"Waylaying him like that might not have been wise," I said finally. "I wanted to tell him about his father--and warn him about the mutts--as quickly as possible, but we caught him off guard. He's used to hiding that part of his life, so he did it instinctively in front of his coworkers."
Clay said nothing.
After another minute of silence, he spoke. "I should have made contact years ago."
"He could have done the same."
Clay shook his head. "I was pissed off when he left and I didn't make any secret of it. It was up to me to make the first move."
"Which you just did."
"Too little too late." He sipped his coffee, his gaze disappearing into the cup's depths.
"Well, we still have to talk to him, whether he wants to chat or not. He needs to be warned about the mutts, if he doesn't already know they're here."
"He doesn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be carrying on, business as usual. We'll talk to Jeremy later. Get his advice."
I was about to say I could handle this--if I was going to be Alpha, I had to make simple decisions like this--but as gung-ho as Clay had been about the transition last night, change didn't come easily for him. By nature, he deferred to Jeremy and right now, it was best to leave him in his comfort zone.
As we drank, I noticed a community bulletin board beside the counter. Prominently displayed was a mini-poster with pictures of three young women.
The clerk had vanished into the back rooms, so I excused myself and went over. If Clay noticed, he gave no sign.
As I suspected, the poster was for the three missing women the reporter had mentioned yesterday. They ranged in age from seventeen to twenty. Two were Native, one Caucasian. All three had gone missing from Anchorage on Saturday nights.
The poster listed the streets where they'd last been seen, but not the exact locations. I'd venture a guess and say they were in bars, despite being underage. The women's group that printed the poster had left that bit of information off because they knew it wouldn't rouse the right degree of sympathy. It shouldn't matter. At that age, what was wrong with visiting a bar on Saturday night? Yet it wouldn't invoke the same reaction as saying they'd gone missing from the library.
I looked at the three photos. All the girls were pretty, but in that average way that most young women are. Cute enough to catch a guy's eye. And they had caught someone's eye.
Did they leave the bar with the wrong man? Did someone follow them home? Did their disappearances have anything to do with the mutts? That was the million-dollar question.
The dates overlapped with the supposed wolf kills. I'd been ready to dismiss the connection earlier because the city disappearances were too different from the forest kills, but now I wondered.
Different, yes. But two distinct types of victims serving two distinct purposes: one for hunting and one for sex. Both would end up dead. In the forest, though, there was no need to hide the body--blame would fall on the wolves.
Yet if people found the same partially eaten victims within the city limits, concern would leap straight into panic, with every gun-owning citizen ready to shoot the first large canine he saw. Even the cockiest mutt wouldn't dirty his bed that badly.
"You think there's a connection?" Clay said as he came up beside me.
"I'm not ruling it out." I turned to him. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah. Got a lot of stops to make today. Better get moving."
"Let's start with an easy one." I leaned over the counter to get the attention of the clerk, who was counting stock in the next room.
Instead, the priest stepped from his office. "May I help you?"
"Sorry. We were just hoping for tourist information."
"Such as..."
"A museum of natural history maybe? Or a children's museum? Someplace we'd find wildlife displays."
"The Federal Building."
"The..."
He laughed. "Yes, not the first place you'd look, is it? As you can see..." He gestured from the cafe to the museum. "We Alaskans have eclectic tastes in our pairings. The Federal Building has an excellent collection of wildlife displays. It's free to the public and only a few blocks from here."
"Perfect. Thank you."
MUSEUMS AND TRUCK stops weren't the only places to find lattes in Alaska. In fact, I was beginning to wonder whether a city bylaw required all businesses to have an espresso machine.
"Oh, look," I said, pointing as we walked. "Faxes, copies, postal services... and espresso."
Clay jerked his chin toward a window across the road. "Hunting licenses, ulu knives..."
"And espresso. Just what you need when shooting and carving up big game. Do you get the feeling Alaskans like their coffee strong?"
"Long, dark winters, darling. They need something to keep them going."
