Bad Attitude (WereWitch Book 1)

by Renée Jaggér

  “Just don’t cause any more trouble,” the older man admonished.

  Bailey put her hands on her hips. “Do I ever?”

  Gunney and Monica exchanged glances. Much to her annoyance, they replied in unison, “All the time.”

  The mechanic added, “If this fella’s in trouble, we don’t want you ending up in a cell with him.”

  Bailey snorted. “Like I can’t take care of myself.”

  She strode past them and out the office door, headed for the station.

  Chapter Three

  Bailey stepped through the front door and immediately picked out the stranger.

  He was seated in a chair in the front lobby—noticeably removed from easy access to the door, but not languishing in a jail cell. He wasn’t even handcuffed. Clearly, he couldn’t have caused that much trouble. Bailey was almost disappointed. It would have been more interesting if some sort of violence was involved.

  She gave him a cursory glance, just long enough for him to notice her, and then she looked straight ahead at the desk and took a couple of steps forward.

  The man was moderately tall, about six feet, lean but fit, clean-shaven and blond-haired. He was probably in his late twenties, but it was hard to say based on the brief look she’d gotten. His clothes were unremarkable: blue jeans held up by a leather belt, a red t-shirt, and a black jacket.

  And there was something else about him. It wasn’t merely that he was handsome. Despite his threads being no different from what anyone else around here might wear, he seemed almost classy. He had an air of sophistication, one might say. She wasn’t used to encountering people like him around Greenhearth.

  No one was behind the desk, but after a moment, a door opened and one of the deputies wandered out. Bailey recognized him; he hadn’t been at the diner earlier, which was probably for the best.

  He looked up from a sheaf of papers in his hands. “Hi there, Miss Nordin. Glad to see you just got the one bruise. How can I help you?”

  She ignored his second comment and tried not to look annoyed by it. “Hi, Officer Smolinsky.” She motioned to the side, around the corner of the desk, and stepped in that direction.

  The deputy followed her, and she leaned close to him once they were out of obvious earshot of the newcomer.

  “I’m curious,” she began, “who that guy is. Someone mentioned that a stranger stopped here and managed to get himself hauled in. What did he, you know, do?”

  It occurred to her that it sounded weird, and possibly even suspicious, to just ask like that, but she wasn’t about to admit that she found the man strangely attractive.

  Smolinsky looked skeptical, but probably not to the point of seriously questioning her motives. The brief flash of interest in his blue eyes faded.

  “His name’s Roland Something-or-Other,” he explained. “He’s not under arrest, technically. Just brought him in ‘cause he was speeding and seems to have an attitude problem. Sheriff Browne pulled the guy over and he tried to get out of it, acting all cocky and shit, and gave the sheriff lip. Well, you know how he is when perps get like that. Plus I guess the sheriff checked something else—maybe past record, but I don’t know yet—and decided to bring Mr. Roland in for a nice peaceful talk.”

  Bailey shot a quick glance over her shoulder. If the newcomer could overhear them, he’d given no indication.

  “Especially,” the deputy went on, “since he’s a stranger around here. You know how it is.”

  The girl nodded. “That I do.”

  Behind her, heavy footsteps came out into the lobby from the building’s interior. Probably the sheriff, come to ask a few more questions of their guest.

  “Say,” Bailey added, “you think I could sit in? Watch the guy being questioned? I’m curious, is all. Or maybe I could talk to him myself.”

  Smolinsky shrugged. He looked past her and squinted before he answered, “I don’t see why not. Don’t really care, truth be told. I have to head out in a few minutes, and you’re well-known around here. As long as the sheriff doesn’t object.”

  Bailey was about to turn around when the deputy added, “And don’t cause trouble, obviously.”

  She grinned. “Do I ever?”

  He fixed her with a level stare that almost reminded her of Gunney’s. “All the time. This morning, for example. I was here when they sent Jurgensen and Etain to the diner. Let’s not have a repeat of that while you’re in the police station. Would make it all too easy for us to just book you and be done with it.”

  Bailey scowled, choosing not to respond to his words, and pivoted to head back toward the newcomer. The footsteps had indeed belonged to Sheriff Browne, who was now blocking the young man from her sight. She hung back a bit and off to the side, just close enough to see and hear what was going on without seeming to intrude.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight. You’re from Seattle, and earlier you said you sometimes have business in Portland. What are you doing out here? We’re a small town in the mountains, well off the beaten path, and a good hour southeast of Portland. If you were headed back home, you sure went the wrong way.”

  The man shrugged. His face was almost totally devoid of expression. “I can afford to lose an hour or two. I’m not in any hurry to get back home.”

  Browne hooked his thumbs in his belt. He was a large, imposing man, at least as tall as Bailey’s brothers Jacob and Kurt (although not as tall as Russell), and almost twice as wide as any of them. His black mustache bristled.

  “Son,” he observed, his tone more curious than accusatory, “you don’t seem like the type who’d find much to interest you in our little hamlet. It’s strange, don’t you think? If you were looking for fun, you’d have been better off either staying in Portland, or going up to Mount Hood or something. So, what brings you to Greenhearth?”

