He sighed.
Word had spread, the TV had been on in many households, and the local populace had had a couple hours to digest the news of a violent death in Eagle River.
Of course it hadn’t happened in Eagle River, but the proximity made the distinction irrelevant, and he couldn’t correct the misperception anyway.
He paid, left a larger than necessary tip to offset his guilt at his lack of appetite, and headed home as light faded from the purple spring sky. As he negotiated the quiet streets of Eagle River proper, his mind whirled with the day’s events, and with tomorrow’s potential for much worse. The face of Jessie Hawkins came to mind easily, though the face of Heather Wilson seemed to edge it out of focus. There was no denying, the Wilson woman was brassy and attractive, but he knew she was a freshwater barracuda—a muskie—lying in wait. She’d have him for dinner, all for the camera.
He made a halfhearted extra city patrol and then turned into his short driveway and checked his voice mail (too many messages about the day’s events, which he noted and saved for the next day), his e-mail (all spam), and flipped through the channels. Sure enough, Wilson’s station was running a promo spot for the late news, leading with the savage attack in Eagle River.
Ah, Christ, he thought as he tried turning in.
Too keyed up and tired to give in to sleep easily, Arnow instead wrestled with himself. When he’d taken this job, he expected to lock up drunk locals and the occasional college kid, hand out speeding and parking tickets to Illinois residents, and maybe referee the ongoing dispute over Indian spearfishing. No gruesome murders.
Not murder, attack.
He finally gave up wrestling and dressed. He got into his car quickly as if slowly would allow him time to change his mind.
Something told him it wouldn’t hurt to take a look long after the evidence people had finished.
He yawned. Should be sleeping. Long day tomorrow.
But the squad car seemed to drive itself to the construction site.
If he hustled, he could be back in bed within forty minutes, his annoying curiosity sated. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but his damned instinct insisted it would come up with something.
The county road was dark, but the road to the casino was positively pitch-black. His brights seemed to bounce off the trees and render the woods even darker and more impenetrable. He grunted and flicked on his spot, aware that from a distance he would look like one of those assholes who hunt deer at night.
A breeze had kicked up, swaying the thinner pines. With the searchlight on, he was better able to navigate through the leftover mud and back to where Blackthorn had been attacked.
Murdered, he subconsciously corrected.
Of course, an animal attack was the likely answer. But the way Blackthorn had divested himself of his phone and his jacket seemed to imply a lengthy chase rather than a sudden, unprovoked bear or wolf attack. Not in spring, when there was plenty of food in the woods.
Carefully, he avoided areas piled with construction supplies or cleared lumber. It was a shame, bringing down such mature pines for something as venal as a casino.
His spot found the security office, a trailer parked higher off the road to one side.
Good, Sabin’s there, on the job.
He pulled up in front of the trailer and stepped out into the chill air. The pine boughs swayed high above, rustling urgently as if they had somewhere to go but for their captivity. He shivered. Should have stayed in bed.
A beefy, balding guy in a tight guard’s uniform answered his knock. Sabin’s handgun seemed loose in the holster to Arnow.
“Sabin, you remember me? I’m the sheriff here in Vilas County.”
Sabin’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, sure. But I already talked to one of your cops today.”
Arnow nodded. Somewhere in his stack of paperwork he’d seen Faber’s notes. “Just following up. Anything strange going on tonight? Hear or see anything suspicious?”
He glanced past Sabin and into the trailer. He saw cheap pressboard furniture and a silent TV.
“Nope, it’s quiet now that everyone’s gone. Just the wind.”
Arnow nodded. “It’s kicking up. Hope we don’t get another storm. How about telling me what you told my deputy?”
Sabin sighed. “Fine—but I got rounds to do in about five minutes.”
“Fair enough.”
They stepped inside the trailer, and Sabin pointed at a chair. Arnow shook his head.
“’Kay. You know the site’s humongous, right? You got them laying foundations for the casino, a parking ramp, a fucking hotel, and a bunch of outbuildings—condos for snowmobile and ski season, I think. And that pond next door. Anyway, it’s a bitch to patrol. They let some guys go and haven’t hired new ones yet, so I’m the only guy on the night shift for a while. I’m over at the hotel dig when the storm rolls in—not a lot of warning. One minute it’s miles away, and next it’s over your head. Really bad. So I ducked into a Port-a-John just to avoid gettin’ wet. Thought it would be hilarious if it was a tornado and flattened me in one of those.”
Arnow smiled but let him go on.
“Anyhow, the worst of it lasted maybe fifteen minutes. One point, I thought I heard screaming, you know, like some-body’s gettin’ his eyes gouged out.” He swallowed hard.
“Guess it was somethin’ like that after all…Anyway, I heard the screamin’ but didn’t have no idea who or where it was until I get back to the main drag and see the construction lot. I see Mr. Blackthorn’s car there all the time. The guy almost lives here, right? Anyway, today I go looking for him, and that’s when your deputy drives in.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“I told the cop I thought somethin’ had happened, but I didn’t know shit myself. So he went off looking and so did I. But then my cell went off, and I got ordered to check the casino site ‘cause a tree had flattened one of the walls, and I guess that’s where I was when he found…found Mr. Blackthorn.”