We found the Federal Building a mere block from our hotel. At the foot of the steps, a young man was setting up a sausage stand, the meat already sizzling on the grill, the smell making my stomach growl. Then I saw the sign.
"Reindeer sausage?" I said.
"Works for me." Clay pulled out his wallet. "You want one?"
"Sure. We just won't tell the kids we ate Rudolph."
BACKTRACK
THE FEDERAL BUILDING did have an excellent display of stuffed beasties. We found wolverine and several subspecies of bear. Getting a scent from a taxidermy version is less than ideal, but we could smell enough to know that none of the creatures there had been the one that attacked me.
As for what had attacked me, we both suspected our best source would be the notes we'd taken from Dennis's cabin. So, exercising my new powers as Alpha-in-training, I sent Clay back to the hotel room to get a closer look at Dennis's work while I grabbed supplies--energy bars, fruit, water, brandy, all the little extras a werewolf needs to call a hotel room home.
When Clay hesitated, I reminded him that he'd been the one to suggest the shift in roles. "So that's what I'm doing," I said.
"And that's what I'm doing," he said. "There's one area with Jeremy where I get to argue a call. Personal security. We can both get the stuff, then both go to the hotel."
"A waste of time. As you said, we have a lot to do. I'm heading that way." I pointed down the road. "I saw a shop a block away. The wind will be at my back. No one can sneak up on me."
He grumbled, but eventually gave in. I headed in the direction I'd indicated... and kept going to Joey's office. I'd planned to go inside and ask for him, but as I rounded the corner, I saw him ahead, a tray of coffees in his hand.
I jogged up behind him before he reached the doors.
"That was a shitty thing to do this morning," I said.
He jumped, sloshing coffee and cursing. I waited while he cleaned up with napkins from his pocket. He took his time and didn't so much as glance at me until he was done. He knew I was a woman and a werewolf--my scent would give that away--and I was pretty sure he knew who I was, but when he did look up, he still seemed startled. His nostrils flared as he drank in my scent. Then he rubbed the back of his sleeve over his nose, as if clearing away the smell.
"Normally I'd apologize for making you spill your coffee," I said. "But I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that, not coming upwind."
"What do you want?"
I took the coffee tray, walked to a marble-topped raised flower bed and set it down, then sat beside it. Joey stayed standing.
"I'm Elena."
"I know who you are."
"And you know who Clay is, despite that stunt you pulled this morning."
His mouth tightened. There'd been a time I'd never have talked to a stranger like that. I could blame all those years with Clay, his attitude rubbing off on me, but the truth, as I've come to realize it, is that being with Clay just gives me an excuse. Years ago, I might not have talked to Joey this way, but I'd have wanted to.
I continued. "Maybe he caught you off guard, and we're sorry for that. But you could have come out after your coworkers were gone."
From
Joey's expression, he wouldn't have done that even if Clay had suggested it.
"You need to speak to Clay," I said. "If only for a few minutes. He has something to tell you. Something important."
"Then you can tell me."
"Clay really should."
He picked up his coffee tray.
I caught his elbow. "Please. It is important."
"Then say it and go. I'm not interested in a reunion."
I moved in front of him. "Whatever Clay did or said twenty-five years ago--"
He looked up sharply, his frown cutting me short. It took a moment before he seemed to understand what I meant.
"That's over," he said.
"I know you didn't part on the best terms."
"The terms were fine. He was annoyed, but we worked it out, and we parted. The key word there is parted." He glanced at me. "Didn't Clay get all those birthday cards I sent?"
"No, he never--"
"Because I didn't send any." He adjusted the tray, holding it in both hands now, between us like a shield. "Clay thought I was running away from trouble with the Pack. I wasn't. I was running away from the Pack, from all that werewolf crap he's obsessed with--they're all obsessed with. I only stayed as long as I did for my father's sake. I was happy for the chance to leave and now I have no interest in resurrecting past ties. Whatever Clay came all this way to tell me, you can get it over with and go."
