Mary J. - Red Wolf's Return

“Out patrolling the neighborhood, Meggie?”

A shiver ran up her spine. The dream, his voice sounds the way it had in the dream. She remembered how his eyes had held her then, and in that interview room, and out by the boulder forty hours before.

Wood creaked. Focusing on its direction, she strained to see through the obscurity. Tall body limned in moonlight, Ethan stood on his front porch. The other morning she had envisioned earthen pots laden in blooms around its periphery, a patio table with an umbrella on the rear deck.

You’re losing it, Meg. This isn’t your home. And he’s not your man. “Not patrolling,” she said, more in control as she recalled her mission. “Looking for Beau.”

“At this hour?”

“He’s…not in bed. He’d been home all night, but when I woke up twenty minutes ago…” She pushed an uneasy hand through her hair. “His truck is parked in front of our house, so I thought maybe…. Never mind. I don’t know why I figured he’d come here.” She strode back to her Silverado.

“Wait.” Ethan came down the deck steps, the rottweiler trotting at his side.

Of course, Beau hadn’t come here. The dog would’ve announced his presence and Ethan would have called her because he was a man of integrity—one who would recognize Beau’s need to rebel the way Ethan had once rebelled against the school for not believing him about Linc and Jock.

He walked across the few feet to where she stood beside the truck. “Maybe a buddy picked him up.”

Meg opened the vehicle’s door. “Exactly. I should be on the phone calling his friends.” What kind of cop was she? Had it been anyone else’s kid, she would have given the same advice.

But it wasn’t someone else’s son. It was Beau. Her child.

That alone was reason to call Gilby, her second-in-command, get him to initiate the search. She was too close, too emotional.

With shaky fingers she tried to insert the key into the ignition.

Ethan set a hand on her shoulder, the simple touch easing her agitation. He’d always been able to soothe her fears years ago, too. Fears about her brother’s dyslexia or her dad holding the ranch together. All Ethan had to do was speak her name or touch her cheek and her world settled.

“Move over,” he said now. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m okay. I’m a cop, for heaven’s sake.”

He leaned in, took the keys out of her grasp. “You’re also a mother. Now, scoot over and let me drive. You can give me directions and focus on what needs to be done.”

Suddenly the rottweiler trotted toward the trees, low growl in her throat.

“Hold on a sec.” He walked around the truck’s hood. “What is it, Lila? A raccoon?”

Beneath the moon’s glow, Meg saw the dog lift her snout, sort through the scents layering the night wind. Pricking her ears, the animal let out a deep-throated bay and loped into the trees.

Meg grabbed the flashlight from the glove box, and jumped out of the pickup to rush around the hood, toward the black-silhouetted woods where Ethan strode, a shadow against shadows.

“Maybe it’s a coyote,” she called.

An unexpected pop sounded.

Gunshot?

She stopped, heart in her throat. “Ethan?” Immediately she snapped off the flashlight and tucked the tool into the hip pocket of her jeans. “Eth?” Oh, God, where was he?

Silence.

Why had the dog quit barking?

Peering through the night, Meg whispered again, “Ethan? Answer me.” Please.

Pop!

Ethan!

Had he been hit? Please, no. We’ve just gotten together…

Right hand automatically going to her hip where her Smith & Wesson 9 mm was belted on workdays, Meg raced for the trees. Why, why hadn’t she brought the gun tonight? Because you were looking for your son, not for criminals.

“Stay back, Meggie.” His voice came quietly from somewhere in the woods.

“Where are you?” she hissed, pushing branches out of her face, stumbling on a root. “Damn it! Ethan, get back here. Let me handle this. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Pulse beating a race pace, she halted. Thank God he was alive. But where?

The lake’s wind swished against the brittle leaves. She wheeled around.

Silently Ethan peeled away from a cottonwood.

“God almighty!” She nearly clocked him with the flashlight.

“Easy,” he murmured in her ear. “That thing will only serve to irritate your opponent, Meggie m’girl.” Humor highlighted his words.

Disregarding the endearment, the one he’d used when they were teenagers, when he’d been crazy about her, she snapped, “Go back to your porch.” Anger and worry vied for dominance in her chest. “Let me handle this.”

“You’re not armed.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the police and that gives me the experience. I’ll go after Lila. You stay here.”

“Like hell. It’s my dog.”

Stepping in front of him, she pressed her palms against his chest, and felt the wonderful warm dampness of his sweat beneath fabric and the power that hadn’t been there at eighteen. “Ethan, for once don’t argue. If Beau is involved it’s my responsibility.”

“I’m going after my dog, Meggie,” he said stubbornly. “And your son. Are you with me or not?”

A lightning current flashed between them and for a moment memories of bygone years welled; she wanted to fling herself into his arms, those strong arms that waited at his sides, waiting for her.

Are you with me or not? Exactly what she had said one warm June night across the lagoon as she ranted at him about principles and being a man.

Shaking off guilt and remorse, she stepped free. “I know what I’m doing. This is my job.” And my son is missing. “Go home. Please.” She softened her voice. “If there’s a problem, I’ll call you on my cell. Besides, I’ll need you to direct backup.” In case it was required.

Turning, she plowed deeper into the forest, heading for the dog once again barking in the timber. If only she could turn on her flashlight. Right, and be a target for the gun-happy shooter.

If there was a gun-happy shooter.

Don’t let it be Beau.

Her toe caught a raised root, pitching her forward, and a hand grasped her shoulder. Adrenaline spiked through her body, lifted the hair on her head. “Damn it, Ethan,” she said, when she could speak. “Don’t you ever listen?”

“All the time,” he whispered against her hair, and her stomach spun at the feel of his mouth. “Be still and wait a sec, okay?”

They did. The forest lay hushed. Where was Lila? Beau? Had he done the shooting?

Or…had someone shot at Beau? The thought paralyzed Meg.

Shaking her head, she pushed forward. Think like a cop, Meg. Forget everything else.

A shout ricocheted through the night. Then came a shrill whistle—and a third shot. Somewhere within the black menacing trees, Lila went into a frenzy.

Dodging branches, Meg crested the knoll. A treeless patch gleamed under stars and moon. Beyond the narrow open space, more trees…and a glimmer of fire.

“Damn it.” She dashed through the grass, but Ethan was faster, his legs longer.

“This way.” He entered the trees directly above the spot where flames flickered.

Drinkers. She should have known. Images of forest fires and burning homes flitted across the screen of her mind. All at once Lila, tongue lolling, hind end wriggling, ran out of the night.

“Good girl,” Ethan soothed, patting the rottweiler’s sleek head. Gesturing with his hand, the dog came to heel.

They could see the campfire clearly. Meg counted six people: three girls cuddling on boys’knees. She scanned the area illuminated by the firelight. Where was the gun?

“Think the dog’s gone?” Lynn Osgood asked, turning her face to eighteen-year-old Miles, son of Jock Ralston, the high school bully when Meg and Ethan attended Sweet Creek High.