I chuckled, thinking that I really liked this guy. I took the two heavy boxes he handed me and tucked them under my arm. “I also need some .44’s.”
He straightened, hands once again on his hips. “.44’s?”
I nodded. “I’ve got a Smith and Wesson 629.”
“You do like to be prepared,” he commented, his words coming out slow and careful.
If you lived in a dicey urban area and wanted to be ready to defend yourself, you had a semi-automatic, a Glock usually. If you wanted to be ready to quickly defend yourself in the wilderness, a revolver was the weapon of choice. And the minimum bullet size you’d need to even think about stopping a bear was .44.
“How good of a shot are you?” he asked.
It was a good question. Tourists that went hunting or hiking and had visions of shooting down a marauding bear either came home with their bullets still in the box or they came home in a box. Wild bear generally stayed clear of humans. Make enough noise, secure your food and trash, keep an eye open for sows with cubs, and you’d be fine. If lightning struck and you did find yourself in a situation with an attacking bear, you’d need to draw and fire fast. And you’d need to be accurate enough to unload your magazine between the animal’s eyes. Pumping a bunch of bullets into a bear’s chest wasn’t going to do much more than piss him off. That was with a normal bear. With a bear shifter, you had even less of a chance of taking him down.
Unless, you had special bullets.
“Good enough,” I told him.
He eyed me. “Best leave that pistol at home, you know.”
“Best be prepared, you know?” I gave him what I hoped was a meaningful glance. “I saw those YouTube videos. Now I don’t know if they’ve been doctored up, or are some special effects, but why take chances? There’s a guy in the hiking forums who said you were supplying the sort of thing that could protect a hiker, or hunter, against that happening. If it’s all a hoax, well, then I’m a fool. If it’s not and I go out there unprepared, then I’m a dead fool. I’d rather be a live fool than a dead one.”
His face went blank, his expression suddenly unreadable. “You’ll be fine. Those…that…you’ll be fine.”
“Fine? I’m out hunting with my friend, and some dude stumbles into our camp and turns into a bloodthirsty monster, and we’ll be fine with shotguns and rifles? I don’t think I could even get to my weapon in time. I’m taking the pistol. And I’d like it to have more than regular .44 bullets in it, if you catch my drift.”
He hesitated.
“I’m a woman,” I continued. “And not a big woman either. Now I know how to handle myself out in the woods. I grew up in Alaska, so I’m not some wide-eyed tourist. I’m not going to shoot some dude out fishing in his boat or a hiker who I think looks sketchy. I can keep my cool. I’ll only shoot if a human comes into my camp and then suddenly becomes not-a-human.”
“They’re expensive,” he finally admitted. “And the chances of you being attacked are probably less than winning the lottery. Why don’t you just buy a box of plain old .44s, and forget about monsters in the woods.”
I shook my head. “It’s kind of hard to forget about monsters in the woods when five people got killed down in Ketchikan. Five.”
His mouth opened. “That…that couldn’t happen. It wasn’t. In Ketchikan?”
He didn’t know. I had a feeling the werewolf videos had been staged to create fear in the human public, but if this guy was as connected as I thought he was, then Ketchikan wasn’t supposed to happen. What had gone wrong? What had happened?
“Yeah. Five scientists.” I pulled out my phone and read the names. “Paper says there was a grizzly attack, but he wasn’t really a grizzly, you know? He was one of those monsters. One of the guys shot him—some dude from Oregon. A Joseph Floyd. But instead of going down, the bear shifter went crazy and killed all five of them. Then he went on a two-day tear through the woods, slaughtering animals, nearly killing some hiker he cornered. Took more than bullets to kill him.”
Dutch was breathing hard, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “No. Just…no. Joseph Floyd…” He turned around and grabbed the ledger from next to the cash register. “No…it can’t… That didn’t happen.”
I nodded. “Yes. I’ve got friends down there and they’re terrified. Heck, I’m terrified. Wolf-people. Bear-people. I just want to make sure if I shoot something, it goes down and stays down.”