"Is that an order?"
He seemed to flinch at my tone, then squared his shoulders. "I know I can't hold territory, but as a favor to an old Pack brother, I'd like Clay to respect my wishes and leave Alaska."
"How about you tell him that?"
A definite flinch that time. He turned to go.
"And what about the other werewolves in Anchorage?" I called after him. "Are they supposed to respect your wishes, too? I don't think they're going to leave that easily."
A slow pivot. "What other werewolves?"
"Three mutts. We found their tracks near the latest wolf kill. They also attacked a young werewolf yesterday, about two blocks from here. So in the past twenty-four hours, you've had six werewolves trespass on your territory, and you never even noticed?"
"I must have missed them on my daily border patrols." He shifted the coffee tray to one hand. "You don't get it, do you? No, I didn't notice them, because I don't care. I don't want to live my life like that--constantly on alert, constantly watching, working out so I can meet the next challenger, knowing there's always going to be one right around the corner. That's exactly what I came to Alaska to escape."
"Which would be just fine, if you could convince other werewolves to respect your wishes. Live and let live is not the werewolf motto, no matter how hard you and I might wish otherwise."
He looked at me then. Really looked at me for the first time since I'd approached him.
"This isn't my world either," I said. "I was born human. Raised human. I like being a werewolf--I won't lie about that--but there are parts of it that I really don't like. I've spent two days chasing a twenty-year-old kid about to be framed and killed by a couple of mutts for man-eating. I follow him to Anchorage and what happens? Completely different mutts find him first and cut off two of his fingers. He didn't challenge them. He even said he wasn't sticking around. But they wanted him gone now. That's the world we live in. These mutts are going to find you and when they do, you won't be able to ask them nicely to leave you alone. They already kil--" I stopped short. "Clay needs to talk to you."
The shields fell again. "No."
"It's about your father."
Joey scowled. "Oh, hell. Let me guess. Dad whined to Jeremy about me, and sent Clay to have a little talk. My old buddy to set me straight."
"No, your father didn't say a word to Jeremy. But I did talk to your dad's landlord yesterday. I take it you two had a falling-out?"
"No, we just... We drifted apart."
From what the landlord said, it sounded like Joey had done the drifting. Further separating himself from everything werewolf in his life, including his father.
"Look, about the mutts?" Joey continued. "Tell Clay I appreciate the warning. If you're having trouble tracking down my dad, I'll do it and I'll pass on the message. But Clay doesn't need to worry about me. I'm not a werewolf anymore--not like you two are, not like my father is. I'm a regular guy struggling with a disability that makes me disappear into the shed twice a month and change into a wolf. I don't run in Anchorage. I don't run in the forest. I don't even hike outside the city. These guys aren't likely to cross my path and if they do, I'll go the other way. Now if you'll excuse me..."
He started walking away.
"Joey."
He stopped, shoulders tightening. "It's Joseph."
"I'm sorry." I walked up behind him. "Joseph. About your father. I really wanted Clay to tell you, but we went to his cabin last night. We found him." I paused. "He's dead."
His head slumped forward. I stayed where I was, behind him, respectfully out of sight.
"Was it them?" he asked, turning toward me. "Those werewolves?"
I nodded.
His gaze moved to mine. "And you wonder why I don't want anything to do with this life? Because this is where it gets you. No matter how nice you are. No matter how hard you work to avoid trouble. This is your end. Murdered by mutts. Buried in the woods." He paused, glancing away. "I take it that's what you did. Pack protocol and all." The words carried a bitter twist.
"Yes. We had to."
"Exactly my point. A short, brutal life ending in an unmarked grave."
I waited a moment, then said carefully, "Your father seemed to be researching something."
"Oh, my father and his damned research. There was a time when we were on the same page, wanted the same thing--to be left alone. Then I decided that wasn't enough. But just when I'm backing out of the life, he's diving into it. Gets that cabin. Decides to rediscover his inner wolf. A damned midlife crisis."
"Do you know what he was--?"
