Bayou Wolf

by Debbie Herbert

  “And what are you going to say? That Russell attacks people when he turns into a werewolf? Nobody will believe that. He’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “He doesn’t have to know about the wolf thing.”

  “No. We can’t risk it. Exposure threatens all of us.”

  “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

  Tallulah smirked at her private joke. Not being a southerner, Payton wouldn’t recognize the quote from Gone with the Wind.

  “I’ve seen Gone with the Wind,” Payton said drily. “And you, my dear, are no fragile Southern belle. You don’t need to run to the cops for help. I’ll protect you until Russell’s caught.”

  “I don’t want your protection. I can take care of myself.”

  He glanced pointedly at her injured shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” She bit her lip, remembering Payton had pointed out that this was her familiar refrain. “Well, it’s true,” she mumbled.

  “Give us at least a couple of weeks to handle this ourselves. Deal?”

  “No deal. I’m calling Sheriff Angier. Russell killed Jeb.” She drew a sharp breath. “And I bet he’s the one who framed me for the murder.” Son of a bitch. Tallulah started walking again. The sooner Russell was arrested, the safer she and everyone else in Bayou La Siryna would be.

  “At least it made you get rid of all your shrine stuff. That wasn’t healthy.”

  “It’s wasn’t a shrine,” she snapped.

  “What would you call it then? Looks to me like an obsessive need to immortalize your dead boyfriend.”

  It felt like a vise tightened, compressing her heart and lungs in its grip. She could hardly breathe.

  Payton ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “Damn right you shouldn’t have said that. You wanted to get back at me for calling you a lapdog? Congratulations. You win.”

  She ran from Payton. Salty, unshed tears turned the harsh landscape to a blurry watercolor of gray and black sludge.

  He had no right to say that. He didn’t understand. No one did. If she wanted to spend all her free time for the rest of her life making dream catchers for Bo and sitting out in the woods, alone, where he’d died—that was her business. Matter of fact, she’d replace every damn dream catcher that she’d destroyed. Soon as Russell was out of the picture, she could hang them on the trees again and everything could return to normal.

  At last the trail led to the backyard of her cabin.

  “Lulu?” he called from behind. She ignored him and his stupid nickname calling. Running faster, her heart jackhammered a ripping beat that felt like a hole drilling into her chest. Her right foot caught under an exposed tree root and she hurtled forward, free-falling. The side of her left cheek slammed into the hard ground a second before the rest of her body.

  “Oomph.” It felt like a belly flop from a hundred feet in the air. A full body smack.

  Payton was beside her on the ground, gathering her into his strong arms. She pushed at him, but he held on tighter, rolled her body on top of his own.

  “Sorry, baby.” He brushed the hair out of her face and gently tucked it behind her ears. “You okay, darlin’? Tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Oh, geez. There I go with those words again.”

  She laughed, but it mutated into a sob. The dam broke loose and her whole body shook with wracking sobs. Damn it to hell. Stop. Stop it right this instant, she commanded her traitorous body, but it wouldn’t obey. If anything, she cried harder.

  Payton twisted, tucking her into the side of his body, stroking her hair, her back. She curled into him, head resting against his chest, soaking his T-shirt with her tears.

  “Shhh, shhh,” he whispered. “Everything’s okay, Lulu.”

  She wanted to believe him.

  Chapter 11

  Tallulah was right. He was an ass.

  Every sob wrenched his gut. He continued stroking her back and the soft silk of her black tresses, willing her to forgive him. Her hair was a dark stream that bent and shimmered with mysterious currents of light and he wanted to wrap himself in its healing warmth.

  Her body stopped shaking and he planted a kiss on her forehead.

  She laughed shakily. “How embarrassing. Haven’t had a meltdown like that in ages.”

  “More embarrassing than shifting into an animal in front of your new girl?”

  Her lashes dropped and her full lips curved as she traced the edge of his chin with her fingertips. “Is that what I am? Your girl?”

  What was he doing? In a few months he’d be back on the road. It was the way of his pack and she didn’t fit in. This could never be more than a physical relationship.

  He didn’t respond, instead kissed her lips in a sad desperation. If only...

  Payton pushed aside all thought of the future, intent on the moment. Tallulah placed her hands on either side of his face, kissing him passionately. Her hips wriggled against his manhood and he moaned his need.

  Baritone voices emerged from the trail, penetrating the haze of his passion. Immediately, Payton rolled off Tallulah and stood, offering her a hand.

  A bemused expression swept her lovely face as she grasped his hand and stood. Pure, male pride at his effect on Tallulah made him lighthearted.

  “I’d rather not explain to your brother why we were lying in the field.”

  “It’s none of his business,” she said. Yet, she hastily smoothed her hair and swiped at her face. “I’m a mess. I’d rather not let them catch up to us.”

  They resumed their walk, this time holding hands.

  “Do the hunters usually meet at your cabin after a hunt?”