He was pale, his finger shaking as he traced a line down the ledger. “They’re supposed stay down, or run away. Supposed to make it an even playing field.”
“Well, then that’s what I need.”
He snapped the book shut. “No, you don’t. I don’t have those bullets. I can’t sell you any.”
Don’t have them, or won’t sell me any? Because those were two different things. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Regular bullets won’t kill these monsters, but if you can get four or five well-placed shots into them, you’ll take them down. And then you can run away.”
“But the guys in Ketchikan shot this bear shifter. When they finally caught and killed him, they dug three bullets out of the guy. So it sounds to me like regular bullets aren’t going to cut it. From what this SharpShooter guy says, I believe that. If the guys down in Ketchikan had been shooting these bullets, would they have been okay?”
Dutch clamped his jaw. “This SharpShooter guy isn’t someone you should be listening to. Maybe. These bullets are supposed to work but…I’ll admit that I sold the special bullets to Joseph Floyd. So maybe they only work on werewolves. Or maybe you need more than one to take down a bear shifter. Maybe he didn’t have the special bullets loaded in his rifle. I mean, they’re expensive. He might not have wanted to waste them.”
“Why buy them if you’re not going to be prepared,” I argued. “Are you saying they don’t work? That this SharpShooter guy is lying? I mean, he referred people to you. You supposedly sell them, right?”
He wiped his face on his sleeve. “I do sell them, but I need… Let me contact the manufacturer. I want to make sure there isn’t a quality control issue. I can’t tell the bullets apart aside from a mark they put on the end. Maybe they got mixed up in the box before I got them. Maybe they don’t work on bear shifters, or maybe there needs to be a special kind for the larger ones. Or maybe it’s all fine and that Floyd guy shot the bear shifter with regular bullets. I don’t know, but I’ve got a reputation I’m trying to build here. I’m not gonna sell any more of these until I’m sure they work as intended. The company that sells these to me markets them for werewolf protection. I’m thinking a bear-man is too big, and they don’t have the same effect, but I want to check first.”
It made sense. You didn’t go bear hunting with a .22. Clearly whatever magical coating was on the bullets, it would take more, or different magic, to bring down a grizzly shifter.
Except…the hunters in Kenai had been shooting bear. I thought back on what Brent had said about the dying shifter he’d seen. The hunters were taking trophies. They were all about the hunt. They shot. The shifter transformed, and ran away in pain. Then they tracked it and took the killing shot. Or if the shifter didn’t run away, they finished it on the spot.
The only difference was that now the shifters were fighting back after they got shot. It wasn’t that surprising. Just like humans, we all had different reactions to situations. The flight instinct kicked in for some of us, where in others it was the fight instinct. Maybe this wasn’t a case of different bullets, but of different reactions from the shifter. And maybe a bullet that caused a grizzly shifter in human form to shift and run would have a lesser effect on an adrenaline-pumped, already shifted grizzly shifter who was pissed at five scientists for trespassing.
Maybe that bear down in Ketchikan was already on the edge of crazy, a hair’s breadth from going rogue, and the bullet just pushed him over the edge. And maybe the werewolves in the videos were dominant, aggressive wolves. There were three videos on the internet.
How many videos were there of wolves that shifted and took off, that had to be hunted down? That wouldn’t have made the sort of publicity these guys wanted.
Or maybe there were two different types of tainted bullets and, as Dutch suggested, something got switched at the factory. The “hunter and self-defense bullets” somehow got mixed up with the “make the shifter attack” bullets. Whoever was running this wouldn’t want the world to know that their bullets hadn’t saved Joseph Floyd and his buddies. In fact, their bullets got him killed. Maybe this would help counter some of the hysteria. But in the meantime, I needed to gather as much information as I could about the “supplier.”
“I’m not leaving until tonight. Do you think you can call the manufacturer? Get it all cleared up? Perhaps at the latest by this afternoon? I’m local. I can swing back by and get the bullets.”
