FurOut, page 2
“What do you think they’ll be like?” Bex whispered as we walked toward the group of shifters carrying boxes into the junkyard’s garage—a large building about half the size of a basketball court.
“I guess we’re going to find out,” I told her. I’d called Mitzy Taylor on her private line and asked if she had any insight into pack mentality. She’d nervously told me she hadn’t a clue. Her parents had adopted her as an infant, and she’d never met any other wolf shifters.
The strong scent of dust and rust made my skin itch. Even in broad daylight, the place, with all the vehicle skeletons stacked up like bodies after a battle, gave me the creeps. There was a dilapidated trailer with a sign that read “management” on the front. I remembered the first time I’d come out here during my investigation of Danny Mason’s death. I shivered as I remembered the gruesome nature of his demise. Clayton Driver, the previous owner of the place, had been part of a cabal of witches and shifters practicing dark druidic magic. The practice had required the extreme torture of shifters to generate the power they’d craved.
“That’s a couch,” Tiz said excitedly. The squirrel crawled up onto my shoulder, her nails clicking nervously. “This isn’t a brief visit. I think they’re moving into the neighborhood.”
I watched as two men carried a plush brown English roll-arm sofa inside the office trailer. I reached up and stroked Tiz’s tail. “Let’s introduce them to the neighborhood watch… or rather, witch,” I deadpanned, earning a quick snort of laughter from my furry companion.
“Should we… intervene?” Bex asked, glancing at me with an excited glint in her eyes. Her magic shimmered over her skin as she readied herself for trouble.
I prayed it didn’t come to that. “Tamp that back and follow my lead,” I cautioned. “We don’t want to start anything we can’t finish.”
I considered the scene before us—shifters bustling about, clearly up to something mundane yet mysterious. The fact that they had found their way to Paradise Falls without an invitation was deeply suspicious. Even more suspicious, they weren’t paying us any attention as they went about their work.
With a nod to Bex, I said, “Let’s go find out who they are and why they’ve shown up in our quiet little town.”
We approached the gang, their movements slowing as we got closer.
A tall man with a scar across his cheek, stepped out of the office trailer. His upper torso was muscled like a bodybuilder, jacked for power, and his lower half was lean and narrow as if built for speed.
His predatory gaze fixed on mine. “Morning, officers,” he said, his voice a gravelly drawl. “Something we can help you with?”
“Morning,” I replied evenly. “I’m Chief Hazel Kinsey, and we’re not here to cause any problems. Just curious about what brings you folks to Paradise Falls. It’s not exactly a place you stumble upon.”
He smirked, eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and amusement. “We’re just looking for a fresh start. Thought this place could use some new faces.”
“Funny,” I said, my tone remaining calm. “Paradise Falls tends to keep to itself. And it usually only welcomes those who are invited.”
His smirk widened. “Guess we’re lucky we got the invite then.”
Invited? If anyone in town invited them, they would’ve run it past the coalition first. Either Scarface was lying or one of our residents was in seriously deep crap.
Tizzy bristled on my shoulder, but I kept my cool. “Lucky indeed. Who invited you?” I asked casually.
“A benevolent benefactor,” he answered, nonplussed. “Anonymous.”
I arched a brow at him. “Do you have a lease or something like it, permitting you to move onto this property?”
His grin widened, and I heard several of the other werewolves chuckle.
“Absolutely,” he told me. He reached behind his back.
Several sparks from Bex’s fingertips danced on the ground as my witches went on high alert.
I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay,” I assured her, loud enough for the other officers to hear, as I kept my eyes on the scarred werewolf. “Go slow,” I ordered him. “Don’t want anyone getting spooked.”
He laughed and held up his hands. “No need to get excited.” He slowly turned around to show me his backside. “Just reaching for the deed. It’s proof we have a right to be here.” A sheath of white paper was folded and tucked into his back pocket. He patted the air at his crew as if to calm them. He reached back and, with two fingers, withdrew the folded paper from his jeans. He turned around, hands back in the air, before extending the hand with paperwork out toward me. “Here you go, Chief.”
As I approached him, I noticed the other werewolves had moved closer to their leader. The transition had been so subtle that I doubted anyone else had seen it. I reached out and took the offered paper. Unfolding it, I had to tamp down my shock and quickening pulse. The deed listed Brahmic Carvell Jensen as the owner of the junkyard and the surrounding twenty acres. The signature at the bottom, attesting to this, was Clayton Driver. But how? Had Driver sold his property before his death? And how in the world would he have even known this Jensen fellow?
I turned back to the leader, watching me with a knowing smirk. “Everything in order, Chief?”
“You Brahmic Carvell Jensen?”
“Yep,” he quipped. “That would be me. My friends and family call me Brahm.”
“Good to know, Mr. Jensen.” I wasn’t buying the folksy “aww-shucks” act. Neither was my familiar.
“Where’s a good woodcutter when you need him,” Tizzy tittered. I reached up to shush my petulant familiar.
“Don’t worry, Little Red Riding Squirrel,” he said to my familiar. “I won’t be eating anyone today.”
“Just today?” Bex asked.
