Page 2 of Night Owl Books

“Did you drop your phone?” I asked.

Her nod was fast and panicked. She stank of fear but under that was another scent that wasn’t hers. The dispatcher picked up and I explained what I knew. The woman’s breathing was beginning to even out, so I handed her my phone. “Why don’t you tell her what happened?” I suggested.

She took it and lifted it to her ear. “Hello? ...Yes…McKenna Martin…I was walking home from a friend’s house…Oh, just down the block and around the corner…I don’t remember…I don’t know. What time is it now?...It just happened. Maybe five minutes ago…I was walking down the street, and a truck came up behind me…I don’t know. I’m not good with cars…I don’t know what kind…I’m not sure. There’s only one streetlight and it’s down at the far end of the street. Dark, I guess…He pulled up beside me—his window was down—and he asked if I wanted a ride. I said no and he said it was no problem, the road was dark and dangerous; a pretty girl like me shouldn’t be all alone. I just kept walking. He was driving slowly, keeping pace with me. I said no again, and his voice changed. He called me names and said he’d enjoy hurting me. Stuff like that. He turned the wheel really fast, and I had to jump off the road into like the ditch beside the pavement. He revved his engine and I just started running.”

Reliving it was making her heart speed up again. “He drove off the road and followed me. There’s a—whaddayacallit?” She looked at me, tilting her hand up.

“An incline?” I guessed.

“Yeah, an incline on that side of the road, going up a hill. The truck jumped forward and almost hit me. I ran into the trees and tripped, but I knew his truck wouldn’t be able to follow me if I was in the trees. I heard the truck door open and I ran for the light, for the bookstore at the top of the hill.”

Her eyes were still on the front window, though nothing could be seen, as it was lighter in here than out there.

“Is it locked?” she asked me.

I nodded. I hadn’t seen a truck following her up the road, so he must have given up the chase before she got close to the bookstore. Too bad. I wouldn’t have minded scaring him, as he had her.

I walked back to the window to look out. “A vehicle’s coming.”

At her gasp, I added, “It’s not a truck. It looks like an SUV’s headlights.”

“Oh, okay. The dispatcher says that’s the officer.”

I unlocked the door, stepped out onto the porch, and waited. As the SUV started up my hill, perhaps a hundred yards away, the driver and I locked eyes. Ah, he was like me. Not an owl shifter, but some flavor of shifter. His dark skin was illuminated by the light reflecting off his dashboard. I’d need a better look or, more importantly, a better sniff to know what kind of shifter he was.

Over the years, I’d found that a preponderance of shifters had careers in law enforcement. Their innate need to assert power and control was rarely conducive to office work. Snarling at a client in a marketing meeting was frowned upon. Tussling with a rowdy drunk? Always a good time.

I stood at the top of my steps, barring his way, a clear sign that this was my territory. He parked at the base of the stairs and got out.Oh. I couldn’t recall ever seeing someone quite so good looking: warm, liquid brown eyes, dark skin over chiseled features, a short beard on a strong jaw.

We stared at one another and then he dipped his head. “I’m Officer Nick Garra, ma’am. I’m told there’s a woman here who’s had a rough night.”

I stepped back and tilted my head toward the door. “She’s inside.”

When he passed me, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Bear.

While he talked to the woman, I stepped off the porch and circled my home, scanning the forest, looking for anything out of place. I knew my woods like the back of my hand and I didn’t see anything amiss. When I came back around the front, the cop was standing where I had been on the porch, his nose up, scenting the air.

Keeping my voice low, I said, “I don’t have your sense of smell, but I don’t see anything.”

Nodding, he came down and handed me my phone. “Let’s take a look around.”

We moved silently down the drive, each looking for any clues. When we got down to the cross street, I went left, and he followed. This was the direction she’d come from.

“There,” I said, pointing down the road to a thicket of grass.

“What do you see?” he asked, coming up beside me.

“Her bag. The hardware on the strap is reflecting the moonlight. That’s probably where he tried to hit her.”

He jogged ahead, took some pictures on his phone, and then picked up her small handbag. Moving back to the narrow road, he studied the pavement and then took more photos.

I’d been trying to catch that strange scent I’d noticed on the woman, but I couldn’t find it. The officer would have a better shot at catching that than I would.

The truck driver must have taken off when the woman—McKenna—went into the trees. I left the cop to do his cop thing and headed into the woods. I found the route she’d taken and the place where she’d fallen. What I didn’t see was any evidence of the man. There was a flash behind me and I turned to find the cop taking pictures of the rock and disturbed dirt where she’d tripped.

“I don’t think he followed her into the trees,” he said. “I don’t smell any fresh trails besides hers. And yours.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t see or hear anything either.”

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