close it.
Heather looked incredulously at the leather dress shoe blocking her doorframe. The nerve. “Are you kidding me? Listen—” But when she looked back up, the stranger’s manner had subtly shifted. His head was tilted a bit too far to one side, and he was studying her intently through the crack. There was something not quite right about the way his eyes reflected the porch light, and suddenly Heather realized that Otto was right behind her legs, growling and shaking. A shiver ran up Heather’s spine as her hand automatically tightened around the butt of her gun.
The man studied her for a moment. Even his voice was different, deeper. “She is telling the truth.…”
There was a noise from the street. A group of teenagers was walking down the sidewalk, laughing and screwing around. Peterson’s eyes flicked away for just a split second toward them, and Heather could have sworn that she actually saw the pulse in his neck. He turned back to her, just the slightest smile visible at the corner of his mouth.
Heather shouldn’t have been frightened. She was armed. She’d stood her ground physically against men far scarier than the historian—back in Minneapolis, she’d had a gun stuck in her face by a lunatic sex offender and had stayed cool until the situation was under control—but for some awful reason that slight bit of smile scared the hell out of her. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Get your foot out of my door, or—”
And just as quickly as his manner had changed to threatening, it returned to normal, almost meek. His posture changed, the strange gold reflection gone from his eyes so quickly that Heather wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. The foot retreated. “I apologize,” he said, dipping his head. “This is just very important to me. If you happen to remember anything about the amulet, I will be staying at the Boddington Inn for a few days. I’m sorry to have troubled you, officer.”
Without another word the stranger turned and walked down the steps. He crossed the sidewalk, got into his car, and drove away without looking back. Heather watched until the taillights of the Beamer disappeared around the corner. She closed the door and realized that she’d unconsciously opened the retention hood on her duty holster. Her hands were shaking.
What the hell? She’d been in life-or-death fights, and those hadn’t affected her like the dude who had just stood on her porch. Heather took a seat on the couch. He’d stuck his foot in the door and smiled; he’d been rude. That was it. No one would have ever accused her of being a wimp, and she wasn’t the type to freak out. Maybe it was the stress from Buckley’s attack. Maybe it was the insomnia. She was just on edge. She was seeing things that weren’t there.
But even as she thought it over, she knew that there was something wrong about the mysterious Mr. Peterson. When he’d tilted his head, there had been a feeling, something primal, something terrifying. He had unnerved her.
Otto whimpered. There was a fresh puddle on the carpet. Apparently her dog was in agreement.
* * *
We should have killed her.
“Shut up,” Nikolai said. He turned the blinker on and turned right onto Copper Lake’s Main Street. Nikolai was always careful to obey all the traffic laws of whatever country he was operating in.
Took her. Hurt her. Murdered her. Ate her. I like redheads.
“She did not have the amulet. I will not jeopardize the mission for your good time.” There was only one stoplight in the whole town, and unfortunately Nikolai had caught it. The BMW pulled to a stop behind a truck. “Violence will only attract attention, especially against one of the authorities.”
Too late for that.
Indeed it was. He had heard about the attack on the other deputy. There would be others as well that these people did not yet know about. The vulkodlak were being gathered. It was already starting. A single fat snowflake landed on the
Heather looked incredulously at the leather dress shoe blocking her doorframe. The nerve. “Are you kidding me? Listen—” But when she looked back up, the stranger’s manner had subtly shifted. His head was tilted a bit too far to one side, and he was studying her intently through the crack. There was something not quite right about the way his eyes reflected the porch light, and suddenly Heather realized that Otto was right behind her legs, growling and shaking. A shiver ran up Heather’s spine as her hand automatically tightened around the butt of her gun.
The man studied her for a moment. Even his voice was different, deeper. “She is telling the truth.…”
There was a noise from the street. A group of teenagers was walking down the sidewalk, laughing and screwing around. Peterson’s eyes flicked away for just a split second toward them, and Heather could have sworn that she actually saw the pulse in his neck. He turned back to her, just the slightest smile visible at the corner of his mouth.
Heather shouldn’t have been frightened. She was armed. She’d stood her ground physically against men far scarier than the historian—back in Minneapolis, she’d had a gun stuck in her face by a lunatic sex offender and had stayed cool until the situation was under control—but for some awful reason that slight bit of smile scared the hell out of her. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Get your foot out of my door, or—”
And just as quickly as his manner had changed to threatening, it returned to normal, almost meek. His posture changed, the strange gold reflection gone from his eyes so quickly that Heather wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. The foot retreated. “I apologize,” he said, dipping his head. “This is just very important to me. If you happen to remember anything about the amulet, I will be staying at the Boddington Inn for a few days. I’m sorry to have troubled you, officer.”
Without another word the stranger turned and walked down the steps. He crossed the sidewalk, got into his car, and drove away without looking back. Heather watched until the taillights of the Beamer disappeared around the corner. She closed the door and realized that she’d unconsciously opened the retention hood on her duty holster. Her hands were shaking.
What the hell? She’d been in life-or-death fights, and those hadn’t affected her like the dude who had just stood on her porch. Heather took a seat on the couch. He’d stuck his foot in the door and smiled; he’d been rude. That was it. No one would have ever accused her of being a wimp, and she wasn’t the type to freak out. Maybe it was the stress from Buckley’s attack. Maybe it was the insomnia. She was just on edge. She was seeing things that weren’t there.
But even as she thought it over, she knew that there was something wrong about the mysterious Mr. Peterson. When he’d tilted his head, there had been a feeling, something primal, something terrifying. He had unnerved her.
Otto whimpered. There was a fresh puddle on the carpet. Apparently her dog was in agreement.
* * *
We should have killed her.
“Shut up,” Nikolai said. He turned the blinker on and turned right onto Copper Lake’s Main Street. Nikolai was always careful to obey all the traffic laws of whatever country he was operating in.
Took her. Hurt her. Murdered her. Ate her. I like redheads.
“She did not have the amulet. I will not jeopardize the mission for your good time.” There was only one stoplight in the whole town, and unfortunately Nikolai had caught it. The BMW pulled to a stop behind a truck. “Violence will only attract attention, especially against one of the authorities.”
Too late for that.
Indeed it was. He had heard about the attack on the other deputy. There would be others as well that these people did not yet know about. The vulkodlak were being gathered. It was already starting. A single fat snowflake landed on the
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