by Meg Ripley
I cross my arms and lean back against my car, furrowing my brow. “I just met her for the first time. She’s got some…strange ideas about this place; that’s for sure.”
“She’s got some strange ideas about everything,” she replies. “If I were you, I’d steer clear of her. That is, unless hashing out nonsense with an eccentric weirdo for hours is your cup of tea.”
“Good call,” I say. “Thanks for the heads up.”
She waves and continues down the path, heading deeper into the park, and I hop back in my car and turn the ignition, wondering what the hell just happened as the car sputters to life. But even as I drive out of the park, passing Jessica on the way, I feel that little tingle that comes along with a good story; that little itch to figure something out and get to the bottom of it.
Before Knox and I hooked up, I’d definitely noticed that he seemed to stonewall questions about the founding of the park and the people involved in it. That could be nothing—or it could be that Jessica was on to something after all, and that Knox is, in fact, trying to cover something up.
If there is something going on during the full moon, what would it hurt to find it out? I could come by the park at night, and see for myself.
8
Knox
“We’ve got three of the four, that should be enough,” Trent says to me as we head back to the park offices.
I shake my head; as long as Shawn is out there, everything that Acadia stands for is in danger of being exposed.
“If he gets caught doing something stupid, we’re fucked,” I point out.
“He’s got to be smart enough to not want to draw attention to himself while he’s alone,” Trent counters.
I shrug. “He and the other three tried to attack a fucking journalist the other night,” I insist. “None of those pricks seem to have any common sense or regard for Acadia whatsoever.”
“They couldn’t have known she was a journalist,” Trent says.
“They didn’t, but they shouldn’t be going after any humans. Who knows how long they’ve been putting us all at risk, and for all we know, those dicks could have been shifting right in front of the park visitors.” I shake my head and start taking my radio and other gear off as we step into the office together. “They’re just sloppy. And lazy.”
“Well, we’ve got the clan looking for him; he can’t stay hidden forever,” Trent says.
“Tomorrow’s the full moon, the first night of it, anyway,” I tell him. “I don’t want anyone here to be under threat from that asshole.”
“I’m less worried about our kind than any human bystanders that might be lurking,” Trent says. “We can more or less take care of ourselves.”
Because it’s neutral territory, every month during the full moon, Acadia plays host to dozens of shifters from the surrounding area. We gather in an incredibly remote section of the park, spacious enough to allow our kind to run, hunt, forage and express our full primal nature—something that most shifters around the country would rarely get to experience otherwise.
My clan has always been known for being a gracious host. As the Alpha, it’s my job to make sure that there’s nothing tainting Acadia as neutral territory; I can’t allow anyone to try and claim it as a domain for their own pack or clan. Shawn, along with his buddies Harris, Kevin, and Jamie, are proving to be a sizeable threat to maintaining our neutrality.
I’m confident that I can convince the shifters’ conclave to agree that they have to be expelled from the grounds, at the very least. If they decide their transgressions are severe enough, I might even have clearance to execute them, but I’m not going to count on it. But in order to get their opinion, I need to have all four of these degenerates in custody. They won’t hold a tribunal otherwise.
“We need to track Shawn down before tomorrow night,” I say. “The members of the conclave will be here for the full moon anyway, and we can get them to decide on a verdict.”
Trent nods his agreement with me. “The clan has the park cordoned the best they can. I’m sure we’ll find him in time.”
I send a mental signal to each of the members of my clan, taking note of their whereabouts, touching each of their minds in turn. It’s trickier than just calling out to them, but it’s something I’ve worked out over the years of being an Alpha; it’s a skill that comes in handy at moments like this.
Trent’s right: as I hone in on each of their minds, I can tell the clan is as close as it can be to having the whole park cordoned off. If Shawn tries to leave, then there’s a good chance he’ll run into someone, or at least pass close enough to be pursued. For the time being—while I’m on official duty—I can’t personally do much more.
I sit down and Trent heads out to make his usual rounds. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think about the nosy reporter, Hannah Grant. With these outsiders treating Acadia like their own personal criminal hunting grounds, her arrival couldn’t have possibly come at a worse time.
But right now, I’m not really thinking about how her presence complicates the situation with Shawn and his clan; I’m thinking about how good it felt to be inside of her, and how much I want to taste her again.
She’s made herself scarce for the past couple of days since then, but she’s been at the forefront of my mind ever since. I sit back in my desk chair and stare up at the ceiling. She suspects you’re covering something up, something you know but that isn’t common knowledge—that much she made clear to you before the two of you hooked up. That should be a red flag right there; I shouldn’t try to pursue Hannah any further, unless I’m willing to risk exposing everything my kind has worked so hard to keep secret, but the bear within has been calling out for her ever since our little tryst in the park. I try to shake off the thought, but then remember that she’d promised to circle back to finish our interview, which she hasn’t done yet.
