fate of the alpha - episode 1 (3 page)

Which made sense, since there were probably no two people in the world less likely to be friends than Ainsley Connor and Cressida Crow.

“Ainsley’s got a lot of friends,” Grace offered.

“Of course she does.” Landon reached across the table, deftly avoiding the coffee and juice glasses, and took one of her hands in his. “She’s a nice girl with a hot best friend. What’s not to like?”

He traced a line on Grace’s palm with his index finger.

She smiled and waited for a shiver of pleasure that didn’t come. What was wrong with her? She pictured herself as a wizened old crone drinking a cup of coffee alone at this very table forty years from now, watching Landon come in for ice cream with his grandkids.

“And if my sources are correct,” Landon continued. “A hot best friend who is soon to be sheriff.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Election’s still a long way off.”

“So?”

“So…I’m pretty new to police work, and pretty new to the Tarker’s Hollow force…”

“Everyone loves you, right? And they know you know your stuff. What was your major again?”

Grace smiled. Landon had a gift for getting people to talk about themselves. He would be good in the interrogation room.

“I was a double major,” Grace said. “Criminal Justice and Forensics. Not that there’s a lot of call for forensics when your biggest cases involve who stole some change from an unlocked car, or which kids egged houses on mischief night.”

“See. You’re overqualified.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Grace wondered if he was even capable of opening his mouth without a question coming out. That was what you got when you dated a reporter, she supposed. At least he was a good listener.

“Shoot.”

“What really happened to Sheriff Warren?”

Grace sighed. She hadn’t been ready for that one. Her parents had always hammered into her that a relationship couldn’t go anywhere without honesty. On the other hand, she couldn’t tell anyone outside the pack a damned thing about what happened to Clive Warren - especially a reporter.

“It’s very sad. Sheriff Warren suffered a mental breakdown.”

Which was mostly true. He had been so insane with rage after he challenged Ainsley for control of the pack, that he’d shot her, with a silver bullet. Grace had arrived on the scene a moment too late to stop him. It was the only time she had ever fired her service weapon at another living person.

“Is it true he actually fired a shot at Ainsley.”

Grace only nodded. The memory of cutting the bullet out of her best friend was still too raw to talk about.

“Wow. What happened to him?”

“He ran. No one has seen him since.”

Which was also true. Grace’s gun hadn’t been loaded with silver. She’d taken him down, but in the confusion, he’d slipped away and fled.

“Why do you think he did that?”

“Why does anyone have a mental breakdown?”

“No, I mean why did he shoot at
Ainsley
in particular?”

“Um… I don’t really know. He wasn’t in a sound state of mind.”

“And how did he miss, aren’t you guys trained?”

The buzz of Grace’s cell phone cut through the bevy of questions - a welcome excuse from answering any more.

“It’s work - sorry.”

“Aren’t you were supposed to be off tonight?”

She shrugged.

For better or for worse, things were a mess without the sheriff. Now Grace reported to Dale Evans, who acted as the interim sheriff. Dale was a good man, but he wasn’t as sharp as he used to be.

“This is Officer Kwan-Cortez,” she said as she scooted out of the booth.

“Gracie, thank goodness you picked up!”

She winced at the nickname. Dale had known her since she was a girl, and sometimes he still treated her like one.

“What can I do for you, Dale?”

“It’s about Sadie Epstein-Walker, her daughter called from Boston. Said her mom wasn’t picking up the phone. She was worried sick.”

Sadie’s daughter from Boston was a pain in the ass. She had them over to check on her mother at the house on Princeton Avenue every other week. Sadie probably didn’t pick up the phone because she didn’t want to talk to her daughter any more than Grace did.

“Is Dylan over there?” she asked.

“Yes, he is. She didn’t come to the door but he says the lights are on and Camilla Parker Bowles is barking like crazy.”

That was something different. Sadie Epstein-Walker didn’t leave lights on, and she never went
anywhere
without Camilla Parker Bowles.

The King Charles spaniel accompanied her all over Tarker’s Hollow, and was allowed in many places that normally frowned on dogs. Sadie had buried both Misters Epstein and Walker, and it seemed to be understood that her line was drawn at being separated from the dog.

