Hell, he wanted to find out what she was thinking. He approached her and asked impulsively, “Hey, Lieutenant, you haven’t been here long enough to visit our nearest town, Mary Glen, have you?”
She turned toward him and blinked her amazing blue-green eyes as if she’d just been brought back to awareness from some kind of dream. “No,” she said slowly, as if wondering why he asked, “I haven’t.”
“Okay, then, come with me while I pick up a truck to move that thing. We won’t stay long, but at least you’ll get a sense of the place.” He paused then drew nearer and said in a confidential tone too soft for nearby members of the Ultra Special Forces Team to hear. “Oh, and by the way, some of the townsfolk even believe in shapeshifters. I’ll tell you all about them on the way.”
* * *
Sara was fascinated.
First of all, she liked that, riding beside Jason in his souped-up, old, red Mustang, she could pay much more attention to the road leading away from Ft. Lukman. It was surrounded by gorgeous, thick woodlands composed of trees including mature oaks as well as evergreens.
The road was basically two-lane—barely. They made a sharp left turn at the edge of the base, and Jason swerved to avoid some stones on the pavement.
Sara was definitely an urbanite, but she still found the area charming and attractive. Definitely worth visiting.
But not under these circumstances.
“How far is Mary Glen from here?” she asked Jason.
“Not far in mileage.” He glanced toward her from the driver’s seat for only an instant before redirecting his eyes back to the risky road. “Light years away in attitude.”
“I suppose you’re going to explain,” she said.
“I suppose I am.” He grinned. And then he began telling her an utterly wild tale about Mary Glen and some murders that had been committed there over several years. “I don’t have firsthand knowledge of this,” Jason said, “But my cuz Drew told me about it. It’s how he met his wife, Melanie, in fact. Now they even have a kid—little Emily.”
“Really?” Sara said. “Now I’m getting interested.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you about it. First of all, he said a lot of townsfolk bought into the legend of shapeshifters living in the area. I don’t go to town a lot, but I gather some of its citizens still believe the story. If nothing else, they liked the legend because it brought tourists—and, in fact, it’s one reason Ft. Lukman was established so near Mary Glen, as only loonies like them would buy into the rumor that anyone had seen shifters in the area. Other people here, though, hated both the idea and shapeshifters.”
He explained how the parents of Lieutenant Patrick Worley, one of the members of Alpha Force, had been killed by silver bullets, about a year apart, theoretically because they were werewolves.
“And in fact, Dr. Worley, senior, was a shifter. After he died, Patrick sold his dad’s veterinary practice to Dr. Melanie Harding—Melanie Harding-Connell now, my cousin-in-law. Drew’s wife.”
It seemed that a cult of shapeshifting groupies used to hang out in Mary Glen hoping to see, and perhaps dispose of, some shapeshifters by shooting them with silver bullets. Maybe some still did.
“That’s an absolute myth, though,” Jason added. “Shapeshifters can be killed just like regular people, by any normal kind of ammunition.”
Sara just rolled her eyes but didn’t comment.
In any event, back then someone had shot Drew’s cover dog, Grunge, who was found injured by Melanie, and, excellent vet that she was, she had saved the dog’s life—while endangering her own as an apparent shapeshifter lover. She’d proven to the town that Grunge was not Drew in shifted form. Drew, of course, never admitted to shapeshifting—especially not to that wacko group of people.
Eventually, after more killings, the perpetrator was finally caught. Things around Mary Glen—and around Ft. Lukman—had settled down to a relatively peaceful existence.
Until now.
“Do you suppose anyone from town could have sabotaged the general’s car?” Sara asked.
“Possibly, but that all happened a while ago. I’d bet instead that it was a member of our new best friends, the USFT.”
“But why?” said Sara.
“When we figure that out,” Jason replied, “we’ll probably know who it was, too.”
Their discussion was enough of a diversion for Sara that the drive to the main street of Mary Glen, Maryland, went quickly.
So shapeshifting was real. Jason certainly sounded convincing.
He had looked even more convincing....
* * *
The car-carrier truck was definitely available for rent. At the right price. At the right high price.
But hell, Jason thought. Uncle Sam would be footing the bill, not him.
And the vehicle, with its black, shining cab in front and car-size, ramplike bed in back—along with a hookup to pull a car onto it—was exactly what he needed.
Sara didn’t seem impressed, but he figured she wasn’t a vehicle aficionado, at least not the way he was. He haggled for a few minutes with the owner of the service station that owned the truck, though, so she’d figure he was a good military guy who wanted to save his employer, and his country, some money.
After more discussion, he locked his beloved Mustang in a relatively secure-looking garage area.
He then returned to the truck, opened the passenger door and took Sara’s hand, helping her climb inside.
He liked touching her warm hand, feeling her firm grip.
Wondering what it might feel like elsewhere on his body...
Hell, what was he thinking? Why had he even taken this woman along with him? It wasn’t in his nature to feel sorry for someone who was apparently suffering in sympathy for a downed friend—in this case, a superior officer.
But he had enjoyed her company. Too much.
