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“You’ll be destroyed.”
“By you?”
He shook his head. “Boss doesn’t waste my time digging holes for small potatoes. There’s other, nastier sheriffs eager for a chance to do to you worse than what was done to Cho and Stephen.”
I grimaced. “Have you followed up on rejections in the past?”
“Once when I was shadowing.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m banned from our After Care program.”
“Why?”
With a loud exhale he set his hand on the ignition and twisted the key. The world around us lit up misty. A pair of luminescent eyes flashed beyond the hood. The pallor of bleached rawhide, the werewolf was difficult to discern except for its eyes and the frothy glint of fangs.
In the time it took me to flinch and lift the revolver, Caelan had popped his door and stepped outside.
Aware of the glass barrier separating its teeth from my throat, I pointed the gun steady at its chest. The animal rose onto long haunches, screamed and raked its claws across the hood.
The sheriff fired a single round.
Force of impact spun the werewolf as it dropped. I leaned over the dash to glimpse the hulking form on three legs, one paw held against its chest. Within feet the fog had closed around its tucked tail.
The fence near the dugout jangled and clanked. We heard a grassy thud and the soft rustle of escape.
Caelan hopped into the truck, reversed to my old clunker of a car and instructed me to stay put. He had me pass him a flashlight from his glove box, then inspected my vehicle for foul play and unwanted occupants. Satisfied, he came around to my side of his truck and opened the door, offering his hand.
Palm against palm, I hesitated, fascinated by the shifting bone underneath. The reality of a werewolf’s existence was so hard to grasp, and yet the undeniable truth stood before me.
Politely asking for his hand back.
Whoops. I swapped his hand for the revolver as I stepped down. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
He nodded. Beyond his reassurances swirled a quiet, pale unknown. “Time for you to go, Marcy.”
Once I was safe inside my own vehicle, he leaned against the frame, glancing toward the outfield and periodically at me. He swayed, bounced on his heels as if ready to run into the night.
“Need help?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “Doing what?”
“You know,” I said, gesturing at his attire. “Someone to watch your back while you shift.”
“Lone wolf,” he replied, excitement riding his tone. “Worry about yourself, Marcy. There’s a way through this mess, but the path is narrowing. If you disappeared before the investigation’s over, I would be inclined to avoid a beating for losing track of a human and mark your record as deceased.”
I frowned. “And what, skip town with Samson and Igor? Never contact Lisa, Wyatt or my other friends? Lose my job and education? Risk Stephen’s killer escaping after me? I'm building a good life. I didn't do anything wrong. I won’t look over my shoulder day and night. I know how this goes. I've done this before and—”
“You have?”
I clammed up.
He reached as if to pat my shoulder, thought better of it, and let his hand fall to his belt. “I’m sorry, Marcy. One way or the other, it’s join or die.”
I jammed the key in the ignition. “Leave me alone a couple days," I grumbled. “Even the highlights are a lot to process.”
“If I’m able.” He leaned down to meet my eyes. “Please, Marcy, promise me you’ll keep the shovel in your trunk until sunrise.”
“Not a chance.”
“Fine.” He pulled away, cracking his neck. “Have a safe evening, Miss Davins.”