“Tell Dylan I’m on my way.”

“Gracie, you’re an angel from heaven.”

She turned to head back and almost jumped out of her shoes. Landon had been standing right behind her.

“Whoa, are you okay?” he asked.

“You just startled me. I thought you were still inside.”

“You seemed worried. I wanted to be there for you.”

She looked up at him. His face was so kind. The afternoon sunlight made a halo around his head.

Before she could think the better of it, she put her hands on his chest and went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

He turned his head at the last moment and took her face in his hands. His mouth was warm on hers and the gentle kiss felt just like she’d imagined it might. He tasted like maple syrup.

When she pulled away, he kept his arms around her.

“That was nice,” he said simply.

“I have to go check on an old lady.”

“Me too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I drove, remember?”

The door to the diner banged open.

“Just cause you’re a cop doesn’t mean you get free stuff.” Cressida yelled after them, one hand planted on her hip defiantly, the other holding their check.

“Sorry,” Landon called back. “We weren’t pulling a dine-and-dash. Grace just got a phone call, but we’ll be right back in to settle up.”

His words seemed to placate Cressida, she turned to the door and went back in after giving Grace one last glare.

“I’ll take care of her,” Landon offered, handing Grace the keys. “You get the car started?”

“Perfect.”

Five minutes later, they pulled up to the old Victorian house on Princeton. Grace had made this trip about a thousand times before, since Sadie lived directly across the street from Ainsley.

Grace was out of the car and up Sadie’s front steps in a flash. On the other side of the door, Camilla Parker Bowles yipped in distress.

Grace looked around. Dylan Peterson, another deputy, came swaggering around the corner of the garage, his mirrored aviator sunglasses making him look like an extra in cheesy cop drama. Landon was just exiting the car. She had a few seconds.

She placed her palm gently against the door and closed her eyes, willing the magic to flow.

Immediately, her pulse sped up and her cheeks warmed.

She ignored the warning of what the magic might do to her, she would worry about that later, and was rewarded with a vision of Sadie, unconscious on the floor at the bottom of the steps.

Grace opened her eyes and focused carefully on the spot just below the bronze doorknob. With a swift exhale, she neatly kicked in the door on her first try. She felt bad about the damage, but at least the beautiful chestnut door was still in one piece. Only the frame had suffered.

Landon whistled in appreciation behind her, but she didn’t turn.

Sadie sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. A pool of dark blood congealed near her head. It didn’t look good.

Camilla Parker Bowles had taken up a post between them and Sadie. The King Charles Spaniel snapped the air frantically between barks, her tiny body quaking.

Grace studied the old woman’s prone body. Something wasn’t right.

She felt Dylan’s presence behind her and heard Landon’s footsteps behind him.

“Dylan, get the dog,” she said.

“Hey, there little puppy,” Landon cooed in a sing-songy way.

Camilla Parker Bowles stood her ground, hackles slowly rising.

“I don’t think she knows you’re talking to her, man, she’s used to the way Sadie talks to her,” Dylan explained, taking off his jacket. He turned to address the dog himself.

“Camilla Parker Bowles, you did just right. We’ll take it from here.”

The little dog seemed to waver.

“I know you’re tired, old girl, you earned your rest. We’ll take care of her.”

With quiet dignity, Camilla Parker Bowles stopped barking and curled up at her mistress’s feet. She didn’t fight it when Dylan wrapped her in his leather jacket and lifted her up to cradle her to his chest.

Despite an excess of false bravado, Dylan really was a good cop.

Grace dropped to her knees to examine Sadie.

There was a faint pulse and her chest was moving slightly. That was surprising but good.

“Landon,” Grace said, her voice exuding confidence. “Go get me some towels from the kitchen.”

He scampered off, and she turned her attention back to the injured woman.

“Mrs. Epstein-Walker, it’s me, Grace Kwan-Cortez, Eva’s daughter. I’m here to help you.”

No response.

“Dale called the ambulance same time as he called you,” Dylan offered.

