Alaskan Wolf (15 page)

What was he talking about? How could he—

“So, Austin,” he said, “why don't you explain why
you've been blowing up some of your own mines down in the lower forty-eight? I'm really curious.”

Austin? Mines? Mariah knew Patrick hadn't been frightened into madness, but this sounded awfully strange.

Andy Lemon was again seated at the scarred table across the room. But as he stopped coughing and glared at Patrick, he was definitely no longer the pale, meek piano player Mariah had seen so often at Fiske's. His shoulders pulled back, his jaw jutted and his formerly pale complexion turned almost florid.

“Who the hell are you talking to, dog-man?”

Mariah blinked. Could he possibly know what Patrick really was?

“I'm talking to you, Austin DeLisio,” Patrick replied. “And you know I work at the dogsled ranch? I didn't think someone as exalted as you would even take notice of someone lowly like me. I'm flattered. But you've been spending a lot of time around here lately under an alias and playing the piano, despite all the chaos going on at your mines. Does that mean you're aiming your sights in a different direction?”

Andy—Austin?—stood and swaggered toward Patrick, who didn't move. Andy now had the pistol, which he had taken from Carrie, and he wagged it back and forth as he approached.

Mariah wished she could get to her purse, which Carrie had taken. She wanted her cell phone, to call
for help. Plus, she'd love to secretly take pictures of what was going on, and a digital recording. Harold would love that.

And if nothing else, it could be evidence of what had happened here, if Patrick and she weren't around to tell anyone.

But that was not likely to happen.

“I want to know who you really are, Worley,” Austin said, confronting Patrick.

“You've got me pegged. I'm Patrick Worley, musher. And how'm I doing about nailing you? You're Austin DeLisio, owner of a bunch of mines and head of an association of major mine owners. But why are you hiding out here—so it won't look like you're involved with the chaos your peons are causing in the mines in the lower forty-eight? And what are you doing that makes the glaciers fall apart?”

“You think you're so smart?” Whoever he was, the man sneered. “I've had you checked out. You're nobody, dumped from the military with a dishonorable discharge and barely able to make a living here as a…or is all of this just a cover?” His last words came out as if he'd suddenly experienced a revelation. “That's it, isn't it? You're still associated with the military or some damned government group, and you're here to find out about the glaciers.” The man pointed the gun right at Patrick's face. “And I made it easy for you, didn't I, damn it?”

“Easy? I don't think so. It's taken me longer than I'd hoped to figure out this much. And tell me one more thing—why did you kill my buddy Shaun Bethune?”

Austin's fury was almost tangible. Mariah was certain now that Patrick had identified the man correctly, although she still didn't understand a lot of their exchange. His gun hand trembled as if it was a separate entity from the rest of him, unsure whether to shoot or strike Patrick where he was most vulnerable.

“You want details, you government SOB? I'll give you details.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Emil yelled at the same time, dashing from the kitchen area.

“Nothing, Dad. Stay out of this.” Carrie grabbed her father by the arm and attempted to pull him to the other side of the room, but Emil wouldn't budge. “Austin, please keep calm. And quiet. You don't need to tell them anything.”

“Oh, but I want to.” His grin was suddenly huge and evil, not at all the nerdy little smile of the bespectacled guy playing the piano. “First thing, you're right. I took care of your buddy Shaun since he was not only too nosy, but he was too smart. He was asking a lot of pointed questions around the bar. Sounded like he was already starting to equate the mousy, invisible little piano player with who I really
am. Had to take his computer, too, just in case the information was stored there.”

Mariah felt Patrick's muscles clench beside her, and she grabbed his arm, keeping him from doing anything foolish—like rushing the man with the gun.

“But I figured you out anyway, so you killed him for nothing, you bastard.” Patrick's voice was low and menacing, and wordlessly promised retaliation.

“Could be.” Austin didn't sound particularly concerned. “At least no one saw me come in that night. Didn't even pay attention to that barking dog I assume was yours. Probably barks all the time, right?”

Patrick didn't respond, so Austin continued, “Pretty smart, wasn't I? I even cleaned up any trace of myself with some nice, powerful disinfectant I brought along so none of the dogs would be able to ID me by scent.”

“Yeah, smart,” Patrick said so disparagingly that Mariah feared Austin would attack him.

But the guy apparently enjoyed describing what he considered to be his brilliance. “Want to know the rest? I'd figured out a great way to corner the world's market for copper and nickel. Other metals, too. Valuable stuff. Some can be sold to utility companies for conducting electricity, some to the government for use in ordnance, whatever. There's already a shortage
of lots of metals that are in abundance here, on the sea floor, hidden in manganese nodules. That's pretty complicated, and I don't want to take the time to explain it all to you, but, trust me. Those nodules are worth millions. Billions! I have to do a little blasting, sure, and that doesn't sit well with those glaciers. Big as those suckers are, they're fairly fragile, full of cracks these days. I didn't cause that, so their coming apart isn't really my fault. So, you happy now, Worley? You've got your answers.”

