Loyal Wolf (6 page)

“Must be something interesting,” Jock said mildly. “But we'd better keep on the move.”

He nevertheless waited until Click lifted his leg to imbue the area with his own canine smell. And then they continued on.

“So what are those ideas you came up with?” Kathlene asked, walking directly behind him as they made their way through the towering trees that had a sweet, piney aroma.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been fully distracted by Click and his reaction to the odors of the woods.

“We need more information about what's going on inside the compound,” Jock said. “For one thing, we'll want to know where the
sportsmen
hang out when they're in town. If possible, we'll act like we're of the same hunting mind-set and also want to engage in target practice and have the fun of killing whatever game is in season.”

Even though that was contrary to his way of thinking. There were plenty of farm animals raised to be meat. He might feel sorry for them, but he was definitely carnivorous. He was a wolf in human form.

But in his opinion creatures that were wild, like wolves, should be permitted to stay that way. Survival of the fittest would allow them to feed on their own kinds of prey.

Humans did not need to kill or eat them.

“I can give you some information about that,” Kathlene said. “There are a couple of bars in town where the sheriff's department has been called in because of some altercations between our townsfolk and some nonresidents. One's a sports bar near our headquarters—Arnie's. At least some of those who've gotten out of control came to town from that ranch.”

“Good. We'll work that out soon, then.”

“But not tonight?” She sounded curious. Too curious.

He knew what was coming next.

“No, not tonight.”

“Then what are we doing tonight?” she asked.

We
. Of course she would assume it would be
we
.

Which it was. But that
we
included only Ralf and him. Not her. Not for what he had planned tonight.

Click stopped to circle slightly before defecating. Good. That gave Jock an opportunity to stop, too, and turn and face Kathlene.

He drew himself up as much as possible and looked down on her slim, yet official-looking form in her deputy sheriff's uniform.

But for this purpose, he was in charge, her job notwithstanding.

“Ralf and Click and I are going to do pretty much as we did last night,” he told her. “Observation and reconnaissance at the perimeter of the target facility. Just us.” He raised his hand to stop her as she opened her mouth to protest. “I know you're part of our team. You won that right. But we can't spend our time worrying about where you are and if you're okay, especially when we're just doing our preliminary examinations. You can work with us, participate in other aspects of what we're doing—but only if you listen to what I'm telling you now.”
And obey me,
but he knew better than to say that.

She glared up at him. Damn, but that firm chin, that angry scowl on such a beautiful face...it turned him on. Even more than her presence already generated reactions inside—and outside—him that he'd never have imagined would occur with a woman in uniform, especially when that uniform was not one associated with Alpha Force.

“Then you promise that this will be the only time you'll not include me in your plans from now on.” It wasn't a question but a statement. Her voice was chilly, but not even that forced his body to lose interest.

“Yes,” he lied as he stooped to clean up after Click. “I promise—as long as you promise not to interfere with what we're doing tonight.”

Chapter 6

S
ure, Kathlene had given her promise.

She needed to make sure Jock considered her a member of their team, so what else could she do? She didn't want to fight him again, at least not yet. Besides, he claimed it would only be this one time they would exclude her.

Ha!

On her drive back to department headquarters that afternoon, along the winding road outside town, and even when she reached the main streets, she stewed.

Damn the man and his overprotective, exclusionary attitude!

Was it going to be like this all the time? Would Jock tell her each day that she'd be included in their plans...tomorrow. But not today?

Well, she might not be officially included in their recon plans that night.

But unofficially?

She'd been there last night observing.

She would do the same tonight.

* * *

They'd followed Kathlene back into town. No, not followed her. Not exactly. But Jock had made sure that Click was settled back in his cabin. Then he drove their car, with Ralf in the passenger's seat, in the direction that Kathlene had headed.

When they reached Cliffordsville, their first plan of attack was to drive by the sheriff's department.

Kathlene's car had been parked in the large outside lot. Was she inside the building?

She could be out on patrol already. And each sheriff's department vehicle, parked in rows nearest the building, looked like the rest, with their white color, gold logo and lights on top. Jock could definitely distinguish them from the unofficial ones also parked in that lot where Kathlene had left her car among a bunch of others—ones probably also belonging to the deputies and other department employees.

It didn't matter where she was, not now. Or it shouldn't matter.

But now that Jock had met her, he worried about her safety—her training and the way she had demonstrated her prowess in hand-to-hand notwithstanding.

Would she listen to him and stay away that night?

He doubted it.

But he had to trust her...didn't he?

“So where are we going?” Ralf asked from beside him.

“Any games on TV now? I saw a sports bar not far from the restaurant where we had lunch, and it might be the one Kathlene mentioned. I think this would be a good time for beer and conversation if the place is likely to have any kind of crowd.”

