Otherworldly Bad Boys: Three Complete Novels Page 2

  Realizations like this were becoming more and more frequent as her teenage years were wearing on. But whenever she tried to explain her revelations to others, they always sounded so obvious that she felt like an idiot for not understanding them before. She wondered if she had stunted emotional growth or something. Maybe everyone else had figured this out when they were ten years old.

  Dana tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at Cole shyly. “You want to look together? I’m really nervous too.”

  “Okay.” He grinned back. They started over to the door. “What instrument do you play?”

  “Saxophone.”

  “Should have figured.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have...” He stopped walking, and she did too, finding that she was interested in what he had to say. “It’s only that I guess you seem sort of like a... I don’t know, a type of person?”

  She studied her shoes. “You can say it. I know I’m a prep.”

  He put his hands in his pockets again. “Yeah, maybe. But I just sort of had this realization... It’s going to sound stupid, but I realized that I was stereotyping you, even though I don’t know anything about you, and you seem cool, you know, so maybe I shouldn’t do that.”

  Dana’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God, seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “Because, no lie, I was thinking pretty much the same thing a minute ago, when we shook hands. And I even thought it would sound stupid.”

  He was smiling again. “Right? Because it’s totally obvious. Everyone knows that.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But just because you know it doesn’t mean you do it.”

  “Exactly.”

  She was smiling too. “I hope we both made it. Into the band, I mean. We can hang out next year.”

  “Me too.” He shifted on his feet. “I guess we should look, right?”

  They turned together and walked up to the door. At first, Dana couldn’t make out any of the names, but as they got closer, she could see the headings. Saxophones. Trombones. Clarinets. She gulped.

  And then she was close enough, and she was scanning the list of names...

  Until she found hers.

  She let out a little whoop. “I’m in!”

  Cole had his hands in his pockets again. “I’m not.”

  Disappointment coursed through her. She looked back at the list, read the name under bass guitar. “David English? He doesn’t even know how to play bass. He’s a drummer.”

  Cole shrugged. “It was a long shot anyway. I know that people like me don’t usually get to be in school bands and stuff.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Dana.

  He was already backing away. “It’s no big deal. Congratulations, though.”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe we can hang out next year anyway?” “Sure,” he said. He grinned again. And then he turned away to jog back down the stairs.

  But they didn’t hang out. She didn’t speak to Cole Randall again until they were both trying to get out of a locked gymnasium, running from werewolves that were attacking everyone inside.

  * * *

  Dana paused with her hand on the exit door of the bar. “I think it’s a murder.”

  Avery spread his hands. “This just come to you?”

  “You know who else locked people inside while they slaughtered them? Chase Klebold and Adam White.”

  Avery pushed the door open. “You’re jumpy. This is your first case back. It’s a little on the weird side. But not everything is connected to Cole Randall and your past.”

  Dana took a deep breath before following him outside. Logically, he had to be right. Not everything could be connected to Cole. The locked door was a coincidence, not something meant to awaken within her memories of the day in which both she and Cole had been turned to werewolves at the hands of their crazed classmates. But she felt so damned connected to Cole now. All the time. The bastard had wormed his way inside her, curled up, and made himself at home. Chantal said that eventually she’d break free of his influence. Dana wanted to so badly. That’s why she was back at work.

  There was a ring of police officers and paramedics waiting outside. They almost all had their arms folded over their chests. The ones who weren’t so outwardly hostile still looked angry.

  “Took you long enough in there,” spoke up a man in a gray suit, his badge hanging around his neck.

  “No survivors,” said Avery, lifting his chin.

  Dana sighed. Avery had a chip on his shoulder when it came to cops, and that meant she was going to have to play nice and try to smooth things over. She thrust herself in between Avery and the suit, plastering a huge smile on her face. “Hi there, sir, I’m Dana Gray. What’s your name?” She offered her hand.

  The suit just stared at it. “Detective Sutton. You two done contaminating our crime scene? You sure this was a wolf?”

  Cops didn’t like the SF. No one liked the SF, not the media, the school system, or the government. Political candidates routinely ran campaigns claiming they’d change laws and get the furs all executed, no questions asked. Thus far, no one had been successful, maybe because deep down people recognized that werewolves were just sick people that needed treatment, not monsters. Dana hoped that anyway. More likely, the SF stayed around because people were scared, and werewolves were better at stopping other werewolves than normal humans.

  “We’ve picked up a scent,” said Dana. “We should have the rogue in custody within the hour.”

  “As long as your people haven’t contaminated our trail,” said Avery over Dana’s shoulder. He let his voice get deep and gravelly, almost an animal growl.

  Dana bit down on the inside of her cheek. Why did Avery have to do that? Didn’t he realize that acting aggressive only served to feed the fear that all werewolves were nothing more than dangerous beasts? “The scene’s all yours, Detective Sutton. And I must say, I’m very sorry for your community’s loss. I know how devastating something like this can be.”

