Caught Between Shifters

by Juniper Hart

  And I may never work one again.

  She pushed the sour thoughts from her mind and threw herself into her research.

  Suddenly, she was consumed in news reports, witness statements, and evidence, losing track of time. It was until Sadie let out a low growl that Rose glanced up abruptly.

  Her eyes burned as she noticed the time on her computer screen to be three o’clock in the morning. Sadie stood by the sill of the front window, her ears pressed against her head. Her tail had puffed to three times its normal size.

  “What is it, Sadie?” Rose murmured, but as she spoke, Sadie yowled, hissing at the window. Goosebumps licked at Rose’s skin as she cast her Mac aside and slipped toward where the cat remained, spitting agitatedly. Slowly, Rose pushed the drapes aside, peering into the dark.

  There was a streetlight three houses down. It didn’t cast much of a glow onto Rose’s modest lawn, but she didn’t need to see anything. After all, it was not a matter of seeing. It was a matter of knowing that something was out there.

  Again, Sadie let out a hiss of discontent. Rose inhaled sharply, her hand stroking the cat’s raised fur.

  “Shh,” she told the animal quietly, stepping back. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  But Sadie was having none of the placating.

  Rose retreated into the living room, but not before stopping to turn on more lights to further illuminate the interior of the house. Swallowing her nervousness, she reclaimed her spot on the sofa, one eye on the front window. She had no idea if the lights would keep whatever lurked out in the night at bay, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  Your fears are ridiculous, a rational voice in her mind chided her. You’re still controlled by urban legends and silly schoolgirl ghost stories, even after all these years.

  But it didn’t matter how much she tried to excuse the irrational thoughts in her head, she could not block out Sadie’s mewling—nor could she forget that she had just seen the moon full, white, and low.

  And she certainly could not ignore the sound of distant howls.

  Chapter Two

  It had cooled off considerably, the Indian summer finally giving way to the autumn chill, and Rose readjusted the scarf around her neck, looking around the park for her morning meeting. She took a sip of the pumpkin spice latte in her hands and swiped a piece of stray red hair from her cheek awkwardly with a gloved hand.

  This is so silly. Why do we have to meet in the middle of Jaycee Park like something out of a bad spy novel?

  She turned her eyes toward the playground, where toddlers gathered with their mothers, ready to start their jungle gym wars. A stab of wistfulness pierced through her as she watched the little faces filled with wonderment.

  I wonder if I’ll ever have one of those someday.

  She grimaced.

  Yeah, having babies is a good thought to have when you’re working your tail off. Also, a father is handy for situations like that.

  “Rose, there you are!”

  She glanced up and automatically smiled as Ron Pawson hurried toward her, rubbing his hands together as if he were walking through a blizzard.

  “Hi,” she said with more cheerfulness than she felt. “Chilly this morning.”

  “Tell me about it,” Pawson replied, sliding onto the bench at her side. He held out a coffee and grinned. “I brought you one, but I see you’re already equipped. I should have known. When are you not ready to take whatever is thrown at you?”

  Rose eyed him suspiciously.

  Ah, shit. He’s starting with buttering me up already. This can’t be good.

  “What’s this about?” she asked, not wanting to prolong their inevitable conversation with idle small talk. “Why couldn’t we talk in the office?”

  Pawson sighed and placed the extra coffee cup at his side, turning to face her earnestly.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I gave you the Van Gould case, Rose,” he replied without preamble.

  After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, I was actually quite shocked.”

  Pawson hung his head, his eyes averted on the ground at his feet.

  “I don’t need to tell you how delicate of a case this is, Rose. The Van Gould name is like royalty in Riverton and Derek has done a lot of good for the community.”

  “He’s not the one on trial,” Rose reminded her boss, who bobbed his head in agreement.

  “No, but I shouldn’t need to explain how his name is being besmirched throughout this unpleasantness.”

  “Unpleasantness?” Rose echoed. “His son and three others dismembered a woman, probably in drug-infused delusion.”

  Ron was silent for a long moment, pausing to take a sip of his coffee as if gathering his thoughts.

  “As a criminal attorney, you shouldn’t approach a case with a bias,” he reminded her, but Rose could detect little reprimand in his voice.

  He’s grasping at straws. I wish he would just spit out what he has to say so I can get to my deposition. I’m already running late because of this stupid encounter.

  She decided to say as much.

  “Flattered as I am that you think I’m ready to handle a murder trial on my own,” she began, “I would think that with Mr. Van Gould’s reputation on the line, he would insist you handle it yourself.”

  Ron looked up, his dark brown eyes alight with something Rose couldn’t identify, but it gave her chills all the same.

  “Rose, you have lived in Riverton your entire life, haven’t you?”

  “Except when I lived in Laramie for school,” Rose conceded. “Why?”

  She noted how he looked about, his eyes scanning toward the children on the playground. The next time he spoke, he had lowered his voice.

  “It was a full moon last night,” he told her, and the apprehension Rose heard in his tone felt legitimate.

  Oh, what is he saying? Rose asked herself silently, but she had a terrible feeling she already knew.

  “Ron, I don’t want to get mixed up in—”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if you weren’t the only one who could do it,” he interrupted her.

