Feral

by Lee Mae

  “Long day?”

  “Very.”

  “I heard about the kid on the lake. It’s all over the news. Is that yours?”

  Serena nodded, taking another swallow of beer. “Yeah. I’m lead.” She shook her head. “It’s my job, you know? But sometimes it’s a little…much.”

  “I bet.” Andy turned back to the grill and Serena glanced up at the television. The local news was just starting and they were running the tape of Nowinski’s press conference. She watched, a tiny flag of resentment slowly unfurling in her stomach. He looked cool and professional, wearing his usual dark three-piece suit and crisp white shirt, subdued tie perfectly knotted at his throat. Even without the sound turned up he commanded the small screen, and she imagined his words, grave and reassuring, being recorded and written down, repeated and replayed everywhere. It should have been her up there.

  Serena sighed. It was what it was and she needed to put it behind her and focus on the case. And with thoughts of the case, unbidden, came the memory of Wes, his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. A soft echo of the arousal she’d felt in his arms coursed through her and she remembered the feel of his body beneath her hands, the hard contours of his chest and arms, his eyes in the shadows. She played back every second of their kiss, still not sure who started it, not really caring at that moment.

  It had been a long time since any man had kissed her like that. Her last serious relationship had been brief; a flurry of sparks and fire, burning out before she’d even realized it existed. Parker had complained bitterly that she always put her job ahead of him, and if she were honest with herself she would have to admit he was probably right. She’d been working her ass off, desperate to earn her shield, wanting more than anything—wanted more than she wanted Parker, apparently—to be made detective.

  The day she’d gotten her shield, she’d come home, elated, to an empty apartment and a note from Parker telling her he’d had enough and couldn’t deal with it anymore. She’d been looking forward to celebrating with him, to a night on the town and a night in bed, but she’d ended up sitting alone in the quiet, dark apartment, drinking the entire bottle of champagne she’d gotten at the corner liquor store, getting drunk and feeling sorry for herself.

  The next morning she’d gone to work with a pounding headache and an empty heart. But she had her shield and she wore it with pride. She’d worked hard for it. With Parker gone, it was all she had.

  Andy set a plate in front of her, the huge burger alongside a mound of crispy golden onion rings.

  “Everything’s hot, so have a care. Can I get you another?” He nodded toward the empty bottle. She couldn’t remember when she’d finished it.

  “Yeah, please.” She picked up the burger, shifting it in her hands to keep the oversized burger and everything under the bun from sliding out. The first mouthful was bliss and she chewed slowly, relishing the spicy meat.

  Andy came back with the second beer, setting it down in front of her. Reluctantly, she set the burger down, wiping her mouth on a paper napkin.

  “Andy, I’ve got a few questions if you have a minute.”

  Andy smiled, glancing around the bar. “As it stands, I’m all yours unless Joe needs something.” They both looked down to the other end of the bar. Joe was intently watching the television, a full beer clutched in his hand.

  “You see anything suspicious around here lately? Any new guys in town? Someone you don’t recognize, perhaps?”

  “This about the case? The one the guy was just talking about on the news?” Andy’s brows drew together sharply. “We got anything to worry about here in the Falls?”

  Serena shook her head. “Nothing to worry about. Just following up on something. Other than that…you know the drill.”

  “Yeah. ‘Ongoing investigation’…I’ve heard that before.” Andy leaned on the counter, voice dropping.

  “But… yeah, maybe. Paul Zillman rented the mill house to a guy, last week or week before, I can’t be sure. Said he was tired of having it empty, wanted someone in it for the winter. Kids kept breaking in, smoking pot, throwing parties.” Andy raised an eyebrow at her. “You met him…he’s the guy you left with the other night. That’s the guy renting Zillman’s place, the only new guy I’ve seen around.” His face brightened. “But then, he’s okay, right? You know about him.”

  18

  Serena took a bite of her onion ring, feigning nonchalance. But her heart was thudding in her chest, and she felt like she’d choke on her food if she didn’t focus on chewing, on trying to be calm.

  “Does the mill house even have running water? It’s been abandoned, hasn’t it? For years?”

  Andy nodded. “Paul fixed it up last summer. He thought he’d use it as a guest cottage, rent it to people from Chicago or something. But no one wants to come to the Falls in the winter, so it’s been sitting there empty.”

  “Yeah, makes sense.” She took a swallow of beer. “I’ll check with Paul. Thanks.”

  Andy hesitated, looking at Serena. “You’d tell me…us…if you thought something…someone bad was in town, right? I mean, I know you don’t have, what do they call it…jurisdiction? But you’d let us know, right?”

  She reached across the counter, resting her hand on Andy’s. “If I thought there was some kind of danger, yeah, I’d let you know.”

  He patted her hand briefly. “Thanks, Serena. We like to think of you as looking out for us, you know.”

  Joe called his name and Andy straightened before walking down the bar toward him. Their voices were a comforting drone at the other end of the bar. She finished her burger and sat with the last of her beer, watching the snow falling outside.

