by Terry Spear
Meara stalked into the house, saw Hunter at the open window, and gave a half smile. Then she frowned. "Don't you go getting friendly with that woman, too. Jeesh. I heard you and Uncle Basil talking about her. You know, the lower your voices go, the more I listen in." She shook her head. "No wonder Uncle Basil couldn't get rid of her. Sweet and innocent. Miss Red Riding Hood in a white parka." She raised a brow. "And by the way, as petite as she is, her boobs are silicone--have to be."
No way was the woman anything but the real thing, every bit of her, and he wanted to prove to himself they were in the worst way. Hunter shut the window. "You made Tessa Anderson suspicious. She thinks we've buried Uncle Basil in the backyard. So now I'll have to take care of it." And he would, starting tonight.
"Hmpf. What about the rest of our pack?" Her spine stiff, Meara stirred the spinach heating on the stove and refused to look at him.
"The seven who took off for Portland will return when they get tired of city life."
"So they moved to greener pastures, and we're stuck in Timbuktu?" Meara's amber eyes flashed with irritation, her lips turned down.
"We'll rent only to lupus garous, like Uncle Basil did. We'll entice eligible alpha males to visit, and you'll put them under your spell." He failed to understand how she couldn't see the beauty of the area. If she would just take a run with him in the woods, work out some of her frustration, she would feel better. "We're not a city pack. The rest will tire of it before long."
"And then?" She yanked out her chair and dropped into it, fixing him with another chilling look.
"They can join us here. Plenty of game for hunting on moonlit nights. Oregon has laws to protect wolves. We won't have any problems."
"I want to go to the city." She looked up from her salmon and although she kept her expression stern, her eyes glistened with tears.
Ah, hell. What really was the matter?
"A red pack already resides in Portland."
Her mouth parted.
Hunter clarified, "Leidolf is the pack leader. I met him last spring when you wouldn't come with me to see Uncle Basil. He seemed a nice enough lupus garou for a red. As nice as one can be when he's dealing with a gray pack leader, but he won't like it that some of our pack are encroaching on his city."
She folded her arms. "Fine. You're bigger than the reds. Push them out and we can start over there."
Leaning back in his chair, he studied his sister's stubborn expression. She'd always been so predictable, so agreeable. What was wrong with her now?
"Quit looking at me like I've lost my mind. I'm in my first wolf's heat and I... want... a... mate! Damn it. Don't you ever feel the pull? No, of course not. You have one-night stands with human women who want the same thing and then you're satiated, for a time."
But he suspected her first wolf's heat wasn't the only thing making her so unreasonable. Damned if he could figure it out.
"Of course I want a mate. Nevertheless, you know as well as I do the males outnumber the females in any given pack. If I can't find one of our kind..." He shrugged. "I'll have to find my pleasure elsewhere."
Not that he had been with a woman in a very long time, or was often with one. Running a pack took priority and searching for an eligible lupus garou female was impractical since he didn't have a sub-leader who could watch over his people in his absence. He couldn't even trust Meara for now.
"I miss Genevieve and the others," she said softly, avoiding looking at him.
So that was the problem. "They'll come back, Meara. Trust me in this."
"And I miss our home." She poked at her food, then she looked up at him. "You're right about one thing, dear brother. I should fetch a pretty important alpha male, don't you think?"
Important? Try more headstrong than his sister, or her mate would never have any say in their relationship.
Hunter gave her a small smile. "That's what I've been saying."
"So find me one." Her gaze sharpened along with her voice. " Or else I'm joining the others."
Hunter's twin sister was his to protect until he could find a suitable mate for her. Meara was not going anywhere without him. The pack would return. Damn it. And he wasn't about to chase after them.
