by Lia Silver
“He’s a Shakespearean actor,” Laura said. “We’d go from town to town, wherever he got hired, for as long as their Shakespeare festival lasted. You’d be surprised how many towns have them.”
Roy hadn’t been consciously listening to Laura’s breathing and heartbeat, but he noticed that both had sped up. Her scent changed, too, getting a tinge sharper.
She abruptly stood up. “It was nice having dinner with you, Roy. Good night!”
Before he could reply, she’d grabbed her parka, scarf, and walking stick, and was out the door. She didn’t even put on the parka. Her bowl was still half-full of stew.
Roy sat perplexed on the floor, wondering what had happened. She’d left the bathwater running? She had a call scheduled? It had occurred to her that he might be a serial killer? She’d remembered some Shakespeare-related trauma and had a panic attack?
He finished his stew and bread, then eyed Laura’s with growing temptation. He finally decided that there was no way Laura would return that night, and polished off hers as well. Apart from the hunting he’d done in the forest, tearing into raw meat with a wolf’s fierce appetite, it had been a long time since he’d eaten for any reason but the dogged determination to keep his strength up. The food in the lab hadn’t been MREs, but it had been at about that level of appeal. It was impressive how much better a good meal made him feel.
George had offered him the shower in his cabin, but Roy wouldn’t impose on Laura for that. The barn had running water. It wasn’t heated, but the cold didn’t bother him so long as he bathed quickly.
After his brief, frigid wash-up, Roy blew out the candles and lay down in his blankets. But sleep eluded him. He tried to relax and let himself slip away, but his senses kept distracting him: the howling wind, a chirping cricket in the corner, the scratchiness of the wool blanket, the smell of stew and bread and hay.
More than that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Laura, and her luscious curves and sad eyes and poker face. Laura, who read westerns and made stew for homeless strangers and was so careful not to ask any questions that might be too painful to answer.
He wondered if he’d accidentally asked her a question that was too painful to answer. Something about her childhood? Something about her father? He hoped it wasn’t that. George had been so kind to him, Roy didn’t want to find out that he was abusive. Or dying. Or a hit man.
His thoughts drifted back to Laura, and her lemon meringue scent. The rose-pink polish on the perfect ovals of her nails. The swell of her breasts, half-concealed under that boxy jacket. He imagined unbuttoning her jacket and lifting it off her shoulders, then stripping off her blouse…
Too bad I’ll only ever get to touch her in a fantasy, he thought.
He was a man on the run. He couldn’t get involved with any woman so long as danger trailed behind him.
It occurred to him that a one-night stand wouldn’t endanger anyone. But the thought rang hollow. He’d always been a serious relationship kind of guy. The few times he’d had casual sex, it had either evolved into something more committed or left him unsatisfied and lonely.
But not as lonely as he was now.
He’d realized while he was in the hospital how unused he was to being alone. Ever since boot camp, he’d been surrounded by his fellow Marines. No matter how dangerous things got, he always knew that his buddies had his back. But he hadn’t been aware of how much he needed companionship until he’d been put in that room by himself and locked inside.
Now he was free, but he couldn’t contact anyone he knew. That gorgeous Laura hadn’t even stayed with him for an hour before she bolted.
At the memory of her rushing out the door, a vast emptiness opened up inside of his heart, sucking at him like a black hole.
He missed Laura, and he’d only just met her. He missed his buddies—God, he missed his buddies. He missed his mother, who had been dead for years.
He missed his last girlfriend, Holly, who had decided that she needed a man who’d be with her every day. He missed Alison, his girlfriend before Holly, who’d met someone else while he’d been deployed. He missed Leigh, his girlfriend before Alison, who had sobbed in his arms that she couldn’t keep waiting for a knock on the door to inform her that he’d been killed in action.
Roy even missed having a father. Not that selfish asshole who shared some of his genes, but a real one, a good guy who stuck around and did all the stuff fathers were supposed to do with their sons.
It was strange to miss someone who didn’t even exist. He remembered a poem his high school English teacher had read aloud to the class. Roy had been so struck by it that he’d copied down two lines, though he hadn’t thought of them in years.
I know that my true friend will appear after my death,
and my sweetheart died before I was born.
No matter how he tried to think of something else, anything else—hot movie stars, running as a wolf, field stripping his SAW—his thoughts kept drifting back to that poem. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed that he was lost in an unfamiliar city where he didn’t speak the language, hopelessly searching for a woman whose name and face he didn’t know.
Chapter Four: Laura
Snowed In
Laura sat in the window seat, sipping a mug of hot chocolate and watching the snow tumble down in feathery curls of white. It had been falling off and on all day, and was piled up on the ground several inches deep. She could hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.
She hoped Roy was warm enough in the barn.
Roy…
She’d expected him to be some grizzled old grandpa, not a man her age. Especially not a stunningly handsome man her age. When she’d first seen him, she’d had to fight to keep her attention on their conversation rather than getting hypnotized by his muscular shoulders, his rugged features, his storm-gray eyes framed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man, the intensity of his gaze, and the startling sweetness of his smile.
