by Jane Jamison
“Positive. Only the locals who live in the nearby town of Lost Hills can find our home. And they respect our privacy. They won’t tell anyone how to find us.” Zack had already devoured one of his omelets and was finishing off a piece of toast.
Although his assurances helped, she still wasn’t thrilled about staying alone in the house. Still, she couldn’t ask them to forgo their chores to babysit her. She’d just have to make the best of it.
“I know you said you don’t get cell reception out here, but what about the Internet? Can we connect that way? I’m hoping someone’s got a missing person’s bulletin out on me.”
“Sorry. You’re going to have to rough it while you’re here,” joked Chan.
They finished their meals faster than she did, then took their plates to the sink. When they started washing their plates, she waved them off. “Leave them. I’ll do the cleanup. It’s the least I can do.”
“She doesn’t have to offer twice, man.” Zack shoved another piece of toast in his mouth, then set his plate on top of Chan’s.
“Let’s get going. The faster we get things taken care of, the faster we get back here.” Chan dumped his plate and Zack’s into the sink.
“But first things first.” Zack pulled out a long butcher knife from a nearby drawer. He held it out, obviously wanting her to take it.
She did although she couldn’t think why he wanted her to have it. If he wanted her to use it to prepare lunch for their return, all he had to do was ask.
“We don’t like guns around here. So keep that. Just in case.”
“Way to scare her, Zack.”
Zack ignored his friend. “You never know and it’s smart to be prepared. Don’t be afraid to use it if you need to.”
“I’d rather not, but I guess if you don’t have a gun…” She wasn’t sure if she knew how to use a gun, but it seemed like the more practical weapon.
“Too many people get killed by someone who shoots first then looks afterward. With a knife you’ve got to get close enough to know what you’re killing.” His blue eyes darkened.
“To know what I’m killing? As in an animal?” She glanced around the room, almost expecting the wolf to jump out of a cabinet.
Chan laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about the wolf you saw. He’s…gone.”’
She almost asked, “Because you let him outside?” but didn’t. If Chan wanted her to know, he’d tell her. “Okay. Got it. Knife good. Gun bad.” She smiled up at him, determined to fake the bravado until she actually felt it.
“Let’s go, Chan.”
They left, not through the back door as she’d hoped so she could get a glimpse at the cave, but into the hall and out the front. She watched them leave, suddenly feeling alone and vulnerable.
“Come on, Lace. They wouldn’t have left you alone if they weren’t sure that you’re safe.” Putting the knife on the counter, she started washing the dishes.
* * * *
Cleaning up the dishes and the stove didn’t take long. Chan was one of those cooks who cleaned up as he went along. Satisfied that everything looked good, she took one longing glance at the back door leading into the cave, then took the knife in hand and left the kitchen. She felt kind of silly holding the knife like she was stuck in a horror movie about to get attacked by a serial killer. But it did make her feel more secure with the men out of the house.
Ideas swarmed in her head as she checked the rest of the downstairs. Had her imagination run wild earlier? That had to be the explanation. She’d simply remembered something she’d seen in a movie. But the man had seemed real, too real not to be someone from her past. And yet, she knew he couldn’t have transformed into a fanged-out monster. That was ridiculous.
She walked around the living room and ran her fingertips over the hand-carved furniture. Although not like the polished furniture found in a store, it was durable and had a rustic, imperfect beauty to it. She wondered if Zack’s family had made it. If so, it was more valuable than any high-end furniture because it was part of his legacy.
The image of the killer struck her again, jangling her already rattled nerves. She sat down on the sofa, put the knife on the coffee table, and tried to push all thoughts of him away. Instead, she focused on her name, sensing that if she could remember her last name, she might open the floodgate of memories and let them spill in.
She closed her eyes and concentrated. Saying her name was like a mantra that could calm her, and if she was lucky, bring her more information.
Lace.
Lace.
Lace.
Lace what?
Yet instead of the answer to that question, another word came slinking in to take its place.
Stripper.
Stripper?
Was she a stripper? She wanted to refuse the word, but it stayed. Opening her eyes, she tried to imagine herself dancing on a platform in front of a crowd of men. Dollar bills lay at her feet and when she bent over, she realized that she had nothing on.
She stood up, her heart going as fast as her mind. It couldn’t be true. She wasn’t a stripper. If she was, she was sure she’d remember it. Dancing for strangers didn’t feel like it fit with her personality.
“Maybe I’m still confused. And maybe it’s too soon to force anything out of me.”
She paced over to an old roll-top-style desk and flattened both hands on the surface. That had to be it. She was pushing too hard. She wasn’t a stripper. She just knew it.
Then what am I?
Frustration boiled inside her and she fisted her hand then brought it down hard. The desk rattled and a book perched against the back of it fell over. She reached to put it back into place, but fumbled and let the book fall open.
It wasn’t just any book. It was a photo album. Pictures decorated every page, tempting her to take a seat at the desk. She turned the pages back and started at the front.