Dutch hesitated and I could see the conflict in his face. These bullets were expensive. He probably made as much selling one or two of them as he did a case full of lures. But he clearly didn’t want to be responsible for selling someone faulty goods—goods that might get them killed.
“Let me make a quick phone call.”
Dutch walked back into the kitchen area. I could hear him, and because I was a werewolf, I could make out a word here and there from the other side of the phone.
“It’s Dutch. I need to double check with you and make sure the supply you gave me is the right stuff.”
“Of course. What do you mean?”
“I sold some to a guy, and he was just killed by a bear shifter down in Ketchikan, him and four others with him.”
“Maybe he missed.”
“They dug bullets out of the bear shifter body after they caught him and killed him. The guy shot him, and he didn’t go down. I want to make sure something didn’t get mixed up in the shipment.”
“No…each one is custom crafted. There’s no way…”
“You’re not ripping me off, are you? Charging me for special bullets and just marking up regular ones and sending them to me?” Dutch suddenly sounded like a guy that shouldn’t be messed with. “If I find out you’re screwing me over, then I’m done. And I’ll make sure everyone knows that you can’t be trusted.”
There was an ominous silence, then some words I couldn’t make out.
“No, I’m not threatening you. I just want to make sure what I’ve got is legit. There’s a woman here looking to buy some and I don’t want to sell her anything that’s fake. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death.”
“What woman?”
I tensed at those two words, half expecting to be surrounded at any minute.
“She e-mailed me, but she’s a local so it was easier for her to swing by.”
“The bullets are fine. Call me back when she leaves.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Dutch walked back into the room, a smile plastered on his face. He was still sweating.
“I confirmed they’re okay. I’ve only got two .44 ones. They’re five hundred each. Do you want both?”
I caught my breath at the price. That was insane. Although if I really wanted to kill a shifter, I guess five hundred was the price I’d pay. “Uh, just one. I’ll have to hope one will do it, right?”
He didn’t answer me, instead turning to go through a box and pull an envelope out. I couldn’t make out the address but the postmark was Anchorage, and the company name looked like it was Strike or something like that.
“Here.” He hesitated handing the envelope to me. “If you grew up in Alaska, then you know that most people up here think these half-animal shifters are harmless. Heck, I’ve got a live-and-let-live attitude myself. There are bad humans around that kill others. I’m sure some of these shifter people are bad too. And there’s nothing wrong with protecting yourself. Just don’t cross the line into murder.”
That was a very fine line to keep from crossing. I nodded. Then paid for the bullet, wincing at the fact that I needed to use my credit card since I wasn’t exactly carrying around hundreds in cash.
Great. Between that and the e-mail, Dutch knew my name, and he knew I lived in Juneau with parents in Sitka. And the supplier wanted him to call back once I’d left.
Which meant there were some calls I needed to make as well. If these people didn’t have a problem killing shifters or siccing rogue shifters on humans, then they wouldn’t think twice about coming after me…or my family. I was such an idiot. I should have made some shit up about my parents or where I lived, although any idiot with my name and an internet connection could find me. I wasn’t exactly off-the-grid. I’d never needed to be.
I’d be okay, but my parents might want to take a vacation in Montana for a few weeks. Or longer.
I got into the car, feeling edgy and aware the whole time. Then I drove a few miles to a more populated area, and pulled over in a parking lot with a restaurant that evidently catered to quite the huge lunch crowd. Later. Lunch later. First I needed to call Brent.
He answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I got a response from Hit-The-Mark so I went on over there this morning and checked it out.”
I heard Brent swear softly. “You okay?”
“Yeah. For now. Dutch, the guy at Hit-The-Mark, is definitely selling the bullets. When I mentioned the scientists down in Ketchikan that got killed, he recognized one. He definitely sold Joseph Floyd the bullets, and was pretty freaked out when I told him they’d all been killed by a rampaging bear shifter, even after shooting the rogue.”