“That’s as good of an excuse as any to stop by wherever she’s staying,” I muse to myself. I should be able to pick up on her scent trail and figure out her location; then I can check on her, see if she’s got some more questions for me, and hopefully put any ideas she’s had regarding conspiracy theories to rest for good. Maybe then, we could pick up where we left off the other day.
I wait until my shift is over and change into some street clothes: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a thick flannel, along with what I consider to be my off-duty boots. I get onto my bike and gun the engine, checking to make sure it’s in peak shape, and then start heading down the main road out of the park.
I don’t know exactly where Hannah’s staying, so as I pull off the grounds, I slow down, sampling the air as I head towards Bar Harbor.
After a few minutes, I finally catch a hint of that unmistakable scent and begin to follow its trail. There are several different spots in the park’s proximity where I can tell she’s been: first a gas station, then a gift shop; I pick it up again at a greasy spoon a little further east up Route 233, heading closer to Bar Harbor.
I finally manage to track the scent to a house in a residential neighborhood downtown and spot Hannah’s car parked on the street. This is definitely where she’s staying; her mark is stronger along the sidewalk and the grass leading from her car to the front door. I park my bike and walk up to the house.
Almost as soon as I knock, a middle-aged woman answers, looking me up and down with interest. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Hannah Grant. She’s staying here, right?”
The woman looks me up and down again—a little doubtfully—and then gives me a polite smile. “She’s sitting on the porch out back,” she says. “You can go around, or I can get you something to drink if you want to cut through the house.”
“I’ll go around, thanks,” I say with a wave. The woman gives me the vibe that she’s going to talk my ear off, given half a chance to, and I’ve got a lot on my mind. I don’t want any distractions.
As I head around back and open the gate to the back yard, I spot Hannah sitting at a
little patio table with her feet up on another chair, and a laptop in front of her along with a cup of coffee. She’s got headphones on and she’s typing away, and I have to admit that she looks every bit as good as she ever has: her hair’s down, falling to her shoulders, and she’s wearing a sweater dress that hugs her curves perfectly, along with a pair of leggings and some knee-high boots. She looks both adorable and hot all at the same time, and I feel like somehow, I haven’t been remembering her right at all; the reality is so much better than my memories.
She looks up as I get a bit closer and jumps, almost dropping her laptop. “Whoa! Where did you come from?” She takes her headphones off, carefully sets her laptop down on the table and sits up in her seat, looking at me more intently.
“I remembered you’d wanted to get around to interviewing me again, and I figured now would be as good a time as any,” I say.
“Oh! Right. I wrote that down, but I’ve been diving deeper down the rabbit hole, so to speak, and spaced out on following up with you,” Hannah says. “Wait, how did you know I was here?”
I think fast; I couldn’t exactly tell her I followed her scent. “Oh, I was just passing through town and I recognized your car on the street, so I decided to stop by and see if you had a little free time to finish things up.”
She looks away from me for a second and starts playing with her hands, then smiles at me. She’s hiding something. “Well, I’m free right now if you are,” she says.
“Cool. If you want, I can take you to my favorite bar in town.”
“Now that you mention it,” Hannah says, shifting a bit in her seat, “I’m technically supposed to be on vacation. I’d love to.”
“You are? Then why are you working on an article?” I sit down across from her, and Hannah takes a sip of her coffee.
“They made me take vacation time or I’d lose it,” Hannah says. “And I thought that getting out of town for a few days to work on this in a leisurely fashion would be as good as an actual vacation.”
I shake my head in disbelief, but admittedly, I’m almost as bad when it comes to vacations; when I take time off, I usually visit other parks, and it isn’t as though I’m just visiting as a tourist.
“You need to learn to actually take some time off,” I tell her. I find myself grinning almost before I realize it, and then I add, “maybe I can help you with that.”
“I didn’t think you were interested in seconds,” Hannah says, and I get a little flash of pleasure at the sight of color lighting up her cheeks.
“Oh, I’m definitely interested; I just figured you wouldn’t be in town all that long,” I say.
“I was planning on being here a little over a week,” Hannah says. “I figured, for the piece I wanted to write, that would be a long enough stay.”
“So, there’s another, what, five days before you go back?”
I’m torn between feeling relieved and disappointed. On one hand, it’s a good thing. I can clear up any misconceptions she might have about the park and she’ll finally be out of my hair. But on the other hand, the bear within keeps telling me that Hannah should belong to me and only me. I need her in my cabin, where I can claim her as my mate; where she can bear my cubs for years to come.
I shake the thought from my mind, focusing on the most dire task at hand: protecting the secrets of Acadia. “Alright, then, let’s go to the bar and grab a drink, and you can pick my brain a bit more,” I suggest.
Hannah nods and stands up, looking around her. “Give me a couple of minutes to put on my jacket, grab my purse and put my stuff away, and I’m game,” she says.
“Do you want to ride with me?” I lift my helmet and raise an eyebrow. “I’ve got a spare helmet.”
“Sounds like fun,” Hannah says, and once again I see that high, hot color in her cheeks. It’s obvious that she’s still attracted to me, even if there’s something else going on that she’s trying to keep to herself.