It didn’t help that he had such a deep, velvety voice that she kept enjoying the sound of it rather than taking in his words. If he’d been a voice actor, people would buy audio books they had no interest in just to listen to him read them. His rich, distinctive tones were probably what had subconsciously prompted her “Shakespearean actor” lie.
Once she’d managed to listen to what he was saying, she’d forgotten that she’d come to Yosemite to get away from people. She’d wanted to keep talking to him, and find out more about him. His situation seemed so sad, yet he’d spoken without self-pity. She wondered what exactly had happened to him—a head injury that had affected his vision?—and if it was permanent, or might improve with time. But he obviously hadn’t wanted to discuss it.
Laura wished she hadn’t lost her head and maniacally rushed out of the barn. Better yet, she wished she’d changed the subject entirely rather than getting sucked into a ridiculous lie about her childhood. She was perfectly capable of being so smoothly evasive that no one would ever notice that she hadn’t told them a thing. But he seemed like such a straight arrow, she’d panicked at the thought of him finding out that she’d spent most of her life on the wrong side of the law.
Good going, Laura, she thought. You wanted to be honest, so you lied to him. You didn’t want to make a bad impression, so you fled the scene of the crime in a fit of guilt, and made a crazy impression.
Laura tipped her mug, getting the last drops of hot chocolate. It wasn’t as if it mattered what sort of impression she made. A guy as hot as Roy would never look twice at a woman like her. Once he got himself back on his feet, he’d be able to stroll down to any bar and have his pick of the pretty, slim blondes.
Still, she’d at least like to get to know him better, even if it would never go any farther. He’d obviously gone through terrible things himself. Maybe if she told him what had happened at the bank, he’d understand…
“No!” Laura heard herself say aloud.
What she’d done duri
ng the bank robbery was infinitely worse than having conned a lot of people who were dishonest themselves and could easily afford to lose what she’d taken from them. She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth about the bank robbery, and she didn’t want to feed him any more lies.
But though she couldn’t confide in him, maybe he could tell her what had happened to him, and maybe that would make him feel better.
Laura wished she could do more for Roy than cook him some stew and hypothetically listen to his story. It must be terrible to spend your entire life as a soldier, and then, in the blink of an eye, lose your job, your home, and even your ability to live an ordinary life. Electric lights were everywhere.
She went to the kitchen and made a pie with the blueberries she found in the freezer, wondering all the while how to explain why she’d dashed out of the barn without actually lying to Roy. Not lying was the hard part. By the time the pie was in the oven, she’d given up and decided that telling him she’d remembered she’d left the burner on was a forgivable little lie, like ordinary people told.
When evening came, she’d visit the barn with steak and pie—and two plates.
Laura lay down on the sofa and opened a fantasy novel told from the point of view of one of the minions of a Dark Lord. The other minions were content to serve their evil master, but this one was beginning to have second thoughts…
Her tension dissipated as she became caught up in the story. Engrossed in her book, she was startled when the oven timer went off. The sweet aroma of blueberry pie had filled the cabin.
Laura smiled to herself. Dad had been right. This was the perfect place to get away from it all. A week or two in the cabin, relaxing and not thinking, and she’d be as good as new.
She had no intention of returning to the bank, but messages from her bosses and co-workers had been piling up. She ought to at least email them from her phone to thank them for the sincere concern that she didn’t deserve and assure them that she was doing fine. One line per person, and she’d be done with it.
Laura stood up, stretching. Then she stopped short, peering out the window. When she’d laid down with the novel, snow had been falling as it had fallen, off and on, all day: in gentle flurries that left an inch or two of white on the ground, then slowly melted away until the next flurry came.
But though it was still afternoon, the sky had darkened. Snow was whirling outside, so thickly that she could barely see past the porch. It was already piled much higher on the ground, completely burying the welcome mat.
She wondered if it was a blizzard. She’d never spent a winter anywhere where it had snowed a lot. Laura turned on the TV to check the weather report.
“We’re predicting record snowfalls here in the Yosemite-Mariposa area,” said a weather reporter. “Carlos, can we get a visual on—”
The TV and lights went off, leaving the cabin lit only by the fire in the hearth. She tried to get online, but the internet was out too. So was the phone service. The low hum of the heater had stopped. It was probably her imagination, but the cabin seemed colder already.
Laura took the pie out of the oven and left it on a rack to cool. She lit the wood stove, then walked around the cabin, lighting the candles Dad had left for her. The cabin seemed even cozier in the flickering yellow light.
But the barn was warmed only by an electric space heater. With the power out, it would soon get cold. Even with blankets, it would be uncomfortable at best, and dangerous at worst.
Laura’s stomach fluttered with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation when she realized that she had to invite Roy to stay in the cabin with her. There was only one bed, but he could sleep on the sofa, like Laura had intended to do when she’d thought Dad would be there.
Or maybe she didn’t need to invite him. He might come and ask himself. But she had a feeling he wouldn’t. He’d probably endured worse conditions. Besides, the way she’d fled the barn, he might think she never wanted to see him again. He’d seemed so gentlemanly, he’d probably freeze before he imposed on her.