“This thing rides amazingly well,” Sara said as they headed back toward Ft. Lukman. Then she paused. “But I really like your Mustang.”
Okay. If he hadn’t already been attracted to her, Jason knew he would be now.
But, he told himself, just because she was beautiful and sexy and fun to tease—and talk to—and he’d inhaled her light and appealing citrus scent on their entire ride to town, and even though she liked his car, that didn’t mean he could let himself get involved with her.
She was an officer—a non-Alpha Force one at that. She seemed completely by the book. Ready to obey all orders of her commanding officer, the injured general.
Horrified that she’d seen Jason shapeshift and now trying to ignore it.
And he was just a military peon.
One who happened to be a shapeshifter, and proud of it.
* * *
Their ride back from Mary Glen wasn’t as enjoyable to Sara as going the other direction.
Surprisingly, she had been enthralled by Jason’s glib tale about the quaint small town and its foibles. Not that she’d liked hearing about murders and strange shapeshifter groupies, but the way Jason had described the amazingly squirrely people had captured her interest.
But on the way back, it seemed as though he’d exhausted his interest in the town—and her.
Even so, their being cooped up in the small cab of that truck hadn’t seemed uncomfortable.
Sara hadn’t let it.
Her verbal encouragement hadn’t spurred Jason to tell more stories about Mary Glen, or even himself. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to her about his shapeshifting. Maybe then he would have had to explain what Alpha Force was really about.
And Sara would have enjoyed hearing it. Been relieved, in fact, to learn the secrets.
She had other questions about him, too. Why had he joined the military at all? He didn’t seem enthralled by it. Was it simply to join this team of military shapeshifters?
But he was a noncommissioned officer, and many other members of Alpha Force whom she’d met so far were lieutenants and above. Why was he different?
She did
n’t ask. Not now. And when Jason stayed quiet, Sara had started talking about herself—and how she had become General Yarrow’s aide. She’d first gotten her undergraduate degree in political science at Kent State University, where she’d also joined ROTC. She’d always wanted to give back to her country, plus she loved the order of the military. She’d planned early on to make it her career.
She didn’t mention, though, that Alan, her college boyfriend, had thought her nuts and kept trying to get her to do things outside the box. All he did was make her feel uncomfortable.
One night she’d joined Alan at a party and found him drinking, indulging in “recreational” drugs—and making out with another woman. That ended their relationship. And Sara hadn’t been seriously interested in another man since then.
Which was a good thing, especially now. She would never get involved with someone like Jason. She was superior in rank to him. She had the honor of being an aide to a general, and Jason fixed cars.
And, worst of all, he was an amazingly genuine shapeshifter.
His sexy, amusing demeanor didn’t make up for any of that.
“I’d really like to know more about Alpha Force,” she finally finished. “And what makes it tick. General Yarrow is really proud to be the unit’s commanding officer and always hinted broadly at its...unusual characteristics. One thing I do like is the camaraderie among its members.” Although she knew she’d have to remind herself more than once that it was okay to call other members here by their first names instead of their ranks, as she did sometimes in private with her mentor, Greg Yarrow. She’d slipped, though, out of fear for him earlier today, but she wouldn’t do it again.
Alpha Force was military, but its members clearly were less formal than any other unit she had associated with.
Jason shot a quick glance at her then—just as he flipped on the truck’s turn signal.
They were back at Ft. Lukman, and he was about to enter the part of the road nearest the entry—just beyond where they’d first seen General Yarrow’s car on fire.
Jason slowed down again, as if seeking clues. Or avoiding those stones on the road. Or both.
Sara couldn’t help it. She looked around, too. The area was surrounded by trees similar to those they’d passed all along the drive. Could someone have shot something from the cover of the forest that set the Jeep’s canvas on fire?
But wouldn’t the guard in the kiosk have seen it?
Maybe it had been completely accidental. Maybe the people studying what was left of the vehicle would find an indication of what the general had been storing in the back that caught fire. Or maybe he was a closet smoker—though she’d been around him a lot over the past months and had seen, and smelled, no indication of that. And surely the vehicle would have been designed, for safety, for its canvas cover to withstand being hit by a lit butt, just in case.
Still, it seemed awfully coincidental for it to start burning in earnest, however it caught fire, just when the general entered Ft. Lukman.
Jason stopped at the kiosk. As he showed credentials to the guard who greeted them, Sara jumped as she heard a rapping on the passenger window beside her. She looked over.
It was Major Connell. She immediately pressed the button to roll the window down.
“Good,” said the major. “You’re back.”
Sara felt herself quiver in anticipation. Had something else bad happened? Before asking, she looked around.
The hulk of General Yarrow’s car was still there in the spot ahead of them. A couple of soldiers stood by it, rifles at their shoulders, obviously guarding the vehicle’s corpse.
With the truck she rode in, there was a means of moving it to an out-of-the-way spot for further study before official disposal.
For now, though, Jason would have to steer around it.
But not immediately.
Sara stared back out the window toward Drew. “Is the general—” she began.
“He’s doing okay. He wants to see you and me at the hospital ASAP.”
