by Holley Trent
“I don’t think—”
“We’re not worried about the cats, Patrick,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper and really forcing him to listen, not just hear. “There are other groups. We don’t know what they are, but they’re not as friendly and hospitable as the mountain lions. Sarah’s research says they’re dangerous. Strike first, leave no witnesses. Disorganized rogues. Until you have your shit together, you need eyes on your back. Mine’ll do.”
The water finally ran clear, so he turned the knobs to Off position and accepted the towel she held out to him.
He stepped over the edge and sidled to the sink, plucking his toothbrush from the stand as she watched. “We meet at dusk,” he said as he painted a stripe of toothpaste onto the bristles. “In the woods. You might want to find better shoes.”
“You let me worry about my shoes. You worry about your memory issues.” She left.
CHAPTER NINE
Patrick led Sarah and Dana—the latter two carrying enough firepower under their blazers between them to explode a barn—through the dim woods, shining his flashlight ahead and using his enhanced hearing to suss out unusual or unnatural, noises. Every now and then he’d point off to something and they’d pause until he determined it was just ambient sound.
“I bet this isn’t what you thought you’d be doing when you decided to work for Dana, is it?” he called back to Sarah.
She laughed from the rear. “Sure as shit isn’t. This job keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“Just like you, honey,” Dana quipped.
“Hey, I know what I am.”
“You know I’d never actually fire you, right?”
“Can I have that in writing? I can never tell if you’re pulling my leg.”
Dana sighed. “Look, if we leave here unscathed and still human—”
“You mean as human as we shrews currently are?”
“You know what I meant.”
They paused as Patrick scented the break in the woods where the clearing began.
He nodded, and they continued their passage toward a cluster of casually-dressed people in the middle. They sat on beach chairs they’d carted through the woods, blankets, and some right on the boggy ground. It could have been Woodstock as far as any outsider could tell.
“…I will not only make such a promise, but I’ll give you a raise, too. I get a weird feeling we’re about to get some extraordinary new clients.” She actually hoped that feeling in her gut was a false one, but her gut had never been wrong. Especially not since her mutation. That meant her life was about to get really interesting, and she didn’t know whether she should be happy or pissed.
Patrick wrapped an arm around her waist, possessively, she thought, and guided her to a middle-aged, overweight man who sat on a tree stump, watching their approach.
He stood when they were a few feet away and held out a hand.
She took it.
“Billy Jones. I guess I’m the group grandpa. We don’t really do titles here.”
“Dana Slade.”
He waited for her to continue, possibly to add some appellation to that, but she just shook.
He shrugged and turned his attention to Sarah next.
“No wonder you’re not interested in the cats,” Billy said to Patrick. “You’ve got your own li’l harem.”
Sarah scoffed. “Not. Even.”
Patrick pulled Dana a little closer and said, “No, one at a time’s enough, and she’s still breaking me in. Dana’s here to make sure I don’t get eaten. Sarah’s along for the thrill ride.”
Billy raised one scruffy gray eyebrow and looked at both women with incredulity.
Patrick laughed. “Hey, they’re little, but I witnessed for myself this afternoon that both have a sure shot and like big guns. They’ve probably got better aim than your best boy here.”
Billy rolled watery gray eyes. “I don’t doubt that. We’re better hunters as cats than on two legs. Makes getting a salvageable deer for Thanksgiving a problem. Now, who, exactly, do you think is gonna be eatin’ you?”
A young woman in a short skirt and halter top, despite the chilly weather, stalked up through the group and wrapped her arms around Billy’s neck. “That him, granddaddy?”
Dana wanted to smack the brazen little tart, but instead kept her hands jammed firmly in her pockets, one hand fondling the pocketknife she kept there for walking to her car late nights. In addition to that knife, there was a bigger one strapped to her ankle. She didn’t have a reason to draw either yet. There was a reason she favored slacks over jeans when she worked, and it wasn’t solely because they were fashionable. They gave her more space to hide weapons.
