The managing editor at the
Naked Truth
had a philosophy he lived by—never let yourself be conned. It was a philosophy he expected his reporters to follow, to never accept anything anybody said until it was checked and rechecked and checked again.
As a result, Andrea would have to say his staff was far and away the best and most accurate in journalism, bar none. She was proud to call herself part of that staff now. Once you got past the ridiculous front pages showing celebrities in all their drunken glory, the magazine wasn’t all
that
bad.
She glanced at Sean. He was still watching her, that predatory smile back on his handsome face. He hadn’t taken the card from the kid, thank goodness. “Are you staying at the motel or a bed and breakfast?” he asked.
“Motel.” Not that it was any of his business.
“You know, there’s this wonderful Mexican restaurant right down the street from where you’re staying. If you’d like, we could talk about this in more detail over dinner tonight.”
It took a lot of effort not to look too shocked by the offer.
Sean Hunter
was flirting with
her.
Big-time. Oh, if he only knew. She was dressed casually in jeans, a jacket and a pair of boots. She might not have been as surprised by his offer had she been dressed in her professional attire. He’d always seemed to like the prissy type.
Of course, she could have a lot of fun with this. String him along. Tease him unmercifully and then walk away. Sort of poetic justice.
No way in hell.
There was still a slight chance he’d figure out who she was even if he never saw her business card. Better safe than sorry. It was best just to steer clear of Sean Hunter while she was in town.
A smile tugged at her lips as she answered, “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hunter, but I have other plans.”
“Sean,” he reminded needlessly.
Reed made a throat-clearing sound. “You know, I saw the werewolf myself.”
“You saw it. Really?”
“About three months ago.” The teenager nodded, completely serious. He told her his story, of driving past the “werewolf” attacking a sheriff’s deputy in a patrol car and then having a stare-down with the animal while the officer scrambled to safety.
Andrea’s eyebrows shot up. “When you say ‘attacking’ what do you mean?”
“It was lifting the back end of his car, kind of like it was trying to shake him out of it,” the kid answered, demonstrating with hand gestures.
“It
lifted
his car?”
“Yes, ma’am. If I hadn’t blown my horn and distracted it, who knows what would have happened? That creature had to be pretty freaking strong to lift a car like that.”
Ma’am?
Lord, she was getting old.
“What did it look like?”
“Big, maybe seven feet tall, covered in fur. It had long arms, long hands with really long claws, and a head like a dog or maybe a wolf.”
“I guess that’s why they’re calling it a werewolf.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. At least her headache was going away.
“Yeah, but it didn’t look like a werewolf, not really,” Reed continued. “It’s just hard to describe, but something similar to what was in the
Underworld
movies is the closest I can think to describe it. There are drawings of werewolves online that look nothing like this thing.”
She took notes, listening quietly, showing no emotion. “Were you drinking or smoking anything before this happened?” She had to ask.
He looked offended. “No. No way. I don’t do that stuff.”
She sent him a pointed look, not certain if she believed him or not.
“I swear,” Reed promised. “My dad was an alcoholic before he left. I told myself I’d never touch the stuff—and that goes for pot and everything else too. I have the occasional cigarette now and then, but that’s all. Look, I know what I saw. The deputy was there too, if you don’t believe me.”
This kid was a real Chatty Cathy. She liked him, so she nodded, accepting the explanation. “I believe you.” She believed that he believed the story, anyway. She scribbled the deputy’s name for a follow-up.
“I can vouch for the kid,” Sean said. He had moved to a tree farther away and stood propped against it, arms crossed. “The deputy won’t talk about what happened, but if Reed says he saw something, then he saw something.”
“I’ll, uh, make a note of it.” Was that really her voice? Even to her own ears, it sounded weak and subdued, not firm like it usually did during an interview.
You’re not yourself. You really need to get out of here.
Reed leaned over her, and she felt him watching her write. When she looked up, he was staring at her like he’d never seen a woman before. He offered her a shy, somewhat goofy smile. “So, uh, are you feeling better?” he asked.
Up close, she saw that the teenager was reasonably good-looking with a stylish mass of dark brown hair and dimples that winked at her each time he smiled. The small glasses perched on his nose were stylish, hinting that he had good taste.