He sized her up and down, then fixed her with an intense stare that made my rookie officer shrink and avert her eyes.
I wasn’t a shifter, but my hackles rose. My instinct was to order my witches back to a safe distance, but our retreat would send the message—we were prey.
“Let’s cut the big, bad wolf act.” I narrowed my gaze at him. “What brings a bunch of werewolves to Paradise Falls?”
His smirk faded slightly, replaced by a more guarded expression. “We’re just looking for a place to settle down. There’s no crime in that.”
“In a town like this, uninvited guests tend to raise eyebrows,” I replied flatly. “Especially when they’re werewolves. So, I’ll ask again—why here, and why now?”
“We’ve got our reasons.” Jensen widened his arms and spread his hands. “But don’t worry, Chief. It’s nothing for you and your witches to worry your pretty little heads about.”
I gave him a slight nod. “If it’s all the same to you, my pretty little head will worry about whatever I want.”
He shrugged and scratched his five o’clock shadow. “Suit yourself.”
Reluctantly, I handed him back the deed. “How did you know Clayton Driver?”
He glanced down briefly, then said, “Old hunting buddy.”
I didn’t need my best friend Lily Mason’s ability to sniff out a lie to know this guy wasn’t telling the truth.
“I promise you,” Jensen said. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily. “In the meantime, you need to petition the Witch-Shifter Coalition if you plan to do any business in town.” I dug one of the Coalition’s cards out of my pocket. “Call to set up an appointment.”
“Fair enough,” he said, taking the card and holding out his other hand.
I wasn’t prepared for war yet, so I shook the offered hand, noting his firm grip. He let go and then nodded to his men to get back to work. Automatically, they started unloading the trucks again.
“Nice to meet you, Chief.” Jensen’s faint smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll try to keep out of your hair.”
“You do that,” I told him.
I returned to the patrol car, Tizzy still bristling on my shoulder. The encounter hadn’t given me any insight into the newcomers other than the fact that they were playing their cards close to their vests. As we drove away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much bigger—and potentially far more dangerous. Paradise Falls had always been a haven for the supernatural, a place where different species coexisted in relative peace. The arrival of a werewolf pack threatened to disrupt that balance, and, unfortunately, it was up to me to ensure our town remained safe.
At least I had a name. That was a place to start. I picked up the phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.
“Agent Sarah Hayes,” came the crisp reply.
Sarah was my bunkmate at Quantico, and we’d stayed friendly until I left the FBI and moved back to Paradise Falls.
“Hey, Sarah. It’s Hazel Kinsey,” I said, my voice steady. “I need a favor.”
There was a pause on the other end before Hayes responded, “I can’t say yes until I know what it is.”
Sarah was a mundane human and had no idea paranormal people like witches and shifters existed, so I knew I’d have to play it close to the vest. “I have a name I’d like a background check on.”
“What has this name done?”
“Nothing yet,” I assured her on a chuckle. “Want to keep it that way.”
There was another brief pause before she said, “Fine. Give me the name, but you owe me a bottomless margarita at La Hacienda.”
“Deal,” I told her. “Brahmic Carvell Jensen.”
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll see if there’s anything to dig up.”
“Thanks, Sarah.” I had a thought. “See if his name comes up in conjunction with a Clayton Driver.”
“Elroy,” Bex said from the passenger seat. “His middle name is Elroy.”
“Heard,” Sarah said efficiently. “Will check out Jensen and Driver. And Hazel, margaritas when this is over,” she said with a hint of a smile in her voice. “Then you can tell me all about life as a local-yokel.”
“That’s Chief Local-yokel,” I laughed.
“It’s good to hear from you, Hazel.”
I smiled. “It’s good to be heard from.”
“Talk soon,” she finished, then disconnected the call.
As nice as it had been to hear Sarah’s voice, I couldn’t shake the “hairy” ball of anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach. In Paradise Falls, nothing was ever simple, and the arrival of werewolves made it even more complicated. It was time to dig deeper, get our hands dirty, and find out what these strangers were really after before their presence turned our quiet little town into a battleground.
CHAPTER 3
On my way back to the station, I called Ford and let him know how my introduction to Brahm Jensen and his pack had gone. On his end, he told me Tyris Chestnut, the court clerk, was having difficulty locating the deed to Clayton Driver’s property. That was no surprise. Each thing we discovered was shadier than the last.
I’d instructed Patrick to keep up surveillance on the Junkyard Dog and its occupants. Sitting behind a desk, with trouble brewing at the edge of our county, was hard. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the werewolves until I had more information, or they did something stupid enough for me to have an excuse to run them out of town.
My cell phone rang as I poured myself a cup of steaming-hot liquid patience, known as coffee. I recognized the number immediately—Sarah Hayes. It was the call I’d been waiting for, and I hoped to Hades she found something I could use against Jensen.
“That was quick,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “Find anything good?”
“Some,” Sarah replied. “Not anything federal worthy, but he’s got priors.”
“Oh yeah?” I scooted forward in my seat and grabbed a pencil, ready to jot notes on my legal pad. “Let me have it.”