Billy didn’t respond to the girl.
“Last night, something attacked me,” Patrick said. “I didn’t remember it until this morning when Dana was uh…”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He grinned. “Debriefing me. Don’t know what it was, but it was bigger than me.”
Billy’s face, formerly florid and jocular, suddenly blanched. Gently, he loosened the girl’s arms from his neck, turned her, and gave her a little nudge that needed no translation. He was saying Shoo.
She harrumphed, but walked
Billy got up close and lowered his voice to a whisper while his gaze flitted to the surrounding woods. “Where were ya?”
Patrick shrugged. “Dunno. I suspect I covered a lot of ground last night. I wasn’t exactly running in a defined grid.”
Billy dragged his tongue over his chapped lips and swallowed hard.
“What are you not telling us, old man?” Sarah asked.
“This is kinda were-cat business, little girl. You don’t wanna get involved. It’s hard to understand.”
She scoffed. “Dude, you don’t know me. You think this were-shit freaks me out? I know something even freakier, and she’s standing in front of you with a Glock and a Sig Sauer filled with silver strapped to her ribs. I went to Iraq and came back without a scratch, and it’s not because no one tried hard enough. They tried. They failed. You want to tussle?” She cracked her knuckles and grinned.
Billy grimaced and turned to Patrick. “Look, some of our young boys are a mite wild. They don’t understand how little offenses can set folks off. There are feuds that go back a hundred years or more. We got a couple of groups they’ve accidentally run afoul of. They attacked a few people they shouldn’t have, and now we’re trying to clean up the mess.”
“Messes like me,” Patrick said, his voice dark, as he scanned the gathered crowd. His arm tensed, suddenly, and he let go of Dana. Without another word, he stepped toward the group and two young men got up and ran in the opposite direction from where Dana, Sarah, and Patrick had arrived.
He was about to take off after them when Billy shouted, “No! The boundary!”
The boys kept running, but Patrick, seeming to intrinsically understand the meaning of that in a way Dana did not, stopped.
Before the boys completely disappeared into the woods, several large, dark shapes appeared at the edge and brought both—neither small men—to the ground with bone-cracking thuds.
Even with her sharp vision and suspended disbelief, Dana could hardly believe what she was seeing.
“What the hell is that?” she whispered as the cats in the group stood around them, murmuring and watching the boys get dragged away.
“I think that’s what got me last night,” Patrick said.
At the sound of a gun magazine snapping into place, they all turned and looked at Sarah.
She nodded toward the woods. “Those kids may be dumb as fuck, but they don’t deserve to be eaten alive by those things.” And she took off, a near-blur in all black, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her and her gun at the ready.
The look Patrick gave Dana said, “Do not,” but she would. It was the cop in her.
She took Patrick’s Ruger from her waistband, handed to him, and set off after Sarah with her semi-automatic loaded and ready to kill.
The last thing she heard was, “Patrick, you better stay. If they see you, you’re gonna be the next one with a target.”
“I’m a fucking idiot,” Dana said as she and Sarah crouched low in the brush, waiting for a chance to strike.
The bears had shifted back into human form, but were tired for it. Their bodies weren’t meant to shift so frequently outside the phases of the moon, and so they were forced to rest. Dana didn’t know what they planned to do to the cats, but had left them tied to a couple of trees while they lounged nearby. One had even started a fire. Whether it was for warmth or cooking, Dana couldn’t say. Her gut said it wasn’t there for marshmallow roasting.
“You’re not an idiot. You’re in love. Maybe that’s the same thing, though, given what we’ve been through,” Sarah whispered back.
“I’m not in love. I’ve only known the guy for a day.”
“You’re in love. This guy’s so needy he should have his own charity and telethon. If it wasn’t love, you would have went home yesterday and left a bill for all your trouble.”
“It’s not going to work.”
