by Jianne Carlo
“No. Where’d you hear that?” Drake swirled the leather seat and stood. “But then again, I only got into town about an hour ago. Your chair has that heat warming thingy. Mine doesn’t.”
“Switch them out and then leave mine alone. Why must you move every single item on my desk? You gotta learn to contain your fiddling.” Mike slumped into the warm seat, adjusted the desk blotter equidistant from all four corners, and scraped at his chin stubble.
Drake crossed his eyes. “You’re such a neat freak. What’s this about bears and cubs and slaughters? And how do you know?”
“Found a cub and its mother on the way to the cabin yesterday. Mother was torn apart. Shredded. Cub was still breathing, not that there was much left of it. I took it to Doc G.’s, but it died. And Doc G. told me there’s been a spate of similar slaughters.”
“So someone’s hunting bears. What’s it to you? Want coffee?” Drake dug a creamer out of the coffee basket, stared at the label, and made a face. “Hazelnut flavored cream? Must we have Mrs. McIntosh as our receptionist? How many other kills?”
“Yes, we must. She needs the money, and we owe her. Five similar slaughters have occurred since May. Drake, that smell was there at the site of the kill. That same stink from when Boyd died.” Mike shook his head. “I thought this had ended long ago.”
“Christ!” Drake spun around. Their gazes met. “Mom. What’re we going to do?”
“Keep it from her for as long as possible.” Mike plowed his hands through his too-long hair. “I couldn’t believe it when I came across the bear and her cub. The minute the stench hit my nose. Fuck. It was like it had happened yesterday.”
“You look rattled. And you never look rattled. Better get it together fast. We have that press conference at ten. You could be mistaken.”
“I could.”
“But you aren’t, are you?”
“I wouldn’t bet on this one.”
The Dorland name had been the only thing that kept the whole scandal under wraps when Boyd Dorland, their uncle, had been murdered less than two months after their father’s death. The man had been found in the forests near the reservation, facial features clawed to shreds, limbs wrenched from his torso, and only a partial dental match had identified him. But the vicious killing hadn’t been the source of the rampant gossip. No, that would’ve been too simple and straightforward.
“Mom’s tenure on reality is tenuous as it is. If that old scandal rears…maybe we should consider telling Mom about the gossip after all… ”
Ever since their mother had insisted on returning to Chabegawn, the two brothers had had a running argument whether to tell her about the nasty rumors that had surfaced after Boyd’s killing. In the end, they’d decided on a wait-and-see approach.
“Coffee.” Mike pointed at the coffeemaker. He deliberately changed the subject. “Where’d you disappear to last night?”
“Country club followed by a cozy hotel room near the resort.”
“Don’t mess with the local women, pup. No fucking where you live. I need to check e-mail, and then we’ll grab breakfast at the diner.”
Drake popped open the coffee basket for the machine and emptied a few tablespoons of dark grounds into the container. “Guess who I ran into at the country club last night?”
“Who else besides the female that warmed your bed, you mean? Valérie de Verteuil wearing a ziga-carat diamond.” Mike accepted the cup Drake handed him and smiled at his brother’s jaw-hanging expression.
“How in heck do you do that? You’re always one ahead of me.”
“’S why I’m the alpha, bro.” For the first time since he’d left the animal clinic last night, Mike’s sense of impending doom lifted. He and Drake were more wolf than human, and the dramatic and tragic loss of their father when Mike was morphing from cub to wolf and Drake was still a pup had cemented the impenetrable and unbreakable bond between the brothers. That, plus the added strain of living without a pack since each had come into their wolf and having a mother who knew nothing of their wolf heritage had served to reinforce their us-against-the-world attitudes.
“Who’s the condemned bastard?” Mike took a swig of the brew and closed his eyes as the scent and taste did a double hit to his system. Nothing like a strong shot of java to revive flagging adrenaline.
“Justin Laroque.” Drake snickered. “Love it when what goes around finally comes around. You think Valérie knows he’s a switch-hitter?”
Mike shrugged. “Don’t care. She’s off my back for good. No way Mom can throw us together anymore.”
