by Alpha Wolf
“Mike?” Melanie shook her head. “I don’t understand. Do you really believe in werewolves, or is your group a front for—what? What are you really up to?”
“Don’t play games with me, Melanie. You know that shapeshifters exist. That’s what’s really going on here at Ft. Lukman, despite all the games about training for covert K-9 activities. I know about the formulas and stuff they’re working on. It’s all going to make me a wealthy man—all the potions, plus the real werewolf I’ll hand over to the buyers.”
“I don’t understand,” Melanie said quietly.
“Simple. As quiet as everyone keeps it, lots of officials of foreign countries know about shapeshifters, want to use them in their own national defense if they could get them to turn at will. And now that ability will be in the hands of the highest bidder—along with your dear Drew, to show them how it works.”
He’d drawn closer as he spoke and now glared down at her. She refused to show her fear. But the look in his eyes told her that his threats weren’t idle.
As with Nolan, he intended to kill her.
“Do you know where they keep the stuff that’s already mixed?” he demanded.
“What stuff?” She attempted to sound bewildered.
He slapped her. “Don’t bother playing dumb with me. It won’t help you. In fact, it’s likely to hurt.”
She glared at him, ignoring the stinging heat in her cheek. “Slapping me around won’t get you what you want. I’ve come here as a veterinarian, to help with the K-9s.” She drew in her breath. Lying wouldn’t help her, either. Would telling the truth—at least part of it? “And the shapeshifters while in animal form. Not only during the full moon. I don’t know nearly as much as I figure you do about the legends, but I’d always heard werewolves only changed form then.”
“Unless they have what this Alpha Force has,” Mike said. “And that’s what I’m after.”
“Interesting. But you’re barking up the wrong tree to ask me.” She tried to smile at her puny attempt at a joke.
“Maybe.” He’d begun pacing again and reached the clean room. He peered into the darkness inside the windows. “In there?”
“Could be, but all anyone ever said was that I shouldn’t go in, since even just stepping inside would contaminate everything. I know they mix their formulas in there. If the room contains what you’re after, you’d better not just stroll in and grab it.”
“Your buddy Drew can take care of that when he gets here.” Mike leaned a shoulder against the wall, still aiming the gun at her.
“He’s gone to help with Seth,” she said hurriedly. “You know, one of the other shapeshifters? He was hurt on the night of the full moon, and now that he’s in human form again they had to get him to a hospital.” Drew hadn’t gone along, but Mike might not know that. “If he decides to come, it’ll take a while.”
“Where’d they go, damn it?” Mike’s posture was rigid again.
“D.C.” Melanie leaned earnestly over the desk. “Look, Mike, I found all this stuff really crazy. Why did you believe in any of it?”
“Because I knew the truth. And used it, right from the time I came here. These shapeshifting jerks killed my uncle, but not before he told me what was going on. He was a nice guy. A local. Me? I was a scientist, and I didn’t believe him—not until they killed him.” Mike’s fury radiated from his eyes. Would asking him to continue only make him angrier?
But he had opened a door that Melanie intended to step through. “How did your uncle die?” she asked quietly.
“Those damn Worleys! Uncle Charley lived around here. Charley Drake, my mother’s brother.” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Melanie. Hadn’t he been one of the supposed werewolf hunters Carla had mentioned—one who’d died, like Angie Fishbach’s husband? “He knew the werewolves were real. He caught Patrick’s mother changing, so he killed her. He told me, like it was proof that what he claimed about the Mary Glen werewolves was true—but then he died in a car wreck, supposedly. Well, I came here the first time last year as the head of the SSTs—that was my cover, just like this damned military base is their cover. I visited old Dr. Worley, and he denied everything, even when I threatened him. The guy had to be a werewolf, too—I don’t know which Worley bit the other.”
“But changing by biting—” Melanie stopped. Contradicting him with the truth she’d been told, that shapeshifting was only hereditary and could not be caused by being bitten by another shapeshifter, wouldn’t convince him. And it might shut him up. “Was your uncle bitten, too?”