  Sutton wasn’t listening to her anymore. He was leading his army of cops into the bar. Truthfully, they did have the worst of the job. They’d have to transport these bodies to the morgue, call their families, and clean up. They wouldn’t even have the ability to say that they were looking for the killer and that he’d be punished. Most times, rogue werewolves were rehabilitated. After their time in the SF, they got to go free and return to their lives.

  Dana could see why the victims thought it wasn’t fair. But she also knew that it wasn’t right to put someone in jail for a crime he or she never meant to commit and, often, couldn’t even remember.

  As the cops disappeared inside, Dana could make out a few news vans on the periphery. Great. Reporters.

  A woman with blonde hair snapped her fingers at her cameraman and sprinted toward Dana at top speed. Margaret Lansky. What was she doing all the way out here in bumfuck?

  “Dana!” yelled Margaret. “I wondered if we could get a few words.”

  Dana used to be the one who played nice with reporters as well as cops, but after what had happened with Cole, she’d been plastered on front pages and television screens for weeks. The woman who’d brought down the werewolf serial killer. No matter what Avery said, Cole was connected to her life permanently.

  “We’re following a trail,” said Dana. “Can’t chat or the scent will get cold.” She shot a look at Avery. “Get the car.”

  He nodded and trotted off to the parking lot.

  Margaret was close. “How does it feel to be back on the job? What can you tell us about being Cole Randall’s prisoner?”

  A shudder ran through Dana, making her feel cold all over.

  “Do you think being terrorized by a madman has impacted your performance on the job?” Now Margaret was close enough to put a microphone in her face.

  It enraged Dana. She felt the wolf again, hot and excited at the base of her spine, struggling. Dana pictu
red letting her beast out, digging sharp claws into Margaret’s pretty face, staining her blonde hair bright red.

  Margaret took a step back, her face registering fear. “Are you all right?”

  Dana squared her shoulders, forcing the wolf back down. “Peachy keen.” But her smile was fierce.

  The company car surged at them, heading right for Margaret. She hurried out of its path. Dana had to laugh as she opened the passenger side door to the blue Chevy. Sliding inside, she said, “Avery, you can’t run down reporters.”

  “More’s the pity,” he said.

  She buckled her seat belt, and they took off.

  Avery rolled down the window. “You still got the scent?”

  She rolled hers down as well. Actually, she didn’t. She’d shoved the wolf deep down inside to keep from ripping Margaret’s head off. It never used to be this tough to keep herself in control. That was before Cole had gotten into her head. He’d unbalanced her, somehow undone years of training. She took deep breaths of warm, spring air, calming herself, and letting just a little bit of the wolf out—just the ability to smell.

  Almost immediately, she picked up the distinctive scent of the rogue wolf. He’d run this way, after leaving the bar. “Yeah. It’s strong. He didn’t get in a car or drive. He ran this way.”

  Avery gestured with his head. “On your side of the road, right?”

  “Right.” She was going to be able to pick up the scent a bit more easily than him.

  He leaned closer to her, sniffing.

  “Watch the road.” She shoved him back on his side of the car.

  Avery laughed. “I gotta say, it’s good to have you back, Gray.”

  She looked at her hands, embarrassed. “You been working solo, haven’t you?”

  “Sometimes,” said Avery. “Sometimes, King throws me in with Jones and Davis. However it goes down, it isn’t the same.”

  She bit her lip, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Brooks. I’m sorry for dropping out on you like that.”

  He was staring straight ahead now, watching the road, like she’d asked. “You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. It was that bastard Randall’s fault. You know, sometimes I wish we did execute wolves. If anyone deserves death, it’s that guy.”

  Dana swallowed hard. Much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want Cole dead. She wanted Cole out of her head, out of her thoughts, but... She wanted him alive. The hell of all of it wasn’t so much what he’d done to her. The hell of it was that she missed him. She stuck her head out the window. “No one cares about Randall. He killed wolves. The human groups probably think he did everyone a favor.”

  “He would have killed humans too,” said Avery. “Isn’t that what your report said? The wolf killings were just the first phase.”

  “Right,” said Dana. How could she miss Cole Randall? He was a murderer. He loved violence. He was a twisted individual. That she felt anything for him at all was the sickest thing she’d ever experienced. “The trail’s turning.” She pointed, glad of the distraction.

  Avery sniffed the air. “Good nose, Gray.” He turned the wheel of the Chevy, and the car veered onto a dirt road.

  They bumped along the narrow road, trees rising on each side of them, dust rolling out beneath the tires. They rounded a bend and the road ended at a squat log cabin. A dirty jeep sat in the driveway. Two big dogs were tied to a large tree next to the house. They probably would have been barking if two regular people had shown up, but dogs didn’t tend to bark at werewolves. In fact, both of the dogs were lying down on the ground now, whimpering. A man was sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. This wasn’t a road, it was a driveway.

  And the man on the porch carried the scent they’d been following. He was the rogue.

  Avery turned off the car. “He sure didn’t run very far, did he?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t remember doing it,” said Dana. “Could think he blacked out at the bar.” Most rogue wolves only got one shot to shift before the SF found them. They didn’t know they were infected and couldn’t anticipate what was happening. They’d change into wolves, go crazy, and shift back to human form, generally remembering none of their violence. Dana sometimes thought the hardest part of her job was convincing the rogues that they’d actually done it.