“Valérie ain’t over you, bro. I’d watch my back. It’s not as if marriage vows mean anything to that family.”
Henri de Verteuil and Pierre Laroque, along with David Dorland, founded Chabegawn in the early 1700s. The descendants of the two French families considered themselves town royalty. That they shared a trait with other monarchs and had once owned 90 percent of Mackinac County made them the de facto social rulers of the community. Henri de Verteuil V, the direct descendant of the original Henri, and his wife Chantal, Valérie’s parents, were both rabid, blatant adulterers. The Laroque family tended to be more discrete about their affairs.
“I’m not worried. Justin, huh? I would’ve figured she’d go after Pierre the Sixth.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “She’d eat him up and swallow him whole. From what I’ve heard, he’s severely autistic and when they gave out that story about him going to a fancy boarding school, he was actually institutionalized.”
Mike sipped on his coffee. “I could’ve sworn Mom said Pierre was in town recently.”
Frowning, Drake gave a little head shake. “Not according to coat-check Harry at the country club. He said Laroque Senior had Pierre locked away for good.”
“Once again you’ve gone off on a zillion tangents. Focus, pup. Have you got everything ready for the conference?”
“Yeah. I’m assuming that, for now, we’re sticking to the plan?”
“For now.”
“Wonder how the town will react?”
“We’ll be creating jobs. First with the building of the facility and then after, with the steady employment.” Mike and Drake had done a ton of research on the area before deciding how to use the land that they’d purchased anonymously over the years. “Even those that believed the old rumors will be grateful.”
“I guess.” Drake pulled out his chair and sat. “Want to wager on how long the Laroque-de Verteuil alliance will last?”
Mike shook his head. “Not on your life. Something else happened last night. Doc G. was called to oversee a crime scene. Eddie Mato was killed about two miles north of the reservation.”
Drake whistled. “The second ever murder in Chabegawn. Gives me that squirrely back of the neck feeling.”
Mike nodded. “Me too. That’s one of the reasons I followed Doc G. and Melanie to the murder site—”
“Whoa! Melanie was there? You sly alpha. Had to stake your claim right away, didn’t ya? How’d she react?” Drake did a double brow raise. “Hubba hubba. Big bro’s gonna get himself laid and then some.”
How had it gone? Mike had spent most of the early hours of the morning staring at the ceiling and reliving their kiss. Hard and aching and angry, he, who never vacillated, had jumped from one conclusion to another like a schizoid gambler down to his last dollar, bet the house, fold, or bluff. Melanie’s response to his kiss had his hopes erupting in one breath and vanishing the next. Mike shook his head. No cobwebs or digressions today.
“Focus. Sheriff Pincer’s assuming Eddie’s tomcatting ways got him killed.”
“The how?”
“The news reports will list his death as a result of several blunt blows to the head and skull. And while his head had been bashed in, his limbs had also been torn apart and his skin shredded.” Mike aligned his pencil holder, stapler, and three-hole punch while glaring at a grinning Drake.
“Spit it out. What’s bugging you?”
The pup knew him all too
well. “I stayed behind after they all left, and went through the whole area. It was really breezy last night, but I caught that black wolf stench, the one from Boyd’s death. Even though the wind had cleared most of it.”
“And that’s not enough confirmation for you?” Drake picked up a letter opener and twirled it. “Between the stench and the MO, this has to change how we go forward, Mikey.”
“We stick with the business plan, and go ahead and announce the resort. No deviations—for now. I’m going to have dinner with Doc G. tonight. Pump him for info on the other bear slaughters. Over the next couple of days, you and I are going to examine each site. Then we’ll decide if we need to amend the plan.”
Drake threw a wadded piece of paper at him. It hit his nose and stung. He rubbed the spot. “What was that for?”
“That’s not what’s bugging you. Spill, bro.”
“We’ve been in each other’s company for way too long.” Mike fingered his jaw. “I think Melanie knows something about the slaughters.”
“Melanie? You think your mate’s a suspect?” Drake went from a sprawled, slouched position to attention.
