Don't Judge a Bear by His Cover (3 page)

"You are being unreasonable and you are being rude." I don't know what I'm saying even as I speak the words. "You haven't heard a word I've said. Whatever problems you're dealing with, they clearly haven't come knocking because you're such a gentleman."

Torben blinks. This he clearly didn't expect. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Takes a deep breath as if he's fighting for patience, and then nods. "Well. If that's the case, I apologize. I didn't mean no disrespect."

This is your one chance! Seize it! But how? I'm flying by the seat of my pants. "If you mean that," I say, "then take me out to dinner and hear me out."

What? I nearly scream at myself. What did I just say? My face freezes as I fight to stay calm. Torben looks even more surprised, but barely. I summon every ounce of self-control that I have and stare him full in the face. Brazen, bold, and with as much fake confidence as I can muster.

"Dinner?" Torben rubs the back of his head. I wish I could read his eyes. He hesitates, and then I see something change in his gaze. Not a softening... but a new look of consideration. Suddenly he's actually looking at me. Saira Froud, a young woman in a sharp suit. Seeing the woman, and not just a stranger who's come barging into his store. "Well. All right. I guess I can do that by way of apology."

"Good." I take out my business card and tuck it into his shirt pocket. "Call me later today. We'll work out the details." Then, before I can panic or change my mind, I turn and almost literally run out of his shop.

Chapter 4

Outside I stumble to my car and resist the urge to crouch out of sight behind it. Get it together, I tell myself angrily, but my meeting with Torben has unnerved me in ways I can't quite explain. I walked in there feeling like a queen of vengeance, and scurried out a dog with her tail between her legs. I start down the street toward the distant river, trying to figure out my emotions. Clarity has been of the utmost importance to me since my disaster three years ago. I can't be impulsive. I can't act without thinking. That way lies trouble. That way lie the kinds of mistakes I've sworn to never make.

So I think and ponder and walk slowly, hands linked behind my back. I asked Torben out to dinner. Well, no; I demanded that he take me. Was that wrong? It veered dangerously close to the line, but no, it was fine. It was the only thing I could have done to salvage the moment. One wrong move, and he would have closed the door on me forever. I managed to hang on, but just by my fingernails. At least over dinner I'll be able to explain how advantageous my offer is. How much trouble he's in.

Or will I? He's beyond oblivious. It's as if he has zero interest in the future of the book world. For a mad moment I wonder if the Bear's Book Cave is some kind of laundering front, and Torben a criminal posing as its owner. No, the thought's laughable. I know nothing about Torben, but I can't imagine him as a criminal. There's something profoundly honest about him. Something sincere. I'm usually an excellent judge of character, and while Torben is almost impossible to read, I feel confident in that.

But then again, can I picture him with a book in his hands? I stop and stare into an art gallery window, not seeing the exhibit within but instead imagining Torben sitting in a massive armchair, a book in hand. His thick, long hair tousled and falling down past his shoulders, his beard glinting in the firelight. Fluffy slippers on his feet. I frown, and the slippers are gone. Bare feet. Bare chest. Hmm. He turns the page, lost in the book. I see myself step up behind him and lean over his shoulder. My hands slide down over his bare chest. He smiles and looks up, and our eyes meet.

I shiver in real life, and quickly turn away from the window to stride down the street. I've heard of animal magnetism. I've heard of love at first sight. I don't know what this, but some deep part of me is responding to this hot mountain man, and it's starting to aggravate me. I'm not here looking for a date. I'm here to close a deal and earn my freedom. I'd better get my head in the game, or I might as well give up and go home now.

I reach the river. It's picturesque, glittering in the sun. The town as a whole, I realize, is pretty damn cute. People look happy. I take a deep breath, and then see Hrald sitting on a porch on the other side of the river. Mindy's General Store, reads the sign above the door. He's drinking a beer right from the bottle and looking sullen.

I bite my lower lip. I need an angle. I need information. Hrald looks as inviting as a junkyard dog, but he's right out in the open. Making up my mind, I cross the bridge quickly, cross the street to the porch, and step up onto it. There are three tiny little tables set out here, but only Hrald is taking advantage of the weather.

