Linda O. Johnston

by Alpha Wolf

  Drew considered the location ironic. Dogs weren’t exactly known for their sanitary habits, but these pups helped to obfuscate the most sanitary conditions imaginable from the few military personnel and civilians employed on the base who didn’t know its real purpose.

  “Even so, you have all the fun,” Patrick grumbled.

  Drew turned from the table where they had been sealing some of the newest vials of liquid for later use and faced his friend and military subordinate. Like him, Patrick was dressed in white hooded coveralls, face mask and vinyl gloves. Drew knew they looked like characters in a horror film—yet another irony, considering who and what they both were.

  “We can always share the honor,” Drew said. “And the initial bellyache if this new version of my good old family recipe doesn’t do what we planned. And the potentially really nasty consequences in that case. Swallowing an antidote. Puking our guts out. Pain. And—”

  “You win.” Patrick raised his white-gloved hands and rolled his pale brown eyes—nearly the only part of his body that was visible. “I’ll just turn on the lab’s manufactured moonlight to get the formula to do its thing, and watch, this time.”

  “Next time, the pleasure is all yours.”

  As Patrick laughed, Jonas Truro’s voice blared over the room’s automatic intercom, “Drew, the guard at the main gate called. You have a visitor. A very persistent visitor without military ID who insists on seeing how Grunge is.”

  Drew froze. “One of those loonies wanting to visit the reported werewolf?”

  “She doesn’t look any loonier to me today than she did the other day when she treated our buddy with the wagging tail. I dropped by the entrance to see her myself.”

  Drew’s shoulders relaxed, but not the rest of him. No question now of who it was, but he didn’t want to get into a verbal sparring match with the lovely, and persistent, Dr. Melanie Harding.

  A physical skirmish, like that kiss, was another matter. But unwise. Really unwise.

  “I wonder who that could be.” Humor still resounded in Patrick’s voice. “Hey, invite her in. I haven’t seen Dr. Harding since I sold her my dad’s clinic. She struck me as being pretty conscientious when it came to treating animals. Wouldn’t hurt for Grunge to have a follow-up exam today. Or even for Duke to get checked. My dog’s been acting a little irritable—though that could be because our resident cat’s been teasing him. But other animals around here could use a little TLC, too, Major. Like me, after I change. What about you?”

  “Stow it, Lieutenant,” Drew growled. “But you’re right about Grunge. And Jonas is right about the woman’s perseverance. I’ll let her make sure her patient’s healing fine, then send her on her way.”

  If it hadn’t been for Grunge and the other defenseless animals reportedly sequestered at Ft. Lukman, Melanie would have turned around on the spot and driven as fast as possible back to her clinic. After, of course, making an obscene gesture toward Major Drew Connell and his military base.

  Who cared whether Drew could have seen her immature behavior?

  She did.

  But so many things had happened in the last several days that were out of her control. And way outside the realm of tangible, comprehensible reality.

  She had even been threatened. Although she had immediately called Chief Ellenbogen and played the message over the phone, he hadn’t held out much hope of finding out who the caller was.

  At least he had come to her home early yesterday morning to take information for a report. For whatever good that would do. He’d called later to tell her he’d gotten the phone company to check the source—but the call had apparently come from a limited-use cell phone bought somewhere in Washington, D.C. Untraceable.

  Melanie might not be able to control much, but she could make sure that the animals at the army base were safe and healthy. She didn’t intend to leave until she did.

  And seeing Drew in his military surroundings, with lots of people around? Safer, much safer to her state of mind, than seeing him alone.

  “Well?” she called out her window to the young fellow in a blue uniform. He sat inside the guard kiosk where visitors apparently had to show some official ID she didn’t have in order to enter. “Have you reached Major Connell yet?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear if the major can see you, ma’am.”

  “That’s ‘Doctor Ma’am’ to you, soldier,” she said in a semblance of the tone she heard military types use in movies.