His looks had young Jake Gyllenhaal written all over him, but his mannerisms screamed geek with a capital
G
.
Andrea couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the kid. Awkward youth. Wannabe reporter. Yeah, she’d been in his shoes once upon a time.
“I am feeling better, Reed,” she said. “Thank you.”
He sighed, looking pleased with himself as he aimed an obviously relieved grin in Sean’s direction. “Good,” Reed said. “Do you need a ride to wherever you’re staying?”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Andrea glanced over her notes before sliding them into her bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she looked at the two men and gave a polite nod. She stood and was able to keep her balance this time. A definite sign things were improving.
“If you’d like, you can follow me back to the office,” Sean said, staying close as she walked. “It would only take a few minutes to get you copies of the articles we’ve run on this thing.”
She shook her head. “I appreciate your help, but I won’t keep you any longer today. You don’t want to keep that two-hundred-pound pumpkin waiting to have its story told, now do you?”
She thought Sean might have flinched when she said that, but it was probably just wishful thinking.
“Hey, maybe we can go to lunch or dinner sometime while you’re here. I’d love to talk about journalism with you,” Reed offered eagerly. He fell into step beside her as she maneuvered her way through the trees.
Andrea’s head felt better, and a glance at her watch indicated it wasn’t as late as she feared. She might just be able to squeeze in that animal control interview today after all. She could stop by her motel, change into more professional clothing and make it there in under twenty minutes.
“Uh, sure,” she told Reed. “Give me a call tomorrow. You’ve got my cell number on the card.” She sent him a flirtatious wink as she slid her sunglasses into place and entered a clearing not far from where her rental was parked. “I can see my car from here. Thank you, again, for rescuing me, fellas. Maybe someday I’ll be able to repay the favor.”
“Lois Lane.”
“What?” Sean tore his eyes off the retreating figure of the lovely female reporter and sent a questioning look at his youngest staffer, who was doing some watching of his own.
The kid must have realized he was staring like a lovesick puppy, because he straightened and tried to act like he hadn’t been all that impressed. “Oh you know. That’s who she sort of reminded me of—the chick who plays Lois Lane on
Smallville
?”
Sean shrugged. He might have to check the show out sometime for comparison. “I only know Margot Kidder, maybe Teri Hatcher as Lois Lane. Sorry.”
“Not that I watch
Smallville
or anything,” Reed carefully pointed out, obviously feeling the need to defend his coolness. “My sister watches it, and well, I couldn’t help but notice what a hot piece of—” he was close to babbling and turned a shade of red before pushing his glasses up his nose, “—uh, such a pretty actress,” he finished.
“Yeah, I get the point. Answer your phone, will ya?”
Reed turned a darker shade of red and scrambled to get the phone from his pocket.
Poor kid.
Sean watched Andrea climb into her red SUV and pull onto the road. He reached over and plucked the business card out of Reed’s hand. Nice and professional, he noted, eyeing the imprint of the tabloid’s emblem and address. He noticed the name. Andrea Lockhart, staff writer.
Andrea Lockhart?
Not the same Andrea Lockhart he went to school with? Andi? No way.
She
had been a quiet, chubby tomboy, nothing like the woman who’d just walked away from him. The girl he had known back in college had been almost as green and awkward as Reed was. Nothing like the bold and unflinching woman who’d just turned down his offer of dinner without so much as batting an eyelash. She’d been terribly shy, even clumsy. He remembered how she’d always held her head down as she walked and how she’d had a tendency to trip, fall or bump into anything that had the misfortune to be in her path. Not to mention, Andi Lockhart had been a serious-minded reporter wannabe, destined for the copy desks of the
Washington Post
or
Time Magazine
. The idea of her working for a tab was just too outrageous to imagine. No way could it have been her.
Then Sean remembered her eyes, as green as emeralds and a little bit cold toward him. Andi’s eyes had been a striking shade of green as well, and yeah, she sure had every reason to dislike him.
Okay, so it
could
have been her.
In fact, the more he thought about it…something about her had been awfully familiar.
“Well I’ll be damned.” If it was Andi Lockhart—and the whisper of recognition told him it was—she’d sure blossomed. He’d always known she had the potential to be both a great reporter and a beautiful woman. All she’d needed was a push in the right direction. Maybe what he’d said to her the last time they’d been in a room together actually made that difference.