"I know nothing about my father's life in the last couple of years. I didn't care to. Now, please tell Clay I'm sorry, but I don't wish to see him, and I would appreciate it if you'd both leave Alaska as soon as possible."
He started walking away quickly.
"Joseph, please. We just want--"
He disappeared into the building.
I waited, hoping he'd come back out. When he didn't, I made it to the corner before a familiar sensation washed over me. I didn't turn, just waited for Clay to fall in step beside me.
"Didn't go as well as you hoped, huh?" he said.
"No."
We crossed the street.
"Thanks," he said. "For trying to get him to see me."
We walked half a block before I asked, "So how's the research going?"
"Do you really think I'd go back to the room and read? While you're walking around with three killer mutts on the loose?"
"It was, I believe, an order."
"Not exactly. More of a firm suggestion. You need to work on your wording."
I shook my head. "So how much did you hear?"
"Most of it."
"I guess your friend has changed."
"Some. But of all of us, Joey was always the least into the wolf stuff. It doesn't surprise me that he's gone this way. I don't understand it, but it doesn't surprise me."
We walked another block in silence.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get him to talk to you. I really--"
"--tried, I know. You went back because you knew I was looking forward to seeing him again. I appreciate that. I really do."
"I wanted the news to come from you, but I couldn't walk away and not warn him, about the mutts and about his father."
"And that's all we can do. Warn him. Then leave him alone."
AS WE WALKED back to the hotel, I made two calls, the first to Lynn Nygard, the "paranormal enthusiast." She still wasn't home. I'd try again this evening. Thinking about that interview made me realize there might be an easy w
ay to get it. So I placed the second call.
"Hope Adams," a young woman's voice answered. "True News."
"Hey, Hope. It's Elena. How are you doing?"
Clay rolled his eyes as I launched into small talk. He would have gotten straight to the point. I asked Hope what she was working on and told her what we were doing, and while part of that was civility, most was genuine interest.
I've never been what you'd call a social butterfly, but there had been a period in my life, after Clay bit me, when I didn't have any female friends. Even during the stretches when I wasn't living at Stonehaven, I couldn't seem to get past the acquaintance stage with other women. I felt too different. When the werewolves rejoined the supernatural world, I started to fill that void, first with Paige, then with Jaime and Hope. And while I'd never be one to chat on the phone for hours or set up shopping weekends in New York, it was nice having other women to talk to.
I liked Hope. In her I saw determination and a need for self-reliance undermined by shaky self-confidence, and I could relate to that. I'd been the same way at her age and some days I don't think I've come far since.
I'd met Hope through Karl Marsten. Their friendship moved to romance a couple of years ago. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I worry that Hope will get hurt, but Karl seems committed enough... as committed as a werewolf jewel thief mutt-turned-reluctant-Pack-member can get.
"Anyway," I said. "I called to warn you that I'm now your assistant."
"Cool. I've been telling my editor for years I need one. When can I start forwarding all my alien abduction mail to you?"
"Whenever you want Logan and Kate to start answering it."
She laughed. "Actually, that's an idea. Reply in crayon scrawl and they'll spend weeks deciphering the coded message from E.T. ... weeks during which they won't pester True News's beleaguered Weird Tales girl. So what's this assistant business about? You need a cover?"
"Exactly." I explained about Lynn Nygard. "I thought I'd buy myself some street cred by saying I work with you. I'll say I'm on vacation, not officially following a story."
"But intrigued by her theory, you're checking it out, with the unspoken hint that maybe, just maybe, she'll make it into our hallowed pages. Sure, go for it. Not like anyone here will deny it. When your job is investigating the paranormal, no one questions a phantom assistant, as long as they don't need to pay her salary."
"Speaking of paranormal..." I told her about our encounter with the mystery beast. "And no, I don't really think it was Bigfoot or a yeti or the Abominable Snowman, but if you have a spare moment to check your files, see if there are any reports on strange encounters in Alaska, I'd appreciate it."