"Thanks, Sookie. This'll save me some trouble."

I nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You seem kind of distant today."

I looked at him closely. He looked just like he always did. But his mind was closed to me. How could he do that? The only other mind completely closed to me was Bill's, because of his vampire state. But Sam was sure no vampire.

"Just missing Bill," I said deliberately. Would he lecture me about the evils of dating a vampire?

Sam said, "It's daytime. He couldn't very well be here."

"Of course not," I said stiffly, and was about to add, "He's out of town." Then I asked myself if that was a smart thing to do when I had even a hint of suspicion in my heart about my boss. I left the office so abruptly that Sam stared after me in astonishment.

When I saw Arlene and Sam having a long conversation later that day, their sidelong glances told me clearly that I was the topic. Sam went back to his office looking more worried than ever. But we didn't have any more chitchat the rest of the day.

Going home that evening was hard because I knew I'd be alone until morning. When I'd been alone other evenings, I'd had the reassurance that Bill was just a phone call away. Now he wasn't. I tried to feel good about being guarded once it was dark and Bubba crawled out of whatever hole he'd slept in, but I didn't manage it.

I called Jason, but he wasn't home. I called Merlotte's, thinking he might be there, but Terry Bellefleur answered the phone and said Jason hadn't been in.

I wondered what Sam was doing tonight. I wondered why he never seemed to date much. It wasn't for want of offers, I'd been able to observe many times.

Dawn had been especially aggressive.

That evening I couldn't think of anything that pleased me.

I began wondering if Bubba was the hitman—hitvam-pire?—Bill had called when he wanted Uncle Bartlett bumped off. I wondered why Bill had chosen such a dim-witted creature to guard me.

Every book I picked up seemed wrong, somehow. Every television show I tried to watch seemed completely ridicu­lous. I tried to read my Time and became incensed at the determination to commit suicide that possessed so many nations. I pitched the magazine across the room.

My mind scrabbled around like a squirrel trying to get out of a cage. It couldn't light on anything or be comfortable anywhere.

When the phone rang, I jumped a foot. "Hello?" I said harshly.

"Jason's here now," Terry Bellefleur said. "He wants to buy you a drink."

I thought uneasily about going out to the car, now that it was dark; about coming home to an empty house, at least a house I would have to hope was empty. Then I scolded my­self because, after all, there would be someone watching the house, someone very strong, if very brainless.

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute," I said.

Terry simply hung up. Mr. Chatterbox.

I pulled on a denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt and, looking both ways, crossed the yard to my car. I'd left on every outside light, and I unlocked my car and scooted inside quick as a wink. Once inside the car, I relocked my door.

This was sure no way to live.

I AUTOMATICALLY PARKED in the employee lot when I got to Merlotte's. There was a dog pawing around the Dumpster, and I patted him on the head when I went in. We had to call the pound about once a week to come get some stray or dumped dogs, so many of them pregnant it just made me sick.

Terry was behind the bar. "Hey," I said, looking around. "Where's Jason?" "He ain't here," Terry said. "I haven't seen him this eve­ning. I told you so on the phone."

I gaped at him. "But you called me after that and said he had come in."

"No, I didn't."

We stared at each other. Terry was having one of his bad nights, I could tell. His head was writhing around on the inside with the snakes of his army service and his battle with alcohol and drugs. On the outside, you could see he was flushed and sweating despite the air conditioning, and his movements were jerky and clumsy. Poor Terry.

"You really didn't?" I asked, in as neutral a tone as pos­sible.

"Said so, didn't I?" His voice was belligerent.

I hoped none of the bar patrons gave Terry trouble tonight.

I backed out with a conciliatory smile.

The dog was still at the back door. He whined when he saw me.

"Are you hungry, fella?" I asked. He came right up to me, without the cringing I'd come to expect from strays. As he moved more into the light, I saw that this dog had been recently abandoned, if his glossy coat was any indicator. He was a collie, at least mostly. I started to step into the kitchen to ask whoever was cooking if they had any scraps for this guy, but then I had a better idea.

"I know bad ol' Bubba is at the house, but maybe you could come in the house with me," I said in that baby voice I use with animals when I think nobody's listening. "Can you pee outside, so we don't make a mess in the house? Hmmm, boy?"

As if he'd understood me, the collie marked the corner of the Dumpster.

"Good fella! Come for a ride?" I opened my car door, hoping he wouldn't get the seats too dirty. The dog hesitated. "Come on, sugar, I'll give you something good to eat when we get to my place, okay?" Bribery was not necessarily a bad thing.

After a couple more looks and a thorough sniffing of my hands, the dog jumped onto the passenger seat and sat look­ing out the windshield like he'd committed himself to this adventure.

I told him I appreciated it, and I tickled his ears. We set off, and the dog made it clear he was used to riding.

"Now, when we get to the house, buddy," I told the collie firmly, "we're gonna make tracks for the front door, okay? There's an ogre in the woods who'd just love to eat you up."

The dog gave an excited yip.

"Well, he's not gonna get a chance," I soothed him. It sure was nice to have something to talk to. It was even nice he couldn't talk back, at least for the moment. And I didn't haveto keep my guard up because he wasn't human. Relaxing. "We're gonna hurry."

"Woof," agreed my companion.

"I got to call you something," I said. "How about... Buffy?"

The dog growled.

"Okay. Rover?"

Whine.

"Don't like that either. Hmmm." We turned into my drive­way.

"Maybe you already have a name?" I asked. "Let me check your neck." After I turned off the engine, I ran my fingers through the thick hair. Not even a flea collar. "Some­one's been taking bad care of you, sweetie," I said. "But not anymore. I'll be a good mama." With that last inanity, I got my house key ready and opened my door. In a flash, the dog pushed past me and stood in the yard, looking around him alertly. He sniffed the air, and a growl rose in his throat.

"It's just the good vampire, sugar, the one that's guarding the house. You come on inside." With some constant coax­ing, I got the dog to come into the house. I locked the door behind us instantly.

The dog padded all around the living room, sniffing and peering. After watching him for a minute to be sure he wasn't going to chew on anything or lift his leg, I went to the kitchen to find something for him to eat. I filled a big bowl with water. I got another plastic bowl Gran had kept lettuce in, and I put the remains of Tina's cat food and some leftover taco meat in it. I figured if you'd been starving, that would be acceptable. The dog finally worked his back to the kitchen and headed for the bowls. He sniffed at the food and raised his head to give me a long look.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any dog food. That's the best I could come up with. If you want to stay with me, I'll get some Kibbles 'N Bits." The dog stared at me for a few more seconds, then bent his head to the bowl. He ate a little meat, took a drink, and looked up at me expectantly. "Can I call you Rex?" A little growl. "What about Dean?" I asked. "Dean's a nice name." A pleasant guy who helped me at a Shreveport bookstore was named Dean. His eyes looked kind of like this collie's, ob­servant and intelligent. And Dean was a little different; I'd never met a dog named Dean. "I'll bet you're smarter than Bubba," I said thoughtfully, and the dog gave his short, sharp bark.