FMR (8 page)

something bigger, something better and
The Inside-View
fit the bill.

Writing articles for the magazine would give me more leisure time,

a steadier paycheck and maybe a chance to write a novel,
she thought.

It could be the answer to her dilemma.

"Oh, all right. You got me, Frank," she sighed and took the

assignment folder from her editor's extended hand. "So, when's my

deadline?"

The next thing Jac knew she was on the highway, heading for a

remote Southern town. Turning off the interstate, she proceeded

down a narrow strip of road, passing a green sign which read 'Heather

Grove 3 miles'. She sighed with relief, knowing she wasn't far from

her destination.

From what little information she'd found out on Heather Grove, the

town was founded by the descendants of several Scottish clans in the

eighteenth century. This captured her interest since her mother's side

of the family traced their linage back to the Highlands of Scotland.

However, the whole idea of a 'werewolf' story was ludicrous, but

Jac figured she'd be able to creatively piece together a story based on

the town's history and a few anecdotes from the townsfolk. Anything

to meet her deadline and nail down the full time job offer that Frank

was dangling over her head.

"That sneaky bastard," Jac grumbled. "He has some nerve to – Oh

my God!"

A large blurry object shot out in front of her car. Startled, Jac

slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel. The

Volkswagen careened off the asphalt and skidded, landing in a ditch

with a resounding crunch.

Time stood still. Jac's heart pounded against her ribs as she

struggled to calm her jangled nerves. "Shit, shit, shit!" she cursed,

slowly reaching into the floorboard of the Volkswagen to retrieve her

tossed bag. Thankfully, her laptop case was well-padded. She only

prayed her cell phone was still working.

Drawing a deep breath, she flipped open the uber-thin phone and,

with trembling fingers, dialed 911.

* * * *

the bar. Balls scattered over the green felt. Rhonda Morrison drew

away from the table with a smug smile on her face and a pool cue in

her hand.

Ray chuckled. Surely everyone who hung around The Red Lion

knew she was an ace.
Fat chance!
There was always one in the crowd

who thought he could beat her. Ray shook his head in disbelief,

drawing a frosty mug of beer to his lips.

"You're going to have to let someone win one day," he'd joked with

her earlier over a plate of fresh, hot fries from the bar's kitchen.

"Are you trying to spoil my fun, Ray?" she asked, her mouth

twisting into a playful pout.

"Crushing a guy's ego's no way to win a guy over, Ron."

"Heck, the guys around here are chumps!" Rhonda exclaimed, then

narrowed her gaze. "Besides, the good ones are taken ... or not even

looking."

Ouch!
Her well-targeted jibe had hit the mark. "Now, don't you

start on me, too. Is that all you women think about?" Ray speared a

hand through his thick, dark hair in frustration. "Just because Megan's

got her a mate, that doesn't mean Ritchie and I have to settle down, ya

know?"

Rhonda gave an exasperated sigh, then went silent as she continued

munching on the plate of fries. Deep down, Ray knew she meant

well. However, he and his twin brother, Ritchie, were appointed

guardians and protectors of their pack. The
sithech
blood coursed

strongly in their veins ... the blood of the wolf.

Since their father's death a few years before, Ray had taken his

place on the pack council. He was more serious about pack affairs

than his twin, who'd rather spend time out of town. Heather Grove

was too confining for Ritchie, but Ray loved his hometown and his

sithech
kin. He would do anything to keep them safe ... even if it

meant having to firmly lay down pack law.

Recently, Ray had done his duty and, along with the council, had

removed Jerry MacDonald from his seat, lowering the jerk's status

within the pack. Hell, MacDonald was lucky that Ray hadn't killed

him for attacking Derek Lee and his little sister, Megan, on

Halloween. Damn lucky.

But Ray had heart and saw to it that MacDonald was sent to the

hospital down in Columbia to receive extra medical and mental

attention. However, there had been no word from the doctors about

how long MacDonald would be under their specialized care.

"The place is pretty crowded tonight, Jim," Ray yelled over the bar

to his friend, Jim Douglas, making himself heard over the loud music.

"Yep, considering the weatherman's storm warnings, we're doing

fair." Jim shrugged his big shoulders, wiping dry another beer mug.

"Can I get ya another beer?"

"No, I'm heading back to the house. This cold goes straight through

to my bones. All I need is a hot shower and a warm bed." He winked.

"Warm bed, huh? Anyone I know?" Jim flashed him a feral grin.

"That's not what I meant." Ray shook his head. "The full moon's

coming and all you wolf-hounds can think of is s-e-x ... sex," he

quipped. "But I'd rather you fellas fuck yourselves silly than lose your

cool and tear up the town."

Jim laughed at his departing comment as Ray said his 'goodbyes'

around the bar. His gaze met Rhonda's over at the pool table. Giving

her a quick nod, Ray turned and headed out the door.

The silvery moonlight made the frosted ground glisten beneath his

cowboy boots. He tromped through the parking lot to his black 1966

Chevy pickup. She was a classic, in need of some exterior repair, but

under her hood was some haul-ass, raw power. Ray slid behind the

wheel and turned the key. The engine roared to life.

As he waited for her to warm up, Ray gazed through the windshield

at the faint light shining out through the heavily clouded night sky.

The moon reminded him of a woman ... cool and very unpredictable.

The irony made him chuckle.

