Abby had seen Cameron Gentry twice in her life, both times in downtown Portland. The first time she’d been about six and had gone into town with her brother Pete and her grandparents for an ice cream sundae. Cameron, a teenager, had been in the same ice cream parlor with his parents. Abby distinctly remembered he’d treated the waitress like dirt.
The second time she’d encountered Cameron had been about fifteen years later on a crowded sidewalk when he’d hurried past with some business associates. In his complete self-absorption, he’d nearly knocked her grandmother down and then hadn’t bothered to apologize. Grandpa Earl had wanted to challenge him, but Grandma Olive had talked him out of it.
Abby doubted Cameron would remember her from either incident. As she studied him now, she decided he hadn’t aged well. The touches of gray at his temples should have made him look distinguished, but the lines of cruelty around his mouth eliminated any attractiveness he might have.
As for his attitude of entitlement, that hadn’t improved one damned bit. He obviously still thought the world was his oyster. But he didn’t have the brawn to back up that belief, so he’d brought along three burly guys on this mission. Abby was willing to bet all four men could shift into wolves at a moment’s notice.
Good thing Donald didn’t know that. The poor man acted pathetically grateful to discover their visitors seemed normal and weren’t carrying weapons. What Donald didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. What Abby knew could hurt her, though, so she’d play dumb for as long as she could get away with it.
Once Donald had verified that he wasn’t in danger of being shot, he’d started to babble. “You guys gave us quite a scare. I bet you’re with the forest service or something, huh? Want some coffee? I could make some on the camp stove in no time flat. I have cookies, too. Oreos. They pack better than—”
“Where’s Wallace?” Cameron looked directly at Abby.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d immediately know Roarke had been here. They were werewolves, so they could probably stick their sensitive noses in Roarke’s vacant tent and smell that he’d left a few hours ago.
Still, she did her best imitation of a clueless female. “Wallace who?”
“He means Roarke, Abby,” Donald said helpfully. “You should probably go back in the tent and let me handle this.” He glanced at Cameron. “She’s not herself, which is understandable considering that this is her honeymoon and her groom is off getting antibiotics for her infection.”
Cameron stared at Donald as if trying to decide whether he was crazy or just stupid. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Donald laughed nervously. “I know it seems weird, that Roarke and Abby would invite me to team up with them on their honeymoon hike, but we found out we have a lot of things in common, so we—”
“Shut up, whoever you are.” Cameron turned back to Abby. “I sincerely doubt that Wallace got married in the last two days, let alone to Earl Dooley’s granddaughter.”
Donald gasped. “You’re his granddaughter? What a coincidence! He’s the one who sighted the mated Bigfoot pair!”
Abby felt sick to her stomach as she looked at Cameron. Dear God, if Cameron had done anything to Grandpa Earl…but Roarke had said he was safe because he didn’t know about the Weres. She’d hang onto that thought.
She took a deep breath. “How did you find out I’m Earl’s granddaughter?”
“Wallace had suddenly become very sympathetic to Earl’s situation, and he was acting odd before he left on this hike, so on a hunch I went over to Earl’s store this afternoon. He proudly, and somewhat defiantly, I might add, told me you and Wallace had set out together and you were going to bring back evidence that Bigfoot exists.”
Donald stared at her. “So are you two married or what?”
“I told you to shut up!” Cameron motioned angrily to one of the three guys standing behind him. “See that he doesn’t bother me again.”
Donald gasped as two of the men started toward him.
Abby stepped in front of him. “Don’t either of you dare lay a hand on this man! If you do, I’ll have you arrested for assault.”
One of the men picked her up by the waist as if she were a piece of furniture in his way and set her to one side. As she spun around with a cry of protest, they each grabbed one of Donald’s arms and propelled him backwards, out of the circle of light.
Donald’s mouth rounded in terror, but nothing came out.
Abby started toward him, but the third man closed his large hand around her bicep and held her in place. She considered kicking him in the crotch, but she wasn’t sure that would be wise, all things considered. If this incident turned physical, she and Donald wouldn’t stand a chance against a quartet of Weres.
“All right, Abby Winchell,” Cameron said, his voice deceptively soft. “We’re not going to play games. What are you to Roarke Wallace?”
Now there was a million-dollar question. “Nothing,” she said. “My grandfather wanted to go with him on his search for Bigfoot, but he’s not physically up to it, so I volunteered to go instead.”
Cameron sighed. “Wallace wasn’t on a sight-seeing trip and he would have had no logical reason to take you along.” He gave Abby the once-over. “Well, I can see one possible reason.”
She flushed. But if Cameron wanted to think that Roarke had brought her along to warm his sleeping bag at night, then she’d let him think that.
But Cameron shook his head. “Doesn’t make logical sense. He might want you, but not on this trip, where all you’d do is slow him down. He would have accomplished his mission first and had fun with you later.”
“That wasn’t possible. I’m leaving town. He had to take advantage of the time I’d be here.”
“Sorry, that won’t wash. Wallace is resourceful when it comes to the ladies. He would have followed you to Phoenix for some R and R if that’s what he was really after.”