“First. She isn’t my mate. Yet. Second—no, I don’t consider her a suspect, but she knows something she’s not telling. She identified the cub’s sex before Doc G. even examined him.” Mike leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “She stopped breathing when she approached the cub—as if she’d smelled the stench. Only a male wolf can pick up the foulness associated with a ritual kill. And female wolves don’t have the scenting power of a male.”
“How do we know that for a fact? It’s not as if we’ve ever socialized with or met a female wolf. Couldn’t Melanie have been reacting to the condition of the cub? You said there wasn’t much left of him—any female would feel queasy at that kind of thing.”
“It wasn’t just at the clinic. At the murder site when she approached the perimeter of the scene, she froze and held her breath. For a second, I could’ve sworn she smelled it too.” Mike let out a long sigh. “I’m probably overreacting. My judgment’s way off when it comes to Melanie.”
“And don’t I know it? I’ve never seen you this antsy. We don’t know anything about white wolf females. Maybe the Cwaatchii have sensitive noses. Or maybe she inherited something from her father. He was once a revered elder. And what about her grandfather? Wasn’t he supposed to have a whole range of powers?”
Mike rubbed his aching temples. “I know. I know. I’ve been running possibility odds in my head all night. But how did she know it was a male cub?”
“Maybe it was the ubiquitous ‘he’ she used.”
Stifling a groan, he said, “I can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something I haven’t anticipated. Something that’s going to come back and bite me in the ass. We’ve got too many unknowns out there. What I wouldn’t give for a Wolves for Dummies handbook.”
“Wouldn’t that be awesome? I wish we knew more too, Mikey. It seems every time I turn around, my body’s changed again. Christ on a bike, last night when I came—my fingernails lengthened and then retracted. I had no motherfucking control. Scared the piss out of me.”
Mike didn’t chide Drake for cussing; he remembered too well the days of coming into his wolf. Discovering a talent at the most intrusive, inopportune moments. Like the middle of the World Championship Baccarat Game. That was the day he’d made his name on the circuit, the day he’d won his first million-dollar hand. Or discovering after his first couple of shooting lessons he could beat any other man in the gun club. Even the three navy-trained sniper sharpshooters.
“I’m twenty-seven—”
“Three years before you’re officially over the hill.”
Rolling his eyes, he continued, “I’m still learning new things about myself. Especially with this mating crap. You have to learn not to react. To pretend everything’s normal. Then hole up and figure out what the fuck happened and cope. At least you have me, pup.”
“Yeah. I do. I don’t know how in hell you went through the change alone.” Drake had that about-to-man-hug glint in his blue eyes.
The pup had a streak of sentimentality and softness that worried Mike to no end. “’Nuff said. I’m not going down that road again. The past is the past. We focus on the future. No regrets.”
“Too right. No regrets.” Drake picked up his cell phone. “It’s five forty-five. Breakfast? Melanie?”
“Stop that eyebrow thing. Melanie won’t be at the diner. She’s on the late shift. I guess we can head out. The diner opens at six.”
“Before I forget, Justin Laroque stopped by yesterday with an insurance proposal for the building.” Drake grinned. “Us owning the building that had been in their family for so long isn’t sitting too well with him. Have to admit I kinda enjoyed that to no end.”
Mike grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. “Damn. Wish I hadn’t asked him for that insurance quote now. No way he’s getting our business now that he and Valérie are engaged. The less I see of her, the better.”
“Ditto on that. What’re we going to do about the insurance then?”
Mike shrugged. “I’d prefer we do business locally. Goodwill and all that. Didn’t the Makgamii tribe have an insurance company?”
“Wozaawishi Insurance. They hold the policies for most of the tribes in the state.”
“It might get us in there. Get a quote. If anything, it gives us an excuse to visit the tribe’s headquarters. Melanie’s mom works at the casino, which is right next door.”
“Currying favor, bro? Good tactical move. Who knows how often you might bump into the daughter?” Drake stood, jammed his hands into his lower back, and arched. “How’re you going to play it with Melanie? Mom will go ballistic if she hears you’re seeing her.”