“Yeah, I got my answers. You're ruining your competitors by blowing up their mines, and extracting valuable minerals yourself by destroying what nature took millennia to form in this area. You're one fine, upstanding citizen, DeLisio.”

“Who cares, as long as I get away with it.” He grinned again. “Too bad you won't be around to find out how easy it is for me to weep and wail over what's happening to my friends, while I rake in all that money. In fact, we'll work it out so you and your lady friend, here, get to view one of those glacier breaks firsthand—again—just before you're tossed into the ice-cold water and drown. Assuming you're not crushed on the way down, of course. So sad—this time. I know you helped her escape before, twice. I was watching all visitors up there on the glaciers during the daytime. Knew who was there and when. Why do you think the timing was so perfect?”

Mariah squirmed. She'd gone through too many close calls like that to believe she would survive another one, especially now, when Austin was ready to kill them anyway. But what could Patrick and she do?

She knew one thing she'd love to try. If she could somehow help Patrick shift into wolf form, he'd at least be able to run away, get help.

Too late for her? Most likely. But it might save many more lives—and give Austin DeLisio and his apparent lover Carrie the possibility of being prosecuted for their crimes.

But how could she do that?

For one thing, she could keep Austin bragging and not acting. “I still don't understand how you've been able to mine those—what are they?—undersea manganese nodules without detection. How do you get to them?”

“Oh, now I've got the reporter curious?”

Mariah didn't attempt to correct him by reminding him that she was a nature writer now. Even so, she'd love to thrill her boss Harold and write a genuine tell-all news story about this—assuming they survived.

“It's like this, Mariah. The manganese nodules filled with all those sexy metals were formed by ancient volcanic eruptions. These volcanoes are dormant now, but I cause my own nonvolcanic eruptions by blowing up the ocean floor. The
explosions are noisy, and I mask them as much as I can by broadcasting other decoy sounds, like orca calls. I'm sure that excited a nature enthusiast like you, didn't it?”

“And you used the submersible Emil leased to do that?” She aimed a glance at the glaciologist. Emil was clearly enraged, but Carrie kept him still, near the far side of the room, by hanging on to his arm.

“Well, sure. In fact, that's why I told Carrie to have him rent one. He thought his darling daughter was just getting even more enthused about his work here and offering helpful suggestions.” By now, DeLisio looked almost relaxed, his legs crossed as he leaned against the kitchen table, the gun no longer aimed directly at Patrick or her.

Could she do anything to give Patrick the time and space he needed?

“You bastard!” Emil said. “And Carrie—I don't believe he talked you into all this.” He tried to yank his arm away from his daughter, but she held on.

“You just don't understand, Dad. Austin and I—well, he's really special. You'll see, once you get to know him.”

“And you know him? I mean really know him? You're married, Carrie, and Jeremy's a good man. How could you do this to him—let alone fooling me this way? That damned little submarine hasn't been of much use to me at all, and now I learn exactly why
you talked me into it. This is terrible, Carrie. I don't understand, but at least I can make things right, even if I can't talk some sense into you. Can I?” Emil's stricken face, already even more drawn than normal, lightened just a little.

“You still don't get it, Dad.” Carrie's voice sounded sad. “This is for the future—ours and our country's. You'll see.”

Patrick snorted. “So you've deluded yourself into thinking there's some patriotism involved here? Get real, Carrie.”

“Oh, she is,” Austin said. “It's her father who's out of sync with reality. But he'll get it soon. Right, Emil?”

The chill in Austin's voice caused Emil to look toward him and grow pale. “Are you threatening me?” he asked softly.

“Smart man,” Austin said.

“What are you talking about?” Carrie demanded. “You won't hurt my father, will you, Austin?”

“Of course not, darling,” he responded. But there was nothing convincing in his tone, even as he put an arm out. Carrie left her father's side in response to the invitation, and Austin pulled her close. But now Emil, too, was a potential target, if Austin decided to start pulling the trigger on his gun.

Mariah glanced at Patrick. He understood, too. But would this latest threat mean they could recruit
Emil, and possibly his daughter, to help them out of this mess?

Or did it just give Austin more impetus to kill Patrick and her right away to relieve himself of the further complication they presented?

She needed to act. Fast.

And was pleased as an idea began to germinate.

P
atrick's fingers twitched as his hands felt permanently set into fists—useless appendages for the moment. He couldn't get close enough to slug DeLisio without putting Mariah in danger of being shot.