The memory of that encounter almost made him flinch. He hadn’t handled it well. He’d been trying to be cruel to be kind, but she’d looked at him as if he’d kicked her in the gut.
“Hey, Sean, I got Mr. Thomas on the phone. He wants to know if you’re gonna make it out to his farm today for the pumpkin or not.”
Sean grimaced. “Do me a favor, kid. Handle that one for me. Something has come up that I need to take care of.”
Reed shrugged.
Sean tucked Andrea Lockhart’s business card into his pocket. Pumpkins be damned. He had a much better subject to investigate this afternoon.
Andrea glanced at the man sitting across from her. “You actually keep records on this…werewolf?”
“Yep.” The animal control officer cocked a grin and slid a manila file folder with bold, black writing on it across the desk.
The Werewolf Files.
Charles Browder snickered and leaned back in his chair. His voice was heavy with a Southern drawl. “Go on, take a peek if ya want. I doubt there’s anything in there of any real use, but some of it’s plenty interestin’ to read. Probably twenty or more incident reports this year alone.”
She took advantage of his generosity and picked up the folder and its contents. No matter how much she wanted this to be a non-story so she could get out of town tonight, few officials were as accommodating as Mr. Browder. It was at least an hour past his quitting time, but he’d stayed to meet with her instead of rescheduling their appointment. She’d be both rude and a fool not to at least look at the reports he’d compiled.
Andrea despised deliberate rudeness, and she was no fool, despite what those familiar with the publication she wrote for these days might think.
Damn Sean.
Working at the
Naked Truth
didn’t embarrass her. So why did running into Sean suddenly make her self-conscious about it? Okay, she admitted, working for a tabloid
sometimes
bothered her. She’d been an award-winning reporter at a large newspaper on the fast track to management. A life time ago. Before the accident. Before Lisa died. Everyone had said it wasn’t Andrea’s fault, that she shouldn’t feel responsible.
Yeah, right. Even now, four years later, Andrea lived with the guilt of her friend’s death. Living with that guilt—living with what had happened, period—had changed Andrea in so many ways.
So, writing for a tabloid wasn’t that bad in the scheme of things. After everything she’d been through, Andrea was simply glad to have a job reporting anything.
“There have to be more than fifty reports of sightings in this folder.” She lifted her eyes from the bulging file to look at the man in charge of the county’s animal population. Charles Browder had a thick, muscular build that made him resemble a wrestler more than a county official. He reminded her a little of the wrestler Stone Cold Steve Austin. “How long have you been receiving calls about this?”
Browder shrugged. “Couple of years, maybe three. The reports tell ya.”
She made note of a few of them. As he excused himself to answer a phone call, Andrea glanced around the small, windowless office that was nothing more than a back room in the county’s animal shelter. The distant sound of doggy yapping and whining cats was constant, thanks to the nearby kennel that housed rescued and stray animals.
Andrea sighed and smoothed out a crease in the black pantsuit she’d changed into before coming here. She would have liked a pet. She had a small condo near Miami that she considered her home base. But traveling so often, she knew she couldn’t keep a plant alive, let alone a dog or a cat.
She pulled out a pen and positioned her notepad on top of the werewolf file when Browder replaced the phone. “So what exactly does an animal control officer in Glynn County do, Mr. Browder?”
“Aside from the obvious, I investigate cases of abuse, rumors of puppy mills, that sort of thing. If folks or the po-lice need help handlin’ an animal, they give me a call.”
“And I suppose werewolves classify as animals.” She made a short note of his job description, even as she smiled at the idea.
“Let me get one thing straight. I don’t think this is actually a werewolf.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “Probably just a bear, maybe a ky-oat, and a big one at that.”
“Really? So there
are
bears and coyotes in the area?”
He shrugged. “We have seen one or two bears in the county before. They tend to wander down from the mountains every now and agin, so seeing ’em ain’t as rare as you’d think. Now wolves, they ain’t common, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some folks have hybrids as pets. We’ve also got ourselves quite a growin’ ky-oat population in this area.”
