Otherworldly Bad Boys: Three Complete Novels (3 page)

“Do you think being terrorized by a madman has impacted your performance on the job?” Now Margaret was close enough to put a microphone in her face.

It enraged Dana. She felt the wolf again, hot and excited at the base of her spine, struggling. Dana pictured letting her beast out, digging sharp claws into Margaret’s pretty face, staining her blonde hair bright red.

Margaret took a step back, her face registering fear. “Are you all right?”

Dana squared her shoulders, forcing the wolf back down. “Peachy keen.” But her smile was fierce.

The company car surged at them, heading right for Margaret. She hurried out of its path. Dana had to laugh as she opened the passenger side door to the blue Chevy. Sliding inside, she said, “Avery, you can’t run down reporters.”

“More’s the pity,” he said.

She buckled her seat belt, and they took off.

Avery rolled down the window. “You still got the scent?”

She rolled hers down as well. Actually, she didn’t. She’d shoved the wolf deep down inside to keep from ripping Margaret’s head off. It never used to be this tough to keep herself in control. That was before Cole had gotten into her head. He’d unbalanced her, somehow undone years of training. She took deep breaths of warm, spring air, calming herself, and letting just a little bit of the wolf out—just the ability to smell.

Almost immediately, she picked up the distinctive scent of the rogue wolf. He’d run this way, after leaving the bar. “Yeah. It’s strong. He didn’t get in a car or drive. He ran this way.”

Avery gestured with his head. “On your side of the road, right?”

“Right.” She was going to be able to pick up the scent a bit more easily than him.

He leaned closer to her, sniffing.

“Watch the road.” She shoved him back on his side of the car.

Avery laughed. “I gotta say, it’s good to have you back, Gray.”

She looked at her hands, embarrassed. “You been working solo, haven’t you?”

“Sometimes,” said Avery. “Sometimes, King throws me in with Jones and Davis. However it goes down, it isn’t the same.”

She bit her lip, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Brooks. I’m sorry for dropping out on you like that.”

He was staring straight ahead now, watching the road, like she’d asked. “You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. It was that bastard Randall’s fault. You know, sometimes I wish we did execute wolves. If anyone deserves death, it’s that guy.”

Dana swallowed hard. Much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want Cole dead. She wanted Cole out of her head, out of her thoughts, but... She wanted him alive. The hell of all of it wasn’t so much what he’d done to her. The hell of it was that she missed him. She stuck her head out the window. “No one cares about Randall. He killed wolves. The human groups probably think he did everyone a favor.”

“He would have killed humans too,” said Avery. “Isn’t that what your report said? The wolf killings were just the first phase.”

“Right,” said Dana. How could she miss Cole Randall? He was a murderer. He loved violence. He was a twisted individual. That she felt anything for him at all was the sickest thing she’d ever experienced. “The trail’s turning.” She pointed, glad of the distraction.

Avery sniffed the air. “Good nose, Gray.” He turned the wheel of the Chevy, and the car veered onto a dirt road.

They bumped along the narrow road, trees rising on each side of them, dust rolling out beneath the tires. They rounded a bend and the road ended at a squat log cabin. A dirty jeep sat in the driveway. Two big dogs were tied to a large tree next to the house. They probably would have been barking if two regular people had shown up, but dogs didn’t tend to bark at werewolves. In fact, both of the dogs were lying down on the ground now, whimpering. A man was sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. This wasn’t a road, it was a driveway.

And the man on the porch carried the scent they’d been following. He was the rogue.

Avery turned off the car. “He sure didn’t run very far, did he?”

“Maybe he doesn’t remember doing it,” said Dana. “Could think he blacked out at the bar.” Most rogue wolves only got one shot to shift before the SF found them. They didn’t know they were infected and couldn’t anticipate what was happening. They’d change into wolves, go crazy, and shift back to human form, generally remembering none of their violence. Dana sometimes thought the hardest part of her job was convincing the rogues that they’d actually done it.

Nah. The hardest part was after they believed, when the guilt settled on them. Dana hated that part.

The man on the porch stood up, peering down at them.

Dana and Avery got out of the car, closing their doors with a thud.

Smoke leaked out between the man’s lips. “You the Sullivan Foundation?”

Dana glanced at Avery. The guy knew who they were?

Avery looked just as confused, but he dug out his ID and held it up. “That’s right, sir. I’m Avery Brooks. This is Dana Gray. We’re certified werewolf trackers.”

“I been waiting on you folks,” he said. He raised bloodshot eyes and stubbed his cigarette out on the porch railing . “Guess you’re here about what happened at the bar.”

“So you’re aware of what you did last night, sir?” said Dana, walking up the porch steps. Avery was right next to her. That was strange. A rogue was usually confused. The idea of this happening on purpose was starting to look more and more likely.

The man nodded. He hung his head. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I even locked the doors so I couldn’t get out and do more damage.”

So, he’d known he was shifting? That was also unusual for a rogue.

“If you know why we’re here and what you’ve done,” said Avery, “then you know we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

The man rubbed his face, looking haggard and weary. “Would it be worth it to try to get away?”

“We have tranquilizers,” said Dana. “But we only use that as a last resort.” She’d never had to use them, as a matter of fact. She’d never encountered anyone who was behaving the way this man was.

The man nodded. “All right, then. I’ll come along. But is it okay if I call my sister Patty first? I need someone to feed my dogs while I’m gone.” He pointed at the two dogs, still lying down. They weren’t whimpering anymore, but they still seemed scared.