"Hi," I say, then pull out a chair and sit down. Brazen, bold, and faking the highest levels of confidence. It's my M.O.

"What do you want?" He's as charming close up as I thought. His curly black hair is shot through with gray, and held back by a bandana. His cheeks are weathered, and I can actually make out a white scar carving its way through his beard. He looks like he's lived a hard life, out in the wild, and each year has taken its toll.

"My name's Saira Froud. You're Hrald." Best to start with the basics.

He lifts his bottle and drinks the rest of the beer in one smooth, practiced pull. His eyes never waver from mine. They're the same as Torben's, I realize. Inhuman in some subtle way. They make me want to blink and look away. As if I'm glimpsing something private, something other. I don't blink, however. Nor do I look away. When he doesn't respond, I plow on.

"We've got something in common." I leave it at that. It's a trick I learned early on. Make an intriguing statement, and then let their curiosity compel them to join the conversation.

Grudgingly, Hrald takes the bait. "And what's that?"

"Torben Halderson," I say, and lean back, watching him carefully.

He grunts. Noncommittal. "What do you want with him? And why should I care?"

This is the tricky part. "We might be able to help each other. We both want to change the status quo. I know you want him to come with you. I want him to sell his bookstore. Maybe we could work together."

Hrald stares at me, eyes hooded as he considers. I hold his gaze as best I can, and feel a wave of revulsion pass over me. This is the kind of crap I hate doing. Finding angles. Working on weaknesses. Forcing good people like Torben to bend to my will by any means I can. Just as I can tell Torben's a good, decent man, I can tell the opposite of Hrald. There's a cruel light in his eyes. His lips seem prone to sneering. Working with this guy is bad news.

"Well, maybe we can help each other," he finally admits. "How you planning on getting hold of his store?"

"I'm not sure. I just got into town. Tell me more about him, and we'll figure something out together."

Hrald grunts. "Buy me a six pack and I might."

I restrain the urge to roll my eyes, and instead just stand and enter the General Store. It's a cheerful place, the kind of mom and pop store that's got personality, and normally I might take my time browsing. Instead, I just go to the side room where wine and beer is sold, and grab a six-pack of cheap American beer. I pay, and then panic. Was this a trick to get rid of me? I rush outside, convinced Hrald will be gone, but he's still there, boots propped up on a chair.

"Here," I say, and set the beers down.

He nods and twists a can free, then pops the tab. "All right, then. What do you know about Torben?"

"Just that he owns the Book Cave, and is doing pretty well. Somehow."

Hrald snorts. "So you know nothing. Maybe you'll not be as much help as I thought."

"I bought you the six-pack," I say. "Keep your end of the bargain."

"Girl," he says, leaning forward, causing his leather belt and jacket to squeak in that way leather has, "our deal only goes as far as I say it goes."

"Oh, yeah?" I can feel myself getting mad. "When you come up with a plan to deal with Torben and Soren, when you figure out how to get what you want without getting your smelly biker ass kicked from here to Boston, you give me a call."

And with that, I go to stand up.

Hrald's eyebrows shoot right up, and then he laughs, a creaky wheeze, and waves me back down. "Touchy, ain't ya. Women. I was just messing. Sit that pretty ass down and let's talk."

I stand there, resolute. I don't want to sit down. I don't want to talk with this guy. I want to deal fair and straight with Torben, but I can sense where that will get me: nowhere.

So I sit.

"Torben, well. First things first. He's a shifter like me. A werebear."

I do a double take. "What?"

"Uh-huh." Hrald knocks the beer back, chugs it down, then crumples the can in his large fist and tosses it over his shoulder. "A werebear."

"You? You're a werebear? And he - ?" I don't know why I'm so shocked. We're practically out in the wilderness here. And everybody knows shifters exist. I've just never met one before.

Hrald extends his pointer finger, and to my amazement a claw pushes up from its tip, a full inch long. He spears it through the top of another beer, and with little effort cuts the thin aluminum and severs the top off altogether. Tossing it aside, he drinks from the ragged edge, not seeming to care if it cuts his lips.

