White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul

by Jianne Carlo

  Afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand, he grabbed two bath sheets, swaddled her in one, and headed for the divan opposite the bed. He set her down and used the spare towel to turban her dripping hair, stripped the soggy clothes from her body, and rubbed her dry and warm. A hint of color stained her cheeks. Her eyes were open, but the dark, dilated pupils held that slight glaze he’d come to recognize. He cradled her face. “Talk to me, babe.”

  She flinched. The distant taint to her gaze disappeared, and she met his glance. “He came for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” The anguish in her eyes made his chest ache.

  A discordant cacophony of alarms mushroomed. He had to get her dressed and prepped. Mike took in the room. The one Mom had set aside for him. Severe, masculine, clean lines with touches of warmth in a tartan throw over the back of the divan. He switched out the damp towel for the throw, hurried to the walk-in cupboard, found a bathrobe that would dwarf Melanie but keep her warm and help with the shock that was sure to follow. Glimpsing a shelf with a stack of T-shirts, and another with sweats in different shades of blue, he grabbed two pairs of each and reached her side in one stride.

  The deep foghorn of a fire rescue truck sounded, and the piercing, high-pitched police sirens receded. “The police are here. Fire rescue will be here any minute. Gray requested an ambulance—”

  “Ambulance?” She clutched his wet shirt with both hands.

  “We need to get you dressed. No one’s hurt. It’s just a precaution. Your mother and my mom are pretty shaken up. There’s going to be a ton of questions. They’ll separate us. I need you to concentrate. Are you with me so far?” He’d managed to pull the sweats up over her unresponsive legs. “Lift your butt, babe. Good girl. There we go.”

  Mike stood. “Arms up.”

  She obeyed in silence, and he tugged the T-shirt into place. “Can you stand?”

  Nodding, she pushed off the divan.

  “You’re probably going to go into shock. That’s natural. I need to get you warm.” He held the bathrobe open.

  Melanie shrugged into the arms.

  He wrapped one lapel over the other and tied the belt in place. “Sit.”

  More than anything, he yearned to haul her into his arms, but he oozed water like a leaky faucet on overdrive. Careful not to let her into his raining orbit, he checked her bare feet and found them icy. There had to be socks somewhere.

  “What about that thing who came for me? Her eyes consumed the rest of her features, the lush lashes still spiky from the two soakings.

  “Dead. Best outcome. What sent you into the call, babe?”

  “Another bear and her cub. Why? Why did he do it?”

  “Maybe another diversionary killing? I don’t have answers right now and we need to focus. Here’s the story. We were attacked. You and I weren’t with the others. We tried to run. Ended up in the pool. You passed out.”

  “By whom?” She looked up at him, brows raised, forehead creased.

  “None of us recognized either man.”

  “Two men?”

  “Yes.” He moved to the dresser, found several pairs of socks, still in their original packaging, and grabbed two. Better that she didn’t know about Lance Douglas. Her surprise would be genuine. He strode to where Melanie huddled on the divan, went down on one knee, and gave her one of the plastic-encased socks. “Open that, please.”

  She seemed to welcome the activity, as he’d anticipated.

  “The trick to the next few hours is to say as little as possible.” Mike eased a sock from Melanie’s grip and tugged the thick cotton onto her feet.

  She laid her palms on his chest. “I don’t want to be alone with Pincer.”

  The plaintive note in her voice banded his ribs like a vise. “I’ll call Freddy Pawath. We’ll invoke our right to a lawyer, but I won’t be able to stop them from separating us.” Mike heard boots attacking the stairs. He chucked her chin. “If you need to, pretend to faint. Or call for medical attention. No one can question you until one of the paramedics gives their okay. I’ll be right here in the house, and I’ll listen for your every word. Drake, Gray, and I are here. Nothing’s going to happen to any of you.”

  “Mike. I didn’t check the insurance form.” Her face had regained some color.

  “Gotcha. I’ll check it. They’re almost here. No more talking, okay?”

  She nodded.

  Mike lurched to his feet and took three long strides, putting himself directly in front of Melanie. He raised his arms.

  The door flew open. One of the sheriff’s men in search stance, gun aimed and legs spread, barked, “Who are you?”

