She parked in the visitor parking in front of the building her campus map said was the history/government department. She couldn’t help but compare the place to the college in North Carolina. The place was underwhelming. She checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. She freed her hair, shook her head, and combed it neat again. She captured her locks into her ponytail, making sure the blue and white of her hair tie was displayed. She looked again in the mirror and grinned at herself.
“Trakes, you dummy. I’ll bet no one here even knows the colors of the Tar Heels.”
She canted her head and using the mirror checked to see her hair ribbons were clearly visible. If they didn’t know the colors, she would show them. Satisfied, stepped out of the car, slipped into her jacket and walked to the main entrance.
Once inside the main hallway, she found the place deserted and was overcome by the mix of odors that permeated. She hesitated and inhaled the smell of furniture polish, floor wax, a mix of perfumes and colognes, and of course, books. She smiled as memories rushed over her, and quietly observed, “The smell of getting smarter.”
She located and read the directory, where she learned the office she wanted was on the second floor. She walked the hallway as the stairs were located in the center of the building. She took in the dark paneling rich with oil and touched the varnished boundary. The floor, linoleum over cement, sounded loud under her feet, and her steps produced a slight echo as she walked.
It might be small, she thought, smiling to herself, but it’s a center for learning. Yet, even the feelings of nostalgia, the odors, and the recognition of the purpose of the place did not improve her disposition.
“Andee Trakes, Special Agent of the FBI,” she muttered as she climbed the stairs, “going to talk to a man about vampires, er, werewolves. You have descended into hell.”
She stopped outside the door to the office with a placard that read, “A. Lloyd, PhD.” She was dressed in her usual light blue shirt over her black dress slacks. Two-inch black pumps adorned her feet. A dark grey jacket covered the weapon snugged up close to her right kidney. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. Like it or not, she needed to get some information from this clown. She allowed herself to smile as she thought about a man who would waste his life studying things that do not exist. In her mind’s eye she could see him, balding, rimmed glasses, a paunch over his belt.
“No doubt,” she told herself, “he suffers from allergies. He’s allergic to the real world.” She straightened her jacket, her shoulders, whispered a prayer, and entered.
Inside the door was an outer office. The base of the walls was covered with a wainscot of dark wood and above that, a dusty rose paint added contrast. Several pictures and paintings adorned the walls. Centered along the rear wall was a medium-sized wooden desk. The desk was close to the same shade of wood as the wainscoting. It was much nicer then the metal desk Trakes was forced to occupy. The desk was proof positive why she should not like these people.
As she scanned the room, she took in the chairs along the wall to her right. A quick count told her there were seven chairs, and on each chair sat a student, a female student. None of them talked or paid any attention to the others, but all of them stared at Trakes. She turned her attention back to the desk and noticed the slightly older woman, undoubtedly Lloyd’s assistant, who sat behind it.
The assistant sat patiently at her desk and allowed Trakes the time to observe the office as she watched. When their eyes met, Trakes felt as if she was being judged or at least evaluated. The woman was not quite as tall as the agent, but was nonetheless tall and slender. Her eyes sparkled a bright green that reminded Trakes of freshly mown grass. Her hair, long with a natural bounce to it that only came from genetics, hung just past her shoulders. Trakes felt a bite of envy. The color was cinnamon red.
The woman’s dress was form-fitting, letting the world know the person who wore it was female. When the agent’s eyes fell on her a second time, the woman stood, offered a hand and asked, “My name is Miranda. May I help you?”
Andee ignored the offered hand, reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced her credentials.
“I’m Special Agent Trakes, I’m with the FBI. I drove up from New York to see Professor Lloyd.”
“I’m Professor Lloyd’s assistant. Is he expecting you?” Her smile never wavered, though the hand dropped to her side.
“No, as I said, I’m with the FBI, and we don’t normally make appointments.”
Miranda, with smile still in place, walked to the door leading to the professor’s office as she said, “Let me check with him, but I’m sure he will be able to meet with you. I keep his appointment calendar, so I know he’s not overly busy.”
“Hey, I was here first, and I’ve waited thirty minutes.”
Trakes turned back to the office and noticed a blonde had stood to announce her displeasure. She tried to show her indignation with the agent, but her glare fell short.
Trakes smiled at the student and held out her FBI credentials for the blonde to see.
“I’m with the FBI, sweetie. We get cuts.”
Behind her, she heard Miranda say, “Sit down, Shelly, you know as well as I do the professor won’t change your grade.”
Trakes turned back to Miranda and waved the credentials one more time.
“These are really the only announcement I need, but thank you. I’ll just pop in. Then the professor and I will get acquainted.”
Before Miranda could object, the agent turned, grasped the knob, opened the door, and stepped through.
Her first impression was the desk. It was large, made of wood and appeared heavy and antique. The floor was wood, with a large rug that covered most of it. Like the outer office, this one was also wainscoted with dark wood paneling. Opposed to the other space, this one was painted an off-white the rest of the way to the 10-foot ceiling. Again, keeping with the theme set by the outer office, this one also had pictures and paintings on every wall. Bookcases, shelves and glass cases flanked the desk, with two chairs centered in front of it. A two-person sofa along the wall to the left and a coffee table finished the décor. Professor Lloyd sat behind the desk.