Arnow patiently waited. People often race to fill in silence.
“Nice guy, Blackthorn, for a funny little Indi—uh, Native American. Used to bring us smokes and donuts once in a while.”
“You never saw his body?”
Sabin nodded. “Saw part of it when that TV chick was around. Don’t think you guys had found that chunk yet.” He clucked. “Wasn’t much to look at.”
Arnow agreed. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be asking for a statement.”
“What the hell was this?”
“Unofficial. I’ll call you and you can come in and we’ll type it up. Meantime, if you remember anything else…”
“Yeah, yeah, I watch TV.” He glanced at his watch. “Shit, gotta go. Have to check in halfway through.”
Arnow thought about that. “When did you check in last night?”
“Halfway. Oh, you mean where was I? Just getting inside the Port- a-John.”
“Thanks.” Arnow backed out of the trailer and took a step turned his car, then turned around. “Last thing—you hear anything other than the wind, thunder, and the guy screaming?”
Sabin froze for a second, seemed to be on the verge of complaining.
“Wolves,” he said.
“What?”
“Thought I heard wolves howlin’.”
Lupo
Even though the lush forest surrounding the town of Eagle River had been trimmed back some, the crisp North Woods air still reminded Lupo and the Creature of total freedom.
And of Jessie.
Windows down in the afternoon chill, the scent of pine and woodsmoke tickling his nostrils, the music hitting just the right spot as he followed the road’s zigzags to Circle Moon Drive…he couldn’t help smiling though things had gone to crap down in the city.
The last notes of Bairnson’s guitar and Andrew Powell’s symphonic horns faded just as he pulled up to the garage and left the car ticking next to her well-worn Pathfinder.
She met him at the door, her face lit by
the huge smile that kept him dreaming of her most nights.
Their lips met before either could speak. That was how their relationship had turned out. So often based on action and thought, so rarely on words alone.
“Nick,” she breathed into him. “Nick—”
“Jess—”
Their embrace bore some aspect of the desperate about it. Desperate loneliness as they lived apart, desperate intensity as they drew together. Their scents mingled, and—inside Lupo—the Creature came to life with animal lust and the knowledge that it, too, would soon be sated.
Lupo stifled the Creature’s wants and needs as much as possible, but here in the presence of the enveloping forest there was no suppressing the primitive urges.
They embraced long and passionately, their mouths meeting and seeking out those tingly areas that reminded them how much they missed each other while leading their separate lives.
“I’m so glad—” she started.
“I couldn’t wait—” he said concurrently.
They laughed.
“We do that a lot.”
“Yes,” he said, “we do.” They parted but still held each other like groping teenagers. Lupo’s head and nose were filled with Jessie’s strong, lusty scent—it overwhelmed the wolf’s olfactory sensitivity.
“Come in.” She was almost breathless.
“Let me get my bag. Be right back.”
She waited for him in the doorway, her wide smile now gone sad—or perturbed.
“What’s wrong?” His neck hairs sprang straight up. The moment of joy and recognition had passed, and now he sensed her worry.
“Come in, and then I’ll tell you.”
“Okay.” He set down the duffel bag and closed the door. Scratches in the woodwork reminded him of the night the Stewart gang had kidnapped her.
He saw Jessie closing the blinds of the windows that overlooked the hill leading down to the channel, then those that looked out onto the rear of the cottage, the garage and parking slab. It made Lupo nervous, as if she were worried about being spied upon. His hair really stood on end now, and he felt an itch work its way down to his palms. The moon was just too close, its influence liable to manifest in various ways.
“Jess?”
She took his hand and led him to the table just off the kitchen, a converted restaurant booth. Two places were set, candles sputtered, a bottle of wine breathed. Her “good” china was matched not by her silver, which she had been forced to sell, but by rustic wood and stainless steel.
Lupo still didn’t know why silver caused him so much pain. His research pointed to Hollywood screenwriters having invented the werewolf’s aversion to silver, but he could attest to the truth of it. It burned his skin much like an open flame. At a distance, the element caused milder symptoms similar to a strong allergy—itching, burning, rashes, and unintentional manifestations of his condition.
Jessie hadn’t fretted over the lost silver. “You’re much more valuable to me than some stupid knives and forks.”
Now he smiled at the spread. Her broiler seemed to be ready to work on a couple steaks, though his would barely grace its inside for a minute.
But when she turned toward him, he realized that he’d been right. She was preoccupied about something.
“There’s been a murder,” she began.
The seriousness of her tone startled him.
Sam?
She saw the look in his eyes. “Not someone you know, no. And Sheriff Arnow’s a good man. I think he’ll do a good job. But—”
“But?”
She sighed. “The victim was torn apart, Nick. By a wolf, maybe. Looks like it, right now.”
He let out his breath in a continuous stream.
Jesus.
They sat and she told him everything she knew, everything she had seen. Everything she had thought.
Well, no, not everything.
