Kitabı oku: «Alpha Wolf», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

Melanie barely stifled a gasp. Where was her patient? Surely, he hadn’t turned into this man. The Mary Glen werewolf legends were utter fiction, the creation of superstitious minds…weren’t they?

But if the dog she had treated had become human, this man had some of the features she would anticipate…

“Dr. Harding?” The man’s voice was deep, throaty. All sexy. All masculine.

Human masculine.

“Yes?” she said, hating the slight tremor in her voice. “Who are you?” Good. Her voice was stronger now. “What are you doing here?” She had to see for herself. She sidled uneasily away from the doorway, where this large, compelling man commandeered every inch of her vision, preventing her from viewing the rest of the room.

She needed to see the crate in which her patient had slept last night. Make sure it wasn’t empty. It couldn’t be empty.

“I’m Major Drew Connell. I want to thank you for saving my dog, Grunge.”

“Grunge?” As Melanie said the name, she finally reached a position where the man wasn’t blocking her view. There was the wire crate, still on the floor between the chair she had dragged in and the tall metal table where she operated. The furry dog with the recovery collar was still in it, sitting up, tail wagging furiously.

“Yeah, Grunge.”

“Interesting name.” Melanie felt almost giddy with relief. The dog was still there. Of course. How silly of her to have entertained any doubts, even for a second. Not that she’d really doubted.

But Grunge? The dog looked anything but grungy to her, at least since she had cleaned the blood off him.

“Interesting dog. You should see him after a workout. He really throws himself into it.” Major Connell knelt and put his arms around Grunge, obviously careful not to push the collar into an uncomfortable position, an oddly touching scene—the large, powerful-looking man and the injured dog. He backed off to ruffle the fur on Grunge’s head, then gently turned the dog so he could see the bandaged area. “What happened? How was he hurt? I was engaged in a training exercise on the base late last night, so I wasn’t aware till just a short while ago that he was missing.”

Melanie didn’t answer his question right away. She had too many of her own. It was one thing to keep her imagination in check. It was another to take this man’s appearance at face value. “Then how did you know to look for him here?”

“I couldn’t find him anywhere else, so I used process of elimination and decided to check out the closest vet. And here he was.” He gave the dog another rough pat, then stood again.

Did his answer make sense? Maybe. The nearest military base wasn’t next door, but there weren’t other veterinary clinics or animal shelters any nearer than this hospital.

“He’s your dog?” Melanie demanded. She had to look way up to meet the officer’s eyes. Damn, but the man was good-looking: straight, dark brows over those amber eyes, a slender nose with slightly flared nostrils, a sensuous, full mouth. All that and a hint of dark beard beneath his closely shaved skin.

“Yes and no. He belongs to the U.S. Army, but we’re assigned to work with one another. He’s a highly trained military dog. We use him, and others like him on the base, to help sniff out bombs and other weaponry, to attack on command, and—well, some of his work is classified.”

“Yeah, if you told me you’d have to kill me. I get it.” Melanie kept her tone light, but she stared at the officer. “By ‘base,’ I assume you mean Ft. Lukman, right?”

“Sure, our nearest and dearest facility.”

“Well, military or not, Grunge should be wearing a collar with an ID tag.”

“No argument there. My partner’s a bit of an escape artist, though. He slipped out of his collar and decided to take a walk on his own. I’ll try harder to keep that from happening again.”

“Don’t just try. Succeed. And you train dogs? Is an army veterinarian stationed there?” Melanie’s ears had perked up at the mention of more animals on the base. Ft. Lukman was about five miles from Mary Glen. The soldiers posted there frequented local businesses for goods and services not available at the base’s reputedly small BX. They would have excellent access to all medical needs. But would their animals?

“Not stationed there, but one visits every few weeks to check up on our dogs and facilities. Dr. Worley used to be available in emergencies. His son, Lt. Patrick Worley, is stationed at the base. I expect you’ve met him.”

“Yes, I bought this clinic from him.”

“I figured.”

“And the answer is yes, I’ll definitely be available in emergencies to help your animals. That’s what I do.”

“I’ll remember that.”

His smile was killer. Friendly. Assessing. Suggestive…of what? Hot endless nights? Mind-blowing sex?

What an imagination she was developing around here!

Forget that smile. She wouldn’t let herself get lost in it.

If he’d been an invited guest, or even the owner of a patient, she wouldn’t have kept him standing here like this. She’d have invited him to sit down—on that ugly, uncomfortable chair she’d slept in last night? She glanced toward where it sat near the metal shelves in which her surgical instruments, anesthetics and medicines were locked. No, that would have felt too…intimate. She would have invited him into her office, where she could speak professionally.

But she hadn’t invited him here at all, though she was glad to know that her patient had someone who cared about him. And presumably Uncle Sam would pay for his care.