He studied papers with his head lowered, and her first glimpse of him took in the breadth of his shoulders and his hair. It was thick and dark, almost black down the center of the head, but shaded to grey by the time it reached the man’s ears. It was combed back, but a natural part down the center caused it to fall to each side. She wondered what it felt like, then forced herself to refocus.
As she stepped through the door, Trakes announced, “Good afternoon, I’m…”
He looked up from his papers.
The eyes were a pale blue. Ice blue. The shade of blue used to sell breath mints, and her intake of air seemed fresher as it travelled to her lungs. The eyes were hard and unwelcoming. Andee wished she had waited to be announced. She stepped into the room and tripped on the edge of the rug. She whispered a curse, caught her balance, held her blush to a minimum and muttered an apology.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
Those eyes, still focused on her, softened enough to indicate his irritation at the interruption had grown into a mild curiosity. As he studied her, he allowed an eyebrow to raise and his head to cant to one side. She suddenly felt exposed, and while his gaze never wavered, she felt he had seen all of her. Her blush from the ungainly entry deepened. Her heart paused, and then quickened. Her stomach tickled, then settled into nervousness. Her underarms damped and a question about deodorant flashed through her mind. She tried again to introduce herself, but discovered she had forgotten her name.
“Professor, I’m…a…I’m…”
Her words came in a small squeak. It may have been the squeak a mouse makes when she sees the hawk dive, but it was certainly the squeak of prey. She froze. She had lost thought. She simply waited to be taken.
The corners of his mouth turned upward and into a small grin.
“Uncle Alwyn,
you stop this. Stop it, right now.”
The commands came from Miranda, and the professor blinked and looked past Trakes to his niece, who was standing in the doorway. As he broke eye contact, the spell he cast also broke. Andee gulped air. She realized she’d forgotten to breathe.
“Uncle Alwyn, I’m ashamed of you,” Miranda continued, and she took Andee’s arm and assisted her to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Andee smiled her gratitude as she felt dizzy. She looked up at the assistant, who smiled down at her.
“Don’t mind my uncle. He does that sometimes. It’s because he is an Alpha.”
“He’s a what?”
Andee felt as if she was clearing a fog.
“He’s an Alpha, and sometimes he takes advantage.”
“An Alpha? Is that a fraternity?”
Miranda smiled. “Yeah, I guess, in a way.”
Miranda turned to her uncle, “She drove up from the city to talk to you.”
She pointed a finger at him, “You be nice.”
Lloyd looked at Andee and then back to his niece.
“Miranda, would you be kind enough to get our visitor a… hot chocolate. She doesn’t drink coffee. I have a meeting with the Dean, and I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”
The professor stood, and she noticed the build of the man. Tall, broad shouldered strong, masculine. There was an air of wildness about him. Andee sighed.
He removed a jacket from the back of his chair. He carried it over his arm as he stepped from the room.
Still sitting where Miranda had directed her to, Andee looked up at the assistant.
“Please tell me he is married.”
“Uncle Alwyn?”
Andee nodded.
Miranda laughed. “No, he’s as single as they come.”
Andee dropped her head into her hands.
“What’s the matter?” Miranda asked as she slid into the other chair. Andee raised her head enough to look at her.
“I just made a complete fool of myself in front of the most eligible men I’ve met in the last three years. That’s what the matter is.”
Miranda laughed, and it was a laugh that begged Andee to join in. She couldn’t, but the agent managed a smile.
“You needn’t worry about that, Agent Trakes, my uncle likes you.”
Andee looked at the woman.
“Please just call me Andee, and how on earth do you know that?”
Miranda tapped the side of her nose and said, “I told you, I manage his appointment calendar. He did not have a meeting scheduled with the Dean, or anyone else. He’s giving you a chance to regroup.”
Tension fell away as if she had been released from a strait jacket. She took a deep breath. “Maybe I can make a better second impression?”
“I hope so,” Miranda grinned. “Now, excuse me, I need to get your hot chocolate.”
Andee held up her hand, “No, no, that’s not necessary, but tell me, how did he know I drank hot chocolate and not coffee? Did my boss call and tell him I was coming?”
Miranda smiled and arched her eyebrows, giving Andee a look that challenged her to figure it out.
Trakes returned the smile and nodded, “Oh yeah, right, he’s an Alpha.”
Chapter 5
Andee was standing and looking at the collection in the bookcase when Lloyd reentered the room. She didn’t hear the opening of the door, nor did she hear him approach. When he spoke, he startled her. She flinched and felt her cheeks flush. Lloyd ignored the reaction, though she was sure he saw it, and continued to his chair. He didn’t sit, but stood as he indicated a side chair next to his desk.
