Fox Hunt

by J. Leigh Bailey

  The air shifted, bringing with it the scent of gun oil on the mist. Nope. Definitely not hikers.

  I nosed my way a little farther out of my hidey-hole. Buddy growled, a nearly subvocal warning to stay where I was. I ignored him. While it was safer to stay still, not being able to see the threat made me feel unsafe. The human part of me believed that if I could see it, I could deal with it. Scents and sounds might have been enough for my fox, but not the rest of me.

  Shadows shifted and two dark forms broke through a line of trees. Hunters, but not the kind who went after deer or pheasant in the fall. There were no blaze-orange vests or hunting rifles. The sleek back guns they carried nearly blended in with their black-on-black ensembles. Black cargo pants, black long-sleeved shirts. Black beanies on their heads. All in all, they were overdressed for August.

  “Where’d they go?” the guy on the left asked his partner. He’d kept his voice low, but thanks to my preternatural hearing, the words were as clear as if he’d used a more conversational tone.

  “We don’t have time to be wandering around the woods,” the guy on the right said. He pulled a pair of binoculars from one of the pockets of his cargo pants. Bringing it to his face, he scanned the area.

  “At least they got out of the city. I didn’t think we’d get an opportunity this perfect.” Lefty adjusted his grip on his gun.

  They continued their quiet stalking of the forest. With each step, they got closer to Buddy.

  The problem was, Buddy was not hidden well. In fact, if Righty—who was examining the area to the west—turned a tad more to the east, Buddy would be directly in his line of sight. I didn’t know how adept these two were at hunting, but the bush Buddy crouched behind suddenly seemed like poor camouflage. I didn’t know who these guys were, or what they were hunting in these woods, but the sight of a grizzly bear lurking in an area where grizzlies definitely did not roam would bring way more attention to us than we could afford.

  Even if they didn’t immediately turn those fancy guns on Buddy and shoot to kill, they were bound to tell someone. Animal control, maybe. Or a television crew.

  We needed to get away from here, and do it without causing some kind of spectacle. Anxiety and adrenaline had my more primal side threatening to take over. But in this moment, it was more important to let logic rather than instinct prevail. I tried to push back the voice that screamed protect, protect, protect. Self-preservation factored in, of course, but Buddy first and foremost.

  Protect Buddy.

  Even as the thought crossed my mind, Righty shifted his stance, angling toward the east.

  Oh hell no!

  I burst from my hiding spot, sprinting between the two men, yipping and chattering.

  Righty stumbled back, tripping into Lefty and dropping the binoculars. Lefty jerked his arm up, and the crack of a rifle shot tore through the relative quiet of the forest.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  I dashed to a copse of trees away from Buddy, drawing their attention westward.

  Unlike an animal predator, they didn’t chase. Even as I wove around trees and under bushes, I kept my ears cocked toward them. They were too busy cursing the accidental shot and the craziness of animals. One of them even called me a raccoon! I really just wanted them to go away, but that comment made me want to bite the man. Seriously? A fucking raccoon? With this orange coat?

  In fact, I needed to do something to get them to move. Maybe biting wasn’t such a bad idea.

  I circled back around them, ignoring the agitated stare I could practically feel Buddy lying on me.

  Righty was busy wiping mud off his binoculars, and Lefty’s gaze scanned the underbrush, probably looking for another raccoon, the bastard. I slunk as low as I could while moving fast, and approached them from behind, sinking my teeth into Righty’s left calf. I locked my jaw until I felt my canines pop through the tough fabric of the cargo pants and the iron tang of blood burst over my tongue.

  Righty cursed, and Lefty kicked out, his heavy-soled boot landing against my rib cage.

  Yelping, I released my hold and scurried out of sight.

  “It bit me! What the hell, man? I’m bleeding.”

  “Relax. You’ve been hurt worse.”

  “Yeah, but that was a wild animal. It was acting weird. What if it has rabies?”

  I snorted.

  Lefty’s snort echoed mine. “You’re such a baby.”

  “No, seriously, man. I had a cousin get bit by a rabid bat. He died from it. I don’t want to die because some crazy raccoon went nutso. I need to get to a hospital. Get a shot or something. I don’t want to be foaming at the mouth.”

  “You’re not going to—”

  “Let’s get back to the car. You better drive. I should stay as still as possible so the venom doesn’t move too fast in my system.”

  “That’s for snakes. I don’t think rabies works that way.”

  “You’re not a doctor. I need emergency medical attention.” Righty started the trek back toward the parking lot, taking no care to be quiet. Lefty muttered under his breath, but followed him.

  I held my breath, waiting until I was sure the two men were gone for good. I ducked out from under a bush only to come to an abrupt halt. Standing in front of me in all his naked, human glory was Buddy.

  And he was furious.

  Chapter Ten

  “WHAT in the hell did you think you were doing?”

  I struggled to pull my jeans up over my hips while trying not to stare at Buddy. There was so much visible skin. But the ire rolling off him kept me from getting too distracted. He was pissed, and it was likely his anger kept him from noticing—or caring about—his nudity. Pretty sure without the strong emotion, he’d have covered everything the second we reached our pile of clothes.