  Trepidation filled her bones.

  “Why am I the only one who can do it?” she whispered, her green eyes wide.

  Ron shook his head, as if he had already said too much, and rose from the bench. “I have given you Julian to use exclusively. I thought maybe Jersey could help you also. Is there anything else you need? Another helping hand?”

  Yeah, Rose though, I need someone else to take on this case.

  “No,” she muttered. “I think that should be fine.”

  “I have taken the liberty of setting up a meeting with Chase this afternoon at the Van Gould estate. They are eager to meet with you.”

  Rose stared up at her superior, her mind racing.

  Is he telling me that he is one of them? Is that why he won’t take the case?

  She pushed the thought from her mind. What was “one of them,” anyway?

  She grew up hearing stories about Lycans, until it came a point where she realized they were probably just stories. After all, how could Lycans be real?

  “They are expecting you at one o’clock. I’m assuming you don’t need directions to their house.”

  A sardonic smile touched Rose’s pink mouth. If there was one property anyone in Riverton knew, it was the Van Gould estate.

  “No, I don’t think I do,” she confirmed. “I’ll be there.”

  Ron peered at her for a long moment.

  “Rose,” he said. “This won’t be an easy case to win in Riverton. I would move for a change of venue if I were you.”

  Then why don’t you just take the damn case and do that? Rose wanted to yell back at him, but she dared not. Instead she smiled, nodding as if she were grateful for the unsolicited advice.

  “All right,” she agreed. “Anything else I should know?”

  “That’s it for now, Rose.”

  She eyed Ron, trying not to seem annoyed, but with each minute that passed, she felt a
nimus growing in her bones.

  Ron nodded and turned away, although Rose had the feeling that there was much more he had wanted to say.

  “One o’clock then. Don’t be late. Derek is a stickler for time,” he said in parting, leaving Rose to stare after him, her heart pounding.

  What did I agree to do?

  But Rose knew that she had agreed to nothing; it was not as if she’d had a choice in the matter.

  ***

  The Van Gould property was eight acres built along Gas Hills Road, near the reservoir output. It was a gated area, set back in the dusty desert, and anyone passing by the lonely two-lane street would think nothing of the black fence that hid the sprawling estate and housed two generations of Van Goulds.

  It had been built by Hans Van Gould in 1887, but it had started as little more than a shack on barren land. When the gasoline age flourished in Wyoming, each subsequent generation of Van Gould had added to the land in some small way, until Derek had finally gathered the finances to make the land a showpiece—one he boasted about endlessly to anyone who would listen.

  Rose had been on the property once when she was in her early teens. Derek had hosted a town event in effort to raise money for the aftermath of a tornado that had swept through their part of Wyoming, but Rose barely remembered the details.

  She had been too busy checking out the handsome Chase Van Gould and his arrogant friends.

  They didn’t have the time of day for you then, Rose recalled, bemused as she pulled her Corolla toward the gate. Funny how that worked out.

  She harbored no bitterness, not really. They were very different in every way. It was something that went without saying, another unspoken fact in Riverton: the Van Goulds and the Bridgemonts had little in common. It was probably better that way.

  True, Clive was a self-made man, not unlike Derek Van Gould, but Chase and Christiana had attended a private school, while Clive had sent his own daughter into the public system.

  “There is no use in sheltering you,” Clive had always told Rose. “You will learn the hardships of life sooner or later. The sooner you learn them, the better equipped you will be in the future.”

  Rose had always wondered if that was the true reason her father had earnestly sent her to a public school. She had other suspicions.

  There had been rumors, silly idle gossip that the private school housed different types of students.

  Really? Your mind is going to go there today? You and your damn full moons. You need to stop watching horror flicks.

  “Yes?”

  The voice piped through the intercom, startling Rose. She hadn’t pressed a button to announce her arrival. She lowered her window, speaking directly into the black box.

  “Rose Bridgemont, from Peterson and Pawson,” she said crisply, her breath coming out in steam. There was a moment of silence and the door opened, allowing for her silver sedan to drive through.

  Rose’s breath caught as she drove the vehicle through the entranceway and around the circle drive toward the ranch-style property. In the rearview mirror, she watched the gate swing closed, and for a fleeting moment, Rose had the urge to turn around and leave.

  She wondered if they would let her.

  It was a strange thought, but one that clung to the pit of her stomach like paste.

  Am I walking into a type of hostage situation here? Okay, that’s it. No more horror flicks or Grisham novels.

  No amount of rationalizing would stop her from rolling up the window again, though.

  While the house was nothing short of splendid—with its wooden wraparound porch and wood and stone pillars—the western warmth it attempted to exude was instantly lost on Rose. To her, nothing but an ominous darkness flowed through the endless windows toward her.

  Slowly, she drew the car to the front of the house and then turned it off, trying to compose herself.

  You’re being ridiculous. The only reason you’re apprehensive is because this is a murder house. You’re a professional. Go inside and do your job. Interview Chase and go home. You don’t have to—

  A knock on her window caused Rose to jump, and she turned her wide jade eyes to the figure beside her car.

