Call of the Wolf by Madelaine Montague

despite the fact that they'd openly challenged one another over who would take her to the dance.
    Maybe they thought that would thrill her, but all it had really done was make her feel more uncomfortable and self-conscious in her hideous dress, particularly when she didn't dare take any of them up on the offer.
    Maybe they'd focused on flirting with her to pique Julie's interest? Or maybe because they thought they didn't have a snowball's chance in hell with her and figured she would be easier?
    The question was, had that flirtation had more ominous undertones?
    Try though she might, she just couldn't picture any of them as hit men, but if they were that damned easy to spot, they wouldn't be good at their jobs.
    Russian mobsters were Russians, though, and they all had very distinctive accents—all of them that she'd met. She was almost completely convinced that none of the men at the table tonight had an ounce of Russian blood in them.
    Could she accept, then, that none of them were a real threat to her unless she somehow gave herself away and they talked about it within the hearing of the mob network?
    Lame, she decided. She was scaring herself for nothing. She couldn't imagine crossing their minds once they left Hicksville, let alone being of enough interest for them to talk about her.
    Milner said they'd checked out everybody before they'd decided to settle her here. Regardless of his gang affiliation, the sheriff hadn't sent up any red flags. She also thought she could depend on the Feds to keep an eye on the visitors who'd come to enjoy the festival.
    She was conjuring bogeymen out of the air, she decided. Very likely the only interest these guys had was in getting laid—and she'd certainly given them enough of a show to wet their appetites! She supposed she should've known better than to be rambling around outside in nothing but a towel and thongs but—honest to god!—what was the fucking point of having a privacy fence if it didn't ensure privacy?
    It dawned on her abruptly that Cameron had said he'd heard her striking a match, that that was why he'd come to investigate.
    Maybe she'd heard him wrong? Surely if that was what he'd said Seth, at least, would've called him on it?
    Truthfully, she couldn't recall anything very clearly—thankfully!—about the incident. She must be mistaken, she decided. Undoubtedly, whatever he'd said, it was the activity he'd heard that had made him curious enough to check. She'd gone in and out of the door. Maybe it was just that she'd switched the porch light on?
    Not that it mattered now, she supposed, but she'd be damned careful nothing like that happened again. Once might be considered a fortuitous accident in their minds. She thought even she would have to pardon them for thinking it a come-on if she did it again.
    Ok, so she'd already flashed the damned sheriff twice, but she certainly hadn't been expecting him to show up so he couldn't possibly think she'd done it to deliberately entice him!
    He was liable to decide to arrest her for indecent exposure if she made a habit of it, and that would look really good on her resume! She'd get canned before she could collect her first paycheck and then where the hell would she be?
    So far, she was leaning a lot more toward hating her situation than either accepting or liking it, but she doubted anything else the Feds would come up with would be any better.
    At least she had some beautiful eye candy to entertain her, if only briefly, even though she didn't dare sample any of the candy.
    * * * *
    Abby worked industriously toward bringing order to her new home the following morning. By lunchtime, though, she was not only tired, hungry, and cranky, she was depressed. Contrary to what she'd thought when she started, it didn't make her feel more homey to sprinkle her personal belongings around the house. The house was probably twice the size of the apartment she'd had, but it didn't feel decadent and luxurious. It made her feel ‘exposed.’