He sensed that she held back a little. However briefly, she must have thought of what he hunted in the woods and how he did it. However briefly, she had doubted him.
“I wasn’t here last night, Jess,” he whispered. It sounded weak, even to him. He could have been.
Her eyes widened, shocked. “I don’t think it was you!” She held out her hand, as if warding off the thought.
He nodded. “But then…we have to wonder who, what.”
“There are wolves in the North Woods now, you know that. So many now they might sanction a hunt if the farmers get their way.”
“I surely do.” He had killed one in self-defense. It had challenged him, or the Creature, and there had been a fight to the death.
“I think the sheriff’s not sure whether it was an animal attack or a murder. Maybe a murder made to look like an animal attack. It’s way too vicious to be just an animal attack. The victim is this casino money guy, and you know how hot-button the casino project has been.”
“Was he an Indian?”
“Yeah, I think so, but I’m not sure. Not from here, imported to help smooth things over with investors and stockholders, and to drum up new investors. Apparently not the nicest guy, from what I’ve heard.”
Lupo waited to see if there was more.
“Oh, I forgot the wine!” She reached for the bottle and poured, filling their glasses. “You must be starved.”
“I had a long day,” he allowed. No need to tell her how long or how stressful. And now there was this. It leached some of his enthusiasm away, that was sure.
They clinked glasses and drank, enjoying their pause from the serious talk.
“Nice,” Lupo said after sipping.
“Thanks. I was hoping it wouldn’t be too dry.”
“No, it’s perfect. Nice and fruity. Full.”
“I have supper ready to go, Nick. Let’s eat. We can talk about this stuff later. I’m selfish. I want you to think about me right now, not the sheriff or his case.”
“I’m all for that.”
She slapped the meat into the broiler. His would be served nearly raw. She tossed the salad and buttered the potatoes.
Lupo reached down, slipped off his shoe, and slowly peeled down the skin-tone plastic glove that covered his real foot. His friend Mike McCarty, a film special-effects wizard, had created the fake prosthetic for Lupo after his severed foot had inexplicably regenerated. It felt good to get out of the itchy, sweaty latex covering. After scratching absentmindedly, he sat back to watch Jessie move around the kitchen.
He wanted to feel happy here and now—he did feel happy—but the news of the attack had shaken him more than he let on. He wished she’d waited until later to tell him. But Arnow could call anytime.
Lupo already felt drawn into something he knew he would regret.
Right now, the smell of fresh food overwhelmed him, and when all was ready they ate and drank and talked of other things.
But over them hung the thought that some other predator might be stalking their beloved woods.
When they finally pushed their plates away and let the last few sips of Chianti linger on their tongues, they had managed to catch up on all the month’s news.
“DiSanto’s gonna be all right, but Doc Barnett is out to get me,” Lupo said.
“Bitch,” she said.
“I love it when you talk like that.” He laughed.
“Oh, I can be quite foul-mouthed, Dominic Lupo.”
“I bet.”
“Want to hear?”
“Want to hear, see, taste, and touch.”
They broke some sort of speed record putting things away, dishes in the dishwasher, leftovers in the refrigerator.
Whenever they touched, they both felt electric charges ripple up and down their nerves. Finally his square hands covered hers and drew her toward the blazing fireplace.
“Mr. Lupo, you seem very sure of yourself.”
“For once,” he muttered, his lips finding hers.
Neither had anything else to say for a long time.
Tef
They had separated right
after changing into wolfskin, automatically slipping into their well-practiced routine from Afghan istan and Iraq. They had trained their senses to keep track of time and whereabouts, to navigate desert—or woods—by silver moonlight. To communicate with the howls and cries that came more naturally to them than words. Tef had run through the thinning forest, heading for the construction site. He was disobeying orders.
Hell, if he wanted to follow orders, he’d have joined the military. Not the renegade Wolfpaw security firm that had drawn so much hatred for its disregard of human life.
He grinned. He loved disregarding human life!
Later, they were supposed to meet up and track the new kill, but first they’d stretch their muscles and take in protein. Tef ran a rabbit to ground, played with it a little, and tore out its furry throat, letting the warm blood pour into his mouth, coating his lapping tongue with the gamy taste.
It was like a shorty, he thought. Barely enough for a long sip.
His jaws formed a happy grin as he ripped into the stomach and warm intestines.
He left the emptied carcass behind, but his hunger had increased, so he hoped for a deer rather than another rabbit. Not only would it be more food, but also more of a challenge. In human form, Tef had grown to love shooting humans and watching their riddled bodies bleed out, die. In wolfskin, his preference was for the old-fashioned hunt. The snap of steel-like jaws, the cracking of bones, the gushing of blood.
Tef lived for the hunt.
Tannhauser was an old fogey who tied their paws together. Money was Tannhauser’s god. Money and power. For Tef it was all about the blood and twitching flesh.
He caught a scent and analyzed it.
Human.
Armed. He caught a faint whiff of gun oil.
It was the cop, the sheriff. Arnow or whatever. They had checked him out at home a while back. So far Mr. XYZ had warned them to avoid Sheriff Arnow, but Tef wanted to play.
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