Fox Hunt

by J. Leigh Bailey

  Buddy twisted toward me as much as he could in the limited space. “You know him?”

  “Yeah. He’s friends with my ex.”

  “Ex?” Buddy asked, picking at the label on his empty apple juice bottle.

  “Yeah, my ex-boyfriend, Owen.” I stilled, holding my breath, because Buddy’s eye twitched at my words. While I’m completely, openly gay, and had no intentions of hiding it, I knew next to nothing about Buddy, and I was about to be trapped in his company for the next few weeks.

  “I know Owen. He and Jonah have classes together.” A slight pause, then, “You’re his age, then?”

  “Owen’s a few months younger, but yeah.”

  “Of course.” I don’t think he meant for me to hear him. He looked out the passenger side window as though the passing sagebrush starred in a boring but mildly diverting reality TV show.

  Because I couldn’t let anything go—“Is there something wrong with that?”

  He glanced at me before going back to the scenery. “Nope. Just didn’t realize you’re the same age as my brother.”

  I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. “You mentioned you’ve been raising your brothers. They live with you?”

  “Did. Now they’re grown and doing their own thing.”

  “Why? Why you and not your parents?” Though his body language suggested he didn’t particularly want to have this conversation, I believed strongly in the five Ws and the accompanying H, and there was rarely an occasion I didn’t employ as many of them as I could.

  He shot me a dark look. If there’d been more fire in his eyes, I might have shrugged it off and shut my mouth—at least until he seemed more receptive—but he only seemed mildly annoyed. Rarely did I hesitate to push for answers, but I drew the line at irredeemably rude. It was a thin line, but one I didn’t cross.

  “Parents died. There was no one else.”

  I tried to gauge his age against what I guessed Jonah’s to be. “But you’d have been so young.”

  “I was almost twenty. Old enough. Jonah was twelve when it happened. Toby fourteen, and Graham fifteen. Mostly it was a matter of keeping them in line. They were old enough that they didn’t need me to keep them alive like a baby would.”

  “But still. That’s a lot for someone who was basically a kid themselves.”

  His attempt at a nonchalant shrug was a failure. “It was what it was.”

  I didn’t like the unhappy expression on his face. I’d pried enough. For now.

  Chapter Three

  TWENTY minutes later the silence in the car—and the seemingly unchanging scenery—had me twitching. I mostly thrived under constant stimulation—mental or physical. Too much quiet gave me too much time to think. I hated unproductive thoughts. If I’d brought almost anyone else along, I’d make them distract me, either through conversation, or air guitar performances along with the radio, or, hell, philosophical discussions and NPR-worthy debates. I didn’t have that kind of relationship with Buddy.

  I shot a look at my unwanted companion. The silence clearly didn’t bother him. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t fidget. His utter stillness told me he hadn’t dozed off, despite the closed eyes. I could read all these little pieces but couldn’t seem to translate them into meaning.

  “Do you need to pull over?”

  I glanced over at Buddy. “No, why?”

  “You’re getting twitchy.”

  “I’m not twitchy,” I objected automatically.

  He reached over to touch the back of my hand, stopping me midfidget. I fisted my hand briefly before wrapping my fingers around the steering wheel again.

  “Why don’t you tell me the plan? Your mom didn’t seem to have many specifics about your itinerary. Only that you wanted to visit some schools on the East Coast.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, she was a little miffed that I planned the whole thing without consulting her.”

  “Three weeks, she said. That seems like a long time to visit a few campuses.”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven?”

  “Seven campuses,” I clarified. “I knew I’d only have the one shot to do it, so I packed as many as I could fit into the time I had.”

  “That’s a lot. And you can do it in three weeks?”

  “With the right route, sure. Driving takes longer, but it’s exponentially less expensive than flying would have been. I’ve got it mapped out. Madison, Wisconsin, then Chicago. Two schools in New York. Followed by Washington DC, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and ending in Nashville. Then back to Cody.”

