turned toward him and blinked her amazing blue-green eyes as if she’d just been brought back to awareness from some kind of dream. “No,” she said slowly, as if wondering why he asked, “I haven’t.”
“Okay, then, come with me while I pick up a truck to move that thing. We won’t stay long, but at least you’ll get a sense of the place.” He paused then drew nearer and said in a confidential tone too soft for nearby members of the Ultra Special Forces Team to hear. “Oh, and by the way, some of the townsfolk even believe in shapeshifters. I’ll tell you all about them on the way.”
* * *
Sara was fascinated.
First of all, she liked that, riding beside Jason in his souped-up, old, red Mustang, she could pay much more attention to the road leading away from Ft. Lukman. It was surrounded by gorgeous, thick woodlands composed of trees including mature oaks as well as evergreens.
The road was basically two-lane—barely. They made a sharp left turn at the edge of the base, and Jason swerved to avoid some stones on the pavement.
Sara was definitely an urbanite, but she still found the area charming and attractive. Definitely worth visiting.
But not under these circumstances.
“How far is Mary Glen from here?” she asked Jason.
“Not far in mileage.” He glanced toward her from the driver’s seat for only an instant before redirecting his eyes back to the risky road. “Light years away in attitude.”
“I suppose you’re going to explain,” she said.
“I suppose I am.” He grinned. And then he began telling her an utterly wild tale about Mary Glen and some murders that had been committed there over several years. “I don’t have firsthand knowledge of this,” Jason said, “But my cuz Drew told me about it. It’s how he met his wife, Melanie, in fact. Now they even have a kid—little Emily.”
“Really?” Sara said. “Now I’m getting interested.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you about it. First of all, he said a lot of townsfolk bought into the legend of shapeshifters living in the area. I don’t go to town a lot, but I gather some of its citizens still believe the story. If nothing else, they liked the legend because it brought tourists—and, in fact, it’s one reason Ft. Lukman was established so near Mary Glen, as only loonies like them would buy into the rumor that anyone had seen shifters in the area. Other people here, though, hated both the idea and shapeshifters.”
He explained how the parents of Lieutenant Patrick Worley, one of the members of Alpha Force, had been killed by silver bullets, about a year apart, theoretically because they were werewolves.
“And in fact, Dr. Worley, senior, was a shifter. After he died, Patrick sold his dad’s veterinary practice to Dr. Melanie Harding—Melanie Harding-Connell now, my cousin-in-law. Drew’s wife.”
It seemed that a cult of shapeshifting groupies used to hang out in Mary Glen hoping to see, and perhaps dispose of, some shapeshifters by shooting them with silver bullets. Maybe some still did.
“That’s an absolute myth, though,” Jason added. “Shapeshifters can be killed just like regular people, by any normal kind of ammunition.”
Sara just rolled her eyes but didn’t comment.
In any event, back then someone had shot Drew’s cover dog, Grunge, who was found injured by Melanie, and, excellent vet that she was, she had saved the dog’s life—while endangering her own as an apparent shapeshifter lover. She’d proven to the town that Grunge was not Drew in shifted form. Drew, of course, never admitted to shapeshifting—especially not to that wacko group of people.
Eventually, after more killings, the perpetrator was finally caught. Things around Mary Glen—and around Ft. Lukman—had settled down to a relatively peaceful existence.
Until now.
“Do you suppose anyone from town could have sabotaged the general’s car?” Sara asked.
“Possibly, but that all happened a while ago. I’d bet instead that it was a member of our new best friends, the USFT.”
“But why?” said Sara.
“When we figure that out,” Jason replied, “we’ll probably know who it was, too.”
Their discussion was enough of a diversion for Sara that the drive to the main street of Mary Glen, Maryland, went quickly.
So shapeshifting was real. Jason certainly sounded convincing.
He had looked even more convincing....
* * *
The car-carrier truck was definitely available for rent. At the right price. At the right high price.
But hell, Jason thought. Uncle Sam would be footing the bill, not him.
And the vehicle, with its black, shining cab in front and car-size, ramplike bed in back—along with a hookup to pull a car onto it—was exactly what he needed.
Sara didn’t seem impressed, but he figured she wasn’t a vehicle aficionado, at least not the way he was. He haggled for a few minutes with the owner of the service station that owned the truck, though, so she’d figure he was a good military guy who wanted to save his employer, and his country, some money.
After more discussion, he locked his beloved Mustang in a relatively secure-looking garage area.
He then returned to the truck, opened the passenger door and took Sara’s hand, helping her climb inside.
He liked touching her warm hand, feeling her firm grip.
Wondering what it might feel like elsewhere on his body...
Hell, what was he thinking? Why had he even taken this woman along with him? It wasn’t in his nature to feel sorry for someone who was apparently suffering in sympathy for a downed friend—in this case, a superior officer.
But he had enjoyed her company. Too much.
“This thing rides amazingly well,” Sara said as they headed back toward Ft. Lukman. Then she paused. “But I really like your Mustang.”
Okay. If he hadn’t already been attracted to her, Jason knew he would be now.
But, he told himself, just because she was beautiful and sexy and fun to tease—and talk to—and he’d inhaled her light and appealing citrus scent on their entire ride to town, and even though she liked his car, that didn’t mean he could let himself get involved with her.
She was an officer—a non-Alpha Force one at that. She seemed completely by the book. Ready to obey all orders of her commanding officer, the injured general.
Horrified that she’d seen Jason shapeshift and now trying to ignore it.
And he was just a military peon.
One who happened to be a shapeshifter, and proud of it.
* * *
