over it were awesome for carrying extra gear. I had the 9mm on the chest holster, which was great for drawing if I was sitting in a car, but it was my secondary handgun once the full battle rattle went on. The .45 in its drop thigh holster was the main handgun now, sitting snug to my leg and out of the way of the tightness of the vest. My AR-15 hung on a tactical sling strap so that I could push it behind me to get it out of the way, or let it swing forward to be snugged to my shoulder and used. I’d carried the AR in my hands as I walked through the woods so it wouldn’t get caught on anything, but once I stopped moving, I slid it behind me. I had extra ammo in the pockets of my tac pants, like cargo pants but tougher and better designed for carrying dangerous, helpful things. I had the wrist sheath blades on under the windbreaker; they’d saved my life more than once. Guns ran out of ammo, while knives stayed sharp and ready. I could admit to myself that I wasn’t just armed for an active warrant; I was armed for Olaf. I guess I was armed for bear, too, but I wasn’t really worried about them. If I wasn’t armed enough for a quick walk in the woods, then I needed to give up my tough-ass nicknames. I was the Executioner. I was War. I either deserved my rep, or I didn’t. Damn Olaf for making me doubt myself.
I expected the air to smell like evergreens because there were so many more of them here than back home, and there was more of that Christmas tree scent, with the sweeter undertones of cedar, but over it all was an earthier smell. It was somewhere between fresh-turned earth and slow water, like a marsh that I remembered from childhood. I’d always known spring was really here when the frogs started to sing in that little marsh. It had smelled like a pond, but also like land. Even by smell I knew that the water was in transition between pond and soil. What I was smelling now let me know that there was something similar close by, except it was even earthier, like peat. I wondered if I just started walking through the trees and underbrush, I’d find a bog somewhere nearby that would be even less water and more land than that long-ago marsh. Was that marsh even still there, or had some housing developer buried it under fresh construction? I hoped not. I hoped the frogs still went there every spring, and the red-winged blackbirds were still singing and nesting in the cattails there. I wanted Micah here with me so much, but the comfort of him and even the help he could give Bobby weren’t worth the risk.
Micah’s voice was wide-awake this time when he answered the phone. “Hello, my love. Newman just asked us to come help on the case.”
“That’s great, Micah, really.”
“Your tone says it’s not so great. What’s wrong?”
I sighed and let myself lean my back against the thick trunk of the tree beside me. It felt solid and real and good, though with all the weapons and body armor, it wasn’t as cozy as it might have been, but you can’t have it all. I had a moment’s peace by myself out of sight of everyone but the birds and the wind. “I want and need the Coalition’s help with keeping Bobby Marchand in human form and alive so we can find out if he was framed and who framed him, but I don’t want you to come.”
“I’m confused. Do you or don’t you want the Coalition to help you?”
“I do.”
“That usually means me, Anita.”
“You’ve been delegating more out-of-town assignments since Nathaniel requested we both try to cut down.”
“I have, but you’re there and if I come, we’ll be there together. You usually like that.”
“Olaf is here, Micah.”
“Did you call him for backup?”
“No.”
“Is he there officially as a marshal?” His voice held a note of urgency now.
“Yes.”
“You scared me for a minute, Anita.” I could hear the relief and the puzzlement in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Micah, that . . . I didn’t mean to.”
“Okay, apology accepted. If he’s there as Marshal Otto Jeffries, then why are you spooked? Because that’s how you sound.”
“Can’t you just accept that I don’t want you near him?”
“We were near him in Florida at Edward’s