The photographs were aged and faded, sepia-toned records of the past. Two men, one darker than the other and most probably Native American, stood next to a beautiful dark-haired woman. A young boy stood between the darker man and the woman. As was the habit in previous generations, the subjects had adopted stern expressions. Not even the boy smiled. The boy resembled Zack, but he had to be an ancestor since the photo was so old.
She flipped through more pages, taking in the old-fashioned outfits while being careful to treat the pages with the respect they deserved. The family traits of high cheekbones and square jaws remained consistent.
More recent photos, a few in color, came toward the end of the album. When she turned another page, she was struck by the picture of another young boy, around the age of fifteen. There was no mistaking Zack. She let her fingers glide over it, touching him on the lips then across the cheek. He’d been a good-looking young man and now he was a handsome adult.
She went on, eager to see what other photos were on the next pages. There was Zack in his military uniform with Chan standing next to him. She smiled at the differences between them. Zack was the serious one and Chan had his ever-ready smile present in each photo. Even from the photo, she could see that Zack took life more seriously than Chan. But they had similarities, too. Both men were tall and solidly built. Most of all, they exuded a confidence that few people ever obtained.
The sound came from behind her. She froze and listened for another noise. When it came again from out in the hallway, she pushed the album away, then stood, staying as quiet as she could. Her gaze slid around the desk then over to the coffee table.
Get the knife.
She forced her legs to move toward the table. She kept scanning the room around her, making sure that whatever—whoever—was near hadn’t slipped into the room without her noticing.
She wished with all her heart that Zack and Chan were home.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
No matter how many times she repeated the words, she realized that she was well past the point where she could remain calm. She crep
t toward the hallway. She could see that there was nothing in the dining room. Whatever it was had come from around the corner in the hallway leading toward the kitchen.
She either had to wait for it to come to her or peek around the edge of the wall. If she was lucky, she might catch it unaware of her presence and be able to figure out what to do or where to run. Staying still wasn’t an option she could live with. Gathering her resolve, she got as close to the wall as she could. She gripped the knife tighter, determined to use it if she had to. Taking her time to go as slowly as she could, she peeked around the corner.
A huge reddish-brown wolf threw its body at her. The scream was out of her mouth almost before her body had a chance to react.
Chapter Six
Lace fell backward, landing on her butt and sending the wolf flying over her head. She cried out again and started crab walking toward the kitchen door. She didn’t dare take her eyes off it. If she stood up and tried to run, it might jump her from behind.
“Get away!” She brandished the knife, but the beast only tilted its head at her.
Lowering its head, his blood-red eyes glinted with hunger. Its ears flattened back as it crouched, ready to pounce again.
She reached out with one hand and pulled a small table over on its side. The lamp crashed to the floor in front of the wolf making it jump away from her. But her victory didn’t last long. Growling, it came at her again. She had no option except to try and run.
Shouting a curse, she flipped over, got to her knees and then stood up, pushing off like a runner at the starting line. She hit the kitchen door, banging it wide open, then dashed through the kitchen to the far wall. Her hand was on the knob of the door leading into the cave when the wolf entered, slowly padding toward her as though it had all the time in the world to torment her.
The men had told her not to go into the cave without her, but she had no place else to run. Keeping her back to the door, she turned the knob and pushed.
Nothing happened.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
It’s getting closer.
A strangled cry escaped her and she would’ve sworn that the wolf smiled at her. It was a lecherous smile, one that held nothing but malevolent intent. A flash of recognition swamped her, sensing that she’d seen a smile like it before, then was gone.
She had to try again. Taking a big breath, she slammed her back against the door. Surprise swamped her as the door opened. She fell backward, letting loose with another cry, and opening her hand so that the knife flew out of her grasp.
She landed on the floor of the cave with a hard thud. The air burst out of her lungs. Pain stung into her skin as she stared at the darkness above her.
The wolf growled again, bringing her gaze back to him. Moaning, she lifted onto her elbows and stared at the steadily approaching beast.
The smile she’d thought she’d seen earlier widened to expose even more of its deadly teeth. Saliva dripped from the side of its mouth to plop to the floor. Just another few feet and it would be out of the kitchen and on top of her.
“Lace! Lace, where are you?”
Thank, God. “Chan, I’m here. Watch out. There’s a wolf.”
The wolf jerked its head around at the sound of Chan’s voice. No doubt it could hear the noise of the men’s footsteps as both Chan and Zack hurried through the house. Looking back at her with its hard red eyes, it spun around and pounced on top of the kitchen table. She stayed where she was, unsure if it was going to leap at her.
Then, with one last growl, it leapt toward the skylight.
Glass crashed to the floor as the animal broke through the heavy pane. Lace cried out and twisted around to cover her head with her arms.
* * * *
“If we hadn’t come home when we did…” Chan didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Zack knew as well as he did what would’ve happened to Lace.
“It was a werewolf. We both know that. No regular wolf could’ve broken through the skylight.” Chan leaned back on the counter, and for the hundredth time since they’d hammered boards over it, studied their work. Not even he could get through it now.
“Yeah, I know, man.”
Chan had skipped his usual wine and had grabbed a beer like Zack. Under any other circumstances, he’d have joked about slumming it.
