Rachel Lee - Something Deadly

But Kato’s world remained beyond his reach, and Declan could only imagine what it must be like to have your most important sensory input through your nose. Did it create visions? Or just feelings? Was it pleasurable? Or merely informative?

Sphinxlike, Kato completed his examination and sat back on his narrow haunches, looking straight at Declan with those golden eyes.

“Hi, Kato.”

The tail twitched a little on the oak flooring and the ears relaxed backward a bit, not submissive, but a hint of welcome. Declan held out his hand, palm up. Kato considered it a moment, then nosed it aside.

Okay, they weren’t that far along.

Then Kato rose and trotted toward the kitchen, honoring the man by being willing to turn his back to him.

Declan straightened, accepting the honor and ignoring the way his knees—battered by too much basketball and soccer—creaked at the change in position.

The kitchen was bright, a mix of stainless steel countertops and appliances, with glass-fronted oak cabinets. The backsplash was steel, too, but the soffits over the cabinets were painted a delightful Chinese-red, bringing a huge burst of color into the nearly monochrome room.

Markie stood at an island, tossing a salad. She greeted him with another one of those smiles and said, “It won’t be long. Have a seat.”

He perched on the stool across the island from her and realized he was salivating for that salad. Physician or not, he didn’t eat nearly as well as he should, for lack of time.

“Somebody’s into cooking,” he said, indicating the kitchen, which did a fair job of impersonating a high-quality restaurant kitchen.

“Yeah.” She gave a little glance, her eyes dancing as she looked at him. With practiced ease, she sliced the fillets open and spooned in a homemade bread-crumb stuffing packed with minced sautéed zucchini, mushrooms and onions. “It’s my hobby. And my therapy. It cuts me loose after a long day at work.”

“I’m surprised you’re not too tired to bother.”

“What else would I do? Watch television?”

“You could walk on the beach.”

She laughed and put the fish in the oven, then began dicing a tomato. Her hands were nearly a blur, moving what was obviously a razor-sharp chef’s knife with a confidence that made him wince.

“That comes later. Although the longer I’m on the island, the less peaceful that becomes. It’s more like going to a huge party.”

He grinned. “Amen. The mountain can be a pretty good bolt hole, though. In the daytime, anyway.”

“I’ve been meaning to climb the volcano cone. I hear the view up there is breathtaking.”

“So is the smell of sulfur.”

She laughed again. “I still find myself wondering sometimes why I’m living at the foot of a volcano.”

“Dormant volcano,” he corrected. “It hasn’t erupted in three hundred years.”

She was a fascinating woman. He felt as if he had her full attention, even while she monitored a pot of boiling pasta and stirred a creamy white wine sauce.

“Just yesterday, in geological terms,” she retorted. Satisfied with the sauce, she turned it down to simmer, retrieved tableware and dishes, and set two places at the bar with cloth place mats and wineglasses. From the refrigerator she returned with a bottle of chardonnay and poured them each a glass.

Dec reached for his and offered a toast. “To hope.”

“To hope,” she agreed.

The wine was crisp on his tongue, and he rolled it around, savoring it.

“So,” Markie said as she began to serve salad into bowls, “what’s going on with the quarantine?”

“Maybe nothing.” Which was true.

“And maybe something?” Her eyes caught and held his, drawing him to places that seemed as haunting as her wolf’s gaze. “Something to do with Carter Shippey?”

“We don’t know what killed him. That’s all.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, letting him know she didn’t believe that was the full story, but that for now she was going to let it pass.

“How was your day?” he asked her, seizing on any safe topic he could think of.

“The usual,” she said, as if he would know. “The same thing you do, I expect, except I do it on animals.”

A smile flickered across his face. “Dogs and cats?”

“Mostly. Today I had an iguana and a rabbit, too.”

“Your job is harder than mine. You have to know about many more species.”

She laughed. “You know, the basics are pretty much the same for mammals. I have a different slew of diseases to know, that’s all. It gets interesting with the exotics, though. Since coming here, I’ve had to do some cramming. Iguanas, turtles and snakes weren’t something I focused much on before. But if worse comes to worse, I can always call a specialist.”

“The way I do.”

Smiles again, exchanged over the wineglasses.

“I bet,” he said, “you do more sterilizations than I do.”

At that she laughed outright, her eyes dancing merrily. “By far.”

The mahimahi was just coming out of the oven when Kato suddenly appeared in the kitchen, standing at the counter and staring out the window over the sink.

“Kato, get down.”

He ignored her.

“He listens well.” The remark was offered with a laugh.

Markie rolled her eyes. “It depends. When he’s in the mood, he’s obedient. It’s just that he’s rarely in the mood. Kato, get down.”

The fish, on its baking pan, sat on the nearby stove, but the dog didn’t spare it a glance. He was intent on something out back, something in the darkness. And his tail was down.

“I hate that,” Markie sighed.

“When he doesn’t listen?”

“No, when he stares out the window like that.”

“Maybe you’re picking up on his feelings.”

“Could be.”

Then, low in Kato’s throat, a deep growl began.

Markie swung around quickly to look. The chef’s knife had returned to her hand as if by magic, seemingly without her awareness. Declan saw Kato’s hackles rise.

“There’s someone out there,” she said.

“I’ll go look.”

But her free hand shot out, gripping his forearm. “Don’t, Declan. Whatever it is, it won’t try to get past Kato. It’s probably just somebody crossing the backyards.”

The knife in her other hand belied the confidence in her eyes.

“Maybe,” Declan said. “Does he do that often?”

Her gaze wavered. “No.”

“Then maybe I should look anyway.”

“Please. Don’t bother. Whatever it is, we’re safe in here.”

He forced himself to relax onto his stool because it seemed her wish, but he looked at the dog again and didn’t at all like what he saw. Maybe that was what Markie was reacting to, the strength of Kato’s response.

The hair was raised along Kato’s entire spine. His head was lowered between his shoulders as he stared out the window, a definite don’t you dare come near me posture.

“Kato?” Markie called him again.

This time he glanced at her, his golden eyes inscrutable, a small whine coming from his throat. Then he turned back to the window.

The neighborhood erupted.

Declan had his limits, and he reached them as the barking spread like a wave through the surrounding area. Dogs did that sometimes, he knew, but rarely were so many barking at the same time, both indoors and out, and he remembered how they had done that last night, about the time that Carter Shippey had died. It made him wonder about things like poisonous gases. Surely the dogs couldn’t smell a virus?

But maybe they could. Recent studies seemed to indicate that they could smell nearly undetectable enzymes in cancer cells. Why not a marauding virus?

Leaving the delicious aromas behind, he ignored Markie’s protest and stepped out through the sliding glass door onto her patio. The night smelled the same to him as it always did, the soft scents of the sea, the greener scents of the growing things. The ceaseless breeze blew gently.