Already past midnight by the time his sister fell asleep, Hunter threw open the front door and took a whiff of the breeze. Winter, pine, the smell of the sea. Fish. And sea kelp. Time to mark his territory, indicating he was taking the area over from his uncle, and check out Tessa Anderson's place. Not only that, but running through the woods--seeing them alive and green after the flames had devoured the California forests, leaving ashes in their wake--he hoped it would settle his troubled thoughts. At a wolf's pace, he would reach Tessa's home in a couple of hours, less if he ran. Although he needed to leave his scent along the way.
Painlessly, he allowed the change to come over him, stretching his limbs, feeling the power fill his legs and body. His face elongated into a snout, his curved canines extending until they were deadly weapons that could crush bone, if he'd felt in the mood for a hunt. A double coat of banded gray fur covered his skin, keeping out the bitter cold as he loped outside in his wolf form and headed into the forest, his black nails digging into the pine needle covered floor.
At once, he enjoyed the oneness he felt with the wild out-of-doors, instead of being an intruder on the land the way he felt when he was in his human form. Now, he was a predator, more in tune with the feral side of his nature.
Yet, he felt a trifle unsettled as he headed south on their property.
Maybe Meara was right. Moving was harder than he'd expected. Part of him enjoyed the newness of being here at his uncle's place a couple times a year, but part of him longed for his familiar hunting grounds.
Time to put aside regrets and concentrate on business.
While he was traversing the area for a few miles, the chilly, crisp air ruffled his fur, and the sound of the ocean crashed down below the rocky cliffs. The sweet fragrance of fir trees looming overhead mingled with the fishy odor of the ocean and the seaweed rotting on the beach, nearly masking the scent of a rabbit nearby. But then another smell came to his attention--not a welcome odor, either.
He twisted his head to the south. Male gray lupus garous--three of them--their smell wafting in the air. And not any of his pack either. These three shouldn't be here.
Listening for any sounds of them, he paused. Nothing. Yet the adrenaline surged through his veins, preparing him for the confrontation.
He had marked his territory well, brushing his tail and face against tree trunks and branches. Even his toes pressed against the earth left his unique scent, showing beyond a doubt he had claimed it, as his Uncle Basil had before him. What gray would be fool enough to trespass on another's lands without permission in the dark of night?
Meara! In her wolf's heat, she must have caught their attention.
Hunter sprinted back toward the cabin. The closer he drew to his quiet home, the more his chest tightened. The grays had been here and could still be here. The transformation swift and painless, he quickly changed from wolf to human form and stood naked on the front porch where the door was still wide open. His blood burned so hot, the cold didn't touch him. "Meara!"
The door to her bedroom was open. The smell of the three males lingered heavy in the air. A deathly silence pervaded the place.
Hunter stormed into Meara's bedroom. She was gone. His heart racing, he roared, "Meara!"
Her bedcovers were tossed aside, but it didn't look as though there had been a struggle. Bile rose in Hunter's throat. Had the grays forced her to leave with them, or had she gone willingly? He couldn't be sure, the way the wolf heat--particularly the first one she'd had to experience--was making her so crazy.
Either way, they were dead men. Nothing less than a gray alpha male of his choosing would do for his sister. And no one would steal her away in the middle of the night without facing the devil over it.
His face extending into a wolf's snout and his torso and limbs ch
anging as fur covered his body, he became a wolf once again and raced out of the cabin. He smelled the intruders' scent on the turbulent sea breeze and followed them as they headed south.
Once he found them, he would deal with them wolf to wolf, teaching them to take care when stealing a leader's sister.
Hunter's breath mixed with the air, an ice storm threatening.
Mile after mile he tracked the three of them and his sister. They were either so arrogant they didn't worry about him, or just too stupid to care. They left a trail a brand-new Cub Scout could follow--broken branches and clumps of fur rubbed against trees; two even urinated a few times as if taunting him--or maybe they had weak bladders.
He growled low.
When the sun illuminated the gray clouds, brightening the day just a little in the early morning hour, he sensed the wolves had marked this new territory for their own. Trespassing or not, he wouldn't allow them to stop him from freeing Meara and taking care of the menace.