Ralf pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and slid his fingers over it. “Baseball, of course. But I'm not sure what teams they follow in Montana. There aren't any major league teams here. Maybe college teams. There's a baseball game between the Minnesota Twins and New York Yankees being played in the East tonight, starting about now. Maybe they watch stuff like that in the bars, even though it's not local.”

“We'll go see,” Jock said.

Sure enough, Arnie's Bar, along Main Street, had a big-screen TV on the wall, and it was tuned to that baseball game. The crowd seemed rather sparse, but of course Jock was used to seeing lots of people gather in bars in the Baltimore area when he and other Alpha Force members decided to join regular humans in their celebration of the teams nearest to their headquarters at Ft. Lukman on Maryland's Eastern Shore.

Jock motioned for Ralf to join him on a couple of empty stools at the tall wooden bar where most of those present had congregated.

“Hi,” he said, the epitome of friendly visitor when the bartender, a short, middle-aged guy who looked as if he enjoyed both the drinks and food he served, came over to take their orders. Both chose a locally brewed bottled beer. Jock liked beer, and drinking one that originated from around here should provide an additional topic of conversation, if they needed one besides sports. Oh, and who besides them were visitors here?

Jock glanced around at the others surrounding the bar. All eyes were focused on the large screen occupying the wall behind where the bartender bustled around filling orders. Jock looked at the score at the bottom of the picture. Close game. Just one run separated the two teams, but it was only the second inning. Plenty of time for them to jostle for position before one or the other won.

The bartender plopped bottles and glasses down in front of both Ralf and him without offering to pour. That was fine with Jock. In fact, drinking directly from the bottle seemed more appropriate to this apparent guy hangout.

He lifted his bottle in a silent toast, and Ralf did the same. Both took swigs just as some members of the small crowd around them started to cheer. Jock looked up to see the screen filled with two players dashing to the next bases. The batter for New York must have hit a double, or at least his teammates were treating it like one.

“Hey,” Jock said to the guy on his left side. “Good game, huh?”

“It's okay, but it may be over already since the Yanks have scored again.”

“I'm from Seattle,” Jock said, “just visiting here. I wouldn't mind if the Yanks won. How about you?”

“The Twins are my team,” he said shortly.

“Are you from Minnesota?” Jock asked. “Or do you live here?” He kept his tone light, as if all he was doing was making polite conversation rather than conducting his first interrogation here.

“Neither.” The guy took a swig of his own beer and stared back up at the screen. Interesting, Jock thought. He might just have been lucky enough to start out finding one of the possible anarchists—or sportsmen, as Kathlene was calling them. Although the guy could, of course, just be visiting friends or relatives here, or even have business to conduct in Cliffordsville.

But his disinclination to answer suggested some degree of secrecy. Jock couldn't rule him out as being one of those hanging out at the old ranch for possibly nefarious purposes.

He felt Ralf elbow him gently and turned toward his aide. “Hey, Jock,” Ralf said. “This is Hal.” He gestured toward the man on his other side. “He's just visiting town for a while, like us. He's doing some target practice on a ranch not far from the motel where we're staying.”

Jock leaned so he could check out Hal from behind Ralf. He held out his hand. “Hi, Hal. Good to meet you. You a hunter?” He kept his tone light and nonjudgmental. Heck, if he were to ask, probably ninety percent of the regular humans who lived in an area like this most likely engaged in hunting, for food or sport or both and probably most complied with the laws. Just because he identified with some of the wildlife they might go after didn't mean he should give them a hard time about it.

“Sure am,” Hal said. He was a moderate-sized guy and, if Jock were to guess, he probably worked out regularly with weights, judging by the way his arm muscles bulged as he, too, reached around Ralf to shake Jock's hand.

“Me, too,” Jock lied. “We're only here for a short time visiting an old friend of mine, but target practice sounds like fun. Any possibility of our joining in?” Of course, they'd have to find reasons not to if it turned out this guy's target practice wasn't at the old ranch as part of whatever was going on there.

“Could be,” Hal said. He stood and walked behind Ralf and Jock, approaching the guy at Jock's other side. That guy didn't look too pleased, especially when Hal said, “Hey, Nate, we got room to enlist some other hunters?” If Jock wasn't mistaken, Hal, who was even taller than Jock had first thought and had a substantially receding hairline, half winked toward the man he called Nate.

“Probably not just now,” Nate said, not sounding especially inviting. “But I can check. You guys done much shooting before?”

Jock started making up a whole story of how he'd loved hunting since he was a kid. He added what he thought might help make up this Nate's mind if he was one of the leaders and the group actually was composed of anarchists. “Thing is,” he ended up saying, “there are so many damned laws about who can own guns and where you can shoot them and what you can shoot where we come from—well, it's just damned frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “Where I'm from, too.” He held out his hand. “I'm Nate Tisal.”

Jock introduced himself and Ralf, too.