  “Normally, we’re out ’til dawn and then I fix breakfast for everyone. But tonight’s been...” She hesitated. “Unusual.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I don’t think I made a very good impression on Tombi and your friends.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She cast him a pointed look. “Tombi’s our leader, not our dictator—unlike Matt.”

  “Is our truce over already?”

  “We haven’t even begun to finish our discussion.”

  “I was afraid of that.” They got along so much better when they weren’t talking.

  Payton hesitated as they approached the lit cabin. Did she want him to sleep over again? Not only had he insulted her with the comment about Bo, but they also hadn’t addressed the wolf in the room. She’d been angry at his lies, but he hadn’t a clue what Tallulah thought about his shape-shifting.

  It was a strange, unsettling night.

  He followed her into the cabin and ran a hand through his hair. “Guess I’ll be packing my bag and heading back home.”

  “Suit yourself,” Tallulah said, plopping down on the couch and laying across its suede surface. She put a pillow beneath her head and yawned. “I’m exhausted.”

  A crimson stain spotted one shoulder of her pink T-shirt.

  “You’re bleeding. Must have busted your stitches in the fight. You got any hydrogen peroxide to clean it with?”

  “I’m f—” She swallowed the word. “Underneath the bathroom sink.”

  He quickly found it and returned. The rumble of truck engines sounded and headlight beams flashed by the window as the hunters took their leave. Good. They were alone.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Tallulah eased out of it, flinching slightly as she raised the injured shoulder.

  He poured a little peroxide on a washcloth and, kneeling beside her, gently cleansed the wound. The skin had pulled away a bit from the suture, but the stitches were intact. Even better, there was no sign of infection.

  She inhaled sharply, but didn’t complain.

  “I’ll get you a c
lean shirt,” he offered. “Do you want some ibuprofen for pain?” Wrong approach—she didn’t admit to pain. “Besides, it will help the inflammation,” he added for good measure.

  “I guess.”

  Again he left her, returning this time with the medicine, a bottle of water and another warm washcloth. Tallulah downed the medicine and sank back on the sofa. “What’s with the washcloth? My stitches are clean, or so the stinging burning peroxide tells me.”

  “It’s for your face.”

  She closed her eyes and he placed the washcloth over her eyes and carefully mopped up her forehead, then drew it down her tearstained cheeks and neck. Noting a speck of mud by her ear, Payton gently lifted her hair and wiped the delicate earlobe. Damn, every inch of Tallulah turned him on.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her eyes flew open and she regarded him soberly. “As are you. In every way, shape and form.”

  His ears rang. Did she mean that...?

  “As a man and as a wolf,” she said softly. “Even though I was shocked and angry when you shifted, I can’t deny you took my breath away. You stood out in the darkness with your blond fur coated with blue and green sparkles from the wisps. And the way you looked at me with those golden gray-tinged eyes... You were a sight.”

  The woman was full of surprises. He’d never shared his secret with any female, much less shifted in front of them. “You weren’t repulsed?”

  “No. If I were, I’d tell you.”

  Payton chuckled. Tallulah was direct, and for the first time he fully appreciated her frankness. He cleared his throat. “I think I should stay the night. Take care of you if you need anything.”

  “Works for me,” she whispered. For the second time this evening, he glimpsed the vulnerability in her eyes, a sweet, soft side that she mostly hid from others.

  He scooped her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. When the pack moved on, this woman was going to be hard to leave behind.

  * * *

  “Got back the forensics report on Jeb Johnson yet?”

  Sheriff Angier leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and studied her face. “Why are you so interested?” he countered.

  Tallulah shrugged. “I found his body. I feel a certain responsibility.”

  “Mmm-hmm. We got it.” As usual, Angier was circumspect.

  “Well? Can you at least tell me if it was an animal or human attack?” she asked impatiently.

  “Animal.”

  Impatience prickled her spine. “Do you know what kind of animal?”

  He rubbed his chin, as if considering how much to disclose. “From the bite marks, the coroner thinks it was a large dog or wolf.”

  “So this isn’t a murder case.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Well, wasn’t he full of surprises. She hardly knew if she felt relieved or dismayed. She didn’t want trouble for Payton, but wanted to see Russell brought to justice. Tallulah tilted her head, debating Angier’s meaning. “I see what you mean. Someone could have a trained fighting dog that they deliberately unleashed on Jeb. That’s at least manslaughter, if not murder. Right?”

  Angier abruptly planted his feet on the floor and leaned across his desk. “How well do you know this Payton Rodgers? Word is you’ve been seeing a lot of the man.”

  “Why do you ask?” She donned her best poker face.

  He rapped his fingers on the green metal desk, hedging.

  “We’ve known each other a long time.”

  “All our lives,” she agreed.

  “And we both know there’s a lot of weirdness that goes on down here in Bayou La Siryna.”

  She fought the automatic temptation to deny it. But if the sheriff had something to confide about the case, she needed to cooperate. “That’s true.”