Sarah craned her head and they both watched as one of the young men tried to wriggle free. If he kept on, he’d arouse the attention of the bears, and that would make their rescue attempt even more unpredictable. “Stay still, you little motherfucker,” Sarah murmured before stooping low again. “Why not? Serious question.”
“Because…” Hell, Dana didn’t know why. She fondled the handle of her gun like a worry stone and fixed her gaze on the smallest were-bear of the bunch. For some reason, he was transmitting leadership vibes. He was so small compared to the rest, though. Certainly he wouldn’t be any good in a fight, so why was he coming across as the one for her? Maybe it was that damn gut of hers on the fritz again.
“Do you want me to tell you to do it? Is that what you’re waiting for?” Sarah asked.
“Do what?”
“Have a go with Mr. O’Dwyer.”
“I don’t need that.”
The skinny man stood and poked the fire. Then he placed his hands on his hips and nodded to a heavyset woman who’d come through the woods with some burlaps sacks. She dropped the bags and left. He bent over the bags, rooting through them. He must have pulled something out which Dana couldn’t see because of his back being turned. One of the boys let out a long, undulating scream and his eyes went huge and round.
Sarah raised her gun and Dana pushed down her hands. “Wait. You can’t get a clean shot.”
The man stood and the thing that had given the boy such a fright was a Bowie knife—the kind hunters used to skin their game. He held it flush against the young man’s naked chest and milked a scream from him. When he drew back, there was a blade-shaped brand on his skin.
The little man laughed.
“Silver,” Sarah whispered.
“Think so. I wonder what else is in that bag.”
Leaves rustled behind them and they both startled, aiming their guns into the woods only to find a large, golden mountain lion with gray eyes, stalking close with its distended belly to the ground. Dana threw an arm over Sarah and hissed, “Get back!” keeping her gun poised on the beast.
The cat crept closer and another, sleeker with yellow-gray eyes emerged from the dark foliage. The larger cat stayed put, breathing heavily through its open mouth and baring its teeth, while the other came closer—slowly—keeping its eyes trained on the barrel of Dana’s gun.
Both women crept back.
The cat advanced, lowering his head in a submissive gesture, but walking with confidence.
Oh.
When he was close enough to bite, he swatted a paw at her leg playfully and sat his rump on the ground next to them.
“I thought you were supposed to stay in the clearing.”
He gave his silky head a shake. Apparently, the kitty cat learning curve was short for Patrick if he was in control of his beast already.
Maybe that’ll keep him from chasing furry tail.
She scoffed even thinking it. “You’re going to be in deep shit.”
Both cats nodded.
Another scream, this time from the other young man.
One of the were-bears had set a large cooking pot over the fire and stared across the licking flames at the young man, laughing, while the small were-bear teased his skin with his knife.
“Playing with their food. Savages,” Sarah said. Her voice was tinged with unvarnished disgust.
Dana gave her dirty cat a nudge with her elbow. “Shouldn’t they have shifted by now?”
Billy, nearby, shook his head. He could provide no follow-up in his current form, so she didn’t push for one.
“What’s the plan, boss lady?” Sarah whispered.
“Shoot to scare, not kill. This is about rescue. We don’t want to be seen. We don’t want to make enemies. Paddy, you and Billy stay back. If you insist on getting into this—”
The first boy screamed again, and at the end of it his voice changed from man to beast. He squirmed against the trunk, his body writhing with pain as his skin stretched over elongating bones and his face widened and teeth sharpened. He growled loud, his pain evident as his body contorted behind its bindings.
As if the first boy’s suffering had triggered something in the second, now he started to scream and writhe as well.
The were-bear clapped and laughed at the display.
No time to make a plan. Dana turned to the cats and whispered. “If you’re going to get in, don’t let them see you. Let me and Sarah take the brunt of this.”
Patrick shook his head.
“This is my job. I’ve had enough people fucking doubting me. Are you doubting me, too?”