  Two other men, both weapon ready, stood on either side of him.

  “Mike Dorland. Behind me is my fiancée, Melanie White. She needs a paramedic. She passed out earlier, and I had to put her in the shower to revive her. She’s going into shock.”

  “Move.” The officer waved his gun.

  Mike sidestepped.

  One of the men behind the main officer spoke into a transmitter attached to his shirt.

  “The medics will be here in seconds. You, downstairs.”

  “Mind if I change out of these wet clothes first?”

  “You two”—he hooked a finger over his shoulder—“guard Ms. White. You change in that corner.”

  “I’ll need the sweats and tee by the divan.” Mike backed into the corner the officer had indicated.

  One of the two men edged over to the divan and then tossed him the sweats, tee, and the throw.

  Never taking his focus off Melanie, Mike bent to grab the throw. The two officers ordered Melanie down the stairs. The last glimpse Mike had of her was the towel on her head. Mike stripped, dried the moisture from his flanks and groin, and donned the sweats and T-shirt. “What next, officer?”

  As he expected, they were all separated, but it went down better than Mike could’ve hoped. Freddy Pawath responded within the half hour. Turned out he had a lady friend on the east side of town and was not five miles away. Freddy kept Mike informed in between the official grilling sessions. Pincer didn’t seem in any hurry to question Mike, but he tackled Melanie’s interrogation immediately. Mike kept hoping she’d call for the paramedics, to no avail.

  “Mike.” Sheriff Pincer stood in the doorway of the small study off the living room.

  “Sheriff.” Mike rose but didn’t offer his hand.

  “Want to tell me what happened here?” Pincer ambled over to the chair opposite the sofa where Mike had been sitting. “Have a seat. I imagine this is going to be a long night for all of us.”

  Mike summarized the attack, keeping his description succinct, and ended with a question, “Who the hell were they?”

  Pincer’s brow rose. “We’ll have to await positive ID, of course. Lance Douglas and Sam Millar. Any idea why they’d attack you and your family?”

  “None. I don’t know either of them.” Mike resisted the urge to fold his arms. “Wasn’t Sam Millar supposed to have died in the mill fire?”

  “Yep.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’ve had my suspicions about his death for a while.” The sheriff sighed. “Media’s going to be all over this. I’d advise you to hightail it somewhere and lay low until everything’s sorted out.”

  “Gray’s no longer a person of interest?”

  Pincer shot Mike a one-sided, rueful smile. “To be honest, he never was. None of you were either.”

  “Want to let me in on what you’re planning? I may be able to help.” Mike straightened from his relaxed position.

  “I doubt it.”

  No way he’d let Pincer get away without divulging some information. “Rumor has it that you have Whisper and the horses that are missing stashed in Hurit County.”

  The sheriff, in the midst of doing a lazy rise, whipped up straight and pinned Mike’s gaze. “Now where the fuck did you hear that? Who else knows? This changes the situati
on. Mike Dorland, you’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. You have the right…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sheriff Pincer ordered Melanie, Susie, Lucinda, and Mama to go back to the resort under police escort. Mike, Gray, and Drake were taken into custody. It was dawn when the police car dropped the women off at their respective cabins. Melanie didn’t want to be alone, so she showered and changed, grabbed the journal, her purse, and cell, and hightailed it to the other cottage.

  Like her, Mama, Susie, and Lucinda hadn’t even considered sleep.

  “Freddy Pawath called,” Mama announced the second Melanie set foot in the cabin. “Close the door, child. It’s chilly outside.”

  “Did he get them released?” Melanie held her breath and crossed her fingers. She set the journal, purse, and her cell on a side table.

  “Yes. All charges have been dropped. The boys should be home before ten.”

  Boys. Melanie almost smiled. She guessed to Lucinda her two sons would always be boys. She slumped onto the chair next to the fireplace. “You’re positive?”

  “Positive,” Mama said, her tone firm. “According to Freddy, the only reason the sheriff arrested them was to make sure that Whisper’s whereabouts were kept secret until they got her safely to Willowby’s farm.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Though we all know there was no way they could pin premeditated murder on any of them.” The pent-up, frenetic worry drained from her veins. “Should I call Doc G.? And what about Virgil? This will be my second day missing work.”