“Fine.” But Sara darted a glance toward Jason. “Only—”
“I’ll get some of the guys to help me move the damaged car onto the ramp back there,” he said, casually gesturing toward the back of the truck. He didn’t seem at all perturbed that she’d be deserting him this quickly.
Which shot a bolt of unanticipated sorrow through Sara.
She hadn’t planned on being with Jason for this amount of time.
She certainly hadn’t planned on enjoying it.
But this just might be the only opportunity she would ever have to spend time with this appealing, sexy—and unattainable—man.
Ever.
And now it was over.
Chapter 5
General Yarrow’s hospital room didn’t impress Sara as looking any more exciting than any other hospital room she’d ever visited, except for its privacy. It was compact, with a single bed—which the general occupied—and two windows along one wall where the blinds had been opened, spilling light inside. The illumination struck the small chest of drawers where patients or their families could stow belongings. A TV hung overhead on the far wall. There were chairs—four of them, occupied now, including the one where Sara sat nearest to the general’s right hand.
Appropriate, she realized.
It was all she could do to prevent herself from taking that hand in hers. To reassure him that everything would be okay.
Ridiculous. He was the one used to dictating the status of how whatever was happening each day played out. Plus, he was still her commanding officer. He would be shocked if she treated him like her friend or relative, no matter how fondly she thought of him.
Major Drew Connell and Sara had arrived only a couple of minutes ago. They’d entered the room and sat down in the seats as the general directed. The other two were occupied by Lieutenant Simon Parran and his wife, Lieutenant Grace Andreas-Parran, who’d obviously done a good job of accompanying the general here and ensuring that he was seen quickly in the emergency room.
Fortunately, his injuries were not life threatening. Grace had met them at the door and briefly informed them that General Yarrow had suffered a substantial amount of smoke inhalation. He’d been coughing and complained of a headache and shortness of breath. He was currently being treated with oxygen that he inhaled via tubes placed in his nose. Otherwise, he was fine.
He looked ashen, though, as his head rested on a pillow at the top of the raised back of the bed. His paleness was emphasized by the unmitigated blackness of his full head of hair—now more askew than Sara had ever seen it before.
But his light brown eyes were flashing, as always—ensuring that anyone on whom he directed his gaze knew exactly who was in charge.
“So where is the shell of my car now?” he demanded of Major Connell. The general, in his blue-plaid hospital gown, was the only one not dressed in camo attire. Sara wasn’t used to seeing him in anything but his casual uniform, jeans and T-shirt during off hours, or, occasionally, something more formal.
“By now it should be secured in an area within the base’s main parking garage, sir,” Drew said, leaning toward him. “Lieutenant McLinder went with Sergeant Connell to rent a special flatbed vehicle to move it, and they arrived back at the base just in time for the lieutenant to accompany me here.”
The general nodded his approval toward Sara. The gingerness of the movement might not have been obvious to the others in this room who didn’t work with him daily, but Sara could tell that he was in real discomfort—and trying to hide it. They all were doctors but she knew the general better than any of them.
She was his primary aide and hoped she would continue in that position for a long time to come.
But maybe not where he had intended, most recently, to station himself—Ft. Lukman.
An image of Sergeant Jason Connell flashed through Sara’s mind, and she willed it away. If they didn’t return to the base housing Alpha Force, then she would never see the gorgeous, devil-may-care noncom
again. In either of his forms.
Either of his forms? Heck, the fire in the general’s car had taken precedence in her mind over all else—even pondering how strange, and outrageous, the reality of shapeshifting was.
Not seeing Jason again would definitely be for the best.
“What’s the next step, then?” the general asked. “I presume you’re having the remains examined by someone who’ll be able to tell me what happened to the damned thing.”
“I will, sir,” Drew said. “I’m just having a little difficulty deciding on the right kind of forensics team for this. I of course don’t want to use a civilian team, and because of the...well, delicate nature of the units stationed at Ft. Lukman and their relationship, I want to be sure I get the right kind of expertise in place, with complete discretion. And honesty.”
“In other words,” Simon said drily from his seat on the opposite side of the general’s bed, “you want to bring in someone who won’t either be ready to reveal any unusual things he may see—like shapeshifting—or afraid to point fingers at our new best friends, the Ultra Special Forces Team.”
Simon was a tall man, whose straight, dark eyebrows matched his wavy, thick hair. Sara had noticed how often he shot glances toward his wife. She knew they were newlyweds, and had also heard, as a result of the general’s grumblings, some of the awful details of their kidnapping while on their honeymoon.
Fortunately, other members of Alpha Force, primarily Simon’s brother, Lieutenant Quinn Parran, and Grace’s aide, Sergeant Kristine Norwood, had helped to bring them home— although their involvement hadn’t been strictly in accordance with military protocol. That hadn’t pleased the general—but Sara thought his irritation had been more for show in his position as commanding officer of Alpha Force than his real feelings.
What Simon had just said worried Sara, who liked everything military to be by the book. That included all units being...well, ordinary—even if she already knew that Alpha Force was anything but.
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