Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,22

are heavily dominated by Weres, too. Some of those gangs do more than drink beer on the full-moon nights.

Seeing a Were disturbed me. I was surprised the panthers of Hotshot had brought in an outsider. Jason murmured, “That’s Dawson. He owns the small engine repair shop between Hotshot and Grainger.”

Dawson was on the alert as we came down the hall.

“Jason Stackhouse,” he said, identifying my brother after a minute. Dawson was wearing a denim shirt and jeans, but his biceps were about to burst through the material. His black leather boots were battle scarred.

“We’ve come to see how Calvin is doing,” Jason said. “This here’s my sister, Sookie.”

“Ma’am,” Dawson rumbled. He eyeballed me slowly, and there wasn’t anything lascivious about it. I was glad I’d left my purse in the locked truck. He would’ve gone through it, I was sure. “You want to take off that coat and turn around for me?”

I didn’t take offense; Dawson was doing his job. I didn’t want Calvin to get hurt again, either. I took off my slicker, handed it to Jason, and rotated. A nurse who’d been entering something in a chart watched this procedure with open curiosity. I held Jason’s jacket as he took his turn. Satisfied, Dawson knocked on the door. Though I didn’t hear a response, he must have, because he opened the door and said, “The Stackhouses.”

Just a whisper of a voice came from the room. Dawson nodded.

“Miss Stackhouse, you can go in,” he said. Jason started to follow me, but Dawson put a massive arm in front of him. “Only your sister,” he said.

Jason and I began to protest at the same moment, but then Jason shrugged. “Go ahead, Sook,” he said. There was obviously no budging Dawson, and there was no point to upsetting a wounded man, for that matter. I pushed the heavy door wide open.

Calvin was by himself, though there was another bed in the room. The panther leader looked awful. He was pale and drawn. His hair was dirty, though his cheeks above his trim beard had been shaved. He was wearing a hospital gown, and he was hooked up to lots of things.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. I was horrified. Though many brains had indicated as much, I could see that if Calvin hadn’t been two-natured, the wound would have killed him instantly. Whoever had shot him had wanted his death.

Calvin turned his head to me, slowly and with effort. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said dryly, his voice a thread. “They’re going to take me off some of this stuff tomorrow.”

“Where were you hit?” I asked.

Calvin moved one hand to touch his upper left chest. His golden brown eyes captured mine. I went closer to him and covered his hand with mine. “I’m so sorry,” I said again. His fingers curled under mine until he was holding my hand.

“There’ve been others,” he said in a whisper of a voice.

“Yes.”

“Your boss.”

I nodded.

“That poor girl.”

I nodded again.

“Whoever’s doing this, they’ve got to be stopped.”

“Yes.”

“It’s got to be someone who hates shifters. The police will never find out who’s doing this. We can’t tell them what to look for.”

Well, that was part of the problem of keeping your condition a secret. “It’ll be harder for them to find the person,” I conceded. “But maybe they will.”

“Some of my people wonder if the shooter is someone who’s a shifter,” Calvin said. His fingers tightened around mine. “Someone who didn’t want to become a shifter in the first place. Someone who was bitten.”

It took a second for the light to click on in my head. I am such an idiot.

“Oh, no, Calvin, no, no,” I said, my words stumbling over each other in my haste. “Oh, Calvin, please don’t let them go after Jason. Please, he’s all I’ve got.” Tears began to run down my cheeks as if someone had turned on a faucet in my head. “He was telling me how much he enjoyed being one of you, even if he couldn’t be exactly like a born panther. He’s so new, he hasn’t had time to figure out who all else is two-natured. I don’t think he even realized Sam and Heather were. . . .”

“No one’s gonna take him out until we know the truth,” Calvin said. “Though I might be in this bed, I’m still the leader.” But I could tell he’d had to argue against it, and I also knew (from hearing it right out of Calvin’s brain) that some