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Dr. Melanie Harding stood.

      Had she called a press conference to talk about the Mary Glen werewolf stories, complete with her brave rescue of a poor dog and removal of a silver bullet from its shoulder?

      Why the hell did he feel so deflated? Because he’d been attracted to the pretty vet? Imagined she was above snatching at her moment of fame? She wouldn’t know it was potentially at his expense. Hell, why would she care?

      When he had sneaked inside that morning, it hadn’t been through the front door. He had found a more vulnerable entry in the back, through a window into a room where pet food and medical supplies were stored.

      He could head there now but didn’t want to attempt to spirit Grunge away surreptitiously. He needed everything to happen aboveboard. He’d sign out his partner, get the prescribed meds and instructions on how to administer them, then scram.

      But now he would have to wait until the crowd dissipated.

      In the meantime, he could listen to the woman make a fool out of herself on camera, patting herself on the back. Fomenting the local werewolf legend.

      Squelching any desire he may have had for her.

      He edged closer.

      One of the reporters was talking, a female in a tight top and short skirt, eye-candy who was trying to sound flippant and sophisticated at the same time. “So you saved the life of a werewolf on your doorstep last night, Dr. Harding? Tell us all about it.”

      “What I’d really like to do is get back inside and help my patients, but even though I’m sure your viewers are smart enough to have understood the first time—” she rolled her eyes from the interrogator back toward the camera, which Drew took to imply that the audience was a lot brighter than the reporter “—yes, I discovered a poor dog outside the clinic last night. A very intelligent dog, to have come here, by the way, so I could help him. He’d been shot by a lowlife who apparently wanted to encourage the local werewolf legend.”

      “Then he was shot with a—”

      “Yes, as I told the reporters who interviewed me before—but I would imagine you were primping for the camera instead of listening, right? Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

      Which was exactly what she was doing. Drew smiled a little in admiration.

      “In any event, you’ve got part of this right: my poor patient was shot with a silver bullet. But was he a werewolf? Well, I’ve started to bone up on the legends so I could be sure, and they say that werewolves change back to human form when touched by daylight. I was with my patient at dawn and he didn’t metamorphose into a person. Too bad.” Her smile was mocking. “I’m a scientist, you know. I didn’t move to Mary Glen because it was reputed to be overrun with werewolves. A good thing, too, since I haven’t run across any.”

      She looked indulgent. She looked exasperated. She looked completely in control.

      And then her eyes met Drew’s. And as soon as she saw him, even at this distance, that sensuous energy that had pulsed between them before was back. Her face flushed, and she looked away.

      Heat surged through him that had nothing to do with the warmth of the spring afternoon. Damn, but Dr. Melanie Harding was one incredible—and hot—female.

      “You haven’t met any werewolves yet,” contradicted the reporter, mugging for the camera. Apparently being insulted before her audience hadn’t fazed her.

      “Yet,” Melanie agreed, her attention back on the microphone. “But as a veterinarian, I’m a scientist. I’m open to learning new things. If Mary Glen really has any werewolves, bring ‘em on.”

      Drew snorted silently. The sexy vet might have had the drooling media leeches in the palm of her hand right now, but she didn’t know what she was saying, not really.

      Bring on the werewolves?

      If she weren’t careful, Dr. Melanie Harding just might get a whole lot more than she had bargained for.

      Chapter Four

      Despite the cacophony of noise from the media scum and their eager audience, Drew heard the quiet sound of familiar footsteps behind him. He turned.

      “What are you doing here, Truro?” he asked even before his gaze landed on his longtime friend and colleague, Captain Jonas Truro.

      “Same as you, Major.” Jonas lifted his right arm and gave a mock salute. “Even though you said he’d be okay, I was still worried about the spoiled old mutt.”

      “Grunge isn’t old,” Drew countered.

      “Just a spoiled mutt.”

      “That’s a highly trained, well-cared-for army issue K-9 to you.”

      “Yes, sir.” Jonas grinned. He was about thirty years old, nearly as tall as Drew but with a heavier build, mostly muscle. His skin was the shade of the chocolate kisses he popped in his mouth almost as often as he drank water. Drew sometimes goaded him about how he was turning into one of the sweets. In turn, Jonas always kidded him about his jealousy. Drew and chocolate didn’t go well together.

      Like Drew, Jonas was ostensibly on duty, but they weren’t on base so neither was in uniform. Jonas wore jeans, too, but Drew’s wine-colored T-shirt was plain compared with Jonas’s, which proclaimed the University of Maryland around a black, gold, red and white depiction of the Maryland state flag.

      “That the vet?” Jonas jerked his nearly clean-shaven head toward Melanie.

      “Yeah,” Drew said. She was chatting vivaciously with her receptionist, Carla, while using her body as a blockade against the media horde and the tourists who might rush the clinic to check out the supposed werewolf. She combined tact and determination, both admirable qualities.

      “She seems to think the werewolf legends are really crap, doesn’t she?” Jonas asked. “I’ve been here long enough to hear her give it to those reporters.”

      “Sounds that way to me, too.”

      “Some interesting lady, isn’t she?”

      “Yeah, interesting.” Drew had intended to make the word sound a lot more scornful than it came out. Ignoring Jonas’s smirk, he continued, “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

      He led the way through the dissipating crowd to the clinic’s front door. As the now-ignored reporters finally turned away, the vet met Drew’s eye. There was a challenge in her expression, as if she expected him to try to barge past her, too.

      Instead, he stopped several feet away.

      “Hi, Major,” said Carla, giving him a big wink.

      Drew was used to her flirtatiousness and didn’t take it seriously. He nodded at her, then turned to Melanie. “Dr. Harding, this is Captain Jonas Truro. We’re here for Grunge.”

      Jonas stepped around him. “Major Connell told me about all you did for Grunge last night, Dr. Harding. I work with him, too, and really appreciate it. And I watched you handle those media types. Great job.”

      “All in a day’s work in werewolf country,” the vet said with a rueful smile. She shook hands with Jonas—and Drew found himself envying the small contact.

      Which irritated him.

      “I’d never have expected so many reporters here in Mary Glen.” Melanie’s tone sounded both baffled and disgusted.

      “Yeah, the tourists like to get word out there if any hint of shapeshifter stuff happens around here,” Jonas said. “They’ve lots of contacts at the D.C. and Baltimore newspapers and TV and radio stations.”

      “So I figured.” Melanie shook her head.

      “How’s Grunge doing now?” Drew interrupted, more abruptly than he’d intended. “You’re sure it’s okay to take

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