“So what do you think?”
I sniffed. My stomach growled, and I eyed the fish-fry place across the street. “I think the guy is on the level. He seems like he’s got a conscience and was worried that he’d gotten a bad shipment or that he was being screwed over. He called the distributor to check before selling me any of the tainted bullets.”
I heard Brent typing something in the background. “Raphael’s friend of a friend of a friend mage guy in Hel said the magic bullet from the bear and the two taken from Leon and me are definitely different. Which means they either changed their formula and there’s a problem, or they have two different types of bullets, one for killing and another for staging these attacks with rogues, and the shipments got switched.”
“I overheard the supplier say they were individually crafted, so any switch that occurred was intentional.”
Brent was silent a moment. “Either someone inside their organization is harboring a grudge and wants to bring them down, or they want to drive the public panic into overdrive and are comfortable taking the risk that they may be discredited in the process.”
As nice as it would be for there to be a saboteur within their organization, I cringed at the thought that shifters and humans would be collateral damage in their own personal vendetta. Not that the other theory was any more comforting.
“I’ve got an idea. Do you think Tony could spread a rumor that the family of Joseph Floyd is suing the manufacturer for defective bullets? That he was assured these expensive things would protect him. That the family has proof he shot the bear with one of these special bullets, and it didn’t work. They’re suing the manufacturer for wrongful death or something?”
Brent barked out a short laugh. “Brilliant. If they’re looking to profit on public panic, we’ll nip that in the bud.”
“We also need to convince Sheriff Murray to go wide with this, to let the public know not to go shooting bears or shifters, because clearly these wonder bullets didn’t work, and in fact, actually made the situation worse by making the bear go rogue.”
“We counter their fear campaign with one of our own.” I heard Brent typing in the background. “I’m on it.”
“In the meantime, the bullets come from a place up in Anchorage. Strike something, or something Strike.”
“I’ll lob that one over to Jake. Anchorage is in Swift River Pack territory and I don’t want to step on his toes.”
Nobody wanted to step on Jakes toes. To
ny, the king of social media, would handle the smear campaign. Raphael’s friend of a friend of a friend was hopefully working on an antidote. Once the news got out, Dutch would be afraid to sell any more of his bullet supply. And Jake would put his wolves on tracking down the manufacturer. My job was done here, except for a few additional items of note.
“Umm, boss? A couple more things.”
“Yeah?” Brent sounded distracted.
“The bullet I bought at Hit-The-Mark was five hundred dollars.”
He sucked in a breath. “Okaaaay. We’ll reimburse you out of pack funds for that.”
Thank goodness. “And this Dutch knows who I am. I’m not sure if he’ll bend under pressure and tell the supplier or not, but just in case I’m going to tell my parents to go on an impromptu vacation, and I’m going to stay at Karl’s den for a few weeks.”
Gah, it made me sound like I was such a coward, running and hiding behind a grizzly shifter just in case the big bad human came after me with a rifle.
“It’s a good idea. I’ll contact you there if I need you, or if I hear anything more. And be careful.”
“Thanks.”
I disconnected and dialed Karl. And because I was starving, I got out, locked my car, and headed over to the restaurant.
Karl picked up. And grunted.
“Done. And still alive,” I teased.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“We’ve done pretty much all we can do on this, so I’m going to come home and get my marketing stuff done, wrap up some things and maybe sub some work out. Then I was hoping I could hide out at your den for a while like a fugitive from justice. You can protect me in case the bad-guys come looking for me, right? Maybe I’ll wear a frilly dress, and gasp and faint a lot and you can walk around shirtless and grunt. Oh wait, you do that all the time anyway.”
Mmmm. This place had salmon. Or maybe I should get the fried halibut. And coleslaw. Yeah. I’d pick up extra in case Karl was still hanging around my house, although it would be cold by the time I got there.
My Paranormal Valentine: A Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 54