  Nah. The hardest part was after they believed, when the guilt settled on them. Dana hated that part.

  The man on the porch stood up, peering down at them.

  Dana and Avery got out of the car, closing their doors with a thud.

  Smoke leaked out between the man’s lips. “You the Sullivan Foundation?”

  Dana glanced at Avery. The guy knew who they were?

  Avery looked just as confused, but he dug out his ID and held it up. “That’s right, sir. I’m Avery Brooks. This is Dana Gray. We’re certified werewolf trackers.”

  “I been waiting on you folks,” he said. He raised bloodshot eyes and stubbed his cigarette out on the porch railing . “Guess you’re here about what happened at the bar.”

  “So you’re aware of what you did last night, sir?” said Dana, walking up the porch steps. Avery was right next to her. That was strange. A rogue was usually confused. The idea of this happening on purpose was starting to look more and more likely.

  The man nodded. He hung his head. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I even locked the doors so I couldn’t get out and do more damage.”

  So, he’d known he was shifting? That was also unusual for a rogue.

  “If you know why we’re here and what you’ve done,” said Avery, “then you know we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

  The man rubbed his face, looking haggard and weary. “Would it be worth it to try to get away?”

  “We have tranquilizers,” said Dana. “But we only use that as a last resort.” She’d never had to use them, as a matter of fact. She’d never encountered anyone who was behaving the way this man was.

  The man nodded. “All right, then. I’ll come along. But is it okay if I call my sister Patty first? I need someone to feed my dogs while I’m gone.” He pointed at the two dogs, still lying down. They weren’t whimpering anymore, but they still seemed scared.

  Dana shot a questioning look at Avery. She’d never fielded a request like that before. Usually, rogues were too distraught to think of things like their dogs. Usually, Dana spent all her time convincing them that they were, in fact, a werewolf. But this man was resigned and accepting. Why?

  “You can call from the road,” said Avery. “I’ll dial the number for you on my cell.”

  * * *

  Dana led the man into the processing office at Headquarters. Avery brought up the rear. The Sullivan Foundation’s northeast branch was housed just outside of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, on a plot of land that had once been farmland. It made the public feel safer if the werewolves were out in the boonies. Headquarters looked more like a high security prison than anything else, surrounded by barbed wire and high fences. The man hadn’t seemed too concerned when they’d come in, though. He’d been quiet in the back seat, his face drawn and tired. No hysterics. No disbelief. He was definitely the strangest rogue she and Avery had ever brought in.

  Dana waved to Julie Smith, who was seated at her desk at the head of processing. Julie handled all the new intakes. “Hey Julie. Got you some fresh blood.” She turned to the man and gestured for him to have a seat by Julie’s desk. “Julie’s going to get some info from you, so that we can get you into the system here. You’ll have to go into lockdown tonight soon as the moon rises. Expect to be here for at least a month, but if you make it through the next moon cycle, you could be back home by then.”

  The man studied his shoes. “I doubt that very much.”

  Julie arched an eyebrow. “Our training here is very thorough. Most people are quite successful. Why don’t I start by getting your name?”

  He sat down. “Arnold Phelps.”

  Julie’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Hmm... we seem
to already have an Arnold Phelps in the system. Give me your middle initial?”

  “That’s me,” said Arnold. “I’m already in your system.”

  “Excuse me?” said Julie.

  “Yeah,” said Arnold. “I got bit back in high school. Went through the training then at the southern SF branch.”

  “What did you say?” said Dana.

  Arnold looked up at her with mournful eyes. “Said I been through the werewolf suppression rigmarole before. I know how to keep my beast down.”

  Dana couldn’t believe it. “So you’re saying that you did what you did last night on purpose?”

  He shook his head. “On purpose? No, ma’am. I ain’t saying that at all.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Six months ago, Dana banged on the door to Cole Randall’s house. She was out of breath from racing up his driveway.

  He opened the door. “Dana. That was fast.”

  She’d called him on the way over, telling him she’d be there soon. She wheezed outside the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He stepped away from the door. She hadn’t seen him in years. She took him in. He looked so different from the scruffy kid she’d met in high school. His hair was cropped short. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. A cream-colored, cable-knit sweater hugged his chest. He looked like a professor, casual and cuddly, with a hint of serious intelligence. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, just standing on the carpet of his living room in his socks. The only part of him that even hinted of disorder was the fact that he hadn’t shaved recently. His chin and jaw had maybe half-a-day’s growth on them. He rubbed his stubble. “What’s this about? Why couldn’t you tell me on the phone?”

  Dana struggled to catch her breath. “Did you pack a bag?”

  He shut the door behind her. “No. I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

  “Trust me, you’re in danger. We need to get you into protective custody.”

  Cole took off his glasses and began to clean the lenses with his sweater. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But I haven’t seen you in nearly ten years. You call me out of the blue and tell me I’ve got to go into hiding. What’s this about?”