Disturbance

FOUR

I felt better after making the call, better yet when they arrived. At different times, Ben Sheridan and Ethan Shire had each lived in our home. In many ways, they were the brothers I’d never had. Ben, a forensic anthropologist, also handled search dogs. Ethan, currently his roommate, worked at the paper with me.

I received a warm greeting from their shepherds, Altair and Bingle, and from Bool, the bloodhound. Cody leaped from a counter to the top of the refrigerator and gave me a look that had the accusation “traitor” written all over it.

The dogs seemed puzzled when they realized our own mutts weren’t present, but the moment Ben and Ethan took out Bingle’s and Altair’s working harnesses, their focus changed and they were all business. Ben gave me the bloodhound’s leash-Bool wasn’t being put to work yet, but there was always the chance they’d need him later. Or maybe Ben knew I’d feel a little better going outside with a big dog next to me. Bool is as friendly and harmless as they come, but whoever was out there wouldn’t know that.

“Let’s have a look around,” Ben said, unlocking the sliding door that leads to our patio.

I walked a few yards behind Ethan and Ben. We soon discovered that my garden hose was stretched over to the house next door-not Jack’s house but the one on the other side, the one just north of mine.

“What assholes,” Ethan said. “Stealing your water! Let’s go have a word with them.”

“We wouldn’t get far,” I said. “That house has been empty for just over a month. It’s in foreclosure.”

We broke off conversation because it was clear the dogs were interested in a scent. We hurried with them as they made their way down the street, away from the beach. They came to a halt at something one doesn’t find too often on a June night on a Las Piernas beach street-an empty parking space.

“Don’t suppose you remember what kind of vehicle was parked here earlier?” Ben asked.

“No, sorry.”

He looked back toward the house. “I think the…” He made a motion with his hand, as if stirring the air would help him find the word he wanted.

“Hosers,” Ethan supplied.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whoever is trying to play tricks on you-they were probably parked here.”

“More than one?” I asked.

“No way to really be sure. From the behavior of the dogs-just a guess, mind you-I suspect just one. But that’s a guess. It could have been however many could fit in the missing car.”

“Wouldn’t take more than one to stretch a hose over a fence,” I said.

“No. But it might take more than one to work up the nerve to play a prank.”

“The Moths… you know who I mean?”

“The idiots who blog about Parrish?”

“Yes. They posted something saying I’d get a message from them. Do you think this is it?”

“Could be,” Ben said, “but what the hell is the message?”

We ignored Ethan’s various attempts to find a humorous interpretation and walked back down the street, looking for footprints or other signs of the prankster-or pranksters-but didn’t find any.

Back at the house, I thanked them for coming over and said I’d be fine. Ben wasn’t fooled. “Ethan, you can take the guest room. I’m taking the couch.” He looked at me. “You, try to get a little sleep.”

I started to protest, but Ethan interrupted to say they had brought overnight gear. “Including stuff for the dogs. Ben’s even brought what he needs for his classes tomorrow.”

“And you?”

“My classes are all online.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I’m going to ride in with you in the morning.”

“And who’s going to take you home at the end of the day?” I asked.

“You. We’re staying here until Frank gets back.”

“He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“Okay, we’ll be here at least until then.”

I wasn’t sure I liked all these decisions being made without my input, but I couldn’t deny a sense of relief. Still…

Seeing my hesitation, Ben said quietly, “I got a call from an Aaron Mikelson today.”

“Shit. I did not give him your number.”

“I know you didn’t. I can imagine how you felt about getting that call yourself.”

I looked at him, saw what I hadn’t registered before-he hadn’t been sleeping, either.

Ben and I were among the few who could say we’d survived an attack by Nick Parrish. It was an extremely small club. The dues were damned high.

Ethan and I had been through a separate hell. Once a hard drinker, he had caused a scandal at the paper that alienated his fellow reporters-I was one of the few who stood by him when he returned from rehab. He returned the favor when we were taken captive one night-he saved my life, although he suffered a near-fatal gunshot wound in the process. So there was a bond of survival with him, too. He was the slightly pesky younger brother, I suppose. The one who shared my ability for finding trouble.

I wouldn’t trade either of them for the world.

“Well, we’re staying here,” Ethan said.

“Thanks,” I said.

I felt safe. Until the first body showed up.