Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,52

bullet, a werewolf will burst into flames.

"I guess we had our vampires and our werewolves all mixed up."

But someone didn't.

Both the person who'd saved us last night and the dead man in the swamp who'd come to New Orleans carrying an automatic rifle and silver bullets.

Had Detective Sullivan ever discovered the identity of his strangled swamp victim? If Sullivan had, the information might lead me to the second silver bullet-shooting believer. I really wanted to talk to that person.

I pulled out my cell phone and saw several messages from Frank. I'd almost forgotten I was working for the man.

Detective Sullivan wasn't at his desk, so I left a message, then dialed my boss.

"Diana?" He must have caller ED. "Did you capture it?"

"Uh, not yet."

His sigh was both annoyed and disappointed. "I expected better of you."

Now I was annoyed. Tin doing the best that I can."

"Do better. I need that loup-garou."

There was that word again.

"Why do you need it?"

"That's what I'm paying you for. I hate to waste money."

"What are you going to do with a werewolf if you get one?"

"Werewolf?" Both surprise and delight lightened his voice. "You told me there was no such thing. What have you seen to change your mind?"

I hesitated. There was something in the swamp - but was it the same something walking the streets of New Orleans?

"Diana? Tell me."

Frank's tension, his urgency, communicated itself over the miles. Not for the first time did I wonder if he were playing with a full deck. But since he was, as he'd so rudely pointed out, paying me, I told him what I knew.

"Disappearances, deaths, walking dead, silver bullets," he mused. "How can you doubt what you've seen?"

"I haven't seen a wolf."

I didn't tell him about my dream of the beast with Adam's eyes or about Simon. My dreams were none of Frank's business.

"You will," he murmured. "Then make sure you capture the loup-garou alive."

"I hadn't planned on killing him. Her. It. A dead cryptid won't help my reputation or Simon's."

"Of course." Frank cleared his throat "Is there anything else you need?"

I'd planned to ask for a motion sensor camera, but considering the invisible nature of werewolves on film, such a request would no longer do me any good.

That werewolves couldn't be photographed was an interesting factoid and could explain why there wasn't much evidence on them. Cryptozoologists are often sent to investigate a photo, which leads to the real thing. But without that picture, no investigation.

My heart danced with excitement that I might be the first scientist to prove the existence of a werewolf.

"A cage," I said. "And a tranquilizer gun. I'll need the dosage of the darts based on the size of a large male timber wolf. About a hundred and twenty pounds."

"That's Alaskan size."

Frank knew a lot about wolves. In the lower U.S. eighty pounds was considered big. But considering the tracks I'd seen, the feeling I had, what I was after was one damn big wolf.

"Just do it, Frank."

"All right."

"Also several portable tree stands. The kind deer hunters use. Black. Metal."

I'd never gone deer hunting myself and neither had Simon, but we'd studied the best techniques. There aren't too many animals on earth more easily spooked than a deer. Those who stalked them knew what they were doing, and they always had the best gadgets.

"Should I send everything to the Ruelle Mansion again?" Frank asked.

"That would be great."

A momentary silence came over the line; then Frank blurted, "Have you seen him?"

I'd done a lot more than see Adam, but that wasn't Frank's business, either.

"Why?"

'I did some asking around. You'd do best to stay out of his way if you can. He's a dangerous man."

"Dangerous how?"

"He was trained to kill in the army."

'Isn't that what the army does?"

"Not like this. He's some uberwarrior. I couldn't even buy information on what it was that he did."

Oh, no, the government wouldn't sell info on their top-secret soldiers; what was the world coming to?

"I'll be fine," I said.

"Stay away from him."

I doubted that I could. It might be just sex, but it was great sex, and I wasn't giving that up.

As Frank said good-bye, I considered the unknown man who bad died in the swamp - the one who'd been strangled with someone's bare hands. Then I thought of Adam's hands, and I wondered: Would he strangle me one night?

I shook off the question. What possible reason could Adam Ruelle have for killing me? What reason could he have for killing anyone?

The mystery man had possessed an