“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

He was about to lift the tailgate when a second dog stepped out of the darkness. It was a tiny dog with pink mottled skin and just a few twisted wisps of fine gray hair. It was more skin than Nick had ever seen on a dog, and he couldn’t help sneering—it looked like a ninety-year-old man in a bathtub. Its jaw stuck out to one side and its tongue stuck out on the other; the effect was comical. “What is that thing?” he asked. “It looks like Yoda on a bad hair day.”

Alena glared at him. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Sorry—he just caught me a little off guard. What did you bring him along for?”

“Protection.”

Nick almost laughed, but he caught himself just in time. “Does he have a name?”

“Of course.”

Nick waited. “I could ask him myself, but I don’t speak Dog.”

“His name is Ruckus.”

Nick held out the back of his hand but the dog showed no interest. “Is he friendly?”

“Unless I tell him not to be.”

“What happens then? Don’t tell me—he raises a ruckus.”

“He can tear your sock off without removing your shoe.”

“You’re joking.”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, I believe you—besides, if something went wrong I wouldn’t want you giving me first aid.”

Ruckus bounced down from the tailgate and the four of them walked to the edge of the trees.

“Might as well start here,” Nick said. “How do you want to do this?”

“Just give us some room,” she said, summoning Trygg to her side.

Alena began just as she had done at the Patriot Center—by lifting both arms in the air and walking in slow circles.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked.

“Lessons are extra,” she said.

“Fine—put it on my bill.”

She glanced over at him. “I’m testing the air—the temperature, the humidity.”

“Why?”

“A dog can work longer in cooler temperatures; humidity will keep the scent down low.”

She held out her arms and gently shook them; she squatted down a little and straightened again.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I’m feeling my joints. No rain tomorrow.”

Nick had read about people who could predict the weather with uncanny accuracy due to their ability to sense changes in barometric pressure. It was more than folklore; there was a scientific basis for it. It was like putting a balloon in a vacuum chamber: When the pressure goes down, the balloon expands—and so do the tissues that surround human joints. Remarkable woman, Nick thought again.

Alena lowered her head and dangled her long hair in front of her face. She shook it.

“You’re checking the direction of the wind,” Nick said.

“The wind will move the scent away from the actual source—you have to allow for that.”