What could he say? He abased himself.
“Stealth, Sarah,” Dana said.
“Mm-hmm.” She was already screwing on her silencer.
Yeah, she’s so getting a raise.
CHAPTER TEN
Billy leaned against the doorway of the cabin and watched as Dana and Sarah packed up their gear. Patrick was in the shower.
“Sorry about knocking you over, Miss,” Billy said for the fourth time to Sarah.
She rubbed her sore shoulder and rolled her eyes, mumbling to herself about how a perfectly smooth operation had gone pear-shaped because of an overzealous furball.
“Y’all coming back next month? Startin’ to warm up. We might get a pig and roast it.”
Water stopped pounding against the tub floor.
“I think I’m turned off the idea of roasted meat for a while, Billy, but thanks,” Dana said.
Sarah slipped around the naked old man with her duffel and portfolio and mumbled some more as she passed. “I’ll see you back in Durham,” she called out when she was safely down the stairs.
“Yeah.”
Patrick came out a moment later, his hair dark hair slicked back, and body’s bottom half wrapped in a white towel.
“I just stuck around long enough to get Sarah packed up. I’m out,” Dana said, her hand already on her bag. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but instead of speaking, turned his head toward Billy.
Billy put up his hands, turned, and bounded down the stairs.
Patrick went to the door and closed it. “What’s the hurry?”
She gave him a long blink. “Are you kidding me? You were there. We just had a fire fight with a were-bear with a Napoleon complex, two expert knife-throwers, apparently—welcome to the goddamned mountains—and a bunch of flunkies and lackies that came out of nowhere, and you’re asking me what the hurry is? Paddy, Paddy, Paddy. Those motherfuckers saw me. They saw Sarah. They saw both of us put bullet holes in a few of them. Now, they may have run away, but I get the feeling they’ll fight another day and soon. Just give them some time to get patched up. If I see those two cats of yours—”
Patrick put up his hands. “No, no. Not mine, remember? Those are the same idiot kids that turned me?
Thought they’d rob me and leave me in tatters?”
“So, what are you going to do? Turn them over your knees and spank them?”
He blew out a breath and ground his palms against tired eyes. “I dunno. Honestly, the only reason I went out there to fetch the idiots is because I didn’t want you getting hurt. It wasn’t your fight. No matter. I’m going back to Durham to see what’s left of my pub. See what kind of mess it’s in on my namesake holiday.”
“And then next month, what?”
“I guess I’ll be back here.”
“Now that you have a target on your ass from the bears, right? I thought you said your sense of self-preservation was higher than that.”
He pushed away from the door and grabbed the front of her waistband in a flash, drawing her close so her chest ground against his. “Look, I helped escalate the mess, so I can’t leave these people on the lurch. Someone has to clean it up.” He stroked her chin with the back of his hand and she wondered how dare he be so charming, so beautiful when she was so pissed.
“Why does it have to be you? Why can’t you leave them to take care of their own shit? You can lock down next month. Go somewhere safe near home if you’re worried you’ll get out and hurt someone.”
He shook his head and looked at her tenderly before grazing his soft lips across her forehead. “I’m not the kind of man who takes the easy way out.”
He felt so good, and smelled so nice and she wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms and smothered in his hot kisses for the day…but that would give her hope for something that wasn’t possible. He obviously had a death wish, and she’d figured out she kind of liked life.
She pressed her palms against his naked chest and gave him a small push.
He eyed her curiously, but took a step back, respecting her space.
She walked to the door, heaving her bags up to her shoulders, and gave him one last look over her shoulder. “See ya, dirty cat.”
He cringed. “Bye, shrew.”
Patrick had expected his pub to be a mess upon his return, but it was surprisingly tidy. He wondered what had gotten into his staff as he made his way through the dense crowd, some still dressed in their excessively festive Saint Patrick’s Day 5K get-ups and running shoes as they laughed, and draped over the bar with their green drinks.