But still…She asked the major coolly, “By the way, how did you get in here this morning?”

“The front door was unlocked. I didn’t see anyone, so I called out but I guess you didn’t hear me. Grunge did, and he barked, so I knew where to come.”

“I didn’t hear you or him,” Melanie said. Could she believe any of this? Well, she had been on the phone with Chief Ellenbogen. Maybe she had missed Grunge’s barking.

But wouldn’t the other dogs have barked, too? Plus, she had been nervous. Still was. Last night, she had been attuned to listening, after hearing the gunshot. And she was damn well certain she hadn’t left the front door unlocked. She had checked all the doors…hadn’t she?

Well, Chief Ellenbogen was on his way. Some of her staff was due any minute. She wouldn’t be alone with this man much longer. And despite how he had somehow gotten in, she didn’t think he meant her harm. While the police chief was here, she’d look at the doors and windows to see if he’d broken in. Where he’d broken in.

But this large, friendly-seeming military officer was drop-dead gorgeous. So sexy that her body was reacting to him even as they held a totally innocent, superficial conversation.

And that, as much as anything else, made her mistrust everything he said. She’d learned her lesson once and well.

She would never make that mistake again.

This was a mistake, Drew thought. Verbal sparring with this lovely lady vet might be damned fun, but it was much too dangerous.

He wasn’t fooling her. Not entirely, at least.

He inhaled slowly, discreetly, not for the first time, as he savored the rich yet soft floral scent of her.

The more he was with her, the more he thought of touching that smooth skin. Kissing her luscious, frowning mouth until she lost her perfect, and maddening, self-control.

But it was time to get down to business. The business of ensuring that his partner was well cared for. At the same time, maybe he could get Dr. Melanie Harding off her current train of thought—like, what the hell was this guy really doing here?

“Tell me how you found Grunge,” he said. “And I want to hear the extent of his injuries. He doesn’t look too bad. Can I assume he’s okay?”

She had the prettiest blue eyes—startlingly sexy, maybe because they were so unusual. They were as bright as the hyacinths that the newest recruits were assigned to tend this time of year around the lab building at the base. The fragrance of the spiky flowers was almost overwhelming at times—at least to those with a sensitive sense of smell.

This woman’s intriguing aroma was much lighter. She had full lips that glowed pink even though she wore no lipstick. A nose that was perhaps a little too long and narrow. Cheekbones that underscored those eyes.

But it was those eyes that defined her face. Expressive. Intelligent. Emphasized by narrow, arched brows a little darker than her sable-brown hair.

Projecting her obviously deep suspicions of everything he said.

And allowing him, now and then, to believe she was just a little turned on by him, too. Challenging him to stoke fires hidden deep inside.

Now, though, those eyes were bright yet cool, which caused him a pang of disappointment. “I’ll answer those questions one at a time.” She lifted her hands and began to tick answers off on fingers that were long and elegant, tipped in short nails appropriate for a woman who handled animals gently. “How did I find Grunge? I was heading for my home next door late last night and heard him whine.” He winced as she described the trail of blood that led to his dog—a trail he was much too familiar with. “He’d been shot—with a silver bullet, of all things. I take it you know of the stupid werewolf legends around here.”

“Sure do.” He forced himself to laugh and shake his head disparagingly. Oh, yes. He knew about the legends. Which was one reason exercises were always kept on or right around the base—to prevent situations like the one that occurred last night. But Grunge didn’t know about them or understand their implications. He had slipped out through a gate that had somehow been left open. So, therefore, had Drew.

“Anyway,” Melanie said, “Grunge will be fine, as long as there’s no infection. I want to keep him here till sometime later today, so I can be sure of his medications and keep an eye on him.” The look she regaled Drew with now was challenging, as if she expected him to give her a hard time about leaving Grunge.

He didn’t. “Fine,” he said. “Just let me know when I can come and get him, and I will. I expect you’ll tell me then about continued meds and follow-ups and all.” As if he wouldn’t know on his own…but, then, he was a medical doctor, not a vet—notwithstanding the highly classified experiments he was conducting at the base. And in any event, he would need to have details to ensure that he cared for Grunge properly.

“That’s right,” Melanie said.

Drew looked expectantly toward the door an instant before the knock sounded. He had heard signs of life in the reception area for the last five minutes or so, but the vet didn’t seem to notice. The sounds hadn’t been loud, so she might not have heard.

She glanced at him in puzzlement before turning toward the half open door. “Good morning, Carla,” she said to the young woman standing there.

“Good morning,” Carla repeated. “Hi, Drew,” she said in the flirtatiously melodic tone she always used with him and some of the other guys. Not that they ever encouraged her. At least he didn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“Long story,” Melanie Harding said abruptly before he could reply. “He’s just leaving, though.”