Being careful not to look directly into those captivating eyes, Trakes had examined him as she had crossed the room. He was a big man, muscular, and while not as tall as Meeker, still better than six feet. The back of his shirt was tight across his shoulders and upper back. His hips were lean, and she thought he resembled a funnel. He was the man the fashion magazines were looking for. He wore grey slacks and white shirt, with a tie loose around his neck. She looked at the tie and thought it really wasn’t him. The cloth around his neck restricted him. In her mind, the tie acted as a leash, but also served to keep him well mannered.
His voice was rich, throaty, masculine, and without a trace of an accent.
His movements were balanced and graceful, which she thought was strange for a man his size. He moved as a dancer might, but he was built like an oversized gymnast. He moved as a hunter, a stalker of wild things. His footfalls made no sounds, either on wood flooring or rug. She decided he moved as a predator.
Andee stepped to the chair he indicated and he joined her in sitting. She caught the scent of his aftershave, and it reminded her of a forest. She refocused.
He sat again behind the desk and studied her. He questioned her presence with an open appraisal. She wondered what his impression was. She hesitated to look into his eyes, and when she did, her glances were furtive.
His face was angular, and the goatee that matched the coloring of his hair elongated the face even more. His cheek bones were high, prominent, and illustrated his depth. When he spoke, his voice modulated the confidence he personified. Andee realized in every way possible—physically, mentally, emotionally, even spiritually—she was attracted to the man. The thought frightened her, excited her and made her feel susceptible.
I’ll bet you kill the freshmen girls, she thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said and canted his head in order to hear her better. “I didn’t catch that.”
Had she spoken her thought aloud? Or could he read minds?
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, “just trying to get my thoughts in order.”
He smiled.
“Take your time.”
She grimaced. He was laughing at her. She held her anger at bay with a deep breath. She cleared her throat.
“Last week, there was a murder in New York, in Central Park, actually,” she started.
“I’d think there would be murders in New York every week,” he remarked, smiling again.
Irritated at his mocking, she defended a city she had lived in not quite a year.
“Not every week,” she said coldly. “We forbid murders over certain holidays.”
“I see,” he said. “And what about this particular murder caused you to drive four hours to see me?”
“It was six hours, actually,” she responded.
He nodded and raised his eyebrows as if granting her absolution for being a slow driver.
Her anger rose to a simmer.
“Look,” she said, “my boss thinks you might be of assistance, due to the manner in which the victim was killed. Frankly, I think I’m wasting my time and more than likely yours as well.”
“My time is yours to waste, Special Agent Trakes.”
“You pompous bast….”
Miranda entered and cut short Andee’s insult.
“Uncle Alwyn, you’re doing it again. Stop it, and this time I mean it.”
The man raised his hands as if he was being unfairly treated. His expression was pure innocence as he asked, “What? What am I doing?”
“You’re being an Alpha.”
The redhead pointed an accusing finger at the man.
“You’re treating her as if she was just a plaything. You act as if she was the mouse, and you the cat. Stop it. I mean stop it now. She’s a representative of the government, and she is here seeking your help. You should be gracious, not belittling.”
Miranda turned to Andee and stepped in front of her, thus blocking Lloyd from the agent’s view. She pointed that same finger at the seated woman.
“Listen to me,” she hissed, “woman to woman. He’s just a man, pretty good looking, I’ll admit, but still just a man. Get your act together. You’re a strong woman. You’re his equal.”
Dumbly, Andee nodded.
The redhead stood tall, pulled her skirt straight, gave a shake of her head as if to say, “My work here is done,” and left the room. St
unned by the quick lecture, Andee turned and watched her leave.
“My niece is quite a woman. Don’t you think?”
Andee refocused on Lloyd and looked into his eyes. Her expression dared him to affect her. He leaned back against his chair. He was relaxed and appeared to lounge. She realized he was not accepting her challenge. That bothered her for some reason. Did he not find her attractive? He studied a far wall, but refocused on Trakes, silently letting her know he wanted an answer.
“Yes, she is,” Andee finally agreed.
“If you think she got her position because we are related, you’d be wrong. She’s earned everything she’s got. I’ve never had a more dedicated staff.”
“How many staff do you have?”
He shared a genuine smile, “Just one. Just her.”
Andee couldn’t stop the chuckle.
“She’s listening on the intercom, isn’t she,” Andee observed.
Lloyd’s smile grew. “Right now, she’s making you a cup of hot chocolate. She’ll deliver it in a just a minute. After that, we will get down to the reason you are here.”
As if waiting for her cue, the assistant entered the room, carrying a large mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a tall tumbler of clear liquid in the other. Miranda set the mug next to Andee and the glass on the desk. She nodded a smile in the direction of Trakes, silently shook her finger at her uncle, and left. She closed the door behind her.
Andee looked at the mug and then at Lloyd as she asked, “How did you know she was bringing me hot chocolate?”
“Because it’s the custom to bring a guest a drink.”
“No, I mean, how did you know it was chocolate and not coffee or tea.”
For the first time since she had met the man, his face showed a touch of confusion.
“You don’t drink coffee or tea. Why would I offer you what you don’t like?”
“How do you know that? It’s true, but how do you know?” Andee spoke slowly, trying to impress her words on him. “And don’t give me any crap about you being an Alpha.”
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 6