LITMIR.BIZ

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the balls and other toys to amuse dogs while they were waiting still sat in the large wicker basket on the floor’s indoor-outdoor carpeting.

      Major Drew Connell had been right behind her. She had continually been aware of his presence. Now, he edged toward the exit, as well, his posture rigid. He didn’t look happy.

      Neither was she, at the idea of his leaving…

      No! Better that he get out of here so she could assimilate and assess all that had happened.

      “You’re going to check to see if any of the other dogs at the base may have been involved in last night’s…incidents?” Melanie asked him neutrally, using a euphemism of sorts. Something like the attack Angus Ellenbogen had described was unlikely to be kept secret, but Melanie didn’t want to be the one to start spreading rumors.

      Especially since those rumors were likely to fan the already out-of-control flames of gossip about alleged werewolves around here.

      “Yeah, I said I’d do that.” Drew’s golden eyes were hard as he glared down at her, and she shivered. Was that a warning she saw in them? About what? To keep her mouth closed?

      “That’s what you told Chief Ellenbogen.” Melanie knew her tone was icy. Better that than hurt at his change of attitude. “His reasons are different from mine. I was only asking because, if it turns out any of the other animals were injured, I’ll be glad to treat them.” She didn’t like being accused even tacitly of speaking out of turn—or anything else.

      She loved being a veterinarian. She was crazy about her patients. But she could do without having to deal with some of their owners.

      She’d initially thought that wouldn’t include Drew. She had believed they were on the same side. Both wanted Grunge to heal fast and well. Neither liked the absurdity of the werewolf rumors that may have resulted in a dog unfortunately loose at night under the full moon being shot with a damnable silver bullet.

      Then there had been that amazing sexual attraction she had felt—still felt—for Drew. Not something she wanted to encourage, but the look in his eyes suggested he’d felt it, too.

      “Do you know who was attacked by the werewolf?” Carla asked excitedly, stepping closer to Drew. “Were other dogs shot with silver bullets besides Grunge?” She was shorter than Melanie, and her ash blond hair was a mass of curls around an elfin face. At Melanie’s sharp look she said, “I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with Chief Ellenbogen.” She looked so soulfully up into Drew’s face that Melanie wanted to throw up. No, strangle her. She felt mortified that her employee would come on so obviously to a patient’s owner.

      “Of course you could have helped it,” Melanie spat back. “The door was closed. And what you heard through it goes no further.”

      “Good luck on that one,” Drew said, casting an almost amused look toward Carla. “I’ll call you later, Doctor, about when I can pick up Grunge.”

      “Say hi to Patrick for me,” Carla said with a sweet and beseeching smile. Lt. Patrick Worley? The youthful receptionist apparently had a thing for military men.

      “Right,” Drew said, then met Melanie’s gaze. “See you this afternoon.” And then he, too, left.

      Melanie stared after him for a long moment, glad somehow for the connection that would bring him back to retrieve his injured dog. But what had he meant?

      She turned to her clinic’s receptionist, whom she had inherited, like some of the furniture she might not have chosen, with the practice. “Carla, I know you’ve been here longer than I have. And I want to keep you on. But if you’re—”

      “I know. Discretion and patient confidentiality and all that.” The youthful receptionist looked abashed at last. “But, Melanie, the news is already out. It’s on Nolan Smith’s Mary Glen Werewolf Web site.”

      “There’s a Mary Glen werewolf Web site?” Shaking her head, Melanie crossed the room and lowered herself into a chair. Obviously Drew was aware of it, and he also knew that Carla knew of it. That had to be what his ironic wish to Melanie—good luck keeping Carla quiet—must have meant.

      “Sure.” Carla joined her. Her hazel eyes were glowing with obvious excitement. “Nolan’s an expert. He was two years ahead of me in high school and was a tech whiz even then. He loved researching urban legends and started a Web site about them. And his new Web site specializing in werewolves is turning Mary Glen into a mecca for everyone who’s even a teeny bit interested in shapeshifters. Only a few people hung around in winter when you first moved here—who can blame them?—but now that it’s spring again, the tourists are back. Our motels are getting booked up, and whatever happened last night will keep ‘em that way. Nolan just hinted about it this morning, but by tomorrow he’ll have a lot more details.”

      Oh, great. No wonder the rumors of werewolves around here were so rampant—much more than she’d understood when she first considered buying this practice and researched the area.

      “That’s why I was a little late this morning,” Carla continued. “I had to check out Nolan’s site. There was a full moon last night, so I knew he’d put something up—and he did. Awesome! And he’s holding a meeting for everyone in Mary Glen who’s interested in the werewolves tomorrow night, at City Hall. I’m heading there right after work. You should come.”

      “I don’t know,” Melanie said uneasily. She didn’t want anyone to think she believed in such nonsense.

      “But you’re the town vet now,” Carla said. “You should learn all you can. Dr. Worley always used to go to the meetings and talk to everyone, calm them down and warn them not to start shooting at anything they think could be a shapeshifter, silver bullets or not. He treated quite a few animals hurt by the tourists.”

      “Until one of them shot him. Unless it was someone local.”

      “Do you really think someone from Mary Glen shot Dr. Worley?” Carla’s arched eyebrows, darker than her hair, soared even higher in obvious incredulity. “No way! Everyone loved him.”

      Someone obviously didn’t—although the shooting could have been accidental. In any event, the shooter hadn’t been identified yet. Or at least not publicly, even if authorities had a lead.

      “So you’ll come?” Carla asked as the door opened and Keeley Janes came in with her basketful of Yorkie puppies.

      “We’ll see,” Melanie said. It was only when she became immersed in examining the pups that she realized she hadn’t asked Chief Ellenbogen to double-check the security of her doors. She still felt sure she hadn’t left the front door unlocked. But that was how Drew Connell said he’d gotten in. Why would he lie about it?

      And why didn’t she feel more nervous about it than she did?

      “It’s started again, damn it, sir,” Major Drew Connell said to General Greg Yarrow, the commanding officer of Ft. Lukman. He stood at attention in the general’s office, holding his salute.

      “You waiting for an At ease, Drew?” Greg said with a grin. “You got it.” Because of the nature of their very special ops work here, they tended toward informality among themselves, returning to military protocol mostly when others were around. The general was dressed, like Drew, in his usual on-duty army combat uniform, consisting of pale green and beige camouflage fatigues. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

      Drew did as he was told. The general’s office was sumptuous for a military command, especially a base as small and informal as this one, mostly because Greg subsidized it himself. The wooden desk was mahogany, and the U.S. flag behind it hung from a gleaming brass pole. Bookshelves lined the walls, some filled with standard volumes of military regulations and history, and others containing first editions of, arguably, some of the world’s most imaginative fiction: Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Bram Stoker’s Dracula and, of course, an original script from the movie The Wolf

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