“Okay. I just got here, and I wanted you to know that Chief—”

“Hi, Dr. Harding,” said a gruff, older man’s voice from behind the receptionist. A too-familiar voice. It belonged to the local police chief, Angus Ellenbogen. “Good morning, Major Connell. And what brings you here?”

“A lot of people seem to want to know that,” he replied mildly. “My partner, Grunge, was injured last night, and Dr. Harding was kind enough to save him.”

“Really?” Carla squealed.

Ellenbogen squeezed into the room around her and edged her out, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. Seems he was shot with a silver bullet, right Dr. Harding?”

Angus Ellenbogen wore the standard gray local police uniform but his short-sleeved shirt was decorated with an assortment of bars and medals, as if he’d been a well-decorated military general. His hair was as light as his uniform. His wrinkled face gave him color, though—round and ruddy. His eyes were deep-set and worldly wise, as if he’d seen it all right here, in Mary Glen.

Drew suspected that maybe he had.

“I have the bullet in a plastic bag for you,” Melanie said. She had bent to stroke Grunge’s back. The dog looked ready to leap out of the crate, with all the new people around to check out. Melanie flipped the top of the cage closed and latched it.

Grunge didn’t look at all happy about that, and Drew knelt down as Melanie rose. He reached in to rub his dog’s uninjured side with his fingertips.

“Good deal,” Ellenbogen said.

The surgery room, with its operating table in the center and cabinets along the walls, was definitely overcrowded. “Can I move Grunge somewhere else?” Drew asked. The dog needed R&R—rest and recuperation—not excitement.

“I’ll have him taken to the infirmary and put into an enclosure there,” Melanie said, “as soon as the rest of the staff arrives.” She went over to one of the cabinets and picked up a plastic bag from a shelf. It appeared to contain something small and shiny.

The bullet.

“You should tell your junior officer Patrick about this,” Ellenbogen said.

“I will,” Drew assured him. He turned to Melanie. “Lt. Patrick Worley reports to me. His dad—”

“I’m well aware that his parents were killed at different times by someone shooting silver bullets,” Melanie said, her blue eyes stony now. “Patrick had only recently lost his father when we negotiated for me to buy this veterinary practice. I’m sure he’s still grieving, and that he wants answers.”

She darted a glance toward the chief of police, who didn’t look happy about it. Drew liked the little dig Melanie had gotten in. And that wasn’t all he liked about the feisty vet. Hell, no.

And that was starting to worry him.

“I only wish I’d seen who fired the shot,” Melanie continued, “or something else that could help identify what lunatic is out there shooting like this. Someone who believes the Mary Glen werewolf legend, undoubtedly.”

“Undoubtedly,” Drew agreed. If only everyone around here was as skeptical as she was, life would be a lot easier for him. But even so, the questions this sexy vet was asking could be damned hard for him to deal with.

“So Patrick reports to you?” Melanie said, regarding Drew with apparent interest in his answer. “What do you do at the base, Major?”

“Classified,” he said with a shrug.

“Secret stuff,” Ellenbogen said at the same time, his tone indicating his displeasure. “Maybe if they came clean about it, there wouldn’t be so many rumors. One of these days—”

A cell phone rang. The chief reached down to a case attached to his utility belt and extracted his phone. “Ellenbogen,” he said. His wizened face grew even more pinched. “Yeah? Where?” He listened for another few seconds. “I’m on my way.” But instead of dashing out the door, he turned to Melanie. “That dog—any indication of blood on him last night?”

Melanie looked puzzled. Drew, on the other hand, felt a sense of dread. He was afraid he knew what was coming. And however it had happened, it could only harm him and the work he was doing.

“There was a lot of blood on him,” the vet said. “He’d been shot.”

“No, no, I mean around his mouth. Like he bit someone.”

“No! None at all. He was the one who was injured. I didn’t see any indication he’d hurt anyone or anything else.”

“Maybe not. But I want a full report about the dogs you keep on your damned military base, Major. If there’s any sign they chewed on anything they shouldn’t have, I’m going to insist on sending a crime scene team there, security or no security, to take some samples. Got it?” The chief’s face was even redder than usual, and his stare clearly dared Drew to disagree.

“I’ll do a preliminary investigation, Chief. Believe me.” That part was true. “And if there’s anything to report, I’ll tell you.” That part wasn’t.

“Yeah, as if I trust you.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Drew retorted. He understood why the chief of police had an attitude that wasn’t exactly favorable about what went on at Ft. Lukman.

If he only knew the truth…But that would never happen.

“What’s going on, Chief Ellenbogen?” Melanie asked. “Did something else happen besides Grunge getting shot?”