  He looked suitably impressed, which shouldn’t have pleased me, even though it totally did.

  “So first stop Madison.” He pulled out his phone and started toying with the screen. “Roughly twelve hundred miles, and twenty hours of driving according to MapQuest. Are you planning on driving straight through?”

  “Of course not. I planned on going alone, if you’ll recall. Give me a little credit. I’ve reserved a room in Mitchell, South Dakota for the night. It’s a decent halfway point. I’ll—we’ll—go the rest of the way tomorrow. And maybe we’ll get a glimpse of the Corn Palace.”

  Buddy huffed. “The Corn Palace?”

  “It’s some touristy thing. The outside is decorated in corn. They sell lots of corn-related things, and hold concerts and stuff. I don’t know.”

  “And you want to visit it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think there’ll be much time, but if you’re itching for some popcorn balls or something, we could make it happen.”

  “I think I’ll be good,” he said dryly.

  “After my meeting at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, we’ll drive down to Chicago. That should only take a few hours. My appointment with the journalism professor is on Friday morning. Since I don’t have to be in Manhattan until Monday, I’d planned to stay in Chicago over the weekend—hit a couple of clubs, check out the city.”

  Buddy scowled. “Not a good idea.”

  “What’s not a good idea?”

  “With everything that’s going on, you’ll need to avoid the clubs. It’ll be too hard to protect you. Too many people. Too loud.”

  “I’m not changing my plans because Mom’s got some wild hair about me having some kind of target on my chest.”

  “You should lie low—”

  “I didn’t invite you along on this trip, so you’ll just have to deal if I want to have some fun while I’m away.”

  He sighed. He didn’t sound disgusted at least. Only irritated. I could live with that. I tried to picture the burly man next to me walking into some flashy club with his “overslept before hitting the road” attire. Within seconds the picture morphed until I saw Buddy at a flashy gay club in leather pants and a harness, furry chest bare to the world. And, wow, grrr daddy!

  In my distraction the car swerved a bit toward the center.

  His eyes snapped open. “Eyes on the road.”

  I almost rolled my eyes, but that would probably constitute taking my eyes off the road. I ground my teeth.

  Five minutes later: “Don’t get so close to the center line.”

  “What are you, a freaking driver’s ed instructor? Like, does the Department of Motor Vehicles hire you to write their safety manuals?”

  “Distracted driving doesn’t just put you and your passengers at risk.” He glanced down meaningfully at his chest. “Anyone on the road with you is also in danger.”

  I growled. “I’m not going to deal with this the whole time we’re gone. Why the hell are you so uptight?”

  I didn’t think he would answer. He did. “An inattentive driver killed my parents.”

  I nearly slammed on the brakes. Shit. If that didn’t make me feel like an ass. “Look, Buddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shifted away from me as much as he could in such a limited space. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes like he was going to take a nap. “Just… be careful.”

  I slowed my speed until I drove exac
tly five miles over the speed limit, and then I set the cruise control. I turned the volume back up to a low purr and focused on the road.

  It was going to be a very long trip.

  Chapter Four

  I YAWNED, reaching over my head to stretch the muscles in my back. The last two hours had been… tense. When I couldn’t handle the weight of it—not to mention the pressure on my bladder—I pulled into the first rest stop I could find, parking at the far side of the empty lot. A few extra steps would do me some good after being cooped up in my car.

  “I’m going to do a quick walk around the grounds,” Buddy said, nodding to the small wooded park that surrounded the rest stop.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Three minutes later, after I’d done my business, I stood at a surprisingly clean sink washing my hands. The door creaked open. I didn’t smell the pine-tree-and-granite scent I’d become so familiar with cooped up in a car with Buddy. No, the odor was completely human, so I didn’t pay much attention to the man who entered the restroom. At least not until he paused in the doorway, eyes raking over me from ginger hair to Converse sneakers, and then whipped out a gun.