  “Look, I don’t know what you expected me to do.”

  He planted his fists on his hips and glared. “I expected you do stay down. I expected you to not draw attention to yourself. I expected you”—he stalked forward—“to use common sense.”

  “No, apparently you expected me to let them catch sight of a damned grizzly bear in a forest preserve in Chicago. What do you think would have happened if they’d seen you? They might have shot you. Did you see the size of those guns? They might have called animal control or the freaking zoo. Hell, they could have called the press, and news crews, and your furry ass could have been splashed across television screens all over the world.”

  I caught a slight tightening around his eyes. He hadn’t thought of that. His expression firmed. “Better that than to have something happen to you. My job is to protect you. I can’t do my job if you’re constantly putting yourself into danger.”

  “Your job is to protect me from terrorist research scientists, not two-bit crooks.”

  His eyes bulged. “I think those guys were more than two-bit crooks. Did you see the gear they had? Hardly two-bit.”

  I’d seen the gear, but no matter how good my eye was for detail in my human form, my fox brain didn’t catalog the information in the same way. Now, filtering the images through my human consciousness, I realized they’d definitely had some serious firepower. Still didn’t mean they were gunning for me.

  “Call them whatever you want. They weren’t connected to the Moreau Initiative, no matter what you call them.”

  Buddy swiped up his boxers, but instead of pulling them on, he held them loosely at his side, slack-jawed. “How do you figure?”

  It was my turn to gape at him. “I’m pretty sure scientists who know anything about shifters have a better-than-most understanding of biology and zoology. Someone with even a tiny bit of expertise on animals would know the difference between a fox and a raccoon, and they wouldn’t have had such ridiculous assumptions about rabies.”

  Buddy thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Fair point.”

  “They were probably a couple of idiot hunters. Poachers, maybe.”

  Snorting, Buddy finally pulled his underwear on. “
One step forward, two steps back.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Those guys weren’t hunters.”

  “You can’t know—”

  “This preserve isn’t home to any animals worth hunting. It’s too early in the year for the deer that sometime come through. There are rabbits and coyotes, but an assault-style rifle is a bit overkill for things that small.”

  I thought about the scents I’d chased through the trees. Yeah, mostly small mammals and the occasional bird. Nothing big enough to bring out hunters. It was possible, I guessed, that the men came out for target practice on voles or something—which, ick—but their gear was a little fancy for something like that.

  “You’ve got a point. But there’s no way they are related to the imaginary trouble following me. Either way, my point remains: sicko scientists who experiment on animal-human shapeshifters would know the difference between a fox and a raccoon.”

  “And if not the Moreau Initiative, then who?”

  “We’re in one of the biggest cities in the country. They could have been anyone from drug cartel members to mob enforcers to security experts. There’s no reason to link them to me or the Moreau Initiative.”

  “So all these attacks on you are simply coincidence?” Buddy crossed his arms over his chest, drawing my eyes to the dark hair scattered across massive pectorals.

  It took a second to clear the steam from my overheating brain. “What else could it be? First, the likelihood of the scientists actually locating me after the hack is slim. Second, there’s no way they could know where we’re going. No one outside my family knows my itinerary. And even they don’t know everything. I mean, we didn’t know we were going to this park until two hours ago. How could they have met us here? We’d have seen them following us, right? And can you put on a freaking shirt? You’re distracting.”

  His aggressive stance loosened. “Huh?”

  Why wasn’t there a table to bang my head against? Oh yeah, because we were in the middle of a forest preserve. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” he muttered before reaching down to the pile of clothes to pick up his T-shirt.

  I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Look, let’s get out of here. We’re starting to rehash the same things.

  He grunted but didn’t argue. I counted it a win.

  WE spent the drive back to the hotel in a heavy silence. Periods of quiet in the car weren’t unusual for us, but this one weighed on my nerves. I even let Buddy drive—not that he’d given me much of a choice, as he still held my keys hostage. But I didn’t give him a hard time about it like I could have. Maybe it was the tamped-down frustration I could feel emanating from him.

  My phone rang from the cupholder where I’d stashed it earlier. The ringtone was that stupid song that went on about what kind of sound a fox made. So annoying. My mom hated it too, which was why I’d made it her personalized ringtone. I let it play for a while, wondering what would happen if I let it go to voicemail. I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with my mother.

  “You going to get that?”

  I huffed out a breath. “Don’t wanna,” I whined.

  “Seriously, David?”

  “Fine.” I snatched up the smartphone and accepted the call. “Hey, Mom.” I kept my voice casual and tried to imbue it with a dash of enthusiasm. The last thing I needed was for Mom to pick up the tension in the car.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re not dead in a ditch.”

  “Dead in a ditch?” I echoed. “Is that a phrase they teach in parenting classes or something? Why does it always seem to be the parental go-to?”

  “What else are we supposed to think when we don’t hear from our children regularly? Especially when said children are out roaming the country while a group of terrorists are hot on their trail.”

