I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "You of all people should know, Sheriff. Wasn't it you that sent the Riley's to my cabin?"
He nodded, wincing. "Humor me."
"The Rileys showed up on my doorstep this morning asking for help. Reb and I even did this the old-fashioned way. Nothing spooky or other-worldly to it. We tracked his scent from his back porch to this spot. The trail ended here, and we called you in. The end." I looked him in the eyes, even if it did almost break my neck. "Now you and I both know that if there are bites on that boy, they can be matched. And I know they won't match Rebel. So unless you are going to arrest us both, we’re going home."
Jeffries started to speak, but Dunwood cut him off. "She's right. I don't think she'd cover up a kill and then lead us straight to it. Besides, Reb's earned the benefit of the doubt." He hesitated. When he spoke, there was a hint of apology in his voice. "You two can go home, but don't plan on taking any long trips. And we're going to need a print of Reb's bite."
I nodded. "We'll come by the jail tomorrow morning if you can have something ready to take the imprint."
He grinned sheepishly. "I'll call the big boys and see what they use." He glanced at Jeffries and then back to me. "Make it first thing." He turned to greet the county coroner who had just made it to the scene.
Taking that as a dismissal, Reb and I turned and walked away without another word. As soon as we were out of sight, I slipped off his collar and we started loping for home. We had almost reached the edge of the woods surrounding our small cabin when we heard the laughter.
Not the kind of laughter that would remind one of friends and good times. No, this sounded more like the laughter you would expect to find in a torture chamber emitted from the chief punisher. It was coming from the woods, but seemingly from all directions at once, echoing through the trees. Glancing at Rebel, I realized he couldn't get a lock on it, either.
Worse, area sniffing only brought in scents of me, Rebel, and coyote, plus the very faint, latent scent of chickens from the Rileys’ earlier visit. Those clairvoyant powers I don't have kicked up a notch. This was so not good.
Chapter 3
There was a reason I had chosen cold over the invasion of my living space with the Rileys. Wolves are territorial creatures. We value our privacy and our living space. My cabin is my home, my den, and my safe haven. It's on the small side, which suits me perfectly. Outside of the bathroom, you can stand at any spot in the cabin and see everything in the whole place.
My workshop was twice the size of my cabin. There, I liked the space. By trade, I'm a master stone carver. Indiana Limestone is my specialty.
In years past, the local limestone fabrication mill would deliver a huge block of stone to my workshop and set it up for me. Then I would spend months turning the rough block into a thing of beauty, which they would then pick up and send to their end customer. Oh, for the good old days of last year.
Today is the day of CNC machines. Don't ask me what the initials stand for. I've never been able to figure it out. These machines make it possible to code a program into a computer that will turn out a work of art. That art can then be duplicated with precision, over and over again. In a matter of hours.
When the local mill upgraded with state-of-the-art CNC, I thought our working relationship had ended. Luckily, the owner liked my style. Now they use the machines to rough out the statue or carving, then call me in to breathe life into the machine-made art. This cuts my time—not to mention my paycheck—down to a few scant days. Because of this, they can no longer justify double shipping the stone, so now I do my work at the mill. That is when they have work for me. Which leaves me with an abundance of space. One of these days, I'll find something to fill it.
I stretched out in bed and glanced over to see Reb still sleeping on his bright yellow fuzzy rug in front of the fireplace. The fire had died down to embers, but it wasn't too chilly yet. I had electric heaters, too, if needed, but hated to use them for the cost.
My brain ran down its mental to-do list for the day. Take Reb by the Sheriff's office to do an imprint. Put in a few hours at the Fabrication Mill working on the commissioned wolf statue that I was already falling behind on. Call my buddy Mason Hays at the FBI and alert him to the new crisis in my life. Track down the coyote that killed Jimmy Riley. Search the woods at the back of the cabin for the source of that evil laughter last night. And take something for my headache.