  The serious-looking African-American almost cracked a smile. “Oh, I’m not a soldier. The government hired my private security company to help out here and free more soldiers to serve overseas.”

  “Really?” Melanie said. “Interesting. So, Mr. Private Security, let me pass.”

  But he still didn’t let her drive any farther. At least this was Sunday afternoon. She didn’t have regular office hours, although she was always available for emergencies. Not that she wanted to waste her time sitting here. But at least she had the ability to be pushy, if necessary.

  The fort was more remote than Mary Glen. At least the road through the woods to get here, though twisty, was well maintained. She had tried checking on Google Earth to see the layout and size of the military facility, but all that showed was a lot of woods just like the area surrounding it. Only part of a roof here and there was visible through the trees. Even driving by, chain-link fencing was apparent only intermittently between the large oaks, sycamores and other mature trees that obscured it from the road.

  She couldn’t see much of the base, but the parts of buildings in her view, among the trees, were long and low, none any higher than a couple of stories, every one in pale stucco. Seemed very military, except for the forest ambiance.

  She heard a noise inside the kiosk, and the security guard spoke low, as if over a radio. He looked at her and continued talking. And then he stood.

  “Major Connell’s on his way.”

  “Thanks.” She only had to wait a few minutes longer until she saw a black SUV drive up the road inside the gate and park. Drew got out, and so did Grunge, who was on a leash and still wearing the recovery collar she’d sent him home with. They walked past the kiosk toward her.

  Drew was dressed in a military camouflage outfit in green and brown shades that were probably too light to render him invisible if he walked in the woods inside and outside the facility. He was tall and military-straight, his stride even and resolute in his boots. The silver in his short, dark hair seemed even more prominent in the sunlight.

  Grunge walked to heel, keeping pace with his companion with only a slight limp and no other indication of pain. A good thing.

  Drew’s expression was stern, unwelcoming. Not a good thing.

  Even so, Melanie’s skin seemed to hum, as if electrified, at the sight of him. If he’d been in a crowd of similarly clad soldiers, she’d have recognized him immediately by his bearing. His magnetism. His eyes.

  Since they were coming to see her, she assumed she wouldn’t be permitted onto the base to visit the other animals there to make sure they were healthy and well cared for. That was part of the reason she had come, not just to check on Grunge. And certainly not using the animals as an excuse to see Drew again.

  There was a paved parking area beside the entrance, and she pulled her beige minivan that sometimes doubled as an animal ambulance into an empty space. By the time she opened her door to get out, the officer and dog were beside her. She ignored Drew, kneeling to hug Grunge. “Hi, boy,” she crooned. He didn’t flinch as she carefully probed the white bandage, making sure it hadn’t come loose and that there had been no seepage indicating infection or bleeding. “You feeling okay?”

  Grunge’s tail wagged, and he pranced in place.

  “Looking good,” she told him, then rose. Looking good, she thought again as she said, “Hello, Drew. It appears my patient is healing.”

  “I’d have been in touch if Grunge showed any sign of distress.” He sounded cool, and his frown suggested
she had insulted him. Well, tough.

  “I figured, but I wanted to check on him.”

  “You didn’t need to come here, Melanie. I planned to bring him back to your clinic in a day or two for a checkup.”

  “That’s okay. It wasn’t any trouble.”

  But seeing Drew again…well, that did feel troubling. She hadn’t slept much over the last few nights. She had felt uneasy, being in a remote location with a lunatic shooter on the loose.

  And that phone message had run through her mind over and over.

  So had their kiss…

  “Besides,” she said firmly, “while I’m here I’d like to check on his K-9 buddies.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t sound at all regretful. “Everyone who comes onto the base has to have a military ID or security clearance. But you can be sure that if any of our K-9s require medical attention, we’ll bring them to you. Your treatment of Grunge was greatly appreciated, but you know that.”

  He sounded so formal. So remote. So…untouchable.

  Melanie’s intention of checking on the base’s animals clearly didn’t matter to Drew. She didn’t matter. So why the heck had he kissed her?

