Alpha Wolf

Grunge didn’t look at all happy about that, and Drew knelt down as Melanie rose. He reached in to rub his dog’s uninjured side with his fingertips.

“Good deal,” Ellenbogen said.

The surgery room, with its operating table in the center and cabinets along the walls, was definitely overcrowded. “Can I move Grunge somewhere else?” Drew asked. The dog needed R&R—rest and recuperation—not excitement.

“I’ll have him taken to the infirmary and put into an enclosure there,” Melanie said, “as soon as the rest of the staff arrives.” She went over to one of the cabinets and picked up a plastic bag from a shelf. It appeared to contain something small and shiny.

The bullet.

“You should tell your junior officer Patrick about this,” Ellenbogen said.

“I will,” Drew assured him. He turned to Melanie. “Lt. Patrick Worley reports to me. His dad—”

“I’m well aware that his parents were killed at different times by someone shooting silver bullets,” Melanie said, her blue eyes stony now. “Patrick had only recently lost his father when we negotiated for me to buy this veterinary practice. I’m sure he’s still grieving, and that he wants answers.”

She darted a glance toward the chief of police, who didn’t look happy about it. Drew liked the little dig Melanie had gotten in. And that wasn’t all he liked about the feisty vet. Hell, no.

And that was starting to worry him.

“I only wish I’d seen who fired the shot,” Melanie continued, “or something else that could help identify what lunatic is out there shooting like this. Someone who believes the Mary Glen werewolf legend, undoubtedly.”

“Undoubtedly,” Drew agreed. If only everyone around here was as skeptical as she was, life would be a lot easier for him. But even so, the questions this sexy vet was asking could be damned hard for him to deal with.

“So Patrick reports to you?” Melanie said, regarding Drew with apparent interest in his answer. “What do you do at the base, Major?”

“Classified,” he said with a shrug.

“Secret stuff,” Ellenbogen said at the same time, his tone indicating his displeasure. “Maybe if they came clean about it, there wouldn’t be so many rumors. One of these days—”

A cell phone rang. The chief reached down to a case attached to his utility belt and extracted his phone. “Ellenbogen,” he said. His wizened face grew even more pinched. “Yeah? Where?” He listened for another few seconds. “I’m on my way.” But instead of dashing out the door, he turned to Melanie. “That dog—any indication of blood on him last night?”

Melanie looked puzzled. Drew, on the other hand, felt a sense of dread. He was afraid he knew what was coming. And however it had happened, it could only harm him and the work he was doing.

“There was a lot of blood on him,” the vet said. “He’d been shot.”

“No, no, I mean around his mouth. Like he bit someone.”

“No! None at all. He was the one who was injured. I didn’t see any indication he’d hurt anyone or anything else.”

“Maybe not. But I want a full report about the dogs you keep on your damned military base, Major. If there’s any sign they chewed on anything they shouldn’t have, I’m going to insist on sending a crime scene team there, security or no security, to take some samples. Got it?” The chief’s face was even redder than usual, and his stare clearly dared Drew to disagree.

“I’ll do a preliminary investigation, Chief. Believe me.” That part was true. “And if there’s anything to report, I’ll tell you.” That part wasn’t.

“Yeah, as if I trust you.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Drew retorted. He understood why the chief of police had an attitude that wasn’t exactly favorable about what went on at Ft. Lukman.

If he only knew the truth…But that would never happen.

“What’s going on, Chief Ellenbogen?” Melanie asked. “Did something else happen besides Grunge getting shot?”

“Yeah. Something else happened. One of our tourists was mauled, and it apparently looks like she was chewed by a damned big dog—or maybe a werewolf,” he added with a snort as he rushed out the door.

Chapter Three

Melanie followed the chief to the clinic’s front door. She watched him drive away in his marked car in a huge hurry, lights flashing.

“What’s going on?” Carla asked, peering outside through the open slats of the mini blinds on the nearby window.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Melanie glanced around the small but cheerful reception area, glad that for once there were no other people with their pets waiting to be seen by her. The six metal and red plastic chairs at one side of the compact reception desk were empty. All the balls and other toys to amuse dogs while they were waiting still sat in the large wicker basket on the floor’s indoor-outdoor carpeting.

Major Drew Connell had been right behind her. She had continually been aware of his presence. Now, he edged toward the exit, as well, his posture rigid. He didn’t look happy.

Neither was she, at the idea of his leaving…

No! Better that he get out of here so she could assimilate and assess all that had happened.

“You’re going to check to see if any of the other dogs at the base may have been involved in last night’s…incidents?” Melanie asked him neutrally, using a euphemism of sorts. Something like the attack Angus Ellenbogen had described was unlikely to be kept secret, but Melanie didn’t want to be the one to start spreading rumors.

Especially since those rumors were likely to fan the already out-of-control flames of gossip about alleged werewolves around here.

“Yeah, I said I’d do that.” Drew’s golden eyes were hard as he glared down at her, and she shivered. Was that a warning she saw in them? About what? To keep her mouth closed?

“That’s what you told Chief Ellenbogen.” Melanie knew her tone was icy. Better that than hurt at his change of attitude. “His reasons are different from mine. I was only asking because, if it turns out any of the other animals were injured, I’ll be glad to treat them.” She didn’t like being accused even tacitly of speaking out of turn—or anything else.

She loved being a veterinarian. She was crazy about her patients. But she could do without having to deal with some of their owners.

She’d initially thought that wouldn’t include Drew. She had believed they were on the same side. Both wanted Grunge to heal fast and well. Neither liked the absurdity of the werewolf rumors that may have resulted in a dog unfortunately loose at night under the full moon being shot with a damnable silver bullet.

Then there had been that amazing sexual attraction she had felt—still felt—for Drew. Not something she wanted to encourage, but the look in his eyes suggested he’d felt it, too.

“Do you know who was attacked by the werewolf?” Carla asked excitedly, stepping closer to Drew. “Were other dogs shot with silver bullets besides Grunge?” She was shorter than Melanie, and her ash blond hair was a mass of curls around an elfin face. At Melanie’s sharp look she said, “I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with Chief Ellenbogen.” She looked so soulfully up into Drew’s face that Melanie wanted to throw up. No, strangle her. She felt mortified that her employee would come on so obviously to a patient’s owner.

“Of course you could have helped it,” Melanie spat back. “The door was closed. And what you heard through it goes no further.”

“Good luck on that one,” Drew said, casting an almost amused look toward Carla. “I’ll call you later, Doctor, about when I can pick up Grunge.”

“Say hi to Patrick for me,” Carla said with a sweet and beseeching smile. Lt. Patrick Worley? The youthful receptionist apparently had a thing for military men.

“Right,” Drew said, then met Melanie’s gaze. “See you this afternoon.” And then he, too, left.

Melanie stared after him for a long moment, glad somehow for the connection that would bring him back to retrieve his injured dog. But what had he meant?

She turned to her clinic’s receptionist, whom she had inherited, like some of the furniture she might not have chosen, with the practice. “Carla, I know you’ve been here longer than I have. And I want to keep you on. But if you’re—”

“I know. Discretion and patient confidentiality and all that.” The youthful receptionist looked abashed at last. “But, Melanie, the news is already out. It’s on Nolan Smith’s Mary Glen Werewolf Web site.”

“There’s a Mary Glen werewolf Web site?” Shaking her head, Melanie crossed the room and lowered herself into a chair. Obviously Drew was aware of it, and he also knew that Carla knew of it. That had to be what his ironic wish to Melanie—good luck keeping Carla quiet—must have meant.