Red Wolf's Return - Mary Forbes J.

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teenagers, when he’d been crazy about her, she snapped, “Go back to your porch.” Anger and worry vied for dominance in her chest. “Let me handle this.”

      “You’re not armed.”

      “Doesn’t matter. I’m the police and that gives me the experience. I’ll go after Lila. You stay here.”

      “Like hell. It’s my dog.”

      Stepping in front of him, she pressed her palms against his chest, and felt the wonderful warm dampness of his sweat beneath fabric and the power that hadn’t been there at eighteen. “Ethan, for once don’t argue. If Beau is involved it’s my responsibility.”

      “I’m going after my dog, Meggie,” he said stubbornly. “And your son. Are you with me or not?”

      A lightning current flashed between them and for a moment memories of bygone years welled; she wanted to fling herself into his arms, those strong arms that waited at his sides, waiting for her.

      Are you with me or not? Exactly what she had said one warm June night across the lagoon as she ranted at him about principles and being a man.

      Shaking off guilt and remorse, she stepped free. “I know what I’m doing. This is my job.” And my son is missing. “Go home. Please.” She softened her voice. “If there’s a problem, I’ll call you on my cell. Besides, I’ll need you to direct backup.” In case it was required.

      Turning, she plowed deeper into the forest, heading for the dog once again barking in the timber. If only she could turn on her flashlight. Right, and be a target for the gun-happy shooter.

      If there was a gun-happy shooter.

      Don’t let it be Beau.

      Her toe caught a raised root, pitching her forward, and a hand grasped her shoulder. Adrenaline spiked through her body, lifted the hair on her head. “Damn it, Ethan,” she said, when she could speak. “Don’t you ever listen?”

      “All the time,” he whispered against her hair, and her stomach spun at the feel of his mouth. “Be still and wait a sec, okay?”

      They did. The forest lay hushed. Where was Lila? Beau? Had he done the shooting?

      Or…had someone shot at Beau? The thought paralyzed Meg.

      Shaking her head, she pushed forward. Think like a cop, Meg. Forget everything else.

      A shout ricocheted through the night. Then came a shrill whistle—and a third shot. Somewhere within the black menacing trees, Lila went into a frenzy.

      Dodging branches, Meg crested the knoll. A treeless patch gleamed under stars and moon. Beyond the narrow open space, more trees…and a glimmer of fire.

      “Damn it.” She dashed through the grass, but Ethan was faster, his legs longer.

      “This way.” He entered the trees directly above the spot where flames flickered.

      Drinkers. She should have known. Images of forest fires and burning homes flitted across the screen of her mind. All at once Lila, tongue lolling, hind end wriggling, ran out of the night.

      “Good girl,” Ethan soothed, patting the rottweiler’s sleek head. Gesturing with his hand, the dog came to heel.

      They could see the campfire clearly. Meg counted six people: three girls cuddling on boys’knees. She scanned the area illuminated by the firelight. Where was the gun?

      “Think the dog’s gone?” Lynn Osgood asked, turning her face to eighteen-year-old Miles, son of Jock Ralston, the high school bully when Meg and Ethan attended Sweet Creek High.

      “Damn right,” Miles boasted. “I scared the crap out of it. It won’t be back.”

      “Hey, we should do this every weekend.”

      Beau. He had his back to Meg and was snuggling Zena Phillips.

      “Shoot at dogs?” Zena wanted to know.

      Chuckling, he nuzzled her neck. “No, silly. I mean party hardy.”

      Meg wanted to throttle him. Before she could take the situation in hand, Randy Leland piped up, “Hey, Beau, how’d you get outta your grounding anyway?”

      A shrug. “My mom’s clueless around me.”

      The bluster in his voice and the girls’ giggles prodded Meg forward. That’s what you think, buster.

      “Meggie, wait,” Ethan whispered.

      No way. She stepped into the firelight. “Hi, Beau,” she said calmly. “Who’s clueless now?”

      The boy leaped from the log, spilling Zena to the ground. “Mom! What the hell are you doing here?”

      All except Miles scrambled to their feet as Ethan stepped into the light, Lila at his side.

      “Where’d he come from?” Randy muttered.

      Meg glowered around the group. “Who brought the beer?”

      “Like we’re telling you.” Miles puffed out his youthful chest.

      “And you’re underage, Mr. Ralston.” Her gaze caught Beau’s defiant one. “All of you are, so take this is as a warning. Next time you’ll be facing the juvie judge. Pack it up. Party’s over.”

      “Next time you won’t find us,” Beau said, tone full of heroism for his friends. His gaze darted among them.

      “Actually, Chief,” Miles Ralston sneered, then turned to Ethan. “Oops, got it wrong. This here’s the real chief.” The kid lifted a hand, palm out. “Yo—”

      Meg saw red, saw Jock Ralston two decades before. “Miles Ralston. Get off that log, get your stuff together and leave.”

      His lip curled as he rose slowly, a smart-mouthed boy in a man’s body. “Try and make me.”

      She stepped into his space. He wasn’t lanky like Beau, but fit and muscled and she had to look up into his face. “Let’s get a few things straight. This is private property. Second, none of you is of legal drinking age. Third, campfires are prohibited this time of year.”

      “We don’t give a sh—”

      “I do,” she interrupted. “And so does Mr. Red Wolf.” She glanced at Ethan, hoped he could read the message in her eyes. I’m with you. “This is his land now. If you are not out of here in ten seconds, I will haul you down to the station. Got that?”

      A silence fell.

      The boy shrugged. “Let’s blow this pop stand,” he said to the others. “Too many chiefs around here.”

      Letting his comment go, Meg picked up the twenty-two propped against a nearby tree, checked the cartridge. “This yours, Miles?” She pocketed the chambered bullet.

      “Yeah.” A two-syllable word.

      “Come by the office tomorrow with your dad. You’ll get it back then.”

      Within seconds the teenagers had slipped into the night-shrouded woods. “Beau,” Meg called to her son as he followed his friends.

      Beside her, Ethan murmured, “Take it easy, Meggie.”

      The boy halted and she waited until he turned to face her. She said, “I want you in bed and asleep when I get home, understand?”

      He stared at the flickering flames they had yet to douse. “You always ruin everything,” he grouched.

      “Not now, Beau.” She did not want to fight him in front of Ethan. Tonight’s situation was humiliation enough. He had seen her parenting skills—or lack of them.

      But Beau wouldn’t let go. “Don’t you get it? You embarrassed me in front of my friends, playing big-shot cop.”

      “That’s enough,” Meg said.

      Ethan

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