She hated that Cameron obviously had checked up on her before coming out here to find her. He probably knew everything about her entire family. Maybe he’d always known everything, in case it would help him in his quest to get the Dooley property.
“I’m going to assume that Wallace is off doing the business I asked him to do, but that still doesn’t explain you.”
“Maybe Roarke isn’t as dedicated to efficiency as you think,” she said. “Maybe he wasn’t willing to wait until he could meet me in Phoenix.”
“Maybe, but I still can’t see him dragging you along on this trip, or hooking up with the geek over there, either. It doesn’t add up.”
Abby shrugged as if she didn’t care what Cameron thought, but her mind was going a mile a minute. If they’d talked to Grandpa Earl this afternoon, they’d arrived at this campsite damned fast. The reason for that chilled her. They’d made the trip as Weres, moving swiftly down the trail like bloodhounds. Yet what about clothes once they arrived?
Each of them wore a small backpack, and then she figured it out. They’d shifted before they’d left and then someone at the mansion had strapped the packs on their backs. In shifting back to human form, they’d simply slipped out of the packs and dressed in the clothes tucked inside.
Knowing how quickly they could traverse the forest as Weres, she understood just how much of a handicap she’d given Roarke by tagging along. No wonder Cameron couldn’t believe that Roarke had taken her willingly. She caught the Were studying her and looked away. She didn’t want anything in her expression to tip him off about what she knew.
Cameron tapped a finger against his chin. “Something’s missing from the equation, and I’ll bet you could tell me what it is, Abby Winchell.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do, but maybe we need to continue this discussion somewhere else.”
She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, but then she heard the whomp, whomp, whomp of rotary blades. There was a helicopter in the area, and she didn’t have to guess who owned it. Roarke
had said the Sasquatch pair would be airlifted out, so of course the Gentrys would be doing that via private helicopter.
“Kidnapping is a federal offense,” she said. “If you take me out of here against my will, that’s kidnapping. And I’ll press charges, too.”
Cameron ignored her as he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and clicked it on. “You can pick us up, now.”
For one heady moment Abby tried to tell herself that by us he meant the four of them. They’d take the chopper out of here and leave her in the clearing with Donald.
“We’ll have two extra passengers.”
Her brief hope died. “What about Roarke? He’ll come back here and won’t know what happened to us.”
Cameron gave her an icy smile. “That wouldn’t be polite, would it? Thanks for reminding me. I’ll leave Wallace a nice note.”
Chapter Twenty
As Roarke loped through the forest, making much better time going back, he heard a helicopter in the distance. He briefly thought about Cameron’s chopper, probably because he had that particular one on the brain after working so hard to describe it to the Sasquatch pair. But this helicopter was probably on military maneuvers. Cameron would have no reason to be flying around tonight.
Unless he’d decided to check up on Roarke. Nah, that was paranoid thinking. Cameron was sitting in his study with a snifter of brandy and one of his favorite Cuban cigars while he glanced through his stock portfolio to assure himself that he was as rich as ever.
Still, Roarke would be glad to get this business with Cameron wrapped up. He shared Abby’s dislike of the werewolf. Roarke had to be loyal to the pack, but that didn’t mean he had to like every Were he met.
Unfortunately, wrapping things up with Cameron also meant leaving Portland and Abby Winchell. Then again, she’d be leaving soon herself. Thinking about the short time that remained to them, Roarke bounded even faster over the damp forest floor. He was making excellent time, and he might even get back to camp before midnight.
If Donald was a sound sleeper, Roarke could creep into Abby’s tent and spend a little quality time with her. That would simplify the situation with the meds he was supposed to be delivering. Abby could say she had them and was taking them as prescribed.
Then they all had to get themselves back to Dooley’s General Store without anyone besides Earl knowing that Roarke had not been alone on this trip. That would be tricky, but as he ran, Roarke considered the possibilities.
Donald was the first order of business. Roarke had revised the plan concerning Donald. Instead of mentioning information about a Bigfoot sighting in another part of the forest, Roarke would mention a Bigfoot mauling near Portland. Lots of blood. Suspicion that the Sasquatch were on the rampage. That might spur Donald to get the hell out of the forest, and quickly.
He hoped they would all move more quickly too since the packs would be lighter because they’d eaten a lot of the food. If Roarke carried everything of Abby’s they could make it in one long day. Abby would have to stage a miraculous recovery, but if Donald was spooked, maybe he wouldn’t question her ability to hike.
Abby might have some other ideas, maybe even some better ideas, which was another good reason to get back before Donald woke up. Abby and Roarke could brainstorm their next plan of action. Yeah, right. As if they’d spend their time together brainstorming.
Still, they could have time to talk after they’d rolled around on Abby’s sleeping bag for awhile. Roarke put on a burst of speed as he caught Abby’s scent on the breeze. Not far, now. He’d have to circle the camp and retrieve his clothes, damn it.
He calculated whether he dared stop short of the clearing, shift, and then crawl naked into her tent. That would save some time, and if he could manage to return to his tent unnoticed by Donald, he could dress in the clothes he’d left there. No, too risky.