“Well, your boy Brahmic Carvell Jensen’s rap sheet consists mostly of assaults, bar fights, that sort of thing. No major felonies on his record, but there’s a pattern that caught my eye. Wherever he and his crew go, there’s trouble. We’re talking disappearances in small towns, unsolved crimes, you name it. Nothing that sticks to them, mind you, so I can’t confirm he’s responsible, but it would be a mighty coincidence if he weren’t involved. He and his gang are ghosts—here one day, gone the next, leaving chaos in their wake.”
I frowned, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Sounds like a party,” I said flatly. Jensen might’ve been a wreck ‘em and leave ‘em guy in the past, but I had a sinking feeling he wasn’t planning on leaving Paradise Falls. At least not anytime soon. He had a land deed in hand and was acting like a man who wanted to put down roots. “Got anything on his connection to Clayton Driver?”
“That’s where it gets murky,” Sarah replied, the sound of papers rustling in the background. “No mention of Driver, but there’s a vague mention of some secret society—something old and powerful. Just rumors and whispers, like he was part of something bigger, something dark.”
The information was troubling, to say the least. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. “Where did the rumor originate?”
“From a witness to one of the disappearances.”
“Still in play?”
“Dead, I’m afraid.” She paused for a moment. “This is going to sound nuts, but he was mauled by an animal at Mammoth Spring State Park in Arkansas. Critter unknown.”
“You’re right,” I told her. “Sounds nuts.” I shook my head. More than likely, the witness ran into a vicious werewolf, but I couldn’t exactly say that to Sarah.
“Hey, if you find evidence on this guy, loop me in. I’d love to pin some federal charges on his elusive ass.”
“Sure thing.” Even as I said it, I knew I was lying. I wasn’t planning on “looping” her in on anything. Shifters doing human jail time wasn’t a good idea. No. If I found any evidence of wrongdoing, Jensen would see justice played out paranormal-style. “Thanks for the call back and the info, Sarah. I owe you one.”
“More like two,” she countered, a hint of a smile returning to her voice. “And don’t forget that bottomless margarita.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, though my heart wasn’t in it.
After we ended the call, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as I processed the information. Brahm Jensen wasn’t just some drifter looking for a fresh start—he was a potential threat and a serious one at that. His connection to a secret society had my instincts on high alert. The last secret society this town saw had involved Clayton Driver, and it nearly destroyed Paradise Falls.
“Knucker’s knockers, Haze.” Tizzy hopped onto my desk and perched on a doom pile. “You look like you’ve seen a hellhound.”
Knucker’s were sea serpents. Not real, as far as I knew. Hellhounds? That was another story. Seeing them meant someone you loved would die. I hadn’t run into a hellhound before, and I hoped to never. “Go home, Tiz.” I was tired and didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to exchange banter.
Tizzy didn’t move. Instead, she leveled her dark brown gaze on me. “I heard you on the phone.” She started sharpening her sparkly silver claws. “What did your feebie friend say?”
“What we already knew.” I scrubbed my face with my palms. “He’s a bad dude.”
“I could’ve saved you a phone call if that’s all you got. I could sniff that the dude was bad news from a mile away.”
I studied my eon’s old familiar for a moment.
“Do I have a booger on my face?” she asked, swiping at her nose.
“No.” I cracked a smile. I couldn’t help it. Tizzy was adorable and it was hard to be somber around her. “My contact said that Jensen might belong to some secret and powerful society.”
My squirrel familiar hissed. “You mean like the Arete.”
I nodded solemnly. The Arete had been a society of witches and shifters in our county who had gone to great lengths to take power through dark, druidic magic. Clayton Driver had been a member. Was Jensen an Arete as well? The thought made me shiver. The group had perpetrated pure evil. I would never get the image of Boyd Decker’s mangled and bloated body out of my head. Driver and his cronies had turned the harmless raccoon shifter into something unrecognizable and left his remains for his parents to find. Like I said, pure vicious evil.
“This is going to get nasty,” Tiz stated the obvious. “And not in a fun way.”
My phone rang. It was Ford, so I picked it up before the second ring. “Hey, I’m glad you called. My FBI contact called me back. Jensen is a troublemaker, but nothing ever sticks to him. I’m worried we’re heading for a world of hurt.”
I could hear Ford’s heavy sigh. “I’m afraid my news isn’t good either. Driver’s land deed records and all records related to the man are gone. Disappeared. We’ve got nothing to counter what Jensen showed you.”
“An inside job?” I asked.
“I can only assume,” he answered. “Jensen called the coalition after you left him. He’s got a meeting with them at three-thirty. They want us there by three to brief them on what we know.”
“Solid plan.” If we wanted to get rid of the werewolf, we needed the coalition to back our play. “You want to swing by and pick me up or meet me there?”
The missing records made things even more unsettling. Either someone in our town was helping the werewolves with whatever they had planned, or something much bigger was at play. The legal paperwork’s disappearance only added to the growing unease that had taken up residence in my gut. I would have to coordinate with my officers to get eyeballs on the coalition office. I wanted them set up before Jensen arrived, just in case I needed backup.
