Predator and Prey Prowlers 3 (2 page)

It opened, and Dallas grinned. She stood there in a white cotton tank undershirt and matching French-cut panties. Her black hair was cut short and was such a just-rolled-out-of-bed mess that she looked almost punk. Valerie's face was lined and angular, her nose straight and thin, her lips perfect. She smiled at Dallas as though she might like to have him for dinner.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

Dallas shook his too-long blond hair back and hefted his suitcase in his hand. "Visiting."

"You have just totally made my week," she said, then punctuated the sentence with a feline yawn and stretch. "Get in here," she said with a toss of her head.

Valerie shut the door behind him. The second Dallas put his suitcase down she threw her arms around him and gave him a quick, sweet kiss before laying her head on his chest. Dallas kissed her forehead and ran his hands over her well-muscled back.

"So what are you really doing here?" Valerie asked.

"Got a local gig," he replied. "In Boston. But I couldn't swing back up this way and not see you."

She drew back and stared up at him, one eyebrow arched. "Cheaper than a hotel."

"There's that," he confessed.

Valerie knew better, of course, well enough that Dallas did not even have to argue the point. They went back a very long way, had shared a great deal. Decades might go by without their speaking, but when they saw each other it always seemed as if only a week had passed.

"Val?"

Dallas looked up at the voice. He had scented the human in the house the second he stepped inside. While he and Valerie were talking, the guy had come softly down the stairs and now stood just across the foyer. He was young, twenty-two maybe, with a severe cut to his dark hair and the kind of strong jaw and facial structure that you usually only saw in old war movies. The guy wore beige cotton pants and buttoned up his shirt as he stared expectantly at them.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

After the first glance, Dallas did not look at him again. "Still bringing home strays, I see."

Valerie tried to stifle a naughty giggle. "You're awful."

"I just know you," Dallas replied. "You always keep a house pet or two around."

The boy toy with the military jaw had heard enough. He marched across the hardwood floor. "Hey, pretty boy, maybe you oughta let go of her now," he snapped. "Val, who the hell is this guy?"

Valerie ignored him. Instead, she gazed up at Dallas and rolled her eyes. "His name's Paul," she said in a stage whisper. "He's grown a little attached."

"What...what the hell is with you, Val?" Paul stammered, unsure now.

"They always do with you, sweetheart. You're irresistible."

"Flatterer."

"Truthsayer," Dallas replied, shooting her a wounded expression.

"Look, I don't know what this is supposed to be, but I am about through with it," Paul said, his anger returning full force. "I'm talking to you, man." He tapped Dallas hard on the shoulder. "Hey!"

Dallas made a face. "He's really gonna cramp our style."

Valerie took a step back from him, glanced at Paul, then back at Dallas. "No he's not."

"Damn it, Val, do not talk about me like I'm not here! I swear to God you don't want to cross me."

Dallas couldn't help laughing at that one. Valerie held up a hand to cover her own grin, but her face reddened. He loved that little girl quality about her.

"He's funny, I'll give him that," Dallas told her. "Is he traceable?"

"Not really," she replied.

With a nod, Dallas turned toward the fuming man again. Paul puffed up his chest, fists balled in rage, but he had the scent of fear on him, too. Apparently he was bright enough to have realized that there was something going on here other than losing his girlfriend.

"Hi, Paul!" Dallas said brightly.

The guy blinked, startled.

"What're you, an actor?"

Confused, Paul glanced at Valerie and then nodded.

"What is it with you and actors?" Dallas asked her.

"Maybe I just need a little drama in my life."

Dallas sighed. That had always been the issue with Valerie. He was methodical, finding order in things, and she was always the chaos girl. He shrugged and looked at Paul again. The guy had deflated somewhat, thrown completely off track by this new turn in the conversation.

"I've got a new role for you," Dallas told him. "You get to be bait."

Then Dallas began to change, skin tearing and flaking away as the thick coat of fur sprouted from within, muscles swelled, bones popped and realigned. His snout stretched and he bared his gleaming fangs in an amused, savage grin that Paul would undoubtedly see as a snarl.

Paul began to scream.

Valerie only laughed and watched as Dallas lunged at him, claws slashing down, blood spraying the hardwood.

Ogunquit, Maine, was an hour and a half from Boston but worth the drive. Jack had not been to the little seaside village in several years, but it had not changed very much. There were plenty of clothing stores and gift shops in the tiny downtown area, but Ogunquit had none of the crass, jaded atmosphere of Hampton and Salisbury to the south or Old Orchard Beach to the north.

As far as Jack was concerned, the only unpleasant thing about Ogunquit was trying to find parking at the beach. Eventually he had solved the problem by parking in the dirt and gravel lot behind the Betty Doon motel near the center of town and hoping the Jeep wouldn't get towed. He and Molly had walked down to the beach from there.

It was a unique beach, accessible only by a small bridge that crossed a river that ran parallel to the shore and then curved out into the ocean, so that the beach area was shaped like an enormous letter J. The riverside was calm, and there were a lot of families with small children there, a rainbow of umbrellas scattered across the sand.

Jack and Molly had settled on the other side, where the surf was high and the water was almost always cold. The beach was crowded, but they had managed to find a decent spot.

That had been four hours ago.