  She fished a wad of bills out of her pocket. Andy had disappeared into the back so she left the money on the counter. The snow had let up a little, but flakes still fell. Her hands were instantly cold, skin feeling dry and achy, and she swore softly under her breath. She knew she’d never remember to call Delmonico’s tomorrow to ask if they had her gloves.

  Her car was covered in snow and she pulled her jacket sleeve over her hand, brushing off the side window and door handle before climbing in. It was late, later than she wanted it to be. She started the car, flicked on the heavy wipers to clear the windshield, and turned the car around away from home.

  The snow had stopped, the clouds breaking up, dispersing quickly. The temperature would probably plummet overnight without the cloud cover and Serena shivered at the thought. The moon showed its face, rising above the tops of the trees, the world suddenly bright and clear.

  The mill house, perched above the falls, was the last remnant of the original mill that had once spanned the river, the falls powering the huge wheels that made flour. The mill itself had burned down decades ago, but the house where the mill owner had lived had been saved. It had been empty, almost derelict, for as long as she’d been here, and it surprised her that she hadn’t noticed work had been done on the building. It sat alone at the end of Mill Lane, a narrow strip of faded gray asphalt that curved up the narrow river and around the southern end of the lake. It was the only house on the road, shrouded by evergreens and overgrown underbrush.

  The sign for Mill Lane leaned on its side, tilted away from the road. Serena thought if Paul wanted tourists from Chicago to find his guest cottage, he’d have to get the country road crew to fix the sign.

  In the flash of her headlights, the sign read like an ominous portent, warning visitors away. She frowned in the darkness. It wasn’t like her to get spooked by a murder, no matter how grisly. But her meeting with Wes, the business part of the meeting, had left her with a disquieted feeling, as if she were looking at everything through a different, slightly eerie lens. As if nothing were what it really seemed.

  The further she drove away from Madison, the more confused she became about Wes and their kiss, the tumult of feelings she’d had in his room. She had resisted, she didn’t want him – that she knew – yet something had pulled her to him, forcing her to abandon her
true feelings for something else…something that she didn’t understand.

  There was one thing that she was certain of; it would never happen again.

  The thought of seeing Brody again, the memory of taking him into her bed, rose up, pushing any thought of Wes aside. In all reality, being lead detective on such a serious case meant that she should be thinking of nothing but the convoluted mess that had been left for her to untangle. Focus, she growled at herself. Focus on what really matters.

  Mill Lane hadn’t been plowed yet and she drove slowly through the accumulated snow. There were no other tracks—car, human, or animal—on the road, and she wondered if Brody was even home.

  But as she turned down the small driveway, she saw lights in the downstairs windows. She pulled up to the house, turned off the lights, and sat for a moment, watching the building. There was no movement behind the curtained windows. She wondered if Brody was even home.

  Brody had left her early the next morning, before the sun was even up. She’d stirred and he’d kissed her, his hand reaching down to softly caress her breast.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll be around.” She’d heard him singing softly in the dark.

  ‘Fair thee well my black hair’d diamond…fair thee well my own Aisling.

  Thoughts and dreams of you will haunt me…’

  And then he was gone.

  She climbed out of the car, crunching through the snow toward the house. The lake was to her left, and through the trees and leafless underbrush, she could see its frozen surface reflecting a dim white. In the dark, even with the moonlight, the far shore was just indistinct blackness. She scanned the snow-covered surface, hoping against all hope her phantom wolf would suddenly appear.

  The sound of the falls reached out to her as she came closer to the building. The falls were a beautiful, soothing sight, but the thought of the cold water rushing over black rocks made her shiver. She jammed her hands deeper into her pockets.

  There was a bell by the door, an old-fashioned kind that looked like it should be rung at a castle gate. She grabbed the rope pull and gave the clapper a tentative swing against the bell. It was surprisingly loud and she jerked her hand away.

  She waited for what seemed like forever, stamping her feet. She was reaching for the clapper again when the door opened.

  “Well, hello stranger. It’s been awhile.” Brody stood in the doorway, the light behind him casting his face in shadow. Serena squinted at him, jaw open, his deep voice hitting her chest like a ton of bricks, making it hard to breath. She fumbled, belatedly struggling to fish her badge out of her coat pocket.

  “Come on in before you freeze to death.” She quickly stepped past him and he closed the door softly behind her. “Sorry, I was in the back, didn’t hear the bell.”

  He moved ahead of her down the hall toward the living room.

  “It’s okay, I won’t be here very long.” She hesitated and he stopped, turning back to her, his brows drawing together.

  “Oh? Well, at least come sit by the fire. You look cold.” He took a step forward but she remained still. Confused, he looked back, grinning. “What? Are you not coming in? I don’t bite… or don’t you remember, Serena?”

  Reluctantly, she followed him as he led her down a small hall that opened up into a large, two-story living room. She glanced up, following the lines of the exposed beams. They were massive timbers running the width of the room.

  “Original beams, from what I’ve been told.”

  “I’ve never been here before…actually, never been down the end of Mill Lane at all.”

