He was wearing a ribbed black sweater that was fine for the Georgia winter, along with black jeans and boots. A ski cap covered his hair, but his chin and jaw were covered with a matted, gray beard. His legs were thick and powerful.
He had been keeping his vigil from the woods the entire day, making sure that Lehrmann would be alone tonight. He had watched the Spinellis leave, knowing they were the last customers before Christmas, and smiled. His palms itched. He wiped them briefly on his sweater, then scratched the right one with the corner of his belt buckle. He looked through the binoculars again. Lehrmann was hanging a wreath on each of the dogs' cages.
"Very festive indeed," said the man.
The dogs made this one a challenge. He couldn't risk breaking into the warehouse and planting any bugs. He had used a combination of a long-range listening device that bounced an infrared beam off the windows, and a monitor that picked up any nearby cell phone signals. The arrangement still left gaps in the sound. And any time one of the damn dogs started barking, the infrared could have been a flashlight for all the dialogue he was picking up.
Lehrmann was unfolding a six-foot cardboard Santa Claus and hanging it on a wall.
"Now, that one is just plain tacky," said the watcher.
The cell phone monitor chirped. He squatted down and turned the volume up.
Lehrmann picked up his cell phone from his desk.
"Lehrmann's Guard Dogs," he said.
"Hi, Sam," said a familiar voice, and he clutched the phone hard for a moment. "You still there?"
"Hello, Mona," he said.
"It's Christmas Eve, Sam," she said. "I thought you might like some company. "
"I've got company," he said.
"You know what I mean," said Mona. "Dogs don't count. "
"Man's best friend," said Lehrmann. "Didn't you know that?"
"Only when the man has no woman," said Mona. "You're in Georgia, Sam. Not Alaska. Georgia. A man in Georgia doesn't need to spend the only Christmas Eve of the year with a bunch of dogs. "
"You been drinking, Mona?"
"It's going to be a beautiful night," she continued. "Crisp and clear, with a full moon. A full moon on Christmas Eve, Sam. That doesn't happen that often. Maybe we'll see Santa's sleigh flying across it. Yes, I have been drinking, Sam. I'm alone in Georgia on Christmas Eve, and I'm drinking. Can't I come over? You shouldn't be alone with a bunch of dogs. "
"Dogs are loyal, Mona," he said. He wished immediately that he hadn't.
She was silent. He thought for a moment that she had broken the connection, but then he heard her crying.
"How's Nicky?" he asked, awkwardly changing the subject.
"Nicky's a great, big, warm, wonderful pal," she said. "I am going to cuddle with Nicky tonight. I could be with you, roasting marshmallows in the fire . . . "
"I don't have a fireplace," he said.
"Please let me back into your life, Sam," she said softly. "You can't shut me out forever. "
"Good night, Mona," he said. "Merry Christmas. "
He broke the connection.
The man in the woods checked his watch, then glanced up at the sky. The sun was nearing the horizon. It would be an hour until nightfall. He looked through his binoculars to see Lehrmann sitting disconsolately at the desk, staring at his cell phone, then turning it off.
"Poor Sam," said the watcher. "Full moon and empty arms. "
An alarm signal went off, and Carson, a five-year-old German shepherd, looked up.
"Easy, boy," said Lehrmann. "Still got an hour. Plenty of time. Finish your dinner. "