Predator and Prey Prowlers 3 (5 page)

Courtney glanced up at them, a strand of her chestnut hair falling across the freckled bridge of her nose. She blew at it, but then had to brush it back with her hands. She wore a dark green shirt with the pub’s logo across the breast, khaki pants, and white tennis shoes. It was a more casual look than she usually wore on the job, but Jack thought it suited her. When his sister dressed more stylishly, it seemed to drain some of the humor out of her.

“I think we’re good,” she replied. “They cleaned up pretty well last night. Kitchen’s stocked, I’ve already done the ordering. I’m just trying to get next week’s schedule out of the way.”

Jack laughed. “So what you’re saying is, we’re not needed at all.”

A sly grin spread across Courtney’s face. “I won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“I’m deeply wounded,” Jack replied, holding a hand over his heart.

Courtney began to rise from the table. She was twenty-nine years old, but with the light spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the mischief that sparkled in her blue eyes, she looked younger. At least until she stood and had to put some of her weight on the lion’s-head cane she had inherited from their grandfather. She was young and smart and vivacious, but the accident that had killed their mother had left Courtney reliant upon that cane for the rest of her life, and Jack often wondered if people could see past that.

“Get going already,” she told them. “When you come back you can remind me what a beach looks like.”

“We’ll be back by five or so if you end up needing help on the dinner shift,” Jack said.

With a wild grin, Courtney lifted her cane and held it like a baseball bat. “Do I have to chase you two out of here?”

Molly clapped a hand on Jack’s back and propelled him toward the door. “Nope,” she said. “We’re going. The world might crack in two if Jack has a little fun, but we’ll risk the apocalypse.”

As Jack held the door for Molly, ready with keys in hand to lock it behind them, Courtney called to them from inside.

“Thanks for the warning. You two have fun on your date!”

Jack gaped at her. He saw Molly stiffen a little beside him. For a moment, he fumbled for the words, then yelled back to his sister.

“It’s not a date, Courtney. We’re just going to the beach.”

Courtney stood in the middle of the restaurant, leaning on her cane, her smile insinuating that she knew better. “Whatever you say.”

Jack considered protesting again, but didn’t want to make too much of it. He locked the doors and then he and Molly walked over to the lot where his old Jeep was parked, Courtney’s words hanging awkwardly between them.

The Mustang’s engine purred as Dallas guided it up and down the streets of Newton, Massachusetts. On the CD player was a bootleg live recording of the Clash he had taped himself in an earlier era. He’d burned the CD himself, but the quality was crap given the source. Dallas didn’t mind the hiss and pop at all.

Seven years had passed since the last time he had been by to visit Valerie and it was going to take him a few minutes to get his bearings. Up in this part of Newton, all the streets pretty much looked the same; huge old Colonials and Victorians were set back from the tree-shaded road. The homes were kept up perfectly, BMWs and Benzes in the driveways, trophy wives walking the dogs or landscaping the gardens for pleasure rather than necessity.

A redhead in a half-tee jogged by with her retriever on a leash and smiled at Dallas as he passed in the restored, blue ’67 convertible. He shot her a pleasant grin but kept his attention on the road, looking up and down the streets he passed for Valerie’s house.

He sniffed the air as he drove.

His foot tapped the brake and Dallas gazed down one side street. The trees were old and leaned in over the pavement, creating a tunnel of leaves, the road below dappled by shafts of sunlight that slipped through the canopy overhead. Five houses down was a hundred-and-fifty year-old Victorian painted a sort of rust color, its shutters and trim the hue of brick.

Dallas turned the volume down a couple of decibels and took the right onto Ashtree Lane. He slowed in front of the house, then pulled into the driveway behind a little red MG. There was a recent model Honda next to it. Past the cars he could see the carriage house that was attached to the main structure. Valerie had gutted the place and put a swimming pool inside, but externally the house looked just as it had when it was built. She had owned it once before, in the twenties, and when she bought it again she restored it completely.

Keys jangling in his hand, he popped the trunk and grabbed the single, large suitcase he had brought with him. He whistled as he went up the walk and the stone steps and knocked on the door. A minute passed and he was about to knock again when he caught the scent of Valerie inside, moving toward the door.

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.