“Yeah. Something else happened. One of our tourists was mauled, and it apparently looks like she was chewed by a damned big dog—or maybe a werewolf,” he added with a snort as he rushed out the door.

Chapter Three

Melanie followed the chief to the clinic’s front door. She watched him drive away in his marked car in a huge hurry, lights flashing.

“What’s going on?” Carla asked, peering outside through the open slats of the mini blinds on the nearby window.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Melanie glanced around the small but cheerful reception area, glad that for once there were no other people with their pets waiting to be seen by her. The six metal and red plastic chairs at one side of the compact reception desk were empty. All 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 Man starring Lon Chaney, Jr.

He had another office at the Pentagon, which wasn’t far from Maryland’s Eastern Shore but seemed a world away. That office was standard issue and looked like everyone else’s. Drew had been there often, especially before he was selected to head up the Alpha Force here at Ft. Lukman.

“I want to hear first about Grunge and what happened last night,” the general said. He was in his early sixties but his short hair was still coal-black, receding considerably at his temples. His features were solemn, his face long and wrinkled from scowling as much as from advancing age.

“Despite all standard precautions, considering the timing, someone apparently left the gate open, and he got out. Made it quite a distance. I saw him get shot, sir, and couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Not last night. Not with the full moon.”

“I understand.” The general leaned forward, clasping his work-hardened hands on the desk. “What about Captain Truro? Was he observing you, as ordered, while you were vulnerable?”

“Yes, sir. After the shot was fired, Jonas drew his own weapon and went after the source. Unfortunately, the shooter got away. In the meantime, I couldn’t let Grunge stay there. He was wounded. Bleeding. I was able to drag him to where he would receive assistance.”

“While in wolf form yourself?”

Drew nodded. “It was a full moon,” he said again, almost angrily—not at the general, but at himself. For being helpless. “None of the medications that allow shapeshifting at will work during a full moon, on me or on any of the others. Not yet. I’m still working on that, but I’ve had no success, and I’m damned frustrated about—”

“I’m aware of all of that, Drew. I was just about to comment on how difficult that must have been, dragging a being of approximately your own size and shape—how far was it?”

“Maybe a mile, sir.”

“Through the woods? And I take it you got him there fast, since you obviously saved his life.”

“Yes, sir. That’s when Jonas caught up with me and got me back here—after I’d watched to be sure that the new vet found Grunge. No one saw anything so far from base, damn it all. None of the others even knew what happened. And if it hadn’t been for me and this whole damned situation—”

“Grunge wouldn’t have gotten shot? We can’t know that for sure.”

“Sure we can,” Drew stormed. “Whoever did it was probably one of the crazies who’re returning to Mary Glen in droves, now that winter’s over and the snow is gone. He—or she, of course—undoubtedly wanted to bag a werewolf and shot at the first thing that looked like one.”

“Or someone may have wanted it to look that way,” the general contradicted. “Maybe an ordinary dog like Grunge was the intended target, and we were supposed to learn something from it.”

“Like what, sir?”

“That’s what we’ll have to find out. That, and the other angle: the civilian who was allegedly mauled. Do any of our group know anything about that?”

“No, sir. But we’ll get the answers. Soon. You can count on it.”

“I do, Drew. Because if we don’t, our entire, extremely critical operation is screwed.”

But Drew was no closer to finding any answers a few hours later, when he headed his military-issue dark sedan to the vet’s office to pick up Grunge.

He had spent a lot of the time with Capt. Jonas Truro, who had been his ostensible nursemaid last night. Each special operative in Alpha was assigned both a canine—or other pertinent animal—as a partner, and an officer or enlisted man, depending on the operative’s rank, as an aide.

Which meant observer and, when needed, nursemaid and caretaker on nights with full moons.

By now, everyone on base was fully briefed on what had happened last night.

But despite what Drew had promised General Yarrow, no one had any answers, or any real clues that could lead to them. Not even Lt. Patrick Worley, who had grown up here. Whose father had been a veterinarian who had attempted to find some of the answers his unit now sought.

Who, like Drew, was a medical doctor and very much ensconced in the program.

Very ensconced. As in shapeshifter extraordinaire, too.

Drew put on his signal and made a sharp right turn.

Ft. Lukman had been aptly named for retired General Maxwell Lukman, a vocal advocate of the idea of using all resources to reach a goal—even the extraordinary and incredible. It was only about five miles by road from downtown Mary Glen but could have been a universe away. Most of those roads were two-lane and obscure, surrounded by the woodlands that made this area so ideal for the covert operations being performed at the facility. And the fact that werewolf rumors had abounded around here for years helped them maintain their cover.

Only, right now, those rumors were getting too much publicity. Too many nut cases were flocking here to check them out. Animals—and people—were getting hurt.