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coffee table and she jumped, heart hammering in her chest. Her little terrier bolted from beneath the table in a blur of reddish gold fur, yipping his head off.
    “Oh, you little prick!” Cherie said, one hand over her chest, feeling the rapid thunder of her racing heart as she caught her breath.
    “What’s going on?” Angela asked.
    “Brady’s having a fit.”
    The dog stood in front of the front door, barking and sniffing. He turned to look at her and then erupted in another round of lunatic barks, edging closer to the door.
    “What’s he barking at?” Angela asked.
    “No idea,” Cherie said, throwing back the blanket and sitting up.
    She wore an old, faded green Coventry High T-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. Her red hair up in a ponytail and no makeup at all, she was not prepared for visitors, so she prayed that this wasn’t Doug bringing one of the guys home from the garage. She could see it now, one of his buddies too drunk to drive in the blizzard, ending up sleeping on her sofa.
    “Ange, honey, let me go. I think this might be Doug.”
    “If it’s not, call me back. I’m bored.”
    “At least you still have power,” Cherie said, walking to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
    They said their good nights and Cherie ended the call. Brady kept barking, his nails scritch-scratching against the small rectangle of tiles by the front door. Cherie unlocked the door and opened it, hugging herself against the frigid air that swept in. Even the streetlights were out, but she could see there was no car in the driveway or on the street in front of the house.
    Barking, Brady darted past her legs and squeezed out through the six-inch gap she’d opened.
    “Damm it,” Cherie snapped. “Come back here, you spaz!”
    But there was no stopping the little dog. Brady rocketed down the steps and into the snow. It was so deep that he was practically lost, jumping and barking and spinning in circles as the wind swept brutally across the yard.
    “Shit,” she whispered. “Brady, please, come on! Get inside!”
    For a moment she held out hope, but the dog just kept barking. She sighed, getting more irritated by the moment, and slipped her feet into the boots she’d kicked off by the door earlier in the day. Still clutching her cell phone, she stepped out into the storm, realizing immediately that it had been a mistake to come out—even for a minute—without a jacket.
    The cold bit into her alabaster skin and her teeth chattered.
    “Come on, baby,” she said, descending the few steps to reach the dog.
    It seemed like at least a foot had fallen already and she winced as the driving snow pelted her face. The cold sank its teeth into her, digging all the way down to her bones. Cherie started across the lawn, boots sinking deeply into the heavy, wet snow. The wind struck her so hard that she staggered, trying to keep her balance, and as it whipped past her ears she almost thought she could hear a voice, a hushed whisper.
    Brady paused his barking, cocking his head, ears at attention. He seemed to be staring at her as he took a snow-shuffling step backward. Flakes had built up on his snout and now the wind drove against the little dog hard enough to ruffle his fur.
    The wind whispered to her again and this time Cherie turned, eyes narrowed against the storm. In the blinding whiteness she could make out the warm lights inside her house, and that just pissed her off more. She spun on the dog, took a step toward him, and Brady erupted into a fresh round of barking. Cherie knew all his tones, just as a mother knows the difference in cries of hunger or panic or pain in her infant, but these were new to her, a plaintive, frantic barking that tugged at her heartstrings. If not for the storm she would have wanted to grab the dog up and snuggle with him, give him comfort. Right now, she just wanted to kick his ass.
    “That’s it!” she said, slogging toward him, turning her face away from the stinging brutality of