Tisal appeared to be in his fifties, with a lot of gray in his dark hair and divots resembling parentheses emphasizing the narrowness of his lips. His light brown eyes seemed to study Jock, as if he were trying to dig into his mind and learn what he really thought about hunting and guns.

“Where's that?” Jock asked in a tone that was studiedly casual yet friendly.

“Another state,” the guy dissembled. “How long you here for?”

Obviously turning the topic back to him, Jock thought. “Just a few days. Ralf and I are on our way to Yellowstone, but I wanted to take the opportunity to visit a friend from my college days who lives here.”

“Who's that?” Nate immediately shot back.

Jock had already talked about this with Ralf. Since they were likely to be seen in town with Kathlene, who wore her deputy sheriff's uniform a lot, it would be better to be up front about that so none of the possible anarchists they met would assume they were talking to the authorities about their newest acquaintances.

Even though they would be.

“My old buddy Kathlene Baylor. Who'd a thunk back then that she would go into law enforcement? She's with the local sheriff's department, of all things.” He shook his head as if he was totally befuddled by the idea.

“She is?” Despite the casualness of Tisal's tone, he sounded interested. Worried? Probably not.

“Yeah. I don't get it. But damned if she doesn't look good in a uniform.” Jock looked around. “Hey,” he said, and waved toward the bartender. “I'd like another beer. How about you?” He looked at Nate. “I'm buying. And you, Hal?”

Jock paid for a round of beers for the four of them, who were now good buddies. Or at least he had made some inroads, he hoped, into finding out more about these men and those with them—and whether they were, in fact, terrorists or more.

He realized he hadn't fully established, not yet, that they were among those hanging out at the old ranch. But he'd have bet another round of drinks for everyone there, including the additional dozen or so guys also still at the bar, that these two were part of that group.

And were they anti-law? Anti-government? That remained to be seen.

But with their initial attitude about hunting and guns...well, he couldn't rule it out, either.

* * *

“Hey, the sheriff's got a job for you for tomorrow afternoon.”

Kathlene had just gotten back to work, logged in and contacted her partner, Jimmy Korling, who was going to come by and pick her up in their patrol car. She was heading outside to wait for him when Undersheriff George Kerringston hustled from the doorway to catch up with her.

She pivoted to face George. If Sheriff Frawley had personally chosen an assignment for her, it probably involved hanging out in their cruiser on the street where some town muckety-muck's kid was having a birthday party inside.

George Kerringston had been with the sheriff's department for twenty years and bragged about that often. He was slightly tall, slightly plump, and all dazed most of the time. Kathlene had wondered whether their old boss, Sheriff Lon Chrissoula, had kept George on out of kindness to him or to his large and needy family, and had thought their supervisor particularly sweet to have done so. Back then, George was just a deputy, like her.

But Sheriff Frawley had promoted him. Kerringston couldn't have been happier. Or more loyal. He probably had few thoughts of his own, anyway, so he'd undoubtedly been delighted to become Melton's second in command and pass along anything and everything his boss told him to.

“Thanks, George,” Kathlene made herself say. “Do you know what the assignment is?” She braced herself for something minor and useless that she'd hate.

Instead, though, it was something potentially important. “Yeah. You and a few others are being sent to patrol tomorrow afternoon's meeting of the county commissioners.”

“Oh? Great. I'm on my way out now but will check more about it when I go off duty later.”

“Okay.” He looked her square in the face, then let his gaze roll lustfully down over her body, which made her freeze and want to go take a shower. When she glared angrily back at him, she'd have sworn he was about to drool.

Before she could say anything, he turned. Lord, couldn't the man even remember to tuck in his uniform shirt? He wasn't only a sleazy, unintelligent goon, but he was also a slob who only made the sheriff's department look bad.

But Melton obviously didn't care. He had this guy's undivided allegiance.

Some other deputies were just entering the building. They looked at her curiously, and she just shot them a smug smile that was intended to tell them this was a fine day and she was doing just great, thank you. Never mind what she was thinking inside.

She wondered what overprotective Jock Larabey would have thought about her exchange with Kerringston. Good thing he wasn't here.

At least her trading of lustful expressions with Jock was mutual—and they both understood that acting on any real sexual interest between them simply wouldn't happen.

Kathlene scanned the street in front of her. There were only a few pedestrians along the sidewalk. Not much automobile traffic, either. She wasn't sure where Jimmy was, but he was obviously taking his time getting here to pick her up.

Well, that was fine. She would use the time to her benefit. She decided to make a quick phone call—to Commission Chair Myra Enager. Myra was Tommy X's lady friend. She was also a friend of Kathlene's. Maybe even a reason why Kathlene remained with the Clifford County Sheriff's Department. Myra was both a role model for a woman's being in charge of something important around here and a sounding board for Kathlene to vent when things here didn't go well.

Not that she would abuse her authority and tell Sheriff Frawley where to go on Kathlene's behalf. And that was fine with Kathlene. She would handle this, like everything else in her life, herself.