Loyal Wolf

Beds? Her mind again darted to that hug and the feel of his body against her. She quickly looked away.

In one corner was a kitchenette, and beside it a small table with two chairs. Should she sit there with Jock to go over the situation? Safer than anywhere near the beds, of course.

But what about Ralf?

Good thing he was still around. That also helped Kathlene focus on what was important, and not how her libido had been stoked.

Ralf stood near Jock, arms crossed, watching her. He was shorter than Jock and not quite as muscular, but he, too, looked strong. The gray in his black hair was surprising since he didn’t look older than mid-thirties, only a few years older than Kathlene. Ralf’s facial features were wide and suggested, like his last name, a Hispanic background. Like Jock, his casual outfit didn’t even hint that he was currently in the military and on assignment.

Jock must have caught her indecision. He gestured with one muscular arm toward the table. “You and I can sit there, and Ralf will hang out near us.”

Ralf strode toward the nearest wall and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest. It appeared that he was used to taking orders from Jock. All Kathlene had been told about them was that they were members of a covert military unit called Alpha Force, her “friend” Jock was a lieutenant, and he would be accompanied by a noncommissioned officer.

She only hoped that the two of them could at least provide whatever juice was needed to bring in more help if needed.

And she expected it would be.

For now she, like Ralf, followed the sort-of instructions that Jock gave and sat at the table.

And decided how best to begin this conversation.

* * *

Jock sent Ralf to the kitchen area to grab bottles of water for all of them. Until he rejoined them, this would be a good time to learn Kathlene’s background.

Like, did she believe in shapeshifters?

He laughed internally at the thought. That was a question that would never get asked.

As she spoke, she told him she had always lived in Montana, moving from Missoula after college.

Despite their cover story, Jock had never been in Montana before. He had grown up in Wisconsin, another state where there were more rural areas than city life. Where wilderness was the primary topography.

That was where his family had settled long ago. The remoteness helped to hide what they were. But what he was had made him gravitate toward the U.S. Military as soon as he first heard of Alpha Force.

Ralf returned and placed a bottle of water on the smooth but unpolished wooden table before each of them.

“Here’s to our success in resolving the Clifford County situation,” Jock said, raising his bottle.

“I’ll drink to that,” Kathlene said. Ralf joined them in their alcohol-free toast. The look on Kathlene’s face nevertheless appeared strained, as if she doubted they in fact would be successful.

If so, he intended to surprise her. In many ways.

Right now it was time to really get down to business. And talk.

And make sure he ignored how much lust he felt for this lovely, obviously determined woman.

Kathlene started their conversation after downing a drink of water. “I chose this motel for you to stay in,” she said, “because the former ranch where the people I believe are anarchists are gathering isn’t far from here.”

“Yes, the anarchists,” Jock said. “Why we’re here. I’d like you to tell us why you think that’s who they are. I’ve looked at the file that was started on this matter before Alpha Force was called in, but as I said I want your version.”

“Of course.” She seemed to hesitate, but only for a second. And there was nothing at all hesitant in the strong, sure glare of her blue eyes. “I could be wrong about the whole thing but I don’t think so. The number of people at the apparent conclave, all men as far as I can tell, keep increasing. They stay mostly to themselves but when I’ve headed in the direction of the formerly abandoned ranch where they live, I’ve sometimes heard gunshots.”

“It’s late summer,” Ralf said from behind them. “Isn’t it hunting season for something?”

“The season for large game like elk, moose and all tends to start in late September. But when any members of this group have come into town, they seem to make it a point of saying they’ve been holding target practice to be ready when the season starts.”

“That target practice could also be with the intent of hunting more than wildlife,” Jock said.

Like people?

That was the crux of their involvement here. They would find out about what these hunters, or whatever they were, were up to.

And stop them if necessary.

Perhaps in the form of an animal they otherwise would hunt.

A wolf.

Jock glanced at Ralf, who nodded. He undoubtedly knew exactly what Jock was thinking.

* * *

The sudden glance between Jock and Ralf stoked Kathlene’s curiosity. This man wasn’t a fan of hunting? His look of displeasure actually pleased Kathlene. She might have gone into law enforcement, but her intent was to save as many lives as possible, human and animal.

Especially human. That was the reason she had become a deputy sheriff. She knew more than most people what it was like to lose loved ones to unanticipated and unnecessary violence.

“What about wolves?” Ralf asked. “Are they fair game?”

“Yes, sometimes,” Kathlene said. “I’m not sure what the season for them is this year.”

“Oh,” Jock said.

Kathlene couldn’t quite figure out what his tone meant—irony? Anger? A challenge of some kind?

But she had been saving her biggest concern for last. “It’s not only multiple rounds of gunshots I’ve heard near that old ranch area,” she said. “And I think this is what actually got the military’s attention. There have been explosions, too. Small ones, but more than just shots being fired.”

Her boss, the sheriff, had only shaken his head when she’d mentioned them. Told her she had one hell of a female imagination.

In essence, told her to bug off and maybe respond to some phone calls from senior citizens who called the cops claiming they heard things because they wanted some attention.

Like she supposedly was doing despite her lesser age.

“Interesting,” Jock said. He asked her questions—cogent ones that indicated he actually believed her, which made her feel a lot better than it should.

But she managed to explain her own patrol duties—both assigned by the department and assumed by herself because of her concern about the growing number of apparent hunters hanging out at the old ranch that had been unused for years but apparently had been purchased recently by a relative of one of the men now living there, according to public records. Or at least it had been purchased by someone with the last name Tisal, but not Nate Tisal, the guy who apparently was in charge of the group.

“If anything, they could be terrorists and not also anarchists,” she said, “but when I’ve spoken with any of them, which is rare, their comments suggest that they hate any kind of authority, not only local.”