“Mom’s not going to hear a whisper. Not until it’s a done deal.”
Drake slung his black biker jacket over one shoulder. “Let’s get a move on. I’m starved.”
All the myriad and contorted hurdles Mike faced to claim Melanie and establish a pack crowded his mind as they rode the elevator to the ground floor. Dating Melanie openly wasn’t an option, and he hadn’t a fucking clue how to get from that one kiss to earning her trust.
A blast of icy air hit them when they exited the building and turned left, heading down the quarter block to the crossroads that dissected the town. Chabegawn’s main thoroughfare oozed small-town charisma. A two-lane road, Sagwash Street, ran through the center of the city and culminated in the charming Fiesta Square. A cornucopia of greenery lined and twined the street and the square; evergreen hedges, oak and maple trees, and massive blue spruce pines interspersed between the remnants of once-effusive summer annuals. Wooden flower boxes trailing variegated ivies decorated each old-style gas streetlight.
Mike had chosen the location of their new offices for a few reasons: the town diner, the Caboose, was across the road, plus the three-story building had two basement levels, and a back alleyway entrance led to the lower of the two, making it possible to enter and exit the building without attracting attention.
“Anything else happen at the murder site?”
“Nothing of consequence except that Melanie obviously doesn’t like Pincer. When we get back, do your thing and dig into him. I want to know how he shits, when he jerks off, what he picks his teeth with. Every detail you can find.” Mike had barely been able to contain himself when the sheriff had read Melanie a riot act about “keeping her trap shut.” He’d wanted to pound the man into the ground when Melanie’s pupils contracted to needle points and fear added a bitter edge to her unique flower-and-musk fragrance.
“Done. You think he’s hitting on her?”
“He’s a dead man if he is or has.”
“I seem to recall he’s in his early forties, six-two or thereabouts, and one of those good-looking country boy types.”
“Not in as good shape as that pic from your research, maybe fifteen pounds heavier, but otherwise dead-on as usual. When was it that he became
sheriff?” The mouthwatering aroma of bacon sizzling went straight from the Caboose’s exhaust to Mike’s nose. He salivated.
“About three months after we left.” Drake rocked on his heels while they waited for the sole traffic light boasted of by the citizens of Chabegawn to go green. “Never seen you jealous before. This mate shit’s eating you up. Christ on a bike. I hope I avoid it for another decade or so.”
“Good luck with that one. Trust me—you don’t have a choice when it hits you.” And if that wasn’t the understatement of several centuries, nothing was.
“I’m starved. Heck if there ain’t nothing like the smell of bacon frying.” Drake waved air to his nostrils and took an exaggerated inhale. “Bacon, steak, eggs, and the works for me.”
Both men had the high metabolisms of their kind and neither watched their weight, but Mike tried to eat healthy most of the time. Drake didn’t. The pup ate like a bear sensing the onset of winter, day in, day out.
Drake stalked across the intersection.
Mike shot a look at the sky. It was clear and a powder shade of blue. “God save me from growing pups.”
Drake cuffed him. “I’m legal and full grown. Cut the pup stuff.”
Mike ruffled Drake’s hair and ducked to avoid his brother’s right cross.
“Damn it, Mikey. I am not nine years old.”
“You cut the Mikey, and I’ll cut the pup.”
Halting at the entrance to the diner, Drake scowled. “I’d give my left nut if you really meant that.”
One second turned into minutes, and Mike had to swallow the obstruction in his throat at the loaded emotions blazing from Drake’s blue eyes. “I mean it. It’s time I stopped hovering over you. New beginning. New business. Equal partners in everything. Work for you?”
Drake blinked and looked away. His Adam’s apple bobbed. When he nodded and met Mike’s stare head-on, a glimmer made his eyes seem to twinkle. But Mike knew his brother was all choked up.
“Since you’re now the man, breakfast’s on your tab.” Mike shoulder jabbed Drake.
“Lead the way.” Drake held the door open and waved.