She put on the red parka and pulled up the hood.
Little Red Riding Hood sets out into the woods, she thought. Off to invite the huntsman into the cottage…
Inside the cabin, the falling snow had muffled all sounds. But outside, she could hear the howl of the rising wind. The cold struck her like a blow, making her ears and jaw ache. The snow was past her ankles. Shivering and stepping carefully, Laura edged forward.
Halfway down the path, a man stepped out of the swirling snow and made a grab at her arm.
Laura gasped and jumped back, evading him. She skidded in the snow, nearly falling on her ass.
“Scream, and I’ll kill you,” he said.
She clamped down her jaw on the yell that had been about to emerge. The barn was far enough away that if the man had a weapon, Roy would never be able to get there before she got shot or stabbed. She wasn’t even sure he’d be able to hear her over the wind and snow.
“Come with me,” the man demanded.
He was blocking her way to the door… which she’d left unlocked.
Laura eyed him. He was tall and burly, and looked like he’d been punched in the face a lot. Much too big for her to fight, even if she knew how to fight, which she didn’t. Not to mention that he wore a heavy jacket that could be concealing weapons.
She’d never seen him before, and she had an excellent memory for faces. He was no one she’d ever conned. Laura supposed he could be the outraged relative of someone she’d conned, but she doubted it. He had to be a completely random kidnapper. Or rapist. Or serial killer.
She ought to be terrified, but she was angry instead. “I didn’t drive six hours into the wilderness to get attacked on my own doorstep.”
“Too bad, sweetheart,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Laura backed off.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
No, you’re kidnapping me so we can hold hands and take a walk on the beach.
But she’d already snapped at him, and that had gotten her nowhere. She needed to talk him away from the door, so she could barricade herself inside. With the meat cleaver.
“You must want me a lot to have come all this way, in this weather,” she said, forcing herself to sound sympathetic.
He gave her a contemptuous glance. “I don’t give a damn about you.”
Did he mean he was after Dad, not her, and only needed to get her out of the way? Or did he mean that someone else had sent him?
“Someone gives a damn, to send you,” she suggested.
He nodded, then broke off the movement with a glare. Laura still didn’t know if she was the actual target or not, but at least she knew he had a boss.
Before he could get back to kidnapping her, she added, “He must trust you completely, to give you this job.”
The man—the minion, she supposed, and choked back a hysterical giggle—looked baffled, but also flattered. “I guess.”
“Not an easy job, in this storm,” she went on.
A gust of icy wind blew back her hair. It was hard for her to force words out from between her frozen lips. But words were all she had.
“How long have you been working for him?” She edged closer to the door.
“About—” The minion broke off. “Why am I talking to you? Either you walk, or I’ll drag you.”
Laura held up her hands, as if in horror at the suggestion. “You don’t have to drag me! I’m coming. Uh, which way are we going?”
He pointed, his gaze automatically following his finger. “That way.”
Laura lunged forward, darting under his snatching arm, and made a rush for the front door. Her hand closed on the doorknob. It was so cold that it burned.
Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her away.
“Roy!” Laura yelled at the top of her lungs. “Help!”
A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her shout. She fought wildly, stomping at his feet and lashing out with
her fists. One of her elbows connected with something solid, sending pain sizzling up her arm. He yelped, but managed to pin her arms to her sides.
Laura struggled, but he had her in an unbreakable grip. He began to drag her away.
“Get your hands off her!” It was a man’s voice, deep and commanding. Roy.
The minion twisted around, though he still held Laura tight. Roy stepped out of the woods, his face set and his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Let go of her, or I’ll break your arms.” Roy strode forward, looking entirely capable of arm-breaking.
The minion released her. Laura stumbled backward, relief flooding through her.
She bolted for the cabin, then turned back in the doorway. The men were squared off, watching each other closely.
Laura waved frantically. “Roy! Get in here. That creep might have a gun!”
The minion gave a nasty snicker. “I’ve got something better than that.”
The air around the kidnapper shimmered. He dropped down on all fours, his clothes dissolving into fur. Before Laura could even process what was happening, the minion was gone. In his place was a gray wolf.
The wolf leaped at Roy, snarling, fangs bared.
“Look out!” Laura started to scream.
But Roy was already diving out of the way, faster than Laura would have believed possible. As he moved, the air shimmered around him as well. A huge white wolf hit the ground.
An instant later, the wolves were locked in combat, rolling over and over in the snow, snapping at each other.
Werewolves existed. And two of them were fighting in the front yard of her father’s cabin.
Laura’s disbelief hit maximum, then tipped over into acceptance. She’d had that feeling before, that calm sense of “This is really happening.” Her stomach lurched when she remembered the context: looking up to see that two men in line for the tellers were holding machine guns.
“Deal with it,” she muttered to herself.
She’d said that at the bank, too.
The white wolf—Roy—was much bigger than the gray one. He pinned the minion-wolf and closed his jaws over the other’s throat. There was no blood; it was a threat, not a death blow. The gray wolf went limp and whined pathetically.