  She glared straight into those unsettling eyes that were now virtually expressionless. She wanted to evoke some emotion from them. From him.

  “Not everyone appreciates it,” she blurted angrily. “Like Angie Fishbach. And the person who shot Grunge in the first place. And the person who left me a threatening message on my phone the other night—although that could have been the shooter. Not that I’d ever allow an animal to suffer, but if I’d known that by removing that bullet from Grunge I’d be subjected to all this, I’d have driven him—”

  “What threatening message, Melanie?” Drew’s voice was ominously quiet. But she had finally succeeded in getting a reaction. His face was not expressionless now. Instead, its angles grew more pronounced around a scowl that made her shiver.

  “It’s not—” she began.

  “What threatening message?” he repeated, his tone brooking no resistance. “And why didn’t you call me?”

  She told him now. “And I did call Chief Ellenbogen, of course. He’s still looking into it.”

  “As if that’ll do any good. Has he figured out who hurt that tourist or Grunge? Does he have enough cops to protect you? Does he—”

  “There’s a community meeting tonight that Nolan Smith called to talk about the werewolf legends,” Melanie said. “I’m planning to go. Maybe the police will have an answer by then and announce it. Or at least give suggestions about how ordinary citizens can protect themselves from whoever is doing this.”

  But Melanie knew she wasn’t simply an ordinary citizen. By saving Grunge, she had put herself in the category of enemy to the person who had shot him.

  “Don’t count on that,” Drew growled, echoing her thoughts. “And I’ll see about coming to that meeting.”

  A while later, when Melanie pulled her van into her driveway, she noticed that Carla’s small yellow sedan was in its spot beside the veterinary hospital next door. Melanie had asked her assistant to pop in now and then in off hours to check on patients and animals being boarded, and had found Carla to be diligent about that, even on Sundays.

  But Carla’s wasn’t the only vehicle in the five-space lot. A gray SUV sat beside it.

  Uh-oh. Was an emergency awaiting? Melanie hurriedly pushed the button on the wall to shut the garage door behind her and hurried next door.

  The door to the reception area was unlocked, as anticipated. She hustled inside.

  “It’s just not right,” shouted a voice Melanie didn’t recognize. She scanned the waiting room for a pet needing medical assistance, but saw none.

  Instead, Carla sat on one of the chairs facing a young man. He stood immediately and approached Melanie.

  “You’re Dr. Harding?” He looked to be in his late twenties, had long legs stuck into loose blue jeans, and wore a bright red T-shirt that said Bite Me. His light, long hair hung in unruly waves from his head.

  “Yes,” Melanie said. “And you are…?”

  “Mike Ripkey.” His deep brown eyes bore an expression that looked to Melanie like anguish. “I came here because of the Mary Glen werewolf Web site. So did Sheila Graves. We were curious, that’s all.”

  Sheila Graves. That was the woman who had been injured the other night—and some believed she had been attacked by a werewolf.

  “I understand curiosity, Mr. Ripkey. It’s a very human trait, and we all—”

  “Don’t try to humor me, Doc. I need some answers. I’ve spent the last couple of days with Sheila, and fortunately she’ll be all right—assuming she doesn’t turn into a werewolf during the next full moon. But people all around town were talking about a dog you treated that some brave person shot with a silver bullet. And then in the morning he changed into a man. Dr. Harding, it’s just not right for you to have saved the life of the werewolf who attacked Sheila, and my group plans to do something about it.”

  Chapter 7

  “Y ou know how rumors start, don’t you, Mr. Ripkey?” Melanie took a seat on one of the reception area chairs.

  “Call me Mike,” he said. “Sure, I understand rumors. That’s all Nolan has on his Web site, along with shadowy photos and stuff like that. But Sheila’s injuries were real. She was bitten—the doctors said so. And she’s in pain. Since no one’s produced the animal that hurt her, she’ll have to have rabies treatments, though we all know she wasn’t attacked by an ordinary rabid wolf. Plus, someone will have to watch her during the next full moon, just in case…well, you know.” His earnest tone was reflected in his expression, and Melanie wanted to shake him. Wake him up. Make him see reality.