There was something else lurking at the back of my mind that I just couldn't drag forward. Something I couldn't quite remember, but had to do today. Well, if it was important, it would come to me. It wasn't like I was going to spend the day laying around in bed.
I stretched again. Although the idea had its possibilities.
As I said, my cabin is small. Just a few steps from my bed and I was in the kitchen. At the foot of my bed stood my brown suede couch, and to the left of my bed was my brown overstuffed suede chair for reading. Both had colorful blue and red hand-crocheted afghans draped over the backs for snuggling. The afghans were beginning to show wear, but I would keep them out until they were nothing more than bits of yarn. My mother had made them.
My kitchen was actually a kitchenette. Sink, stove, refrigerator, and less than a yard of total counter space. A round table for two with bright red placemats and a vase of cattails (I loved the irony) completed the small but functional room.
I opened the fridge for my lifeblood. Diet soda is to me what I imagine blood would be to a vampire. Not that I'm saying vampires exist. I really don't have a clue. I'm not discounting them, though, considering the Benandanti were supposed to have died out back in the late 1600's after the Roman Inquisition.
Sipping my soda, I turned to eye my one extravagance wistfully. Sharing a wall with the bathroom was a small two-person Jacuzzi hot tub. Closing my eyes, I imagined how good it would feel taking the chill out of my bones with all that hot, pulsating water.
Reb woofed and I opened my eyes. "I know, I know. But you gotta admit it's tempting." Or not. Rebel never did understand my obsession with the hot tub. A lukewarm, or even down-right chilly, stream or pond was more to his liking.
I went through my morning duties quickly, the slight chill lending speed to my movements as I took the briefest of showers and hastily dressed in my standard blue jeans and oversized men's flannel shirt. I lived for comfort. As the only man of interest to me happened to be halfway across the country in Washington, DC, I didn't have much to dress up for. I poured Reb some food into his big yellow bowl and pushed a pop tart into the toaster while I dialed Mason's number. Having him on speed dial helped.
"Hays," he answered.
"Heya, Mason," I said softly. Talking to Mason always made me feel better. Besides Reb, he was the only one I really had in the world. The one who had stood by me during that awful period around my family's murder. Through all the trials of being fostered out to different homes, never really belonging. Yet talking to him always made me feel worse, too. Because he could never know me for who and what I truly was. So in the end, it was just me and Reb against the world. But sometimes a girl needs someone who can talk as well as listen.
"Taz," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. "What's up?"
"I Found someone yesterday. A teenage hunter out in the park. He was a dark one." Mason knew what I could do. "It looks like he was killed by a wolf."
Nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, I heard a distant conversation as Mason excused himself from wherever he was at.
"Okay, I can talk now," he said. "Are you sure it was a wolf kill?" He knew the importance of that fact. My parents and lone sister had been victims of a serial killer. With Mason's help, I had been tracking him for 16 long years. The only constant in his killing spree was that he always struck after a fatal wolf attack. Well, that was the only constant Mason knew. I was pretty sure that his victims were all werewolves. I knew my mother and sister were. I figured my dad was just at the wrong place
at the wrong time.
"The Sheriff seems to think so. A wolf or a really big dog. I didn't get a close look at the body. He'd been buried. They even want a bite imprint from Reb."
"Buried?" He sounded confused. That made two of us.
"Yeah. A shallow grave in the corner of the park. Coyote tracks all over the place, but one of the deputies said the bites were way too big for a coyote. And I've never heard of a person having a coyote pack for pets, so I can't see a human burying a coyote kill out in the middle of the woods. Any ideas?"
"Not a one." He paused. "Except that maybe with him being buried the Beast won't see this as a true wolf kill. Especially if that fact makes the headlines."
The Beast. Mason's name for the unknown killer. Apt, I thought.
"I don't know what I hope anymore. Maybe if the Beast comes to Spencer, I could get a scent of him." Oops. "Then Reb and I could go after him." Way to cover your tracks there, Taz, I thought.