Grace looked up the staircase and got another wave of wrongness.

“Looks like she fell down the stairs,” Dylan said, following her gaze.

At the top of the stairs, two of the sepia-toned pictures of Sadie’s family from the early 1900s had fallen and another was hanging crookedly by its wire.

“Let’s check the house anyway,” Grace said. “You know the drill, windows and doors,”

She took the towels from the returning Landon and used them to cover the nasty wound at the back of Sadie’s head, then instructed him to keep pressure on the spot while she searched the house. He looked a little squeamish, but Grace thought he would hold it together.

They started the sweep with the upstairs. Sadie’s home was immaculate, although a bit fussy for Grace’s taste; antique settees and vanity mirrors everywhere.

All the windows were intact.

Same with the first floor. Even the windows on the sun porch were closed and locked.

No signs of forced entry anywhere.

She and Dylan returned to the foyer and Grace’s skin began to tingle. There was more going on here than a simple slip and fall. Sadie was old, but she was still pretty spry. Plus, Grace knew Sadie was a wolf. That head wound should have been healing by now.

But everyone loved Sadie. Who would ever do anything like this?

Grace thought of the new guy at the college. Anderson? No. Sanderson. He and Sadie had become something of an item in the past few weeks, despite the age difference. No doubt, it was the talk of all the local knitting circles and early-morning mall walking groups.

Sanderson seemed nice enough, but Grace didn’t really know much about him. She made a mental note to call him in for questioning.

In the meantime, if Grace could just get a moment alone, maybe she could use her gift to gain some insight.

Landon was still cradling Sadie’s head, and looking green in the gills.

“I’ll take over here,” Grace said, kneeling by the old woman. “But I think I left my phone in the car. Can you find it for me, please?”

Landon smiled at her in relief, and left.

“Take a walk around the perimeter, Dylan.”

Dylan nodded and headed out.

She had only a few moments. It was awful to use magic at a time like this – even if she found something out she couldn’t tell anyone. And the side effects were cumulative. But she needed to get to the bottom of this.

Grace placed her own hand over Sadie’s. Sometimes she could pick up on residual energy after a traumatic event. Intense emotions usually left a sort of psychic echo in their wake.

She exhaled and reached out with her mind.

A shockwave of static hit her so hard it nearly knocked her to her back. Her blood and bones seemed to be reverberating with something that was like overly loud feedback from a microphone.

She ripped her hand away from Sadie’s, and the static blast stopped just as the paramedics stormed through the door.

“Hey, Grace, glad you made it,” Trudy Jacobs said as she and Henry Talbot knelt to lift Sadie onto the stretcher.

Grace didn’t trust herself to speak. She clenched her jaw and nodded.

What the hell had just happened?

The aftereffects of the magic were already playing at the edges of her consciousness. She fought to regulate her breath as she felt her nipples harden.

Everything has its price, Grace,
Abuela had told her.

If only Grace had felt the craving for a cigar after magic like her grandmother did, instead of these waves of honeyed desire.

She pulled her cardigan around her chest to disguise her unwanted feelings as Landon came in.

“I really can’t find your phone, Grace, do you think you left it at the diner?”

He was the same puppyish man she’d been trying to convince herself deserved a kiss on the cheek earlier today.

Why did he seem so…
hot
right now? Landon’s big blue eyes seemed to flash with vigor. His shoulders looked wider, his jaw more defined.

She tore her eyes away.

“It was in my pocket,” she said breathlessly. “Sorry.”

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who was thrown by this. Is this what you do every day?”

The darker notes in his voice seemed to strike harmonics across her bared nerves.

Grace needed to get some air and walk home alone. She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself with Landon right now. It usually only lasted a few minutes, but she had used the magic twice in a row this time.

“I need to call Dale and this is police business so I’m going to walk home. Call you tomorrow?”

She couldn’t believe she’d managed two sentences.

Much to her surprise, he dropped down to crouch next to her.

Before she could react, he stroked a tendril of her hair. Desire rippled through her, curling so tightly in her belly it hurt.