  She had no doubts that Sheila was hurt. Even attacked by some wild animal, if that’s what the hospital physicians determined from her injuries. Maybe it was a rabid dog, although Melanie hadn’t run across any rabies cases in the month she had been there. Maybe the tourist was as credulous and kooky as Mike Ripkey, and had sneaked up on some creature in the woods, startling it so it attacked in self-defense.

  Maybe it was something else altogether. But a werewolf? Oh, right. This was Mary Glen.

  “Anyway, this dog you treated,” Mike continued. “Supposedly one of the animals from Ft. Lukman. That was what I heard, and what the news reported. But in the morning, he’d changed back into human form, right?”

  “Wrong,” Melanie said firmly. “The news reported that, too. His owner, an officer from the base, guessed he was here and came to make sure he was all right.”

  And somehow sneaked into her clinic, Melanie thought. She might still be perturbed about it, but irritating behavior didn’t turn a man into a legendary monster.

  “I saw them together, too, Mike,” Carla piped in. She had stood up to help Brendan, one of the technicians, who carried a couple of bags of cat litter.

  Bless her, Melanie thought. Maybe between them, they could defuse any rumors Mike Ripkey might spread by intentionally misinterpreting what he found out here.

  Mike looked at Carla, apparently assessing Melanie’s elfin assistant. She certainly looked trustworthy—didn’t she?

  “Don’t you both get it?” he contradicted, shaking his head.

  “Shapeshifters are supernatural creatures. They can do things to people and you’d never even know it. Maybe this one hypnotized you or messed with your minds in some other way so you still thought you saw the wolf when you saw it in human form.”

  “Really?” Brendan, in his early twenties and as thin as an underfed Great Dane, gawked at them. During the week, he worked at the clinic most afternoons, and on weekends, like today, he popped in each day to check on the animals and organize supplies.

  “Anyway,” Mike continued, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s going to be a meeting tonight at Mary Glen’s City Hall. Nolan Smith called it, but the mayor will be there, too, and Chief Ellenbogen. Sheila won’t be, since she’s still recuperating. Nolan is goin
g to talk to us about the local werewolf legends through the ages and see how the stories may fit with this attack on Sheila. And if there’s enough evidence, we’ll demand that the officials do something. Arrest whoever that officer was that you claim was the beast’s owner, keep him in custody until the next full moon and see what happens. That’s when everyone will know that the Mary Glen werewolves are real.”

  “I don’t like this, Major.”

  “Neither do I, Greg,” Drew said over his cell phone to Ft. Lukman’s C.O., General Greg Yarrow. He was driving toward Mary Glen, Grunge alongside him in his army issue vehicle. “But Dr. Harding sounded really distressed on our behalf.” On my behalf, Drew thought. The way she told it, he was about to be arrested and held forever in some civilian facility.

  Or maybe not forever. Only until the next full moon. He would change then, since he would have no control over it. And they’d kill him then, with a silver bullet directly to the heart, without even learning what control he did have.

  He appreciated Melanie’s warning, especially after their uneasy confrontation that afternoon when he’d had to shelve his own uncomfortable impulses and treat her like the unwelcome civilian she was at the base.

  Nevertheless, she had called him. Told him that Grunge and he would be primary topics of discussion at the town meeting that night, and that it might be a good idea for them to make an appearance. Either that, or leave the area altogether.

  She made it clear she would be there, which gave Drew pause. He had seen a lot of Dr. Harding over the last couple of days. Maybe too much. She was curious. And she aroused all-too-human animal urges in him that had nothing to do with his wolfish side.

  After tonight he could have one of his men bring Grunge to her for his next post-op checkup. And she was unlikely to show up at the base again after the way she was treated that day. Something he couldn’t help regretting.

  In any event, no more need, after this evening, to see the vet again. A good thing, considering how his body kept reacting to her.