before John could pull him away, Bear had toppled the can itself. He pawed through the trash frantically.
“Bear!” John said again. He snapped the leash. The dog yelped and dropped onto his belly. “Come!”
The dog remained on his stomach on the ground. He looked back toward the trash can and whined. His anxiety was obvious.
John frowned at him. This wasn’t Bear rooting for a meaty bone or a half-rotted fish. The dog had gone right off the damn reservation. “What?” he demanded. “What’s in that can that’s so damn tasty, huh?”
Bear looked at him hopefully and whined again.
“Fine. Go get it.” He moved a little closer, to leave some slack in the leash.
The dog dove cheerfully back into the trash can. If he’s got a skunk, Reese thought belatedly, I am seriously going to regret this.
A fat raindrop splashed onto his cheek. Reese looked up, and more rain fell onto his face and onto the pavement around them. “Damn it, Bear …”
The dog yipped happily and scooted backward out of the can. He had something in his mouth, something small and gray.
“If I’m getting soaked for a damn rat, I am not going to be happy,” Reese warned. He crouched on his heels. “Give it here, Bear.” He held his hand out.
The dog looked at him for a long moment.
“Laat af vallen,” Reese insisted.
Reluctantly, but with something that looked like trust and chagrin in his eyes, Bear lowered his muzzle and gently dropped the gray object into Reese’s outstretched hand.
It was a big mouse, or maybe a small rat, and it was dead. “Bear ...” Reese began.
The dog looked at him hopefully, whined, and licked the fuzzy object.
It moved, just a little.
The rain began to pelt down sharply. Reese hunched forward, shielding the creature with his body. It wasn’t a mouse. It was a kitten, completely gray, so tiny that its eyes were still closed. It was cold, motionless, and filthy. But it wasn’t quite dead.
Reese looked up at the dog. “Are you kidding me?”
The dog wagged his tail, nuzzled the little creature with his nose. Whined again. Then he sat down and looked at John expectantly.
“What exactly am I supposed to do with this?” John asked. He turned the tiny thing in his hand. Nose to tail it was no bigger than two of his fingers. He could feel the tiny bones of its ribs. He could have killed it just by closing his hand tightly. It was a testament to Bear’s care and training that the dog hadn’t accidentally crushed it between his teeth.
Rain ran down Reese’s face and dripped off his nose. He moved his hand quickly to keep the kitten dry. He tucked it into his T-shirt pocket, then stood up and zipped his jacket nearly to the top. But the jacket was nearly soaked anyhow; it wouldn’t do much to keep the kitten dry.
“Are there any more?” John asked.
Bear stood up and looked at him eagerly. Evidently there weren’t.
“I don’t have time to nurse a kitten, Bear. I barely have time to deal with you.”
The dog cocked his head, then shook it. Water flew off his fur.
He thought briefly about taking the kitten to Finch. But with his current mood, his employer was likely to revoke both John’s man card and his library privileges. Hired assassins didn’t rescue tiny kittens, and reclusive billionaire geniuses did not nurse them back to health. Although Finch had proven surprisingly adept with Leila ”
There was a world of difference between a human child and a kitten.
Reese wasn’t even sure that his friend liked cats.
He was absolutely a dog person himself.
Bear peered up at him through the now-driving rain. His brown eyes were filled with absolutely confidence in his master.
Reese rolled his options through his mind. Someone who had spare time, or at least flexible time. That ruled out Dr. Tillman and Andrea Gutierrez. And Carter. And Fusco. Leila’s grandparents would have a heart attack if he turned up at their door. Judge Gates and his son didn’t seem like cat people. He needed someone nurturing, so Zoe Morgan was out; he doubted she could nurture a cactus. That left …
Lighting flashed, and the thunder cracked almost directly above them. Reese rubbed his forehead. He needed to get all of them out of the rain. Somewhere warm and dry, and preferably with good coffee.
“Ahhh,” Reese said aloud. The answer was obvious. It was Tuesday. She should be home by now. Back in the country, anyhow. He nodded thoughtfully. Bear shook his whole body again. “All right, boy. Let’s go find your baby a new home.”
He zipped his coat a little further and started out briskly. Bear, not surprisingly, stayed right beside him.
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