  His face a picture of perfect innocence, Roland responded, “Oh, I just needed to clear my head after a long night. Went out for a relaxing drive in the countryside on a public road that anyone is allowed to drive on.”

  Bailey bit her tongue to keep from snickering. The stranger had an attitude, but not a loud or blatant one.

  The sheriff sighed. “I was hoping you’d be more cooperative. I can’t book you for just going six over the speed limit, but that doesn’t mean you’re free to go just yet. I got a nose for trouble, young man, and I suspect you’re exactly that, or that you’ve somehow brought it with you. Frankly, we already have our share of trouble, small as we are. Don’t need more.”

  Leaning back, he caught Bailey in the corner of his eye, and a sly smile grew beneath his mustache. Then he turned and plodded back into the office.

  “Just stay put, now,” he called back, his voice trailing off.

  Bailey frowned, trying not to visibly huff at the implication that she was the trouble he’d alluded to. For the most part, she was a pillar of this community. The only time there were problems was when assholes got in her way, harangued her, or disrespected her. That was all.

  Rather than dwell on the subject, she plopped into a chair next to Roland.

  “Hi,” she opened.

  “Hello there,” he replied, his voice mid-range and smooth. “Somehow I don’t think you’re an officer of the law.”

  “Not quite.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just a concerned citizen.”

  He nodded. “In that case, could you tell me why I have to sit here when I’m not even being charged with anything, and I’m not even restrained? It doesn’t make sense. I could just walk out the door if I wanted.”

  “Eh,” Bailey remarked, “I wouldn’t attempt that. They’d catch you again quick, and then they would be able to book you for resisting arrest or some crap.”

  He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Fair enough. I’ll just do nothing, then, until they let me go.” He closed his eyes as if preparing for a nap.

  The girl wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “I’m Bailey,” she introduced herself. “I hea
r you’re Roland.”

  He opened his eyes and turned them toward her without moving his head. “Nice to meet you, Bailey. And you heard correctly.”

  Awkward silence set in as the man looked at the ceiling.

  Not discouraged, Bailey pressed on. “Come on, now. I’m curious what you’re doing here, too, and why the sheriff brought you in when he could have just wrote you a speeding ticket and called it good.”

  Roland sat back up straight. “Oh, so you are law enforcement. Undercover good cop, counterbalancing the sheriff in the bad cop role.”

  Bailey scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, I’m sticking to my story,” Roland proclaimed. “I felt like taking a drive through the country, so I did. I just happened to drive slightly too fast at the wrong time.”

  Bailey half-grimaced. “Fair enough. What’s the business you have in Portland, though? You a businessman, or do you just have an old roommate there you play Dungeons & Dragons with once a month or something like that?”

  He shrugged. “No comment.”

  Now she was getting frustrated. It must have been obvious since Smolinsky strolled by on his way out and added his two cents.

  “I’d tell her what she wanted to know there, young man.” He paused to zip up his jacket.

  Roland raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Why should I?”

  The deputy smirked. “As a wise man once said, always let the Wookie win.” He nodded at Bailey, then trudged out the front door.

  The girl’s teeth clenched; he’d stopped just short of telling Roland what she was, not that he was likely to figure it out. She calmed down by imagining Smolinsky and Kevin back at the shop having a long, nerdy, annoying conversation about Star Wars stuff for half a day, keeping both men distracted and out of everyone else’s hair.

  Roland turned his face toward Bailey now, the seed of legitimate curiosity sown. “Wookie? That’s interesting. You don’t look all that furry.”

  “You’re observant,” Bailey quipped. “He’s right, though. I can and will pull your arm out of its socket. Best start talking, boy.” She allowed herself to smile a little at this to soften the implied threat.

  He drew his arms closer to his torso as if trying to protect them. “I see. Okay, then. I help run a family business of sorts back in Seattle. We know some people in Portland who run a complementary business, and I sometimes head south to negotiate deals with them. I have some extra time, so I thought I’d see the mountains in Oregon. Is that good enough?”

  “It’s a start.” Bailey shrugged. “We need better gossip material than that around here, though. Or at least I do, although I don’t gossip much. I think in this case I’d rather just keep it all to myself.”

  She allowed her gaze to linger on him until he replied, and she knew that, at this moment, something in her eyes was changing. He might be perceptive enough to notice it.

  His own eyes were dark blue, almost violet. Two guys came in just then and stood by the desk, probably waiting to pay a parking ticket or something. Neither Roland nor Bailey looked away from each other, and he only blinked once.

  “I can see I’m not going to get out of this after all, am I?”

  Bailey smirked. “Nope.”

  “So be it.” Roland cracked his neck. Then, with the air of a man who figured no one would believe him anyway, he told the true story of why he was here.

  “I’m what you might call a wizard,” he said flatly. “The power is inborn, although knowledge and study and practice can develop it further. I made a few mistakes and became too well-known around Seattle. I’m all the way out here because I’m trying to get the hell away from a gaggle of awful cutthroat witches.”

  Bailey stared, and realized after a second that her jaw was hanging open. The two bros who’d just come in were also glancing at Roland with quizzical, amused expressions.