  I squeaked and ducked even as his finger tightened on the trigger. I lunged out of the way, my feet slipping on the polished concrete floor. Glass from the mirror above me cascaded into the sink with a discordant crash.

  Holy shit. Some asshole just shot at me! My heartbeat sped up to a nauseating pace as I scuttled back toward the toilet stalls. I had to get out of here. I grunted, slinking behind a stall door, hoping it would provide a little cover. I racked my brain to come up with an escape that didn’t require me to hide in a toilet stall. I was a predator, damn it, a supernatural freaking predator. Taking on a single human should have been easy-peasy. A supernatural freaking predator did not hide in a damned toilet stall.

  The man swung his arm, following my movement.

  I squawked. Supernatural predator or not, I was in no position to stand up to a bullet. My mind blanked for a second, and all I could see was the pale-skinned hand wrapped around the grip of a handgun. The finger tightened, and I knew, I absolutely knew, some shaky human with a gun was going to shoot me and leave my body to be discovered in a rest stop bathroom in the middle of nowhere Wyoming.

  Before I could resign myself to my ignominious end, a foundation-shaking roar echoed around me as the restroom door was shoved open. A gloriously pissed Buddy burst in, and so quickly I could barely track it, he knocked the gun away and sent the shooter to the ground with a ferocious uppercut. In less time that it would have taken me to shout for help, he had the man disarmed and unconscious.

  “Holy fuck,” I muttered, eyes wide.

  “Let’s go.” Buddy pointed out the door.

  I blinked at him. “Holy fuck.”

  “Now, David!”

  “But you… you just… holy fuck.”

  “Yeah, you said that.” Buddy grabbed my arm and dragged me to the exit. “We’ve got to get out of here before he wakes up.”

  That was enough for me to finally snap out of it.

  I had to speed walk to keep up with Buddy’s longer strides as we crossed the rest stop’s lobby, the giant state map, and the brochure racks promoting every tourist trap in Wyoming. Our pace didn’t slow as we made our way across the empty parking lot to my Mini Cooper. Buddy’s eyes never stopped moving; he continuously scanned the surrounding area, senses clearly on high alert.

  “What—”

  He tightened his grip on my arm and shook his head at me. Message received. No talking.

  When we reached my car, he pressed in close behind me, my chest nearly flush against the door. His body completely blanketed mine. I grappled with the door handle. Shit, of course it was locked. I always lock my baby up in strange places. I shifted, trying to make room to get the keys out of my pocket, but another hand got there first. Buddy fished them out, tapping the button on the fob to release the locks. As soon as they clicked, he had me bundled into the passenger’s seat.

  “Stay down!” He slammed the door, then darted around the car to hop into the driver’s seat.

  “Hey! I didn’t say you could drive—”

  He growled at me, even as he pressed the Start button. He reached down with his left hand to push the seat back for his longer legs, throwing the car into gear with his right.

  Right. Definitely not the time.

  We’d driven maybe ten minutes before my pulse slowed to a normal rate and I stopped obsessively checking the rearview mirror. Even though I hadn’t seen any other vehicles on the road, part of me was terrified that the guy would end up right behind us.

  Another fifteen minutes passed with no sign of anyone following. Buddy relaxed a little. “When we hit Buffalo, we need to find a place to stop.”

  “No kidding. I need to take over driving. I never let anyone else drive my baby. I figured it could wait until we stopped to fill the gas tank there, maybe grab a bit to eat, though.”

  “Not a pit stop. We need a safe place to lie low for a while.”

  “Lie low for a while? What are you talking about?”

  He straightened his spine, eyes resolutely on the highway in front of us. “I’m calling your mother to send someone to replace me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We were barely two hours into the trip and already someone tried to kill you. I should have been with you, protecting you, but instead I was outside clearing my head—” He slammed his mouth shut, color washing over his face. Three deep breaths later, he continued. “My job is to keep you safe. I failed.”

