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“Night’s still young and my ears are perked.”
“You’ve got places to be.”
“As do you.” Cracking his knuckles, he nodded to the hall. "Please, Miss Davins, will you run on and fetch your coat? Fine a night as this, I can walk you under the starlight to Mrs. Finn’s porch, but I’m hoping you’d fancy a drive to Avon. You can sit in on an interview.”
As the temperature in the room cooled, I rubbed my arms. “Why the change of heart?”
“It’s when you’ve got your back turned kids cause the worst trouble.”
I frowned. “I’m old enough to vote, remember?”
“Quite some years past ‘old enough,’ Miss Davins.” Grinning, he dodged my incoming pillow and headed into the hall for his shoes. When I’d scampered past, stretching for my tan spring jacket on the hook, he caught my wrist. “Remember, Marcy, strictly business. I'm not driving us to a quiet spot for some canoodling or anything else you think you want or need from me.”
“You’re the one inventing a time and a place, sheriff.” I didn’t need the cracked hall mirror to tell me my cheeks had bloomed carnation red. I brushed his hand aside and pulled on my coat. “While you’re imagining, care to detail my wants and needs?”
“Tempted,” he drawled, picking a strand of coarse fur off my shoulder, “But I don’t draw lines to cross ‘em.”
“Bullshit.”
His smile was difficult to read. “Here’s my offer, Marcy. You want to throw yourself into the monster’s maw? Fine. Work the case as my first human partner. Set an example for our backwoods department. I’ll have an easier time keeping you alive at my side; and what you encounter, should you survive, might could convince you to leave. But the job’s a lot of who peed on whose lawn.”
“I have a job.” Maybe.
He seemed prepared to restart our argument but caught himself. “Tonight. Come for a ride along.”
I hesitated.
“Life’s fleeting,” he replied, offering his arm. “And we should be fleeing to somewhere there’s more of it. What do you say, Marcy? Will you join my hunt?”
I bobbed into a curtsy. “You aren’t particularly frightening, by the way.”
A grim, pleasant smile set his amber eyes twinkling. “Anticipation’s half the fun, ain’t it?”
I pulled my hair into a pony tail and adjusted the headband in the mirror. Grey below the eyes but still smoking. “So we’re off to see which werewolves?”
“Metacomet, rival of Talon’s. The wolf who killed Cho was linked to a burglary a few months prior. Despite his killer having no known affiliate pack, Metacomet had accused and still blames Mrs. Finn.”
“What was stolen?”
“Per the report: petty cash, a television, and jewelry; off report: a map pertaining to a potential archeological dig in Brazil. The homeowner is an associate professor of anthropology at Yale. He graciously agreed to move our meeting to this evening. Your grandmother was an arts and antiquities investigator. Maybe there’s a connection between her world and his.”
I stopped walking, then with an apology eased inside the kitchen. “Hang on.”
He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”
“Being Marcy.” I snatched the pizza box off the counter and held it, instead of him, on the walk to his truck. "I'm so goddamn hungry.”
chapter 14
STAG HILL
By the time I was wiping my fingers on napkins fresh from the glove compartment, we'd driven across the covered bridge leading to one of the more reclusive and exclusive gated communities in the state. The landmark, headed by lanterns and curling ivy, marked Metacomet’s reign over the nearby hills and mountains.
According to Caelan, Metacomet had formed after a group of packs banded together to establish several Were-safe territories in northern and central Connecticut. Talon, which had the size and wealth to act as it pleased and often sided with smaller, ‘unclaimed’ families and individual Werefolk, had long since proved the stubborn thorn. For decades the packs had sparred over a swath of woodland with a high deer population and low human traffic somewhere northwest of tonight’s visit.
Avon was a wealthy town. Schools were excellent, average income high, and the remote Stag Hill community, a 'home for the hart' furthered the refined impression.
Oak, elm, and pine made for a picturesque forest around the community’s gates. Tan brick barred access to mowed lawns and ornamental shrubs of the gorgeous, if not almost identical, craftsman homes contained within. Two gates stood alongside one another. The first lead to a speaker system. Across a divider lined with spot-lit rows of drooping daffodils and tulips, the second marked the exit.
