nearly blinded by the flash that blazed from the wound in his chest.
He howled, twisted, burned. I skittered back so he didn't fall on top of me. By the time I crawled over to him, he was dead, his eyes a wolf's, not human. Except he wasn't a wolf. Flames did not come out of a wolf.
I stared at the gun in my hand. Flames didn't erupt from a lead bullet, either.
Werewolf plus silver equals fire. Period.
The new question of the day: Why did Damien Fitzgerald have a gun with a silver bullet?
I couldn't wait to find out. Unfortunately, I had a wolf to burn. I'd learned my lesson. Couldn't just leave my kill lying around for any old Weendigo to eat.
I made a bonfire. Without accelerant, the process would take some time, so I stared into the flames and wondered what in hell was going on in Crow Valley.
Keeping my eyes on the trees, I strained my ears for a hint of sound. Not that there'd be any. The black wolf had snuck up on me without my hearing him. But where was the white wolf? Had he ever been here at all? And if so, was he the white wolf?
All the questions could drive a sane woman nuts. What did that say for me?
Later, when I stumbled back into the clearing that surrounded the bar, the place was hopping. I glanced down. No blood, a bit of dirt and soot. I'd take my chances that the patrons were too drunk and the bar too dark for anyone to notice.
Since it probably wasn't the best idea to walk inside with a weapon, I stowed the revolver behind a garbage bin. I'd fetch Damien, bring him out here, then question him until I knew who or what he was.
There'd been enough pussyfooting around.
I yanked open the door and stomped inside. The same people who'd been there the first night stared back. Once again I found no sign of Damien. I strode to the bar and leaned over.
"What the hell do you want?" Cowboy snarled.
I jumped back so fast I nearly fell over a stool. Cowboy appeared on the other side, his chin just clearing the bar. He must be standing on a box.
"Where's Damien?" I managed.
"How should I know?"
"He isn't working?"
"Does it look like he's working to you, honey?"
Honey. Boy, I loved it when guys called me that.
"Where would he be if he wasn't here?"
"I'm not his social secretary. He asked me to work; then he took off."
Hell. He'd walked into the bar; then I'd broken into his house. Had he come back outside and seen me?
If so, why hadn't he confronted me? Just another question of many.
"Thanks," I muttered, but Cowboy ignored me. I slipped outside and went to retrieve the gun.
It was gone.
I whipped around, eyes darting to the trees, the parking lot, Damien's cabin. Everything was still, silent, deserted. Nevertheless, I felt watched. Exposed. I could feel a huge bull's-eye on my forehead. My shoulders twitched. There was one on my back, too.
I sprinted for my car, jumped in, and tore out of the lot. As I bounced down Good Road far too fast, I remembered what Damien had said when I asked him what he'd done.
Nothing I won't do again.
I'd had no idea what he meant, but now I wondered.
Had he been killing werewolves with that gun?
Chapter 14
The middle of the night in Crow Valley, Wisconsin, Jessie wasn't hard to find. My car and hers were the only ones trolling Main Street.
I stopped mine in the middle of the road, left it running, lights blazing. I felt safer that way.
She put the squad car in park, stepped out, leaned over the door. "What's your problem?"
"Got an hour?"
Her eyebrows shot up. "I got nothing but hours. They roll up the sidewalks around here at seven p.m.
You wanna come to the station?"
"How about your place? I'd like to talk to Will, too."
Jessie shook her head. "He's sleeping."
"At night? What is the matter with him?"
She smiled at that. "He tried to get used to my schedule, but he just couldn't cut it."
"Maybe we should wake him up?"
"Maybe we shouldn't." Jessie's expression was set and mulish. I recognized it from the mirror. She wouldn't budge.
"Fine. Station it is."
I got in my car and followed her. Inside the Andy Griffith museum, she took a seat at her desk. "What's up?"
"Did you find out anything about Damien?"
Jessie frowned. "Why the rush?"
I hesitated. How much to say? How much to leave out? I