  “You see,” the blond stranger went on, “they over-focus on the hereditary aspect. Based on my reputation and a brief in-person assessment, they essentially just want me for my body, and for purely selfish reasons on their part—to birth a new generation of witches or wizards, who will be further empowered by my, you know, contribution. Since the seed is strong, if you don’t mind my saying so, it makes whatever talents their children get much stronger they would otherwise have been, based on my family’s history. Strength and power are everything in the magical community.”

  The two guys exchanged glances and seemed on the verge of butting into the conversation, but then the sheriff approached from the other side of the desk and stole their attention.

  Bailey, meanwhile, remembered to close her mouth.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” she said softly. “That was not what I expected to hear. I don’t know what I did expect, but it wasn’t that.”

  Roland said nothing, his face impassive.

  Bailey was on the verge of smacking him and telling him to shut up, chewing him out for making shit like that up and expecting country bumpkins would believe it, but…

  He was telling the truth. There were things like that in the world—Bailey of all people would know—and Roland’s flippancy was because he didn’t care if people thought he was crazy.

  “You’re serious,” she stated.

  He spread his hands. “It’s up to you if you want to believe me, but yes, I am.”

  All at once, a dozen thoughts fought for space and attention within Bailey’s skull. She blinked and rubbed her temples, trying to impose order on them. She struggled to keep too much emotion from bursting out and making things messier still.

  A few of the thoughts fell neatly into place.

  Here was a man fleeing from people who wanted to force him to mate.

  He was an out-of-towner, an unknown quantity. People from around here, including Weres, would not be able to pass judgment on every single thing he’d ever said or done since they’d known nothing about him until he blundered into town this morning.

  If Bailey were to suddenly appear to be dating such a man, people would be confused, but they’d also be satisfied. It would look like she was finally taking her responsibilities seriously.

  With Roland’s help, they might leave her alone at long last. She had some inkling of what it was like to be in his situation, as well. She wanted to help him on that basis alone.

  Bailey drew in her breath. “Roland, believe it or not, I understand your situation better than you might guess. And, well, I suspect we can help each other.”

  For the first time, the man showed something resembling emotion. He snorted and swung his head down and away from her, a mixture of skepticism and gloomy pessimism on his handsome face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  At the desk, the bros handed wads of cash to the sheriff, dutifully paying whatever fine they’d incurred for some recent bullshit infraction. Browne shot Bailey another surreptitious glance while he handled the money. He could overhear them, of course, but she didn’t care.

  Roland rubbed his eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t know all the ins and outs. There’s a lot more to it than the average person could ever understand. I don’t mean to say you’re not smart enough or anything like that. It’s just, we’re talking about a culture that most people know nothing about.”

  Bailey’s stomach clenched as determination filled her from scalp to soles. She wasn’t about to let this guy just give up right in front of her.

  “Some people might know more than you think,” she shot back. “And I already have a perfect cover story that might get them off your back. Not to mention, you’d be doing me a favor. Now, being detained here for the terrible crime of speeding, you’ve already lost some of the time you were probably going to spend trying to get farther southeast. Maybe go all the way to the High Desert or into Nevada or Idaho, is that right?”

  Frowning, Roland affirmed that it was.

  “Well,” Bailey continued, “change of plans. Once our good sheriff lets you go, we’ll talk it over. What do you say to a tentative
alliance?”

  He threw up his hands. “It sounds like you’re not giving me much choice in the matter anyway, so sure, why not? I’ll tentatively agree to hear your idea.”

  The pair of guys turned away from the desk and walked toward the door, slowing as they passed Bailey and Roland.

  “You better, man,” one of them shouted to Roland. “Sounds like you’re in some deep shit. God, must be horrible, being chased by a bunch of hot women who only want you for your body.”

  The other one sniggered. “Right, bro. No man alive would want to be in your shoes right now. Best of luck escaping that terrible fate and all.”

  Bailey glared at them.

  Roland just smiled. “Your sympathy is appreciated, gentlemen.”

  The two guys pushed open the door and disappeared into the mist.

  Sheriff Browne had remained at the desk, and his eyes were on the pair in the lobby. “Bailey, like everyone else has already told you,” he began, “don’t cause trouble, don’t go looking for trouble, and don’t bring any trouble onto us that we don’t need to deal with.”

  He paused for effect, and after a second or two of silence, shifted his eyes to the stranger. “And you, sir, are free to go, on the condition that everything I just said to the young lady applies to you as well. If you stick around in Greenhearth, we’ll be watching.”

  Roland nodded. “Understood, Sheriff. Thanks.” He stood and stretched his arms and legs.

  Bailey stood up beside him. She wanted to grab his arm protectively but she stopped herself. “Come on, then. I’ll tell you what I have in mind while we go to meet my brothers.”

  Bailey led the way into the Elk, Roland trailing behind her. She didn’t wait to see if he’d have gone out of his way to hold the door for her. She was perfectly used to opening doors herself, and she had other things on her mind at the moment.

  The first thing she noticed upon stepping into the dark but cozy space was that the other Nordins were not at the bar.

  “Damn,” she mumbled under her breath. She took about three steps in, then stopped.