Now he lay on his stomach on a towel in the shade of the umbrella and enjoyed the heat and the almost tropical breeze. Voices shouted nearby, children screeching as they splashed. Where the tide had receded and left the sand damp, teenagers played Frisbee and fathers flew kites with their children.

Jack had not been so relaxed in what seemed like forever. He was dimly aware of his book still clutched in one hand. Molly lay on her towel only a few feet away. With his eyes slitted open he could see her propped up on her side, facing him, watching the people on the beach, a bottle of cold spring water in her hand. Molly seemed pensive.

"Surrender," Jack said, his voice raspy from lack of use.

She glanced over, obviously surprised to hear from him. "What?"

"Surrender," he repeated. "How often do we get to do something like this? Just relax and do nothing at all? But at the moment your mind is somewhere else. I've gotta say, that seems pretty criminal to me."

A lopsided grin spread across her features. "Sorry. I'll try to reach the nirvana that you're in."

"You'd love it here," Jack told her, his smile a mirror of hers. "So you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

"College."

"Ah," Jack said with a tiny, sage nod. "A lot of new responsibilities. Big changes. Not that I have any idea what I'm talking about. I'm just repeating what I've heard."

"Do you ever regret not going?"

He rolled over on his side. "Never thought about it much, to be honest. I know, that's weird, right? Maybe I should. But I guess I always figured I shouldn't lose any sleep over something that was so out of my control. The pub's a lot of work."

"Courtney would have managed," Molly reasoned. "Hired more staff. I'm sure she would have done whatever it took to make it happen if you had wanted to go."

"I guess," Jack allowed. "But maybe I really didn't want to go. She's the only family I've got, you know? She always stuck by me so I did the same for her. Plus, it was my mother's place." He paused and studied her. "You're lucky, y'know? Okay, it sucks that you don't have any financial support from family, but you can go as far as that brain'll take you. Nothing holding you back."

"You think of the pub as having held you back?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Of course not. It just narrowed my options, that's all. It was my decision. I just had to figure out what my real priorities were. You know what I mean?"

"I think I do," she said, and a thin smile appeared on her face. "You make it sound so easy."

Jack frowned and studied her. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Me? No," Molly replied, dismissing the question out of hand.

Though he wanted only the best for her, Jack could not help being a bit disappointed. The truth was, he wanted her to have second thoughts.

Again, Molly seemed to drift off, lost in thought. She tipped her water bottle up and took a long swig. A radio played an ancient Eagles song a couple of encampments away.

"Want to go in for another swim?" Molly asked.

"Maybe in a little bit." He closed his eyes and lay his head down again, enjoying the breeze and the shouts and the comfort of the heat and sand. Which was when Molly poured the cold water all over his back. Jack let out a shout as he leaped up.

"You're evil!"

"Well, come and get me, then!" she said, and took off down the sand toward the water.

Jack gave chase, and though he fully intended to get her back for the shock of that cold water, he was happy to see that she had shaken loose whatever thoughts had been bothering her.

Molly ran into the water, hurdling waves as it grew deeper, and then dove right in, unmindful of the cold temperature of the ocean. Jack followed, his momentum nearly causing him to trip, but he took a few last long steps and then plunged into the water after her. Molly was maybe six feet away, and he lunged at her. She shrieked almost giddily and tried to dodge him, but was not fast enough. Jack grabbed her by the shoulder, put his other hand on top of her head, and dunked her into the Atlantic even as they were both battered by a high wave.

He barely kept his footing, but he lost hold of her. As he glanced around to search for her again, something tugged on his legs and he went under, sputtering and choking on salt water. Jack scrambled to get his feet beneath him again, and when he stood up, he saw Molly close by. Her grin was even wider as she pushed her wet hair away from her face. The bathing suit clung damply to her in a way that made him want to look again and yet made him feel as though he ought to look away, all at the same time.

Molly tensed as though she had seen that reaction on his face. Her smile faltered and the energy seemed to go out of her.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Molly ran both hands through her water-darkened hair, straightening it out. "Is this a date?"

Jack blinked, his mouth slightly parted. He started to speak, then stopped, unsure how to reply. Her eyes searched his for an answer. After a few seconds of fumbling, he slid down into the water and allowed himself to float as he regarded her.

"Do...I mean, do you want it to be?" he asked at last.

"I'm not sure," she said, slipping down into the water just as he had, swimming just a bit to keep afloat. "We never talked about what happened in Vermont, when we...I mean, I think I do, want it to be. But wanting that makes me feel like I'm betraying something."

"Betraying Artie," Jack said.

She nodded.

"I can't help you with that," he went on. Though there were so many things he wished he could say, that he ought to say, for Molly's sake. "Maybe if we had time, that would change things. But I don't want to confuse you, or myself, and you're going away in a couple of weeks."

For a second he thought she was going to argue. Wanted her to argue. But then Molly just started to swim, no longer meeting his gaze.

"Where do you want to have dinner?" she asked.

But Jack did not answer. His attention was riveted on a spot just past her, where a thirtyish man with a toddler on his shoulders waded into the waves. And where the ghost of Artie Carroll, in jeans and a torn sweatshirt, hung above the ocean and beckoned to Jack.

"Artie," Jack whispered.

Molly flinched at the name, then turned to see exactly what Jack was staring at.

Copyright © 2001 by Christopher Golden