  “Same for me, but I’m too exhausted to even think of organizing breakfast, far less the dinner for the convention tonight. I called Geraldine. She’s going to cover for me today and tomorrow.” Mama knuckled her eyes.

  Lucinda arched a brow and placed her hands on her lean hips. “Virgil wouldn’t dare fire my daughter-in-law-to-be. I spoke with him earlier. His sister’s covering your shift.”

  Susie walked into the living area, towel-drying her short hair, and said, her voice muffled, “I ordered breakfast for everyone about twenty minutes ago. The works.”

  Melanie checked her cell. “It’s almost eight. Maybe I should phone Doc G. while we’re waiting.”

  “I think Doc G. has other things on his mind than you coming to work, Melanie. Oh, by the way, Yvonne called me. Her mom’s wearing a ring on a chain around her neck.”

  “Brinda? Engaged?” Melanie replayed her conversation with the young girl by the bus stop. To Doc G.? She couldn’t repress a smile. Nadine de Verteuil was so going to look like an idiot. Brinda’d taken one look at Doc G. that first day he’d moved back to town and blushed like a bride. She had the maddest crush on the vet. How on earth had those rumors about her and Pincer started?

  “I hear a car.” Susie draped the towel over the back of a kitchen chair and pulled the curtains apart. “Three police cars. Is there some rule about one prisoner to a car?”

  “None of them are prisoners. Didn’t you hear what Lucy said? They’ve been cleared of all charges.” Mama glowered at Susie.

  A burst of energy flooded Melanie. She bounded to her feet, ate up the distance to the door, and yanked it open. Mike, Gray, and Drake were all headed up the driveway.

  At least a half a dozen uniformed men watched their progress.

  “Are they staying?”

  Melanie hadn’t even noticed Susie following her. “How should I know?”

  The three males reached the steps.

  “Pincer seems to think protection is necessary,” Gray answered, his wolf hearing obviously having picked up Susie’s question. “I’m starved. Any food around?”

  “I don’t smell anything,” Drake declared and brushed past Gray and into the cottage. “Where’s the room service menu?”

  Susie lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Men and their stomachs. I ordered breakfast. It should be here any minute.”

  Mike kicked the door shut, tugged Melanie into his embrace, and kissed her breathless. Her cheeks flamed, but she secretly loved every minute. When he finally lifted his head and met her gaze, she melted inside, the love in his eyes all there for her to drown in.

  “Good. I don’t want any interruptions during Dodge’s conference.”

  “Dodge?” She couldn’t keep the huffiness out of her voice. “Conference?”

  “He saved Whisper and her foal and prevented a massacre of the rest of the horses.” Mike dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m going to grab a quick shower and change. Back in a few.” He flicked her cheek and disappeared.

  “The media’s screaming for information. Pincer called a conference for ten.” Gray dragged both hands through his hair. “A shower sounds like heaven.”

  “Tell me about it. Jail stinks,” Drake declared.

  Both he and Gray vanished.

  The kitchen delivered breakfast just as all three males reappeared. Mike turned the TV on to the local channel that would be covering the conference, and they all sat down to eat.

  “What do you know, Mike?” Mama asked.

  “Shuman thought he’d sent the twin predicted to go to the black wolf side to the tribe in Canada, but Waquini persuaded his brother, who now goes by the name Charles Smith, to take his place.”

  The collective gasp from everyone halted Mike’s explanation.

  “The mayor? The mayor is one of Shuman’s sons?” Melanie didn’t know what to think.

  “Yep. The twins were identical, but Charles Smith changed his hair and eye color and altered his facial features.” Gray speared a piece of bacon. “He Who Sees With Eagle Eyes was wrong on one count. Both twins went to the dark side. Waquini, aka Sam Millar, might have started out okay, but Boyd lured him to the mill and took him to Raine’s father’s reservation.”

  “Gray was right about two sets of killings,” Drake interjected. “Though Lance and Waquini were involved in all.”

