Bitter Sweets

daughter, too,” she added.

    Lisa nodded, studying her coffee as though the swirls of cream-like a fortune-teller’s tea leaves-might tell her something. “Mostly,” she said, “I just want to see Brian again. I don’t have many memories of him, but the ones I have are some of the happiest of my life.”

    Setting down her coffee mug, Lisa covered her face with her hands and began to cry softly. “I don’t know what to do,” she said.

    Savannah reached across the table and placed her hand on the woman’s arm, trying to impart some degree of comfort and reassurance.

    “We’ve checked this guy out, Lisa,” she said, “from top to bottom. This time it isn’t Earl. It’s Brian. This time it’s something good coming into your life, not something bad. It’s true. You can trust me.”

    Lisa uncovered her face and stared at Savannah with a haunted, hunted look that Savannah would never forget. “Trust isn’t something that comes easy for me anymore,” she said.

    “I can understand that.” Savannah patted her arm. “But can you bring yourself to do it... for yourself, for Christy...one more time?”

    Slowly, Lisa Mallock nodded her head and a light of hope entered those tired eyes. “Okay,” she said with quiet conviction. “I’ll trust somebody. One more time.”

    By the time Savannah left Lisa Mallock’s home, the hour was much later than she had thought. Once Savannah had convinced the worried mother of her child’s safety and Savannah’s own altruistic intentions, the visit had turned more social. The two women had shared a few more cups of coffee and enough personal information to convince Savannah that she would like to pursue a friendship with this gutsy, compassionate lady. Apparently, being a nurse had required some of the same personality traits as law enforcement. They had found they had a lot in common.

    Feeling good about the turn of events, Savannah left the house and strolled down the deserted sidewalk toward her parked car. The air currents had shifted, the Santa Ana winds abated, and an onshore flow of evening breeze had covered the city with a thick layer of fog.

    The streetlamps glowed golden, haloed by the mist, their haze-diffused light casting a dim, surreal glow over the quiet neighborhood. Children, parents, and pets had deserted the streets and were behind closed doors, attending to homework, late evening meals, and the perpetual television viewing. Only the trash cans-beige for recycling, green for normal-stood, silently waiting for the morning collection.

    As Savannah approached her car, a particularly cool breath of evening air whirled around her, invading the thin linen jacket she wore. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shuddered.

    It was a feeling she had experienced several times before, a distinct, unpleasant sensation that had little to do with the weather.

    Pausing, she stood still in the middle of the sidewalk and studied her surroundings.

    Silence.

    Stillness.

    But for all the quiet, the air didn’t seem empty. She didn’t feel alone.

    Straining to hear, she listened for anything: the sound of muffled footsteps, movement in the nearby shrubs. . . even the sound of another human being breathing.

    But there was nothing. Nothing, except for her overpowering premonition that someone, somewhere was watching, waiting, listening...even as she was.

    “Who’s there?” she asked, knowing there would be no response.

    But there was.

    From the darkness behind the closest house came the deep, bass growl of a dog. A big dog. Probably about the size and temperament of Beowulf. Then the animal began barking in earnest.

    As it was hidden by the shadows, Savannah couldn’t see the creature, but she didn’t have to. She wasn’t interested in being introduced. One ferocious beast per day was her quota.

    Without wasting another moment, she hurried to the Camaro, jumped inside, snapped down the door locks, and started the engine. A few seconds later, she was headed down the street and out of the neighborhood. There wasn’t anyone there, she told herself as she pulled onto the better lit, more heavily traveled Harrington Boulevard. It was just the dog. That’s what you sensed. The dog. It was looking at you and ... Sure, that was all it had been, she decided. But a voice inside told her not to believe it. That little something inside knew better.

    You know it wasn’t just the dog, she warned herself. It was just the dog . . . and