  “Come on and sit down. I’ve got a nice fire going. You want something to drink?” Brody took her hand, drawing her into the living room. There was a grouping of overstuffed chairs and sofa arranged in front of the fireplace. She took a seat on the couch, Brody dropping down beside her.

  “No, I’m fine.” She glanced toward the fireplace, the stones along the front rising to the ceiling. She wondered if they were local.

  “How did you find this place?” The heat of the fire warmed her face and hands, so very welcome after being outside in the cold.

  “Mr. Zillman had an ad on a website, looking for a winter caretaker. I answered and he hired me…or rented to me…it’s a little of both.”

  “Do you pay rent here?” She kicked off her boots, stretching her chilled toes toward the flames.

  “I do. It’s a minimal amount though. Mostly I’m responsible for making sure the pipes don’t freeze, the chimney stays clear, and the windows don’t get broken by kids. I was told that had been a problem in the past. I’m also working on some of the outbuildings, repairing damages, things like that, weather permitting.”

  He cocked his head at her. “So, what brings you here tonight, Serena? You seem…different. Then again, this isn’t Andy’s bar.”

  Serena bit her lip. Her cop instinct told her to play this cool, not let him know why she was there, but she knew – sensed – that she couldn’t fool him. He already sensed that something was different. She was torn. While she still wanted answers to her questions, now, here, she realized she wanted him as well. Something hot and sweet swelled inside her, a longing that should have taken her by surprise but really didn’t.

  “No, it’s definitely not Andy’s. It’s…something else.”

  He leaned back as she spoke, stretching an arm across the couch behind her. She suddenly wanted to be enclosed by that arm, held safe, like she’d felt when he’d held her that night as she drifted off to sleep. She tucked her legs beneath her, leaning against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, wishing the case would go away and she could just sit here with Brody and enjoy the fire and each other.

  “Brody, we didn’t really talk much about our past when we were…um…together.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her badge, holding it out to him, the flicker of flames brushing across the metal surface. He glanced down and his body tensed briefly.

  “I’m a detective, Brody, in Madison. And there’s a case that I’m working on…” She tried to keep her voice steady but knew she wasn’t succeeding.

  He frowned. “A case? What kind of case?”

  “There was a dead body found out on Lake Monona this morning.”

  “I see,” he replied, his voice light. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…we think it may have been some kind of animal attack, a wolf…a really large one. I live out here, so I’m following up with residents who live along the lake.”

  Finesse, Nowinski had called it. It felt more like an outright lie.

  “Well then ask whatever you want. I’m … if I can help, Serena, I will.” She felt the tension leave his body and his voice.

  “Couple of background questions, just routine stuff. Umm, okay, let’s start with what you do for a living. Besides take care of the property?”

  He laughed, a nice low sound. Serena relaxed further. Maybe she could learn what she needed without ruining their time together.

  Stop, a voice inside her head warned. He was a suspect.

  Serena shook her head. He was Wes’s suspect, not hers. Not yet. Granted, Wes may have a strong reason to suspect Brody, but so far, there was nothing tying him to Goudy’s murder.

  “I’m a writer.” He motioned with his head and she glanced over his shoulder. There was an old roll-top desk against the wall with an open laptop, its screen glowing blue beside a stack of notepads and books.

  “Oh, I had no idea. What do you write?” She shifted, moving closer to him. He was warm and he smelled good, like wood smoke and cold air and spices. All male. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

  “I write fiction, mostly crime, murder mysteries, high-stakes robberies, stuff like that, with a little romance thrown in sometimes. I’ve got two books published and have a deal for three more. I’m pretty happy about that. It took a long time to get those first two published.”

  Serena frowned, turning her head against his shoulder so
he wouldn’t see. He wrote murder mysteries. The rest of what he said slid right past her. She fumbled for another question, hoping she sounded interested in his writing and not suddenly like the cop she was trying hard to be.

  “Do you do research for your books?” She winced. Not the most subtle of questions.

  He laughed again, but this time it held an uneasy edge. “Well, yeah, as much as I can. I mean, I don’t go around killing people, if that’s what you mean. But I try to be as accurate as I can. I…move a lot, for that research. I like my stories to be regionally accurate.”

  Brody’s arm closed around her shoulder, his hand sliding up to caress the back of her neck. He shifted on the couch, turning slightly toward Serena, his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face to him.

  “Listen. My life’s pretty boring. I get up and write, and then I write, and then I write some more. In between I pound nails and hang drywall.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a disarming smile. “Unless I’m in the company of a beautiful woman. Then there’s all kinds of other things I’d rather be doing.”

  She could only imagine.

  19

  He smiled. “Listen. This must be awkward for you. It sure the hell is for me. I had no idea that you were a cop…”

  “Would it have made any difference?”

  “Not at all.” His eyes searched hers. “Serena, that night…it meant more to me than I could have imagined. Being with you…it’s been a really long time since I felt that way about a woman. I can’t expect you to feel the same, but…”

  He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. Serena closed her eyes. Part of her, the police officer, the dogged detective following leads and asking questions, resisted. He was a potential suspect. He wrote murder mysteries. But then, so did a hundred other guys. And he was Wes’s suspect, not necessarily hers.