Out of the mist, a blackened pine tree, like a soldier bitterly scarred, stood at the edge of a cliff that gave way to the ocean below. Like the forests devoured in flames they had recently escaped, except this silent soldier had been here for a very long time, the remaining forest again green.
Branches rustled west of Hunter, and he whipped around. Three hefty grays stared him down, their tails straight, the hair on their backs standing up. Hunter took a whiff of the breeze. They weren't the ones who had taken his sister. And there was no sign of her now. But the way the leader of this group crouched low and curled his lips back, exposing his teeth, Hunter had no choice. He wasn't backing down. If they were protecting the others who had taken his sister, they'd pay, too.
Fresh adrenaline charged through his system, preparing him for battle as he growled low, stiffened his tail like a flag of warning, and rushed the biggest of the three wolves, his muzzle wrinkling as he bared his killer canines.
The Oregon temperature was thirty-one degrees, but the knowledge Tessa Anderson's brother might not go free made it feel colder still. On top of that? An ice storm was imminent.
Her back rigid enough to cause it to spasm with the building tension, she sat on the wooden bench in the courtroom, her fingernails biting into her palms. She clenched her teeth, fighting tears as she waited for the foreman to make the announcement.
She prayed she and Michael could return to their cabin on the coast and weather the storm like their grandparents had. Only this time, she feared her prayers would go unanswered.
The look Michael cast Tessa pleaded for her to save him from this nightmare. He appeared pale and gaunt in his black suit, the same one he'd worn to his last art exhibit in Portland. How had their lives turned so upside down?
She, who had always gotten her younger brother out of scrapes since their parents had died five years ago, felt like an avalanche was crushing her heart. She'd spent all her savings and some of their inheritance trying to prove his innocence and only wished the rumors that gold was buried on their property was true--and that she could find it--to use to help save her brother.
She let out her breath. Michael was innocent. Damn it.
God, please, oh please, find him not guilty. Set him free.
"Michael Anderson, on the count of first-degree murder of Bethany Wade, the jury finds you guilty."
Barely audible, the words melded and faded. The breath she'd been holding whooshed from Tessa's lungs, and her head grew fuzzy. The bright lights in the courthouse blinked out.
The next thing she knew, her head was resting in a stranger's lap and a man and woman were shaking her. "Miss Anderson? Miss Anderson?"
Her mind cleared and she looked around at a sea of concerned faces. Her heart began racing again. Guilty. The jury had found her brother guilty.
The police were escorting her brother from the room in handcuffs.
She hurried to mouth the words, "I love you, Michael. I'll get you out."
His green eyes filled with tears, he gave her a slight nod.
He knew she would try. No matter what, she'd exhaust every avenue before she let her brother rot in prison for the rest of his life for a crime he didn't commit.
A new lawyer, new evidence, appeals. Where could she find a good lawyer to start all over again?
Her heart encased in ice, she realized the only way to prove him innocent was to find the real murderer. Unfortunately, in the Oregon coastal community, the sheriff believed in only one suspect, Michael. Now that the jury found him guilty, no way was the sheriff's department going to look any further into the matter.
Her family's home, the townspeople, the community-- all the things she held dear since her parents perished--now meant nothing. No one she knew had sat with her to offer solace during any part of the trial. She felt betrayed, isolated from those who had been her friends.
She stumbled to her feet. Her legs were like melted wax, but she clutched her purse and headed for the courtroom doors, her head held high. A weariness crept through her, as the adrenaline rush from her anticipation of the verdict fizzled into oblivion.
People quickly moved out of her way as if avoiding a communicable disease. Some of them watched her, their eyes narrowed in contempt, acting like she was the reason for the crime in their once secure and sleepy little community.