“No. But way I figured it, he was seen by Doc Worley, who ran him off the road. But not before he’d written notes I wound up inheriting, all about the shapeshifters. When I came here, I didn’t let people know I was related to him, but planned to check things out while doing all I could to make life difficult for the Ft. Lukman shapeshifters. Putting ’em on the defensive and making sure they couldn’t do anything in full secrecy—even as I studied them. Figured out how I could use them. For one thing, I encouraged Nolan Smith to let the whole world know, with his Web site, what was going on around here. Even sell advertising. Of course I didn’t want real info getting out, so I encouraged all the stupid stuff Nolan publicized. Fed it to the idiots who joined the ShapeShifter Tracers, even as I started doing stuff to undermine what went on around here. The military guys suspected Nolan of sneaking into their lab here, didn’t they? And you probably thought it was him who made it look like a werewolf hurt the poor, defenseless little animals at your clinic.” He’d changed his voice into a mocking tone.
Melanie stifled an urge to lunge at him. “You did it? You bastard! You could have killed them.”
“Sure.” He sounded smug. “But I didn’t. It had the effect I wanted. Convinced more people around here that the werewolf stories are true. And that the creatures are vicious. Should be shot by silver bullets on sight. Which made it easy to get guys out on the night of the full moon to shoot anything that moved. I encouraged my club members to do that, too. And Nolan Smith, especially gullible Nolan who wanted in the worst way to meet a real werewolf. I got him to shoot that dog, Grunge, and Drew Connell while he was in wolf form. I emailed him the pictures I took after I used the super gadget I invented—the one I used on him, too, by the way, and on that tourist Sheila Graves—on your patients. And tonight I told Nolan when and where to go. I’d already promised he’d get to meet a genuine, friendly shapeshifter who needed help with the bad guys if he shot, but didn’t kill, those nasty creatures. He got his wish—kind of. He met me. And now, assuming he survives, he’ll have even more to say about the Mary Glen werewolves—the fool!”
Through her fear, Melanie kept trying to get her mind around what he was saying. What he had done. “But didn’t calling attention to the shapeshifters make it harder for you to achieve what you wanted? It kept them alert.”
“It kept them defensive, sure. Added to my challenge, but I loved it! I outsmarted them, didn’t I?”
Maybe he had—unless Melanie could figure out how to stop him. Drew might arrive at some point, and he’d be in even more danger than she. She might wind up dead. He might wind up—what? Abducted? Dragged off, handed over to some foreign government, and used as an example of a controlled shapeshifter?
“Oh, Mike,” she said sadly. “So much bizarre stuff around here. I’m just an ordinary veterinarian. All I want to do is help animals. I don’t care about supernatural idiocy. Look, what if I just help you get what you want and leave Mary Glen? I’ll go back to L.A., get a job at a veterinary clinic there. Put all this behind me. I couldn’t talk about what happened to me here anyway. Who’d believe me? I’d end up in a loony bin.”
“Yeah? I’m supposed to trust you?”
She smiled conspiratorially. “I lied. I can tell you where they keep the premixed tonic. And I know what computer files contain the formula, too.”
“You do? Hot damn! With all my tech skills—and I have a lot of ’em, believe me—I couldn’t get past their damned pa
sswords when I broke in here before. Even drugged all of them at the diner—what a waste. But now, if you get me into the system, I’ll think about letting you go.” Mike was grinning now. The gun in his hand drooped, just a little.
If she lunged now—
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement near the lab door.
Mike must have seen it, too. “What the hell?” His gun hand rose, even as he dashed not toward the door, but toward her.
In an instant he had her around the neck, even as Drew appeared in the doorway.
“Let her go, Ripkey,” he ordered.
“Only if you do exactly what I tell you to.” And Mike tightened his grip until Melanie could no longer breathe.
Chapter 22
D rew watched in fury as Melanie’s eyes rolled. “Let her go, Ripkey,” he repeated. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I figured.” The tall, ugly jerk let her fall to the floor. She was halfway behind the desk and didn’t move, apparently unconscious.