Maybe after a drink or two, I can get it out of her.
9
Hannah
Knox’s favorite bar is somehow both exactly what I would have expected and nothing like I would have thought it would be.
I make mental notes for my article: it’s obviously been around for a long time, evidenced by its ancient-looking exposed chestnut beams, not to mention, the dated furniture scattered around the place. The guy behind the bar is an elderly man, wearing an old-fashioned dress shirt and vest combination, and I almost want to ask if he pictures himself as being some character in an old-school Western.
There are a handful of booths along one wall, which is decorated with driftwood, fishing nets and old lanterns, and Knox steers me in that direction. As we sit, I notice the benches are upholstered with an old, but well-maintained fabric, and the table is made of heavy, solid mahogany.
I notice, too, that there’s only one TV in the entire bar, off in the opposite corner, away from where we’re sitting. There are maybe five patrons watching it, not looking particularly interested as they slowly nurse the beers in front of them.
“So, what else did you want to ask me?”
That’s a good question, and I’ve been trying to figure out what I can do to cover for dropping the ball on that part of my investigation. The ride on the back of Knox’s bike was thrilling—enough so that any practical thoughts that had been in my head even seconds before the engine got started just vanished.
“I’ve been doing some more research, talking to a few locals and some frequent visitors,” I explain. “I’m still just trying to piece together whatever I can to explain what doesn’t seem clear—in general—about the history of the park and some of the…events going on there right now.”
“How far have you gotten?” Knox’s voice sounds casual, but I pick up on a weird tension underneath.
“I’ve eliminated a lot of dead ends,” I say cheerfully, giving him a wry smile. A waiter comes to the table and Knox orders an Imperial IPA; apparently, the brewery is local.
“And what would you like, ma’am?” I realize I haven’t even given any real thought to what I’m going to drink.
“I guess...a Jack and Coke?” It seems like a safe enough drink, as long as I don’t have more than maybe one or two. The waiter nods and leaves.
“So, you were saying you’ve run into a lot of dead ends,” Knox says, once we’re alone again.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I still haven’t been able to find the birth certificates for some of the founders, and haven’t come up with anything to explain a few of the other gaps. It’s actually kind of troubling.”
I’m not about to tell him I’m planning on being in the park tomorrow night to spy on whatever freak show might possibly be going on there.
“And you’ve been interviewing some of the locals? Anything interesting come up there?”
I shrug off Knox’s question. In reality, I’ve been talking to as many people as possible, trying to do everything I can to either confirm or deny what Jessica told me. But if Knox is involved in some kind of a cover-up, I can’t tell him anything—not yet, anyway.
“There are a lot of people who really love the park, but they don’t know much about its history,” I say wryly.
The waiter brings us our drinks and I try to think of a way to get more information out of Knox without revealing the angle of my investigation. We raise our glasses to each other in a wordless toast and I rack my brain for how to phrase my next question.
“It must be really disappointing to have come all this way, only to meet so many dead ends,” Knox says.
“It’s not too unusual,” I tell him. “You win some, you lose some.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who accepts losing without a fight,” Knox says. “I was actually wondering if you were avoiding me because...well, you know.”
“Because we got down and dirty in the woods?” I shake my head. “I mean, that was probably the least professional choice I’ve ever made, but the real reason is I’ve been trying to track d
own as many leads as possible.”
“You sound more like a detective than a reporter,” Knox suggests.
I laugh. “The two things aren’t all that different.”
I have to admit, I really like Knox. I feel so comfortable around him, even though my mind is spinning with the notion that he could be involved in some weird secret society.
“That must explain why there’s so much crossover,” Knox says.
I take another sip of my drink. “So, I’ve been thinking I might want to wander the park again a bit.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that we’ve rounded up all but one of the guys who tried to attack you the other day,” Knox tells me.
“Oh! I’ve been so busy that I totally forgot about it.” It’s a lie; I’ve thought about the incident at least once a day since it happened, but I’ve been working hard not to let it overshadow my investigation.
“The last one’s still loose in the park, but the Rangers will easily be able to track him down,” Knox says.
“So, I’m guessing that you’d want me to be on my guard if I’m in the park on my own,” I suggest.
“I’d be happy to chaperone you, if you want, or I can get one of the other Rangers to accompany you.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I say quickly. “It’s not all that dangerous; I mean, he’s probably trying to avoid anyone’s attention, right?”
“True, but I would hate for you to run into him,” Knox insists.
“I’ll let you know,” I say. “In the meantime, what can you tell me about some of the odd layout discrepancies in the park?” That, I hope, should keep his mind occupied for a while.
“Layout discrepancies?” Knox frowns in confusion and takes a sip of his beer.
“There are some spots on maps dated before the opening of the park that have never appeared on any official park maps. It’s as if the locations have been intentionally omitted,” I say. It’s as close as I can come to admitting that I’ve actually found some information suggesting that something’s amiss.