A tall, thin man observed her from the other side of the room. His dark brown hair curling about his shoulders, the angular planes of his narrow face, the way his shoulders stooped forward, made him seem somehow familiar. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at the exit. But when his gaze zeroed in on her again, this time she caught his eye. He quickly looked away as if he couldn't decide what to do--approach and offer condolences or scowl at her, too.
Another of Bethany's relatives? He might have been. She'd been dark-haired, too, and tall and willowy. Plus tons of her cousins from back east were here for the trial.
Bethany's parents hesitated at the entryway as if wanting to say something to Tessa, but then, maybe thinking better of it, Mr. Wade quickly escorted his teary-eyed wife outside.
Tessa blinked back her own tears. But as soon as she left the courthouse, a lone newspaper reporter targeted her with a photographer in tow.
She groaned inwardly. Rourke Thornburg. Once an on-again/off-again boyfriend in high school who had tried to renew their relationship after she'd finished college and returned to the coast, now just an annoying waste of time.
As usual, his dark gray suit was impeccable and his manicured hair had not a strand out of place--making him appear like a big-time-news-reporter wannabe. From the high-school paper to this--his first big story in the coastal town--other than reporting the weather, new storm rolling onto the coast, or crab season's arrival.
She hurried down the courthouse steps and headed for her Ford Escape, hoping to avoid the inevitable.
Like a used car salesman with the deal of a lifetime, Rourke dove in front of Tessa. "Any statements, Miss Anderson, now that the jury found your brother guilty of first-degree murder?"
Taking a stand, she drew taller and looked Rourke squarely in the eye. "My brother is innocent. He loved Bethany. The murderer thinks he got away with the crime, but I won't give up until he or she has been brought to justice."
She shouldn't have said anything to the press. She knew it, but she couldn't stop the words.
"Do you think the sheriff's department is guilty of a cover-up?"
Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Sheriff Wellington watching her, his blue eyes hard as ice. "I think the sheriff only saw Michael's involvement with Bethany, overlooking the possibility someone else was the killer. I wouldn't say it was intentional."
"How do you propose to find the real killer, supposing Michael is innocent?"
"You'll be the first to know." She squelched the tears, unable to offer anything close to the truth.
Rourke knew her better. However, she also realized he wouldn't let go of the story. So what would he do? Report on her progress, sensation
alizing her failures to bring the true murderer to justice to make a name for himself? She could see the report now: Sister Seeks Killer to Free Her Brother. When Will She Recognize the Truth?
Rourke motioned to the cameraman to quit taking pictures and walked Tessa to her car, his hand supporting her elbow.
She wanted to jerk away from him, to show she wouldn't allow his attempt at placating her, but too many people were watching. For now, she had to be the proverbial pillar of strength for her brother. Anything less would show defeat.
"I know how upsetting this has to be, as much as you care for your brother, but the jurors were right."
Without responding to Rourke's remark, she unlocked her car door and climbed in. But then she reconsidered. Maybe, just maybe, she could solicit his help. Who else did she have? Nobody.
"If you really want to be a reporter, you might investigate this case yourself. Look at the guys who dug into the Watergate mess and how much dirt they uncovered. No one else did. Ever think you could put your talents to good use?"
A spark of interest flickered in his gray eyes, but he was far from being convinced. Like everyone else, Rourke believed Michael was guilty of the crime. End of story.
He leaned against her door and sighed. "All right. Here's the deal. You and I can get together over dinner, and you can tell me what makes you believe Michael didn't do it, other than the fact he's your brother."
"How about you look into it, and when you discover some other leads, you give me a call. Then we'll do dinner."
"Shrewd." Rourke offered a coy smile. "Not one person could verify Bethany was seeing some other guy. Michael made up the whole story. No evidence points to anyone else."
"Not if you don't bother looking for it. Gotta go, Rourke. Later."
Nearby, Sheriff Wellington gave her a warning look as if to say she had better not stir up any more trouble. Nevertheless, to prove her brother's innocence, she'd do whatever it took.