  His guilt was a palpable thing, thick enough to choke me in the confined space of my car. And it was totally misplaced.

  “Dude, we were in a deserted rest stop. How could you have known that some weirdo with a gun would accost me in the bathroom? No one could have predicted that.”

  “It doesn’t matter how random it seemed. You could have been killed because I wasn’t there to do my job.”

  “But I wasn’t killed. Congratulations, you rescued me. Job well done.”

  “I should have been there with you. He got a shot off in a confined space. It’s only sheer dumb luck that you weren’t killed. I should never have left you alone.”

  “Pretty sure watching me take a piss isn’t part of the job description. Buddy, seriously, this was random. Some hitchhiker looking for money or drugs or car keys or something. It doesn’t have anything to do with the Moreau Initiative folks and their highly unlikely vendetta on me. It could have happened to anyone. And, hey, better that it happened to me than to someone who didn’t have a bear shifter nearby to handle things.”

  “You can’t know this man wasn’t involved. It’s just as likely that he was there to make it appear random. There’s a target on your back and someone took a shot at you. No way are they unrelated.”

  “Those situations are coincidental. There’s no way some international research organization could have known we would stop at that particular rest stop at that particular time. It’s not logical.”

  “Unless the hitman was following us.”

  “There’ve barely been any vehicles on the road, and I didn’t see any other vehicles at the rest stop.”

  “You trust your skills of observation that much?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Five foot nine, one seventy-five. Dishwater-blond hair, brown eyes. Denim jacket. A dark spot on the shoulder where a patch once was. Black boots, closer to motorcycle boots than cowboy boots.”

  “And that means?”

  “That’s the guy with the gun.”

  Quiet filled the car for a few minutes. “Okay,” Buddy said as we passed a highway sign indicating Buffalo was fifteen miles ahead. “I’ll agree that there was no obvious car in the lot. I’ll also agree that it limits the likelihood that the shooter would be able to follow us.”

  “That sounded painful.” I shot him a grin that I hoped would show him I was teasing.

  He grunted, but I caught a sligh
t twitch of his lips. “But,” he stressed, “we can’t afford to be complacent. Which means I don’t leave your side. And we keep our eyes open.”

  “Fine.” Bodyguards were such a pain in the ass.

  Chapter Five

  THE hotel I’d chosen in Mitchell, South Dakota was… rough.

  Buddy was less polite. “This place is two beers shy of a murder-suicide.”

  “I didn’t take you for a snob,” I said, even as I sort of agreed with his assessment. To call the place fleabag would be giving it too much credit. “Besides,” I added, “we’re at the height of tourist season. We’re lucky to find a room anywhere, let alone one for less than a hundred bucks a night.”

  “If this place is a dime more than twenty-five dollars, you’re paying too much.”

  “I tried to tell you we should have kept going to Sioux Falls.” Thanks to the early start, there was plenty of daylight left, and Sioux Falls was only an hour farther down the line. Buddy had put the kibosh on that, reaching over to press the twitching muscle of my forearm. “You’ve been stretching your back for the last two hours, and twice you got a charley horse in your foot.”

  So, yeah, I gave in. I’d been sore, and driving that long nonstop took a surprising amount of energy. Which is how we ended up in terrifyingly run-down motel near the interstate that smelled of smoke and desperation.

  It had been a long night. Long and enlightening.

  I learned two things from sharing a room with Buddy. First, he slept in soft cotton shorts and a tank top that showed exactly how broad his shoulders were. And second, he snored. The snoring didn’t even bother me, which I guess could be called a third thing I learned. Actually, the heavy breathing was oddly comforting.

  I’m not exactly sure what woke me up after I’d finally fallen asleep sometime after three thirty. Maybe noise from a passing semi or a slamming door somewhere in the motel. Whatever it was, I pried my gritty eyes open and promptly squeezed them shut again. Only to open them in awe.

  Buddy was… he was… holy shit, I had no words.