He glanced longingly across the room toward where his backpack still lay abandoned near the door. They'd gone through it already, found his 9 mm semiautomatic and his cell phone, but hadn't extracted anything else. Mustn't have figured there was anything important left. If only…

A sound came from beside him. He looked over to find Mariah gasping for breath. “Patrick. I'm
feeling awful. I need my medicine. In your bag… Please hurry, or I'm going to be sick.”

“What's wrong with her?” DeLisio growled.

“She's had some kind of rare stomach ailment,” Patrick improvised. He knew what Mariah was doing. Could she pull it off—and get them what they needed to resolve this situation the right way? “I don't know the name, but it's sometimes aggravated by her nerves. If she doesn't get her medicine, she'll throw up all over the place. Not a pretty sight.” Too weird. He knew it. And too bizarre for a smart guy to believe. But it was the best he could come up with in an instant.

And in support of what he'd said, Mariah started gagging beside him. Smart.

“Look, let me get her medicine from my bag. You got a glass of water? And is the bathroom through there?” He pointed toward the door where he'd assumed there could be another bedroom.

“Stay there!” DeLisio ordered.

“Oh, come on, Austin,” Carrie said, her expression full of disgust. “I don't want to see her puke all over. Or smell it, even if you make them clean it. I'll keep an eye on them.”

“Fine. Here, take this.” He handed her a familiar pistol: Patrick's semiautomatic. In some ways a good thing. Patrick was certain his ammo didn't include
silver bullets—although he still doubted that the other firearm had any, either.

But they'd have to act fast. And carefully, to ensure that Mariah didn't get hurt. He hurried across the room, grabbed his knapsack and felt it from the outside to confirm they hadn't taken out any necessities when he was distracted. No, there were the bottle and the light.

He returned for Mariah, whose coughing and choking sounded convincingly real. Putting an arm around her, he led her slowly toward the door. He opened it, pushing it into the bedroom in front of him, and let her go inside first. And then, as Carrie stepped up behind him, the gun at his back, he let himself appear to trip—and fell backward, pushing Carrie away. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Would it lock?

No, but Mariah was already sliding a bulky, heavy easy chair toward him. He helped her use it to prop the door closed.

“What are you doing?” Carrie screamed. “Come out of there.” Patrick half expected her to start firing through the closed door, but she didn't. Not yet.

He juggled the chair against the door. It should do the job and ensure the door stayed shut for now.

“There isn't another door out of there,” DeLisio yelled, “and we'll be watching the windows.”

Which presented another problem. Patrick could maneuver much better in wolf form, had a lot more options for both escaping and attacking, but not if he remained trapped in here.

Quickly, he looked around. There were two windows in this room, and one of frosted glass in the tiny adjoining bathroom.

“If you two don't come out of there soon, I'll use one of my sweet little explosives on this place with you in it. Or maybe I'll just burn it down and not waste anything I can use more productively. Oh, and for the short time you remain alive, you'll have Jeremy's and Emil's deaths on your consciences, too. I won't want them getting in my way.”

“What are you talking about?” Carrie's voice was even shriller now. “You can't kill my dad. And I'll simply divorce Jeremy so we can be together. I never wanted him hurt.”

“Keep your mouth shut, babe. You know we're a team, and we'll stay that way as long as you play the game on my terms.”

“Now's our chance,” Patrick whispered. “While they're arguing, they'll be more distracted. I'll change now, get out one of the windows while they're not looking, and circle back to take them down. They'll be watching for a man, not a wolf.” The plan sounded good. Now, if only it would work.

Mariah didn't waste any time arguing about the big
picture with him. She dug into his bag and brought out the large bottle of elixir. “Drink some while I get the light.” Her eyes were on his, her expression fully confident and even admiring. “Wish I could join you.”

“You'll have my back,” he assured her. “And I'll have yours.”

Quickly, she gave him a brief, hot kiss. “Go to it, wolfman.”

“You got it. And you'll get more later.” He refused to even think about what else could happen. He opened the container and, without measuring, took a swig even as Mariah pulled out the battery-powered light from the backpack. While he stripped off his human clothing, she switched on the light and held it toward him.

And took in a good, healthy look at his naked body. Too bad they couldn't do anything with it now.

In moments, he felt the change begin—the pulling and stretching of some bones and muscles and internal organs, the shrinking of others.

He felt Mariah's hand on his morphing shoulder. “Patrick…” she said tentatively.

“I'm…fine…” he said before the structure of his mouth elongated and he could speak no more.

 

Mariah watched Patrick's shifting this time with both anticipation and worry. Of course she
appreciated his fine masculine body while he was all man.

She had also come to love his transition, and he had sworn that, despite some discomfort, he relished the change, too.

But was it the right thing for him to do now? What could his wolf form do that his human form could not?