I sit back. A werebear. That would explain his eyes. And the strange attraction I felt for Torben. The outrageous chemistry that scrambled my mind. Shifters can have that effect on certain women, I've heard. Something beyond the physical, almost spiritual. It means they're compatible. I find myself blushing. Torben and I are compatible? Did he feel it too? I don't think he did. Or if so, he hid it better than I did.

"So, anyways." Hrald burps. "Torben's like royalty. Of sorts. His dad was the alpha of our clan up in Canada. We're a roving group. Known as the Claws. We're... how would you put it." His smile leaves me cold. "A biker gang, I suppose. We defend a large stretch of turf. Do a little business on the side. You know how it is."

I absorb this as quickly as I can. Business on the side. Crime. Smuggling? Nothing good. So I just nod.

"Anyways. Torben's dad died a few years ago. Skirmish with some werewolves. Fucking scum. His elder brother, Ingrir, took the position. Led us pretty good, he did. But then he upped and got himself killed last month."

"Werewolves?" I hazard. I feel faintly ludicrous saying it.

Hrald nods. "The same. They're led by this one big bastard. Cold as ice and hard as iron. We want Torben to come back and lead the clan. Always been a Halderson leading us. We ain't about to let that stop."

"But." My mind spins. "Why is he running a bookstore in Honeycomb Falls, then?"

Hrald finishes his second beer. Crumples and tosses it. "Touched in the head, maybe. He ain't no Ingrir, that's for sure. Torben, he's soft. But a few months back on the saddle would set him straight. He's a killer. He just needs to be reminded."

"But he doesn't want to go," I say.

"That's what he says. But he'll come."

"Oh? And how are you going to make that happen?"

Hrald gives me his cold-snake smile. "I'm the first. An ambassador, if you will. I make a phone call, the whole clan will come roaring down. Sweep into Honeycomb Falls and take Torben with us. He and Soren can face me down. He and Soren will get whupped from here to Saturday if all thirty of the clan show up at his door."

I look across the bridge and up the cute little street that's lined with coffee shops, art galleries and restaurants. I try to imagine a mass of crazed killer werebears roaring down the street. Terrifying people. Probably trashing the place. Something basic at my core abhors the very thought.

"He'll fight you," I say, absolutely convinced.

Hrald nods. "Sure. We'll overpower him. Might have to kill that other werebear, but that ain't here or there. We'll have to do it quick-like, so that the local cairn don't get wind. In and out, before anybody's the wiser. So." He pops open the third can. None of them seem to be having any effect on him. "That's my plan. You got one better?"

I don't, but I find myself nodding. "Oh, yes. And it doesn't involve calling in your whole clan because I can't get the job done by myself."

Hrald's expression darkens, and I know I've scored a hit. He can call his clan, but to do so would be admitting defeat.

"I'm having dinner with Torben tonight. I'm going to convince him to go of his own free will." Brazen, bold, and falsely confident.

"Oh, yeah?" Hrald doesn't try to hide his skepticism. "And how's that?"

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," I say. "So why don't we do the following. You lie low today. Don't make any phone calls. I'll get in touch with you after dinner, or first thing tomorrow morning. If I'm right, you'll ride north with Torben without any fuss. If I'm wrong, you make your call."

Hrald stays quiet for an agonizingly long period of time, and then finally nods. "Sure. Why not. You got the balls for it. Maybe you'll come through. I'm staying at a motel ten minutes outside of town. If you need a place to stay, I'm sure I could make room for ya."

My skin crawls at his lecherous grin, and I stand up. "No, thanks. I'll meet you here tomorrow morning at eight." Before he can answer, I step down off the porch and quickly cross the bridge again, back onto the main street.

Chapter 5

My phone rings around six. I'm sitting in a small coffee shop called the Gypsy Cafe, sipping on a latte and staring out the window, chin on the palm of my hand. The coffee shop is cute, with an authentic indie vibe and a picturesque cast of tattooed college-age servers behind the counter who seem equally adept at wrangling their espresso machine as goofing around and engaging their customers in conversation. Good music is pulsing through hidden speakers, and if I squint my eyes just right I can imagine I'm just hanging out for the fun of it, see a life where I'm not owned and controlled. Where I'm a normal person doing normal things, living a life that's hers and hers alone.