It was a togetherness that made me wonder.
What if?
Headlights were cruising by on the highway.
We finally fumble-rolled and slid off the table, only to find a dog watching us, paws crossed and head on paws.
“He looks hungry,” I ventured.
Isak only grunted. “Go wash. There is a towel in the car. We will be leaving soon.”
I eyed him. Were we back to limited communications? Had that been a momentary lapse?
Though unfed – for chocolate bars seemed unwise food for him – the dog hopped into the back of the car when invited. The steering wheel was in my hands again.
Mind unclouded, sore and abraded below, but strangely at peace, despite the recent murder – and how screwy was that – I drove us south-west.
We had a dog, it seemed, until we reached the right town.
I also had an Isak who was changing. For the better, I thought, hoped, prayed.
He had recently killed a man, and with no remorse. How could he ever be trusted? Just because his lovemaking was less cruel… well, less distant. Was distant the right word?
I remembered the pills on time and watched him swallow. Whatever this was, it was better than before.
Then I remembered something else.
“The passenger on that truck filmed me. Does it matter? It might go viral.”
He only stared.
I thought it might. It depended on where and who he showed it to. Isak seemed unworried. In spite of my CIA past, I might not show up on anyone’s facial recognition database, but still. Still… I could extrapolate. If it went viral, someone who hated Isak might see it.
CHAPTER 10
ISAK
At Eight PM, the town of Borgeman was livelier than expected. A cattle sale was on, as was a biker meet-up from the looks of all the motorbikes parked on the main street. This was cattle country, so the former wasn’t a shock. And there was definitely a vet… and one of them was female. I found her easily, and by the time she opened the clinic, we’d bought both dog food and burgers.
Banjo had slurped up half of the filling from Red’s burger when it slid to the dirt at a gas station stop. So the dog food can was currently unopened.
“No.” The vet straightened and placed the scanner on the stainless-steel examination table by her elbow. “He isn’t microchipped.”
No lab coat, just a T-shirt and jeans. Such a disappointment. All my TV show standards about veterinarians were wrong. “Okay.”
I thought a while, ignoring Dr. Vicky or Debbie or whatever. She wouldn’t protest if we stayed here all night, but I had no real need of that. No microchip. “And you don’t recognize him?”
I waved at Banjo, who promptly sat back and barked at me with a deep woof. I raised my eyebrows.
“No.” Dr. Vickie reached down to pat the dog. “There are a lot of cattle dogs kept around here. He might also be from further away because—”
“Because of the cattle sale.” I finished her sentence. I eyed the critter. “You can stay with us for a while, boy. Just don’t get too settled.”
Anything could happen. I was currently unsure of my direction.
He pricked his ears, whined, and held up the paw she had bandaged. I wondered how long it would last before he chewed it off. It would heal in a week apparently. A week of rest.
“So there is an animal rehoming refuge the next town over?”
The vet nodded.
Red frowned. “You can’t just leave him in one of those.”
“We can’t keep him forever.” We… using that pronoun made me feel odd.
She folded her arms in protest but seemed less certain when she regarded Banjo.
“Red, we are the least likely couple to be given a Great Pet Owner award.”
“This is true,” she said reluctantly, as if straining the words through her heart. “He is super cute, though. But you…” She eyed me. “Best Serial-killer Award, maybe?”
I guffawed. Ridiculous. But Red knew that Miss Vet couldn’t reveal anything, so here we were making dark jokes. Here I was laughing at them. The vet looked as if she wished to crawl under a table and hide.
I had killed a great number of people. Mostly women.
Me. The man who almost married, who used to, on occasion, champion lost causes.
Who threw his fiancée’s cellphone into the sea in a fit of anger.
Which really was not on the same scale as murder. However, any normal man, assuming he’d somehow forgotten, would be horrified if told he was a murderer. Me, how did I feel? I knew it was wrong, and I wanted to avoid it in future.
I knew it was wrong… was that a new thing? I shook myself back to the present.
“That was poor taste, Red. Way too macabre. Okay. Maybe we can keep him until that paw heals.”
“Great!”
I left the vet to close up, strolled outside with Red and a leashed and collared Banjo to our new pick-up… new ute. This one was white and dusty. Dented too. The vet hadn’t protested the exchange. No wonder. What did she do with this thing? Herd buffalo? I walked around it, checking all the damage, the tires, looking under the hood then slamming it closed. The rust-colored dirt was everywhere.
Moving on. As long as it gets us to the next place.
Red peeled off the side of the building where she’d been leaning. I held out my hand to her, and nearly took hers when she offered it.
I stopped myself. The accidental gesture jarred. I was not going there. Make her want, need me, need to stay, but affection was not forthcoming. I didn’t understand the pleasure people got from it anyway.
But I used to, my mind reminded me, dredging up the scenes from my life pre-mesmer, before I nearly married. The