She remembered some of the details she’d picked up skimming his reports. She looked him in the eyes. “Most of these sightings describe the animal as walking on two legs. Where I come from, wolves and coyotes don’t exactly walk on two legs.”
“They don’t around here either.” He chuckled. “That’s why I tend to think it’s just a bear. Folks can let their imagination get carried away when they see somethin’ they don’t expect to see. There are all sorts of explanations for somethin’ like this, Miss Lockhart. But a werewolf?” He shook his head. “Ain’t no way.”
She agreed with him, of course, although she tried hard not to show it.
Still, it was fascinating that some people in this small town thought they were actually seeing one. Reed seemed like a credible enough eyewitness. The fact that the county animal control officer even had a werewolf file meant there was a story here after all.
Heaven help her, but Andrea was intrigued despite herself.
“Have you seen this picture before?” She reached into her bag for the photograph she’d been handed when given this assignment.
An intern had somehow acquired the photo, and truthfully, Andrea had no idea if it was legitimate or not. She couldn’t spot any obvious manipulations, but hey, she’d been fooled before.
Browder looked over the enlarged and slightly blurry picture of what appeared to be a werewolf-like creature walking along the edge of a cornfield and seemed amused by it.
“Nope.” He handed the picture back to her. “Never seen it before. Mind if I ask where ya got it?”
She shrugged. “
I
got it from my editor, and it’s why I’m here. We’d like an article to go along with the picture before we publish it. Of course, that’s only if it’s not a fake.”
Browder nodded, looking both surprised and a tad impressed. She read him like a book. He was surprised the
Truth
hadn’t just run the picture first and asked questions later.
Andrea slid the photo back in front of him. “What about the animal in the photo? Would you still describe that as ‘just a bear’?”
He took a deep breath and looked at the photo again. “I admit, it don’t look like any bear I’ve ever seen or heard of, but a clearer picture or a DNA test would be just about the only way to say for sure.”
She slid the photo back into her bag. “Do you think any of the people who contacted you with one of these reports would be willing to talk to me?”
Browder leaned back in his chair and scratched the gray stubble speckled down his neck as he considered the question. Andrea had already memorized some of the names on the reports and figured she could track them down easily enough on her own. Even so, she prided herself on her professionalism. She’d much rather play it straight unless she was left with no choice.
Sean had once taught her that.
“I suppose Doc Parkins would be willin’ to go on the record agin.” Browder reached into his desk drawer for a pen and sticky note. He scribbled something as he spoke. “Kristy might be willin’ to tell ya what she saw, but she probably won’t want to go on the record on account her husband is running for office. But Lord knows she does tell anyone who will listen she still has the scratch marks on her fender to prove what she saw.”
“Scratch marks. Really?” Andrea made a mental note to unpack her camera before she made her way to the woman’s house, just in case.
He handed Andrea the sticky note with at least three names and phone numbers scrawled on it. “Ya might want to give Sean Hunter a call over at our newspaper. He can probably help get ya in touch with some folks too. Sean’s a great guy.”
Andrea clenched her jaw to keep from saying something scathing about her old college crush. She asked a few more questions and decided she’d gotten plenty of leads from the animal control officer.
Thirty minutes later, she stood outside her motel room.
“The werewolf is real. I’ve seen it,” Andrea read aloud, frowning at the scrawled note she’d found taped to the door of her room. Obviously small-town gossip had already alerted quite a few of these kind folk to her presence. She shook her head and tucked the note in her bag. “If you really want me to believe you’ve seen it,” she mumbled to herself, “why didn’t you leave your name and number?”
Andrea’s eyes felt gritty and her bones were so heavy she just wanted to lie right down where she stood, but she still had research to do. She’d stopped by the diner across the street and picked up some takeout and coffee on her way back to the motel room. She closed the door to her room and tossed her car key and purse on the table by the door.
She was glad to be alone. She still had to look into the stories Sean had written—God, she hoped they were online so she didn’t have to call him up tomorrow and ask for copies—plus a little general web surfing to do on the subject of werewolves. And she was still reeling from the shock of running into Sean Hunter again after all these years.
Really. What were the chances?
Shaking her head at the irony, she set her food down and turned the TV on for company. It didn’t take her long to change into her favorite gray sweatpants and a baggy white shirt. As she pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, she couldn’t help but smile. Oh yes, this was more like the girl Sean Hunter would recognize.