I was tired of waiting for the killer's next move. It would be nice to have a fresh trail to follow. Then I realized what I was wishing for and immediately took it back. The Benandanti have always been the protectors of their towns, and here I was wishing for a murder so I could get a scent. Some Good Walker I am. Not to mention the fact that I would most likely be the beast’s target. Being the lone werewolf of Spencer.
"Don't you two go off half-cocked," he said. "Look, I've got some personal time built up. I should be able to wrap up things here and be there by tomorrow afternoon. Can you and Reb behave till then?"
I grinned. "I think we can control ourselves till then."
"Just stay safe. I know you have your permit. You may want to start packing that .38 Lady Smith of yours. Better to have it and not need it..."
"Than to need it and not have it. I know the drill. It's in my pack now. And the plus is that if I don't have time to get it out, I can clobber them with the pack."
He laughed. "That's my girl. I'll give you a call when I hit town tomorrow."
"Fly safe."
We disconnected. It was good to have a friend. Mason had been a fresh young recruit of only twenty-four when he'd drawn the case of my families' murder. He had lost his entire family in a house fire just a few months before that. Our shared sense of loss had resulted in our bonding.
It's true that opposites attract. I've always been the athletic type and Mason...well, Mason was a geek. A fit geek, yes. But a geek none the less. Still, it was nice knowing that someone had my back. Maybe I wouldn't have to do this alone after all.
With a lighter heart, I packed Reb into the back of my Jeep. He looked at the soft top covering the Jeep and looked at me. I shook my head.
"No wind in the fur today, boy," I said. "Don't forget I'm skin, not fur. If I can learn to drive with paws, we'll talk. Otherwise, the top stays on."
He woofed but settled in. I only lived a few miles outside of Spencer, so within minutes we were at the jail. I had called the Sheriff to let him know we were on our way and to make sure they were ready for us. We walked in and he greeted us with a baseball bat.
A giant pink plastic baseball bat.
Dunwood shrugged. "It was the best I could do on short notice."
I don't know what I had imagined, but that wasn't it. After a few minutes of Reb taking chunks out of the plastic, they finally got it right and had a set of pretty decent teeth marks on a part of the bat that was still mostly intact.
"That should do it. I'll take this over to the Coroner and have him do the match up." He looked at me and gave me a half smile that I'm sure would send most female hearts aflutter. His eyes really were beautiful. Today they looked almost blue instead of gray. He stared at me, waiting, and I realized I had missed a piece of conversation.
"I'm sorry, I must have missed that last part?"
"I said you can go for now. Once the match is done, I'll call you with the results. Just stay close, okay? I'm already taking flack for not locking Reb up till we get proof. Seems the innocent until proven guilty doesn't work for wolves."
Truer words were never spoken.
ALTHOUGH SITUATED IN Indiana, the heart of the Midwest, the mill I worked with furnished custom limestone projects all across the great United States, and even Canada.
My current project was a life-size statue of a wolf that had been commissioned by a very wealthy family named Wolfe. When finished, it was to grace the entrance to their new mansion. Rebel was my model.
It being Saturday, we had the place to ourselves. I opened the combination padlock on the gate and drove through, relocking it behind me. I always loved coming here when I had the place to myself, but today the semi-quiet almost seemed eerie. Of course, the CNC machines were at work constantly, so there was some background noise. Just enough to cover the sound of someone sneaking up behind me. Maybe the conversation with Mason had unnerved me more than I thought.
I slipped the safety goggles on and got to work. The piece had been roughed out already, so the basic dimensions were right. The one good thing about CNC was that it left the fun, detailing stuff to me. I had done all I dared to with the power tools, and now I was down to the hand tools. This was the part I most enjoyed. It was also the part that took the longest. I settled into the rhythm of carving the intricacies of the wolf fur on the back. I would leave the more demanding facial features until later, hopefully once the killer was behind bars and I could do more than one stroke without looking over my shoulder.