Even so, Ripkey kept his gun pointed down, right where Drew assumed her head was. He wanted to rush forward. Grab the guy by his slimy hair and shove his face through the wall.
“Tell you what you do, Major. See that pile of stuff?” He pointed toward what looked like a dead animal on the floor. “Find the inside pockets and pull out the string that’s there.”
Cursing silently, Drew approached the thing. Judging by the big mask resembling a caricature of a wolf head, this had to be a werewolf costume Ripkey had worn. He groped around the furry mess that smelled of man-made materials as if searching for the pocket. He pulled out a large contraption with wicked-looking, nearly realistic enamel fangs and pushed a button on its side. It immediately spewed a viscous yet cloudy liquid that resembled…saliva. This was what he’d used to maul Nolan outside. And probably the injured tourist.
“Clever,” Drew said. “The injuries you inflicted with this thing looked damned real.”
“Of course they did. Everything I’ve done here worked perfectly, since I studied you. All of you. And so did my uncle, before that bastard Dr. Worley killed him.”
What was that about, Drew wondered. But he didn’t stop the man from talking.
“But with his notes and all I learned, I was able to get you going, wasn’t I? Keep you on the defensive with all the breakins and attacks, around here and at the doc’s veterinary clinic—those I didn’t instruct Nolan to do. Even stole back the silver bullet he shot you with, so no one besides me would find out what you were—wasn’t that kind of me? And if you’re really nice to me, I won’t force you to inhale that putrid stuff I used to mask odors and put you and the real K-9s off my scent—only the good stuff that got you to follow where I wanted you to go. Now, get that damned string.”
The bastard was bragging about all he’d done. Maybe Drew could keep him talking a little longer. Reinforcements were on their way.
He just hoped they weren’t too late.
“And the doc,” Ripkey continued. “She just didn’t get it, did she? I shot up her house and clinic when you were there with her. But did she back off? No. Well, now it’s too late—but if you don’t cooperate, I just might use my clever little toothed invention on her, to make it look like she was killed by a werewolf. Poetic justice, after the vet before her, Worley, was killed by a silver bullet.” Ripkey laughed, and Drew fought the nearly irresistible urge to lunge at him—which would only earn him death by one of those damned bullets.
Instead he said calmly, “One more question. You’ve been on the base before, got into this lab. I admit our security measures here are more lax than a lot of military facilities—purposely, since we need the ability to do our shapeshifting ops without a lot of interference from other soldiers. But how’d you get onto the base? How’d you know about this facility? And—”
“You ask too damned many questions, Connell. Easy answer? You’re right. Your security’s pathetic. And I’m a techie genius. I duplicated ID cards, fixed the metal chips in ’em so I looked legit, got onto good old Ft. Lukman and followed you and the others till I saw where you went. Even played games with the base’s gates on nights of the full moon so you had canine chaos with your dogs and shapeshifters getting out. Loved it! And tonight I had a lot of fun jamming the communications systems.” But his boastful grin suddenly shifted to a scowl. “Now. Get. The. Damned. String.” He aimed the gun straight at Drew this time.
He pretended to rummage through the costume yet again, then shook his head. “Sorry, can’t find it.”
“Don’t give me that.” Ripkey knelt and dragged Melanie toward him. “Find it and tie your own ankles, or she dies now.”
Drew saw a slight motion of Melanie’s eyelids, the tiniest glance toward him. She was faking unconsciousness. He didn’t react.
He again rifled the pile of fur and shook his head. “I’d be glad to cooperate, but I can’t find it. You get it, and I’ll tie myself.”
“Move over there.” Ripkey motioned the gun toward the left, at one of the long metallic counters. Drew slowly obeyed.
He watched as Ripkey stalked toward the costume and, using his left hand, reached in and extracted some nastily strong-looking nylon twine. “Here.” He tossed it toward Drew as he again aimed the gun in Melanie’s direction.
Drew did as ordered, binding his own ankles. Not as tightly as he made it appear. He didn’t intend to make himself more vulnerable than he had to. But even so, this would hamper his ability to run toward Ripkey and grab the weapon.
