WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

them, so maybe it would work for her. If brandy could improve her state of mind

even marginally, she was prepared to drink the whole damn bottle.

But she did not have it in her to be a lush. She spent the next two hours

sipping at a single glass of Remy Martin.

When she tried to turn her mind away from thoughts of Streck, she was

relentlessly tormented by memories of Aunt Violet, and when she tried not to

think of Violet, she was right back to Streck again, and when she forced herself

to put both of them out of her mind, she thought of Travis Cornell, the man in

the park, and dwelling on him gave her no comfort either. He had seemed

nice—gentle, polite, concerned—and he had gotten rid of Streck. But he was

probably just as bad as Streck. If she gave him half a chance, Cornell would

probably take advantage of her the same way Streck was trying to do. Aunt Violet

had been a tyrant, twisted and sick, but increasingly it seemed that she had

been right about the dangers of interacting with other people.

Ah, but the dog. That was a different story. She had not been afraid of the dog,

not even when he had dashed toward the park bench, barking ferociously. Somehow,

she knew that the retriever—Einstein, his master had called him—was not barking

at her, that his anger was focused on Streck. Clinging to Einstein, she’d felt

safe, protected, even with Streck still looming over her.

Maybe she should get a dog of her own. Violet had abhorred the very idea of

house pets. But Violet was dead, forever dead, and there was nothing to prevent

Nora from having a dog of her own.

Except . .

Well, she had the peculiar notion that no other dog would give her the profound

feeling of security she had gotten from Einstein. She and the retriever had

enjoyed instant rapport.

Of course, because the dog rescued her from Streck, she might be attributing

qualities to him that he did not possess. Naturally, she would view him as a

savior, her valiant guardian. But no matter how vigorously she tried to disabuse

herself of the notion that Einstein was only a dog like any other, she still

felt he was special, and she was convinced no other dog would give her the

degree of protection and companionship that Einstein could provide.

A single glass of Remy Martin, consumed over two hours, plus thoughts of

Einstein, did in fact lift her spirits. More important, the brandy and memories

of the dog also gave her the courage to go to the kitchen telephone with the

determination to call Travis Cornell and offer to buy his retriever. After all,

he had told her he’d owned the dog only one day, so he couldn’t be deeply

attached to it. For the right price, he might sell. She paged through the

directory, found Cornell’s number, and dialed it.

He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

On hearing his voice, she realized that any attempt to buy the dog from him

would give him a lever with which he could attempt to pry his way into her life.

She had forgotten that he might be just as dangerous as Streck.

“Hello?” he repeated.

Nora hesitated.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

She hung up without saying a word.

Before she spoke with Cornell about the dog, she needed to devise an approach

that would somehow discourage him from thinking he could make a move on her if,

in fact, he was like Streck.

5

When the telephone rang at a few minutes before five o’clock, Travis was

emptying a can of Alpo into Einstein’s bowl. The retriever was watching with

interest, licking his chops but waiting until the last scraps had been scraped

from the can, exhibiting restraint.

Travis went for the phone, and Einstein went for the food. When no one answered

Travis’s first greeting, he said hello again, and the dog glanced away from his

bowl. When Travis still got no answer, he asked if anyone was on the line, which

seemed to intrigue Einstein because the dog padded across the kitchen to look up

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