At least he was doing the unexpected. These people couldn't know who Patrick really was, and that his purpose here was as part of the covert military organization known as Alpha Force.

He moaned again, the sound now eerily inhuman. His limbs were no longer straight and strong human arms and legs, but the irregular, furred appendages of a canine. A silver husky-like pelt was erupting all over his skin, and tall, alert ears appeared on the upper sides of his head.

But now what?

“What the hell is he doing?” The shout came from outside the cabin, and Mariah looked up to see Austin DeLisio staring in from the farthest window. “How the hell did Worley— Where is Worley? That dog… What the hell is going on?”

He aimed the gun at the still-closed window and Mariah shrank back against the nearest wall.

“Patrick, get out of his line of sight,” she commanded. But would the wolf obey?

She couldn't tell. The wolf who was Patrick stood on all four legs, shook himself, then looked at Mariah. His head then turned until he faced the other window in the room.

The message was obvious, but what would happen if she could get that window open before DeLisio broke the other one? She made her way there quickly, her back still against the wall, and threw the window open.

There was a sharp gun retort and the shattering of glass from across the room as Patrick soared gracefully out the window.

 

He was free!

Yet not free. There was work to be done. A human to subdue…before he could hurt anyone.

Before he could hurt Mariah.

It was dark outside, but the human—DeLisio—was trying to get back in, to Mariah, through the broken window.

He could not allow that.

Crouching, he stalked his prey swiftly. And then he growled.

DeLisio was partway through the opening. He looked down. And cried out, “What are you?” He aimed the gun he held at Patrick.

And fired.

The shot went through him. Pain…yes.

But no real harm done.

And then Patrick sprang.

 

Austin had disappeared from the window.

Mariah heard a growl outside, the sound of a fight.

She started toward the window to look out—but then saw that the large chair holding the door closed was moving. The door was opening.

She hurried that way, ready to push the chair again and wedge the door shut. Too late.

Carrie's arm was already inside the room, brandishing another gun—possibly Patrick's, the one they had removed from his backpack. She shot indiscriminately. Fortunately, it missed Mariah.

With no hesitation, Mariah continued forward and closed the door on Carrie's hand. The woman screamed, and Mariah kept increasing the pressure until Carrie dropped the gun.

Lifting the weapon herself, Mariah threw open the door, aiming the gun toward the woman who had wanted to use it on her.

“Stay back, Carrie,” she insisted. She glared at Emil, but the older man hadn't moved from the far side of the room where he had been as Patrick and she escaped. And Jeremy remained on the floor.

“Okay, now, you all can just stay here. I'm leaving.” She hoped. She wasn't certain what was happening
outside, but if all was going as they had planned, Patrick should have Austin under his control. Better yet, unconscious. She would attempt to go out, retrieve his gun and leave—then call the cops to come and clean up. She would let Patrick escape into the woods until he could change again.

Only Carrie clearly didn't intend to cooperate with that. “You bitch!” she screamed. “Where's Austin? Where's Patrick?”

“I think they're having a little altercation outside,” Mariah replied—just as Carrie rushed her. Mariah aimed the gun toward her but couldn't bring herself to shoot it.

“You're mine to deal with,” Carrie said. “Austin can take care of your damned musher.”

Mariah doubted it, but she didn't contradict Carrie, who suddenly grabbed her by the throat. Mariah attempted to hit her with the gun, but that only infuriated the woman even more.

“Carrie, stop it.” Emil rushed forward from his position at the far side of the room. But as Mariah let herself go limp to get the pressure off her throat, Carrie grabbed her gun hand.

The gun went off—and Emil fell to the floor.

“Dad! No! You killed him, you bitch!”

“We've got to help him,” Mariah shouted, then rammed her head into Carrie's gut. The other woman toppled over, but she still held Mariah's hand. The
gun wavered in the air. Instead of helping her father, Carrie kept trying to wrest the gun from Mariah.

“Let go, let go, let go,” she shouted—until the outer door opened, and she called, “Austin, help me!”

It wasn't Austin DeLisio who appeared there, but a large, silver wolf, who growled and leaped across the floor toward the fray.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Carrie shouted. Only then did her husband, Jeremy, begin to moan and stir on the floor across the room.

The canine sprang at Carrie, and his teeth were around her wrist. Only when Mariah had taken the gun and scooted several feet away did Patrick let go.

“Thanks,” Mariah said to him in relief. “I'll steal back my cell phone, call 9-1-1 and see if we can get some help for Emil. If you can stay just long enough for me to tie Carrie up, that would be great.”

The gorgeous golden wolf eyes met hers, and Mariah felt her heart soar.

She had always loved wild animals—and there were none wilder, or more beloved, than the one across the room who had helped to save her life.