  “That’s about the most mom thing I think you’ve ever said. Besides, you’re being a little extra. We still don’t have any proof that anyone—including the Moreau Initiative—is hot on my tail. As I’ve told Buddy. Repeatedly.” Then I paused. “Um, we don’t actually have proof, do we? That’s not why you called?”

  Mom sighed. “The enforcers are still investigating, and security has been increased. But no, there hasn’t been any renewed threat on that front.”

  “Told you so,” I muttered to Buddy.

  Mom picked up on my words. “Is Buddy there with you?”

  “Of course he is. You hired him to be my bodyguard, and the man takes his job too seriously to let me out of his sight.”

  “Good.”

  “Of course you’d say that.” She didn’t have to deal with trying to hide her attraction from a man who was always there. Stupid raging libido. “I could do with a little personal space.”

  Buddy stiffened next to me.

  “You can have all the personal space you want once the threat has been eliminated.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Well, I’m glad Buddy’s there. I need to speak with him.”

  “He’s driving,” I said. “He doesn’t approve of talking on the phone while driving.” This was 100 percent true, but I worried more about the two of them putting their overprotective heads together. I’d probably end up cocooned in bubble wrap and shipped back to Wyoming.

  “Well, put me on speakerphone.”

  Damn it. At least that way I could hear whatever they spoke about, and it would give me time to do damage control if they decided bubble wrap was the way to go.

  “She wants to talk to you,” I said unnecessarily. He’d have heard her request. But it gave me a couple more seconds to try and concoct a contingency plan in case things went cockeyed.

  I pressed the icon to enable the speakerphone and held the device between us.

  “Hello, Mrs. Sherman,” Buddy said. It was interesting. When he spoke to my mother, his voice lost some of the personality I was used to hearing. It got cooler, less emotional. Almost neutral. He also straightened his posture and looked forward alertly.

  “Good afternoon, Buddy. Is David behaving?”

  “Mom!”

  Buddy’s lips quirked. The bastard. “For the most part.”

  “You two do realize I’m not a child, right?” I slumped into my seat and crossed my arms. I kept the phone facing Buddy, though I was tempted to “accidentally” hang up the call.

  Buddy reached over and patted my thigh. Then he winked. Damn the man, he wasn’t playing fair.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mom said. “Has there been any sign of the Initiative?”

  “There have been a few—” Buddy paused, searching for the right word.

  I held my breath, silently pleading with Buddy to keep his suspicions to himself.

  “—incidents. Nothing obviously related.”

  I scowled at him, but I had to admit, he’d been judicious in his words. He’d been honest, but not reactionary. Hopefully Mom would accept his statement at face value. Of course I wouldn’t be that lucky. Mom was a skilled negotiator and understood the ramifications of such deliberate word choices.

  “What does that mean? Nothing obviously related,” she said the last bit as though tasting something unfamiliar. “What kinds of incidents?”

  “There was a man at a rest stop with a gun—”

  “Probably a junkie looking for easy cash,” I interjected.

  “And someone rear-ended us on the freeway—”

  “Road rage and rush-hour traffic. Don’t make so much out of it.” I glared at Buddy, silently commanding him to keep his mouth shut about the gun.

  “And today—”

  “Douchebag hunters who were a little overzealous.”

  Buddy glared at me for the continued interruptions.

  The sound of someone rapping knuckles on a doorframe came through the line. Mom murmured something in the background. Maybe something had come up with her work, and she’d let this whole conversation drop. I only got slightly annoyed as her murmured conversation seemed to go
on and on. The least she could do is let us off the phone before she took a meeting or whatever. Of course, she was the head of the Western Division Shifter Council, so I couldn’t exactly hang up on her. She ended the calls—they weren’t ended for her. Not even her sons were allowed that privilege.

  She came back on the line. To her credit she sounded truly apologetic when she said, “Sorry, about that. David, Darren thinks it’s a good idea for you to come home. And I have to say, I agree. There’s too much uncertainty. We don’t have a way of knowing if these incidents are related or not, but it’s better to assume the worst.”

  I jerked forward, nearly strangling myself on my seat belt. “No way. I still have five schools to visit.”

  “There’s plenty of time—”

  “There really isn’t. Classes start in three weeks. I need to have so much figured out before the holiday. Otherwise I’d probably end up having to wait a whole year.”

  “David, your safety is more important—”

  “Why is everyone so convinced that my safety is at risk? Seriously, everyone is overreacting.”

  “It’s not overreacting to want to protect you. You’re my child, it’s my job.” Mom paused again. I could hear the tap of her fingernail against her cell phone casing. “Buddy?” Mom said.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sherman?”

  “In your opinion, how likely is it these incidents you mentioned are connected?”

  Buddy met my gaze, battle waging in his dark eyes. I didn’t look away, not even caring that Buddy wasn’t watching the road. That was more his hang-up than mine. He scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair, making patches stick up straight.

  Finally, he said, “There’s no evidence that they are related. They could be complete coincidences.”

  I blew out a relieved breath.

  More murmured conversations happened on my mom’s side of the call. I tried not to resent how seriously she took Darren’s input. She was a strong, independent female who raised two boys almost single-handedly. Why would she seek someone’s opinion at this point in time? Especially since Aiden and I were both grown.