All he needed was for Donald to suspect he’d been lied to and the whole program would be jeopardized. Keeping Donald in the dark was…Roarke paused as another scent drifted toward him, a scent he would have caught immediately if he hadn’t been so focused on Abby. Were.
His hackles rose as he crept forward, using the trees for cover as he neared the campsite. The clearing was empty. No tents, no cook stove…no Abby.
Her scent still clung to the area, but Abby, the producer of that lovely fragrance, was gone. Gone. Frantic with worry, he raced around the camp looking for clues as to what had happened, although in his heart he knew.
A stray tent stake showed that the camp had been dismantled in a hurry. The Were scent was stronger by the flattened grass, but the wolves were no longer here, either. Dread clawed at his chest. This had to be Cameron’s work.
A breeze ruffled his fur and he caught a movement to his right. A piece of paper fluttered under a rock. Running to it, he nudged the rock away with his nose and placed a paw on the corner of the paper to hold it in place. Something was written on it, but clouds covered the moon, leaving him with very little light. He strained to read the message, pushing it this way and that.
And then, the moon broke through the clouds.
My dear Wallace –
I trust you’ve taken care of the business we agreed upon. However, I’m puzzled by your decision to bring Abby Winchell on this assignment, and she’s unwilling to discuss it. The other member of your party seems to be an accidental addition, but according to Earl himself, you chose to take his granddaughter.
She and I, along with the engineer, have returned to the estate. Perhaps she’ll be more talkative there.
Regards, Cameron
So that had been Cameron’s helicopter he’d heard. Rending the note into small bits with his teeth, he allowed the scraps to blow away. The contents were burned forever into his brain, anyway.
He had clothes hidden in the woods, but his wolf shape would serve him better than his human form now. Leaving the clearing, he ran, his body stretched out, his belly low to the ground. He’d vowed to protect her, and he would do that with his last breath.
Abby had never been inside the Gentry mansion and she would have been happy to forgo the experience, but Cameron’s goons propelled her under the whirling blades of the helicopter and up the steps of a side entrance into a marble hallway. Cabinets on either side contained all sorts of sporting equipment, from snowshoes to hockey sticks. She supposed this was the wealthy family’s version of a mud room.
Behind her, she could hear Donald’s ragged breathing. All during the helicopter ride he’d tried to explain that he was an important personage in the Sony Corporation and they’d better let him go because high-placed executives would be looking for him soon. No one in the helicopter had responded.
“It’ll be okay, Donald,” she said over her shoulder. She thought it would be for him, once they realized he didn’t know anything. But Cameron sensed that she did, and that wasn’t going to help her cause any.
After following a maze of deserted hallways, a course that Abby was convinced Cameron had designed to make escape more difficult, her host opened tall double doors and ushered them all into a room lined with bookshelves and dominated by a large ornate wooden desk.
“You can let them go, now,” Cameron told his henchmen. “I want two of you outside the door at all times.”
The men nodded and left, closing the door behind them.
Abby rubbed her arm where the werewolf had been gripping it. She’d have bruises, but that might be the least of her worries.
Cameron gestured toward two leather armchairs in front of the massive desk. “You may each take a seat.”
Abby remained standing. “I don’t care to sit. I demand that you take me back to my grandfather’s place. This is an unconscionable violation of my rights as a citizen of the United States of America.”
“And I demand to be set free, as well.” Donald’s mouth quivered, but he kept his shoulders back and his gaze steady. “I promise you that you’ll regret detaining me against my will.”
Go, Donald. Abb
y admired his courage, something she couldn’t have predicted when she’d first met him. “I also hope you have good insurance,” Abby added, “because I plan to sue you for the bruises I’ve sustained at the hands of your employees, and I’ll tack on a hefty amount for pain and suffering, too.”
Cameron walked behind his desk and settled into his burgundy leather desk chair. “Suit yourselves. But you should both know that I’m the wealthiest man in Portland, and I contribute heavily to every civic charity in this fair city, including any and all that support the police department. It’s a long-standing Gentry tradition.”
Abby folded her arms. “Why don’t you call them what they are, Cameron? Bribes?”
“They certainly are not. They’re legitimate donations reported to the IRS. I’m a responsible citizen who loves his native town. Plenty of high-placed officials will step forward to vouch for me, especially when I tell them I caught the two of you breaking and entering.”
“Oh, yeah?” Donald moved toward the desk. “No one would believe that.”
“Of course they’d believe that.” Cameron gazed up at him. “I have a house full of fine art and precious antiques. Everyone knows about the Gentry collection. You’re a stranger around here, and Abby’s the granddaughter of a Bigfoot nut. Neither of you would have any credibility compared to me.”
“I don’t get it,” Donald said. “Why are you harassing Abby and me and trying to get us in trouble for something we obviously didn’t do?”
“I don’t intend to explain myself to you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to just stand here and take this crap. I’ve figured out that Abby and Roarke aren’t actually married, but why does that matter to you? So they’re having sex without the benefit of marriage. Lots of people do that these days. It’s not a crime.”
Werewolf in the North Woods Page 20