After two hours, I finally gave it up. I had gotten enough done to prove that I had shown up for work, but that was about it. Maybe I could get Mason to come with me tomorrow night. That thought felt good and turned my mind to better, or at least different, things.
Being a werewolf isn't the only thing I wouldn't want to admit to anyone. I have another, more personally embarrassing secret. I am 32 years old. Single. And still a virgin.
Not that Mason hadn't tried. He's older than me by eight years and is definitely experienced in the art of lovemaking. Which would make him the perfect partner for a first-timer like me.
The truth is I'm scared. Not of the act itself. I've heard all the talk. I know it's supposed to be better than ice cream, which would have to be pretty darn awesome.
I'm scared that I'll give away my nature. I had been pretty new to the whole wolf thing when my family was killed. As I have yet to meet another Were, I've had no one to ask. How humiliating would it be if I howled? How could I ever explain that? So until I could find a man that I was willing to share my nature with, I was destined to be unicorn bait. If there were any unicorns left, that is.
I opened the padlock and drove through lost in my thoughts. Leaving the engine running, I got out to relock the gate. My subconscious must have noticed the motorcycle coming, but it wasn't uppermost in my mind. It only came to my notice when it started to slow down, and I could hear Werewolves of London blaring out of its speakers. Glancing up, I took stock of the man on the bike.
He was wearing a dark purple leather jacket and matching purple helmet, with a multi-colored stripe down the side. I saw him flip up his visor but I couldn't get a look at his face for the helmet. Watching his hands, I started reaching into my bag. He turned to face me and I gasped. He was just a young boy, maybe 16 or 17. I really didn't have time to register much more than his youth and eyes before he gave a wolf howl and sped up, laughing. That laugh. That evil laugh.
I stumbled into the Jeep and peeled out after him. Topaz eyes. Another Were? My eyes were the same color by nature, but I wore blue contacts to make mine a more natural green. If he was a Were and had been there last night watching us, chances are he was the one who buried the body. The one that could get Rebel and me off the hook.
He had too big a lead on me and made it through the very short light at the crossroads, which then turned red for me. I'd have run it if there hadn't been a dump truck coming at speed. I hit the steering wheel and rolled down the windows, trying to get the scent of the cycle. The light changed and I raced toward town. T
he dump truck turned onto highway 67 and I could see the bike up ahead, but yet another light caught me and my frustration grew. I saw it turn into the grocery store parking lot and I quickly followed suit.
The cycle and rider had disappeared. I drove around the store listening for the familiar thrumming and searching for the scent. Nothing. Creek up a paddle.
He was gone.
Chapter 4
I drove around the store three times trying to find him, or the scent of the cycle. Even if the bike was turned off or parked in a garage, I should have been able to Find it. But it was as if the whole incident was a figment of my imagination.
Resigned to the fact that I'd lost him, I parked and went into the store. Rebel could use some more food and I needed more diet soda. I went up and down each aisle, but no topaz eyes gazed my way. I did notice a lot of eyes on me, though. Then I started hearing the whispers. Kicking myself for leaving Rebel outside alone with the suspicion still on him, I hurried through the checkout and back outside.
I hadn't needed to hurry. Rebel had a fan club meeting going on. A DNR vehicle was parked beside the Jeep and a man and dog stood outside the vehicle talking to Reb through the half open window. There was no doubt that the man was Indian or, to be politically correct, Native American. He was dark skinned and wore his raven-black hair long and tied back with a strip of suede. He stood just under six feet and seemed to be made of lean muscle. Dressed in black jeans and a gray turtleneck, the man looked absolutely edible. I started to wonder if the Creator had decided to take matters into his own hands. First Mason, then Dunwood, and now this new ranger I'd never laid eyes on before. All making me think very un-virgin like thoughts.
As I neared the party, the man looked at me and smiled. My heart fluttered. It was a little lower actually, but I'm pretty sure it was heart-related.
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