  He slowly stood and walked to the window, his brown uniform crisp and the pants ironed into perfect creases. Even his damn black shoes were polished to a high shine. Angier looked every bit the typical conservative law enforcement officer. What kind of secrets had he and his father, who had served before him, encountered over the years? Several years ago, Angier had arrested a serial killer in a high-profile case. There had been rumors of mysteries and mermaids and unexplained events surrounding the arrest. Tallulah had dismissed the whispered gossip as mere local legends—now she wasn’t so sure.

  Angier faced her. “I think everyone in that new timber crew is dangerous. At the very least, I believe they’re harboring a murderer.”

  He’d nailed it somehow. “What led you to that conclusion?” she asked cautiously. “Cop instinct?”

  “Hell, no. Nothing that flimsy.” He returned to his desk and let out a huge sigh. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you need to be aware of the danger.”

  Chills tingled her scalp. “What danger?”

  “When we entered the incident report in our computer database, we found there have been a series of similar deaths in Montana. Over two dozen as a matter of fact—all unsolved.” He paused a heartbeat. “And that’s where this crew lived until recently.”

  It had to be Russell. And he was on the loose. He had to be caught—fast.

  “You know anything about this?” Angier asked.

  “The Montana deaths are news to me,” she said truthfully.

  The sheriff frowned. “If you have knowledge that would help solve this case, or if you even have any suspicions, now would be the time to tell me.”

  Angier could find Russell. He had resources that Payton and the pack didn’t have access to. And Tallulah had faith Angier would make Russell pay for his crimes—something she couldn’t say for the wolf pack.

  “You need to find and question a man named Russell. He’s your man. Sorry, I never heard his last name mentioned.”

  Angier’s body stilled unnaturally and his eyes glittered with intensity. “He’s on that crew here in Bayou La Siryna?”

  “Yes. I’ve met him.” Had she ever. She had the stitches to prove it. “He’s tall with dark brown hair that is darker at the top, almost a black color.”

  “Why do you think Russell’s to blame? Does he have an attack dog or something?”

  “Or something,” she agreed. Not that she was divulging the rest.

  He tapped a pencil on the desk. “I see.”

  A long silence enveloped the room. From down the hall came the clatter of men’s voices and the clang of steel doors opening and closing from the county jail that was housed behind the Englazia County sheriff’s office.

  “Am I correct in guessing the other men feel protective of this man, to the point they would hide his whereabouts?”

  “Not Payton,” she said at once. To hell if the others got in trouble.

  “And the others?”

  “Possibly. They say Russell’s split. I’m not so sure I believe it. You’ll want to question Matt, the guy who’s the timber crew supervisor.”

  “I’ll get on it at once,” Angier vowed. “If there’s anything else you want to confide, I’ll keep it under my hat.”

  She stood at once and settled her purse strap across the shoulder. Ouch. She kept forgetting the bite mark was still tender.

  “What’s wrong with your arm?” Angier asked.

  The man noticed every little thing. She’d best remember that fact.

  “Nothing. If I hear any news of Russell, I’ll call you at once.” Quickly, she made her way to the door.

  “Tallulah.”

  She turned and faced him.

  “Be careful.”

  * * *

  The sun beat down relentlessly. Payton popped open a water bottle and downed half its contents in one gulp. The poor schmucks working on the ground with chain saws had it even worse than he did.

 
A silver-and-blue sedan with patrol lights parked at the edge of the work site. Even though the lights were unlit, apprehension burrowed into his chest. A tall, familiar form ambled out of the vehicle. Sheriff Angier was a shadowy figure that seemed to be ever-present at the farmhouse. The fact that he sought them out in the middle of the day could not be good news. Two deputies exited the car with him, eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses.

  The sheriff made his way to Matt. Payton switched off the skidder’s key and every man stopped working. None of them could hear anything from this distance, but they could observe their alpha’s face. The deputy sheriffs stood several feet away, legs spread and arms straight at their sides, faces forward—as if they were standing at military parade rest.

  Matt’s lips pressed together and his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. No doubt about it, something was seriously wrong. Matt took a step back from the sheriff and waved his arm in a long arc, signaling them to gather at his side.

  What the hell? Payton locked down the brake and scrambled out of the skidder’s cab. He was the last of the pack to join the men standing with Matt and the sheriff, but the group was silent, evidently waiting for everyone present to begin...whatever this was.

  Matt cocked his head at Angier. “The sheriff wants a few words with us as a group and then will speak to each of you individually. Your full cooperation is expected, of course.”

  Angier paced in front of them, searching their faces, not saying a word. It was unnerving. Payton speculated that if this was some cop trick of intimidation, it worked surprisingly well.

  “My staff has been doing a little digging in the wake of Jeb Johnson’s death. The coroner ruled that he died from an animal attack. I was prepared to accept that until this morning. And I’m betting that most of you can already guess what I’m about to say.”

  None of the men so much as blinked an eye.

  “The way Jeb died is identical to a series of vicious animal attacks in Montana and other western states that have never been solved. Not only did people share the same kind of bite mark, but later lab tests revealed they were infected by some unknown virus. Possibly some type of rabies mutation is the current theory.”