Dana shot a questioning look at Avery. She’d never fielded a request like that before. Usually, rogues were too distraught to think of things like their dogs. Usually, Dana spent all her time convincing them that they were, in fact, a werewolf. But this man was resigned and accepting. Why?

“You can call from the road,” said Avery. “I’ll dial the number for you on my cell.”

* * *

Dana led the man into the processing office at Headquarters. Avery brought up the rear. The Sullivan Foundation’s northeast branch was housed just outside of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, on a plot of land that had once been farmland. It made the public feel safer if the werewolves were out in the boonies. Headquarters looked more like a high security prison than anything else, surrounded by barbed wire and high fences. The man hadn’t seemed too concerned when they’d come in, though. He’d been quiet in the back seat, his face drawn and tired. No hysterics. No disbelief. He was definitely the strangest rogue she and Avery had ever brought in.

Dana waved to Julie Smith, who was seated at her desk at the head of processing. Julie handled all the new intakes. “Hey Julie. Got you some fresh blood.” She turned to the man and gestured for him to have a seat by Julie’s desk. “Julie’s going to get some info from you, so that we can get you into the system here. You’ll have to go into lockdown tonight soon as the moon rises. Expect to be here for at least a month, but if you make it through the next moon cycle, you could be back home by then.”

The man studied his shoes. “I doubt that very much.”

Julie arched an eyebrow. “Our training here is very thorough. Most people are quite successful. Why don’t I start by getting your name?”

He sat down. “Arnold Phelps.”

Julie’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Hmm... we seem to already have an Arnold Phelps in the system. Give me your middle initial?”

“That’s me,” said Arnold. “I’m already in your system.”

“Excuse me?” said Julie.

“Yeah,” said Arnold. “I got bit back in high school. Went through the training then at the southern SF branch.”

“What did you say?” said Dana.

Arnold looked up at her with mournful eyes. “Said I been through the werewolf suppression rigmarole before. I know how to keep my beast down.”

Dana couldn’t believe it. “So you’re saying that you did what you did last night on purpose?”

He shook his head. “On purpose? No, ma’am. I ain’t saying that at all.”

CHAPTER TWO

Six months ago, Dana banged on the door to Cole Randall’s house. She was out of breath from racing up his driveway.

He opened the door. “Dana. That was fast.”

She’d called him on the way over, telling him she’d be there soon. She wheezed outside the door. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He stepped away from the door. She hadn’t seen him in years. She took him in. He looked so different from the scruffy kid she’d met in high school. His hair was cropped short. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. A cream-colored, cable-knit sweater hugged his chest. He looked like a professor, casual and cuddly, with a hint of serious intelligence. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, just standing on the carpet of his living room in his socks. The only part of him that even hinted of disorder was the fact that he hadn’t shaved recently. His chin and jaw had maybe half-a-day’s growth on them. He rubbed his stubble. “What’s this about? Why couldn’t you tell me on the phone?”

Dana struggled to catch her breath. “Did you pack a bag?”

He shut the door behind her. “No. I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

“Trust me, you’re in danger. We need to get you into protective custody.”

Cole took off his glasses and began to clean the lenses with his sweater. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But I haven’t seen you in nearly ten years. You call me out of the blue and tell me I’ve got to go into hiding. What’s this about?”

“It’s complicated, Cole.” She was standing so close to him, and even though he seemed all grown up now, she couldn’t help but remember that she was standing next to a guy she’d crushed on as a teenager, after she’d been bitten. A guy who was just as infected with the lupine virus as she was, meaning that there wouldn’t be the endless issues she went through with Hollis, her current boyfriend.

She was still attracted to Cole. She’d thought that she was over it, that she’d felt that way only because she was sixteen, and now she’d grown out of such juvenile feelings. But here he was, and she still got that funny butterfly sensation standing next to him.

“Look,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?” He gestured to a soft brown leather easy chair. “You want a drink?”

“We really should go,” she said.

“Not until I know what’s going on,” he said. “If it’s really as dangerous as you say, I’ll pack up.”

All right. She could take the time to explain. Possibly she was only this antsy because being around Cole made her feel like a gawky kid again. She sat down in the chair.

Cole went behind a wet bar that was tucked into a corner of his living room. “Drink?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Right,” he said, smiling. “Wouldn’t want to lose control of your wolf. I forgot about all that SF training crap.”

Dana bit her tongue. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t crap. That it was necessary. Unlike most werewolves, her job required her to interact with her beast at all times. Because of her tracker training, she could summon parts of it at any time she wanted, not just at the full moon. And she could suppress other parts of it. But it required control, and she wasn’t about to jeopardize that control by getting buzzed. Still, Cole knew all that. He’d gone through the training himself, and then backed out while he was still apprenticing. Couldn’t handle the gore.

“Tonic water?” said Cole.

She nodded. “Sure.”

He got out two glasses and began filling them. His with whiskey, hers with tonic. “So, is this about that case I keep hearing about on the news? The werewolf serial killer?”

She rolled her eyes. “The media started calling him that, not us.”

He brought her the drink and settled across from her on a matching leather couch. “It’s not accurate?”

She sighed. “Maybe it is. There’s a pattern to his victims.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a serial killer to me.”

“You fit the pattern,” she said. “
We
fit the pattern.”

He sipped his whiskey. “Explain.”

“He always takes a man and a woman. We don’t always find the bodies together, but they tend to disappear at similar times. They’re always wolves, wolves who’ve never killed.”

“That applies to us, but it could apply to lots of other people,” he said.