Maybe.
The young, naive, short-haired, slightly plump girl he had known in college was long gone. Andi had become Andrea, and the woman who emerged from the girl had spent countless, tedious hours learning fashion, makeup and hair tips that would make even Tyra Banks go
hmmm
.
And all because Sean Hunter had told her she couldn’t do it.
Had it really been more than ten years since she had thrown out all her favorite tomboyish clothes simply because in their final confrontation, he told her she wouldn’t know how to wear a dress if it fell on her? She would never be a polished professional, he’d said. She would never be a real journalist. Worse, she would never be a real
woman
, he’d mocked, and laughed to add insult to injury. Well, look who was laughing now.
Andrea leaned closer to the mirror and ran a finger along the ridge of the only visible scar still remaining behind her ear. Some of the changes hadn’t been her decision, but she could hardly complain. She smiled ruefully.
From Ugly Betty to America’s Next Top Supermodel.
As far as her career, well, Andrea had probably accomplished more in her short journalism career than Sean had ever dreamed of accomplishing. So what if she made a living now writing a few mediocre stories here and there? Every reporter did at some point.
Speaking of mediocre stories, she had one to work on.
Andrea gathered up her meat-and-three plate from the diner and thought out an outline for the research she still needed to do. When she finished eating the delicious but highly fattening meal, she pulled out her laptop, got as comfortable as she could on the hard queen-size bed and searched the internet for werewolves.
Her cell phone rang, making her jump. She groaned when she recognized the number on the caller ID but answered cheerily, “Andrea Lockhart, ace reporter at your service.”
“What a provocative greeting, sweetheart.” A sexy male voice, tinged with the hint of a British accent, chuckled in her ear. “Brings to mind all sorts of naughty ideas.” His voice was slightly slurred. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.
“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes and muted the already quiet television out of habit. “What do you want, Brandon? I’m trying to get to sleep,” she lied.
“Hold on a second, Andrea.” She heard him muffle the phone and talk to someone in the background. It sounded like he was ordering food.
Secretly grateful for the interruption, Andrea stretched her body as best she could and frowned at the laptop still sitting on her knees.
Some of those websites gave her the creeps.
There was an amazing amount of information about werewolves on the internet, and while she’d simply started by trying to find some background info to begin her story with, she’d ended up engrossed in mythological tales and so-called personal encounters from across the world. She’d spent more than an hour devouring every detail.
She could see why Brandon had thought this would make a great story for the Halloween issue of the
Naked Truth
. Some of the tales were…well, just plain incredible. Not that they were necessarily true, but as far as entertainment went, they would appeal to most people’s sense of fascination for the morbid and grotesque, much in the way Stephen King’s stuff did. Give a based-on-a-true-story element to it, and people would eat it up.
“Sorry, darling.” Brandon’s clear voice interrupted her thoughts. “Did I hear you say you were turning in early? That’s not like you, sweetheart.”
She knew he wasn’t at the office in Florida. The mariachi band playing in the background was one hint; his suggestion of the time was the other. She remembered there was a publishing conference in San Francisco this week he’d mentioned signing up for. Brandon spent more time at conferences and seminars than he did in the office, bless his wealthy little cold-blooded heart.
“Duh. Check your time zones. It’s late here. So, what do you want, Brandon? I’d really like to take a bath before I doze off. You know it helps me relax after flying.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured indulgently. “I wish I were there to scrub your back. Of course, I could be on a flight within the hour…”
She gripped the phone until her knuckles were white. “Is this a business or a personal call? If it’s not business, I’m hanging up right now.”
His own frustration was apparent when he used his little-boy voice. “Andrea, don’t be that way. I miss you. I miss that lovely smile and those beautiful green eyes. I miss that caring, serious tone in your voice when you’re speaking about a story. Blast it, I even miss that cute little way you compare everyone you meet to a celebrity. Come on. You know I still love you. If you’d—”
“If this isn’t business, I’m hanging up.” Her thumb hovered over the End button. She’d heard it all before. She hadn’t bought it then. She sure as hell wasn’t buying it now. Not to mention, Brandon’s words were begging for a sexual harassment case.