closely to those noises that seemed too purposeful to be just voices of
the storm.
At the table, Toby was wearing earphones and playing with a Game Boy.
His body language was different from that which he usually exhibited
when involved in an electronic game--no twitching, leaning, rocking
from side to side, bouncing in his seat. He was playing only to fill
the time.
Falstaff lay in the corner farthest from any window, the warmest spot
in the room. Occasionally he lifted his noble head, sniffing the air
or listening, but mostly he lay on his side, staring across the room at
floor level, yawning.
Time passed slowly. Heather repeatedly checked the wall clock, certain
that at least ten minutes had gone by, only to discover that a mere two
minutes had elapsed since she'd last looked. The two-mile walk to
Ponderosa Pines would take maybe twenty-five minutes in fair weather.
Jack might require an hour or even an hour and a half in the storm,
allowing for the hard slogging through knee-deep snow, detours around
the deeper drifts, and the incessant resistance of the gale-force
wind.
Once there, he should need half an hour to explain the situation and
marshal a rescue team. Less than fifteen minutes would be required for
the return trip even if they had to plow open some snowbound stretches
of road and driveway. At most he ought to be back in two hours and
fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour sooner than that.
The dog yawned. Toby was so still he might have been asleep sitting
up. They had turned the thermostat down so they could wear their ski
suits and be ready to desert the house without delay if necessary, yet
the place was still warm. Her hands and face were cool, but sweat
trickled along her spine and down her sides from her underarms. She
unzipped her jacket, though it interfered with the hip holster when it
hung loose.
When fifteen minutes had passed uneventfully, she began to think their
unpredictable adversary would make no move against them. Either it
didn't realize they were currently more vulnerable without Jack or it
didn't care.
From what Toby had said, it was the very definition of arrogance--never
afraid--and might operate always according to its own rhythms, plans,
and desires.
Her confidence was beginning to rise--when Toby spoke quietly and not
to her.
'No, I don't think so.'
Heather stepped away from the window.
He murmured, 'Well ... maybe.'
'Toby?' she said.
As if unaware of her, he stared at the Game Boy screen. His fingers
weren't moving on the controls. No game was under way: shapes and bold
colors swarmed across the miniature monitor, similar to those she had
seen twice before.
'Why?' he asked.
She put a hand on his shoulder.