The lunar effects on the
sithech
were truly the stuff of folktales and,

now, urban legends. Those with wolf-blood experienced a heightened

sense of aggression or arousal during the full moon phase. As pack

guardian, he'd have to dispel his own bouts with moon fever. Yet he

could already feel its silvery caress in his veins. Ray cursed under his

breath.

The February moon was gaining strength every night as is swelled

to fullness. Ray understood too well the unpredictability of the moon.

He also knew to be prepared for anything to happen.

Buzz! Buzz!

Ray reached down, unclipping the cell phone from his hip and

flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Ray, did I catch you at a bad time?" It was Ernie Campbell,

one of the pack's town hall connections and 24/7 computer geek.

"No, man. Just heading home from the Lion. What's up?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment. Ray's stomach

rumbled with nerves. His
sithech
senses flared with sudden alertness.

"What's up?" he repeated, slowly.

"Uh, we might have some trouble here." Ernie's thin voice quivered

through the receiver. "Someone's been trying to hack the uh,

computer database."

"Trying? Did they succeed?" Ray asked, leaning back against the

truck's head rest and closed his eyes, pulling his focus inward. The

only drawback about using cell phones was the inability to say too

much about pack-related matters.

"Hmm, not sure yet. I can let you know something by morning,"

Ernie replied. Even through the thin receiver, Ray could hear his

friend clacking away on the keyboard.

"Why don't we meet for breakfast in the morning at the diner?

Then, you can tell me what you've found out. Okay?" Ray could

almost see Ernie in his mind's eye hunched over his computer with his

curly red hair sticking out in disarray. Under any other circumstances,

he would've laughed, but his senses told him this was no laughing

matter.

"Yeah, I copy that. Tomorrow morning at the diner. I should have

something for you on it," Ernie confirmed. "Sorry to bother ya.

Later."

The phone snapped off. Ray gave a deep sigh, returning the phone

to his hip. Damn, if it wasn't one fire to put out, it was another. But,

that was his job, his life's calling. Times may have changed since his

forefathers had assumed the mantle as pack guardians, but his duty

was the same – to protect the
sithech
, no matter what the cost.

Jac was shivering, not from the accident, but from the below thirty

degree temperature. The police officer had offered to let her stay

warm in his car, but she'd declined. Sometimes she wished she wasn't

so stubborn, but she'd wanted to watch as the police and the wrecker

service took care of her crunched up little Volkswagen.

Snuggling deeper into her fur coat, Jac gave a heavy sigh. This

incident might put a snag on her deadline for the magazine. But, then

again, having a portable laptop with WiFi connection, she figured

she'd just email her editor the story when she was finished. Jac was

deep in a mental daze when the officer returned.

"Homer's set to go. He'll take good care of your car," he reassured

her with a smile. "Now, let me get one more thing straight for my

report, Miss Hamilton –

"That's
Ms.
Hamilton," Jac quickly corrected him.

Even though it was dark, she could have sworn she saw the officer

blush.

"Sorry, ma'am," he apologized, then continued. "So, you say a big

animal crossed in front of your vehicle?"

"Yes, that's right. It looked like a big dog."

"A big dog, huh? Do you think it could possibly be a deer?"

"No, it wasn't a deer." Jac shook her head. "I'm sure about it."

"There are lots of deer around here, Ms. Hamilton. You might not

have been paying attention."

"But, officer, I was paying attention since I wasn't familiar with the

road." Jac felt her temper boiling inside her, warming her from the

inside out. But she did her best to play it cool with the policeman. "I

know it was not a deer because it ran across the road like a big dog. A

fast, big dog."

"Thanks, ma'am. I'll put that in my report," the officer replied with

a tight smile.

The low rumble of an engine at her back drew her attention. Jac

glanced over her shoulder to see an older model black truck pull up

behind the squad car.

"Excuse me a moment," the officer muttered with a polite nod, then

headed over to the truck.

Jac returned her attention to the wrecker. The Volkswagen was

strapped onto the metal bed and was ready to go.
Whatever I make on

this story will have to go toward the auto bills. Damn that dog!
Jac

grimly mused through clenched teeth as the service man approached

with a clipboard to take her information.

After she was done, she signed on the dotted line. The man handed

her a business card.

"Now, come by tomorrow and I'll have my mechanic give you a

good estimate on your Bug, little lady. Derek's the best in town. He'll

do ya right." The older man grinned.

Little lady? This town's right out of the stone ages
, Jac thought, but

managed a smile as she thanked him.

"Bruce'll see ya into town. You best get inside and get yourself

warm." The man winked, then headed back to the wrecker.

"Bruce?" she mused out loud. Heather Grove was a real

'Mayberry'. Everyone knew everyone else on a first name basis. Jac

let out an exasperated sigh and swung her laptop bag over her

shoulder.

The police officer was returning, but he had a friend in tow.

Walking along beside him was a tall, dark stranger who moved like a

symphony in motion. Jac's heart did a nervous flip.
Holy moly!
For

the first time this evening, she felt her frozen lips curl into a real

smile. The stranger was definitely eye-candy.
Yum!

He looked a tad bit over six feet in his cowboy boots. Despite his

tall frame, he walked with the agility of an athlete. Jac swallow hard.

He was wearing a flannel shirt with dark blue jeans and nothing more

than a windbreaker jacket that flapped as he matched the officer's big

strides.

The two men stopped, towering over her. "This is my buddy, Ray

McShaw," the policeman nodded to the other man. "I have some