“I’ll assume you didn’t do an excellent job, but it’s better than nothing,” Ripkey said. “Here’s what we’ll do.” Before Drew could react, Ripkey aimed the gun toward him and fired.
Pain ripped through his shoulder. And then Ripkey lunged at him with the weapon raised. As it came down on Drew’s head, there was more pain. Then darkness.
Melanie saw it all. Drew! Was he dead?
Surely not. From what Ripkey had described, he needed Drew alive—to sell to the highest bidder.
It was all she could do not to run to him. But she had to stay where she was. Pretend she was still unconscious.
It was the only chance they had.
She had an idea. But would it work with Drew out cold? Injured? She didn’t know.
But she had to try—if she got the opportunity. And that would only come if Ripkey thought both his victims were rendered defenseless.
She kept her eyes slitted open. Watched Ripkey approach Drew, rifle through his pockets and beneath his windbreaker. Extract a nasty-looking weapon that Drew had apparently been saving for the right opportunity—which hadn’t come.
Didn’t let herself flinch as Ripkey kicked Drew, who didn’t move. He, at least, was actually unconscious. And Ripkey used the opportunity to take that damned string and tie his hands.
Which jeopardized Melanie’s plan even more.
“Okay, time to wake up, wolfman,” Ripkey said. He pushed Drew again with his foot. This time, Drew moaned. “Wake up,” Ripkey repeated.
Drew’s eyes popped open. His glare suggested he would have killed his assailant right then, if he could. But he was still on the floor. Bound. Bleeding from the shoulder.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do, if you don’t want me to kill your lady.” He waved in Melanie’s direction.
“What, you bastard?”
Ripkey gave him detailed instructions. He wanted the information about where to find all the formulas on the lab computer, which he gleefully said he would both print and e-mail to himself—after, of course, Drew gave him all the passwords. Then he wanted to know how to get into the clean room and extract the vials of premixed formula. “You do that, and once we’re gone I’ll even unjam the base’s flimsy communication system.”
Slowly, groaning, Drew spewed information. Melanie wasn’t certain but figured he had a way to give legitimate-sounding but incorrect computer info.
Ripkey figured that, too. He extracted a thumb drive from his pocket—a small gadget o
nto which one could download a lot of computer data. “I’ll copy it all, but it’ll be easier to find the right info if you give me the location and passwords in advance. If not, I’ll have some time to figure them out while they’re in my possession—and you are, too. And the already mixed samples?”
Drew’s fury appeared even greater, but his eyes were narrowed. He was obviously in pain. And Melanie couldn’t help.
But she knew that at least some of what he revealed was only partial information. Even so…
Ripkey took a few minutes to work with the computer, and then he removed the thumb drive. “I’ll play with this later. And now, the clean room.” He didn’t bother suiting up, but he wasn’t concocting anything, just stealing it.
He turned his back as he headed into the room and closed the door behind him.
It was Melanie’s chance! Carefully she crawled toward the refrigeration unit beneath the metallic counter near Drew. She extracted some of the tonic.
She didn’t dare talk. Drew, too, remained silent. But when she turned toward him, he was smiling grimly—and approvingly.
Carefully she reached for the light switch that changed the glow within the lab room.
She opened the container and slipped the rim of the glass into Drew’s mouth. He drank it.
“Hey!” Ripkey shouted. He stood in the cleanroom door, his gun waving wildly in his hand.
Drew was starting to change. Could he live through it, injured as he was? Had Melanie, by trying to save them, killed him? She shook, even as she shielded him with her own body. Glancing down, she saw his face elongate as fur erupted from his skin. She hadn’t been able to untie him. But he would emerge from the change with a different size, different dimensions.
Different strength.
“No, you son of a bitch,” Ripkey yelled. “Not now. I didn’t want to kill you. You’re my model, my paradigm. You have to live, under my control.”
Drew’s limbs contorted, contracted, his clothing shrinking. The blood from his shoulder gleamed. Could he move? Could he help?