Daylight hadn't made it through the curtained windows. It was dull gray and cold in the small living room, the fire in the grate long cold. Where was Grubster?
Someone banged on the door again. "Open up. Come on, Mac, open the bloody door."
I recognized that irritated, sweet voice. I jerked the chair away from under the doorknob, turned the lock, and pulled open the door. Standing on the small porch was Special Agent Lacy Savich, known as Sherlock by everyone except her parents. Early-morning sunlight backlighted her. With all that red hair, she looked like a Titian painting come to life.
She was on me in an instant, hugging me tight. "Hi, Mac," she said, drawing back, giving me a big smile.
"My angel," I said, grabbing her up in my arms, and swinging her around. "I hadn't expected you this soon. What did you do, immediately hop a plane?"
She kissed my ear. "Yes, we took the red-eye." Then she said over my shoulder, "Hello, who are you?"
I let Sherlock slowly back down on her feet. We turned together to see Laura, in her sweats, her hair tangled around her flushed face, Grubster curling around her bare feet.
"So soon, Mac?"
"This is Sherlock, Laura. I got her through her final physical exam at the Academy. She would have failed miserably if I hadn't been there."
"Ha. He was noted for his magnificent brawn, but I had the brain power." Sherlock and Laura shook hands, Sherlock eyeing Laura like you'd expect a mother to do.
"Where's Savich?" I asked, giving Sherlock a final hug. "You did let him come with you, didn't you, Sherlock? I mean rather than leaving him home to take care of Scan? He's come in handy before, hasn't he?"
She laughed and poked me. "That man is a dream and don't you ever doubt it. We took Scan over to his grandmother, Savich's mom, who couldn't wait for us to leave so she could spoil him rotten.
"Hey, it's after eight o'clock in the morning, Mac. Dil-lon is walking the cliffs, checking for any recent signs of people close to the cottage. He wanted me to wait, to give you more sleeping time, but hey, I couldn't. I was worried about you. You're okay, Mac, really? And you too, Laura?"
I was wondering if Savich knew werewolf tracks when he saw them. "No one came back last night. Maybe the bears are hibernating."
"Both Dillon and I are good at finding bears. We're all together now, Mac, not just you two alone anymore." Sherlock began to examine me, not saying another word, just lightly touching my arms, my face. She pulled up my sweatshirt and began looking me over. "Your ribs okay now?" I felt her fingertips lightly brushing over my still-bruised middle.
"Yeah, I still get tired quicker than I used to, but it's better every day. Hey, Sherlock, don't pull down my pants."
"Oh, all right." She straightened again, then gave me several long looks. "How do you guys feel now after all that phenobarbital?"
Laura said, "I'm still just a bit on the groggy side, but it's nearly gone."
"Since I'm a manly man, I had almost no aftereffects."
I got a punch in the arm.
"I'm off to make some coffee," Laura said. "Everyone want some?"
I heard her moving around in the small kitchen that was separated from the living/dining room by a bar with three stools bellied up to it.
"Squawk."
"That's Nolan, and his first word of the new day." Laura had pulled off his cage cover.
Laura called out, "You can open his cage if you want to. All the windows are closed, he'll be just fine. Also, if you could sprinkle some sunflower seeds for him. I'm making him some toast right now. Yes, Grubster, I hear you, the world hears you. I'm going to open some cat food for you. Don't fret."
I watched Sherlock open Nolan's door, saw him stare at her a moment, then, a step at a time, venture outside his cage. He cocked his head at Sherlock. "Squawk."
He jumped to the back of one of the love seats. He took a sunflower seed from Sherlock's outstretched fingers, carefully dropped it on the sofa back, then hopped up on Sherlock's shoulder and began chewing on her hair. Sherlock began to laugh.
"Squawk."
"Eat your breakfast, Nolan," Sherlock said, and set him on the sofa back.
Grubster was meowing his head off. Then, suddenly, there was silence from him. He'd doubtless buried his face in a bowl of cat food.
"Come sit down, Sherlock," I said. "I don't remember how you like your coffee."
"Just a bit of fake sugar and a dollop of milk," Sherlock said to Laura. "Oh, if you don't have any of that stuff, black is just fine."