“She’s still resting?” He’d let Zack take her up to her room while he’d raced outside to search for the interloper. He’d found wolf tracks embedded in the snow. The wolf tracks had changed into human footprints at the edge of the forest, then had come to a stop at a ridge of rocks. Even with snow covering them, he hadn’t been able to follow the wolf’s trail over the boulders. He’d told Zack about it as soon as he could.
“She is. It took a while to calm her down, but she’s napping now.”
A part of him was glad that Zack had managed to relax her after the attack. Yet another part, the side of him that yearned to have her for himself, grew jealous. He liked being the one she rested her head on.
“Whatever trouble she’s in involves a werewolf. But I don’t get the feeling that it’s someone from around here. If I could get in touch with Wyatt, then I’d ask him to check into it anyway.” Chan picked up the cell phone lying on the kitchen counter. They both knew it was useless, but it gave him something to do.
It was the first time he’d ever regretted moving to the ranch. If they lived in town, then they would’ve been able to get her help by now. Then again, if they lived in town, they might not have been the ones to find her in the first place.
“Maybe one of us should shift, run into town, and get hold of Wyatt. He could round up a bunch of the men for a search party.”
Zach snorted. “For a search party? Or for a search and destroy party? I’m telling you now, man, if her attacker tries again, I’m going to rip his head off and feed it to the vultures.”
“As much as I feel the same way, we can’t do that. We’ll have to turn him over to Wyatt.” Chan recognized the scornful expression on Zack’s face. Zack had explained often that the people of Lost Hills had their own way of enforcing the law and doling out the consequences. Ones that had nothing to do with man’s law.
Wyatt Bristol was Lost Hills’s answer to law enforcement. Although not elected or appointed by any legitimate agency, the people of Lost Hills had urged Wyatt to take the lead in matters involving legal problems. Whenever he had to arrest anyone, he’d call it a citizen’s arrest and lock them away in the back of Old Lady Miller’s Bed and Breakfast. Her business hadn’t seen a real visitor in years and had been the jail back in the lawless days of the frontier. The jail cell was old, but it could still hold a prisoner or two. As long as they were human.
If they were something other than human, then different methods of confinement had to be used.
Chan’s attention shifted to the weather outside. A lot of snow had fallen in the past couple of days, but the storm was winding down. Once it did, then they might be able to get cell phone reception. If nothing else, the county would get the main roads cleared off and they’d take that chance to get Lace into town. It was the safest thing for her, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that they wouldn’t get snowed in for at least a week.
“Whoever’s after her isn’t playing around. We would’ve lost her if we’d gotten back a minute or so later.”
“I know, Chan. Stop harping on that. She’s safe and we’re going to keep her that way.”
Chan picked up the phone, saw that it still wasn’t getting any reception, then slammed it down again. “That’s what we promised her before this happened. So far, we’re batting zero.”
“Then we do better.” Zack scowled, the growl evident in both his voice and his hard look.
“I’ll take the first watch,” offered Chan. He’d rather Zack get some sleep. Dealing with him was hard enough when he had his seven hours of z’s. Without enough sleep, Zack was more of a bear than he was when he actually changed into a bear.
“Fine with me.�
�� Zack pushed away from the counter, then headed through the door to go to his room upstairs.
Chan’s gaze lifted to the second floor. If he had it his way, they wouldn’t be sharing separate bedrooms for much longer. He wanted Lace in the huge master bedroom that they’d saved for the woman they would share.
* * * *
She was safe with Zack and Chan. Lace knew that and she was determined to act that way. She made a point of not glancing out the window at the tree line. Instead, she placed the tray with the glasses of tea onto the coffee table in the living room, then rearranged the crackers on a plate.
She frowned down at her work. It wasn’t as much as she’d hoped she could do, but for now it would have to do. The guys, being guys, didn’t have a pretty plate to their name. The pitcher she’d filled with tea had a chip on the lip. They didn’t have any napkins, either the inexpensive kind or real cloth ones, and, instead, she’d had to use paper towels.
Once the snow melted and they could drive on the roads, she’d make a point of going shopping. She’d get them decent plates and paper napkins.
Then it hit her as it had so many times in the past two days since the red wolf had attacked her. She couldn’t buy anything because she didn’t have any money or a credit card. What was she supposed to do? Tell them, “Hi, my name is Lace. Sorry, but I don’t know my last name or have any money, but can you just put it on a tab?”? Or maybe they’d just give her the items for free. Yeah, like either one of those things would happen.
When would she get her memory back?
The men had tried lots of things to help stir her memory. From word association games to thumbing through magazines and asking her what her likes and dislikes were. She’d had moments of brief clarity, but those hadn’t included anything of importance.
When they’d cooked fish one night, she recalled that she was allergic to it, thankfully before she took the first bite. That, at least, had been helpful. But most of the information that came up from the blackness of her mind’s recesses was of no consequence. She knew that her favorite color was baby blue, the color of Zack’s eyes. She remembered the names of all the states as well as their capitals. She preferred dogs over cats, something which Chan liked, but had made Zack scowl.