  It was Derek Van Gould. He was tall and good looking with dark hair, peppered with gray. As always, he was dressed in a designer suit that was tailored to fit perfectly. His presence had always given her a sense of unease.

  “Miss Bridgemont?”

  Gulping back her terror, she tried to smile, but her expression resulted in a pained look.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, reaching toward the door handle with a trembling hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “You startled me.”

  He chuckled and opened the door from his end, allowing her to step out of the driver’s seat. Rose watched as his eyes raked over her slender frame, and she stifled a shiver of repulsion.

  “Derek Van Gould,” he said, offering his hand. Rose accepted it quickly, and he closed the door with his free hand. He didn’t immediately release her palm, and Rose felt beads of sweat break out over her forehead.

  “I’m afraid Ron didn’t tell me just how beautiful you are,” he told her, his clear blue eyes examining her appreciatively. “I’m sort of glad he didn’t. I love surprises.”

  Rose felt herself bristle.

  If he thinks that flattering me is going to help his son’s miserable case, he’s sorely mistaken.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly, jerking her hand back. “Where is Chase?”

  “He and Christiana are in the front room, but I wanted to speak with you first.”

  Rose waited, her eyes slightly lowered. She was having a hard time staring at the real estate giant in the eye.

  “I understand that you don’t have experience in murder trials, Miss Bridgemont. Or may I call you Rose?”

  She nodded quickly, still not meeting his eyes.

  “I have not had the pleasure yet,” she confirmed. “And I understand if you are concerned with my inexperience. I’m sure we can find better counsel for Chase, maybe someone from out of town?”

  She held her breath, hoping he would dismiss her on the spot.

  I can tell Pawson he hated me. It wouldn’t be my fault.

  To her dismay, Derek laughed, but there was no mirth in his tone. “No,” he said flatly. “It needs to be someone who knows Riverton. Ron told me that you have lived here your whole life.”

  Again, a fission of annoyance coursed through her. What difference does that make? Rose wondered.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I have.”

  Derek nodded. “You will do fine then. I had to have Ron excuse himself from this case. He’s a little bit…” He seemed to have trouble finding the appropriate word. “Too close to this for my liking.”

  Rose didn’t ask what he meant, even though she was fairly sure she knew.

  Ron isn’t one of them, is he? How would I know? Am I losing my mind?

  “Dad! I have shit to do today!”

  They turned toward the entranceway where Chase stood, his arms folded against his chest. His face was contorted into a scowl, a pout barely visible beneath his beard.

  He was the very image of a quintessential hipster, and Rose hated his face on sight.

  “Do you?” Derek snarled back. “Something more important than keeping you out of prison?”

  Chase didn’t answer, instead whirling on his heels to storm back into the house.

  “We shouldn’t keep his highness waiting,” Derek said dryly, and Rose eyed him with disgust. She couldn’t imagine ever speaking to her father in such a way.

  No wonder Chase thinks he can get away with everything, she thought furiously. He has had no discipline. Everything has been handed to him on a silver platter.

  “Come along now,” Derek sighed, and Rose felt like he had read her thoughts.

  I can imagine that Derek Van Gould has been told that by other people. Maybe he read the distaste in my face.

 
She didn’t speak while they walked into the glorious front doors. She admitted to herself that the house was beautiful. Everywhere she looked was reminiscent of a log cabin, with the exposed wood, deer antlers, and polished furniture. The inside smelled distinctly of fireplace, yet Rose could not exactly identify the scent with the coziness it was attempting to shove down her throat.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if they were burning evidence.

  It doesn’t matter how much money they spend trying to make this a home, she thought, there is nothing warm about it.

  “This way, Rose,” Derek urged, guiding her toward a sunken living room to her left.

  Chase was pacing around, his ear pressed to his cell phone while Christiana sat at the piano, her long, pale fingers touching the ivory keys, but not making a sound.

  “This is my daughter, Christiana,” Derek introduced, and Christiana nodded, shifting her blue eyes downward. “Chase, get off the phone,” he snapped, but Chase turned his back to him.

  Rose choked back her annoyance as Chase continued to speak.

  “Yeah, babe, I know, but I’m stuck here until this shyster is done grilling me. No, I will… okay… I love you—”

  Rose didn’t even see how it happened, but at a record-breaking speed, Derek had covered the area between him and his son, and she saw the iPhone flying through the air and landing in the lit fireplace.

  “What the fuck!” Chase screamed, watching as the device began to pop and explode inside the fire.

  “She gets paid by the hour, Chase,” Derek told him conversationally. “I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but it’s coming out of my pocket.”

  “That was my phone!” Chase howled, reaching for the poker. Again, with lightning speed, Derek slapped the instrument from his son’s hand and Chase went soaring through the air, landing on the brown micro-suede sofa.

  Rose’s heart thumped madly as she watched the scene in disbelief.

  “Catriona will forgive you,” Derek said, ambling over to sit at Chase’s side. “I may not. Now shut up and sit down. Rose?”

  Swallowing her fear, Rose looked around the room at the Van Goulds. Christiana maintained her stare on the piano while Chase glared hatefully at his father. Only Derek seemed fixated on her.