  “Jim Balden’s behind most of this. He hired Lance to wire the stables so that the fire wouldn’t be deemed as arson but faulty wiring. He never intended to hand over Whisper’s foal to Willowby and didn’t give a damn about the ranch. The plan, near as we can figure, was to ferret away the valuable horses, sell them, burn down the ranch and the stables and all the horses. The insurance would go to Doc G., who would be arrested, giving Jim the time to get out of the country. He figured that initially the last person the authorities would suspect would be him.”

  Melanie couldn’t take her eyes off Mike, but the horror she felt must have shown on her face for Mike put down his fork and squeeze her hand. “The horses are all safe, babe.”

  “It was Doc G.’s name on the insurance?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Pincer’s been watching Lance for some time. Seems he might have been the one who started the mill fire and a whole host of others in various states.” Drake forked a cube of potato. “Gotta give him credit. He’s as sharp as a tack.”

  Pincer? Melanie grimaced. It almost sounded as if Drake admired the sheriff.

  “Lance planted the idea of the bear killings with Jim.”

  “Why?” Susie looked as confused as Melanie felt.

  “Classic serial killer pattern is to begin with animals and work your way up to humans. They figured that by beginning with the bears and then killing a couple of people using the same MO, the authorities would assume a serial killer was on the prowl. And since Jim had alibis for all those events, he wouldn’t be a suspect.”

  “That’s disgusting and horrible. They killed Eddie for that?” Susie shuddered.

  “Greed is a prime motive for murder. Far as we can tell, Lance isn’t a wolf but a sick wannabe.” Gray stacked alternate layers of Canadian and regular bacon on a bagel half. “He and Waquini staged all the bear killings and August Balden’s death.”

  “Yesterday I picked up an account book from the mill that survived the fire. Our Uncle Boyd deposited the insurance money into a joint Canadian bank account. The other signature on the account was Waquini. Boyd conveniently died soon after the
check cleared.” Drake poured creamer into his mug.

  “I’m confused. Which one was Waquini?” Susie shook her head. “Okay, Charles Smith or Sam Millar?”

  “Sam Millar. Good idea to refer to them that way. Situation’s confusing enough as it is.” Drake rolled his eyes.

  “I’d lay odds that Sam Millar was the one who killed Boyd. For the money.” Mike reached for the coffeepot.

  “Freddy’s pretty sure Shuman became suspicious about the bear killings and then Old Man Balden’s. He had the reservation security start looking into them.” Gray set down his cutlery. “Until those killings started again, Shuman thought Waquini, aka Charles Smith, was still in Canada with the tribe he’d sent him to. One of the conditions that tribe insisted on long ago was that there would be no contact between father and son.”

  “According to Freddy, Shuman broke that promise a week ago and traveled to Canada to meet with the tribe’s chief.”

  “One of his own sons killed Shuman? He was a terrible person, but that…that’s just awful.” The horror in Susie’s voice made Melanie shiver.

  “The conference is starting. Pump up the volume,” Gray ordered.

  Everyone turned their chairs so they could see the television.

  Drake set down his fork, picked up the remote, and the sound trebled.

  By mutual agreement, no one spoke during Sheriff Pincer’s update.

  At the end of the address, guilt that she had even for a split second considered Doc G. as a villain had Melanie cringing when the questions started.

  “What was Jim Balden’s motive for murdering his father, Augustus Balden?” The reporter who asked the question wore a CNN tag.

  “At this point, money seems to be the motive. We suspect that the four men—Smith, Millar, Balden, and Douglas—were involved in a series of killings and arsons over the last few years.” Pincer pointed to a local journalist. “Yes.”

  “Is the mill fire related to any of this?”

  “Right now our information indicates that Boyd Dorland hired Douglas to start the fire. But it seems that Smith, Millar, and Douglas developed some sort of partnership and turned on Boyd Dorland. As of now, Smith, Millar, and Douglas are persons of interest in five murders: Boyd Dorland, Augustus Balden, Eddie and George Mato, and Shuman Millar, former chief of the Makgamii tribe.” Pincer glanced at his watch. “That’s all I can release right now. Thank you for your time. Direct any further questions to the Mackinac County Sheriff’s Office.”