Bayou Wolf. Debbie Herbert

      Without explaining, he disappeared in the kitchen. She kept her ears tuned as he rumbled about for a cup, poured and stirred. She picked up a cell phone that was on the coffee table.

      Damn. This one required a password to make a call. She reached and tried another abandoned phone on the end table. Oh, yes, this one was password-free. It would do nicely.

      At the sound of footsteps, she stuffed the phone under the sofa cushion.

      “One coffee coming up,” Payton announced.

      He held out a steaming, earthenware mug and she clasped both hands around the smooth pottery. Despite the appalling circumstances, the warmth in her palms spread up her arms and into her heart. There were few caring gestures in her life. Not since Bo...well, no point thinking of him now. He’d left her behind and she was alone again. Most of the time, she’d learn to accept she was on her own. Until an act of kindness, however small, undid her.

      Oh, hell, not tears. Quickly, Tallulah hung her head, allowing her long hair to drape her profile on either side. She sipped the coffee and discreetely swiped the wetness from her cheeks.

      “Hey, are you crying?” Payton sat beside her on the sofa.

      “Of course not.” She carefully set the mug on an end table and faked a little cough. “Swallowed the wrong way. Go ahead and get dressed.”

      He looked doubtful, but she shooed him along with a wave of her hand. “A few minutes alone will do me good.”

      “If you say so.”

      With one last pat on her shoulder, Payton rose and tromped up the stairs. Tallulah unearthed the phone from beneath the cushion and punched in a familiar number.

      “Yes, hello,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. “I need to speak with Sheriff Angier. It’s an emergency.”

      * * *

      It was happening all over again, Payton thought.

      He tried to make excuses as he shrugged into a T-shirt and pulled on socks and sneakers—a dead body didn’t necessarily mean murder. There could be a natural cause. The bayou was teeming with rattlesnakes and water moccasins. Maybe even alligators? He wasn’t sure if they were far south enough for gators; he’d have to ask Tallulah about that.

      Yes, but the body had been found on their property. It was Montana all over again. Questions whirled through his brain in a storm of dread. He’d been so concerned over Tallulah; he hadn’t asked for details. Now he desperately needed to know everything, needed to come up with a rational explanation for what had happened. An explanation that had nothing to do with one of their own.

      Satisfied he was presentable, Payton returned downstairs.

      Tallulah was a blur of motion. A hand swept down her side as she stood and faced him. Had she dropped something? She ran a hand through her hair and gave an uncertain smile.

      “That was quick.”

      He strode forward. “Did the coffee help?”

      “Yes, yes. I told you, I’m fine.”

      “Good. Because I have a few questions.” He sat in a chair across from the sofa and motioned her to sit back down. A cell phone lay on the cushion beside her.

      “Call anybody?” he asked.

      “What makes you think this is my phone?” The old Tallulah was back in control, abrasive and defensive.

      “Is it?”

      “No. So what did you want to ask me?”

      “Tell me about the body you found. Did you know the person?”

      She swallowed hard. “It was Jeb Johnson, your landlord.”

      “I never met him. Just one of his sons, forgot the name.”

      “That would be Tommy or Ainsley. Jeb didn’t get out much in the last year or so, wasn’t feeling well,” she said. She picked up the coffee mug and took a long draw.

      Hope loosened the tightness in his chest. The man was old. Perhaps he’d gone for an early morning walk and his heart gave up the ghost.

      “A possible heart attack?”

      “I wish. No.” She pursed her lips a moment. “His neck was cut open. Or—” her eyes narrowed a fraction “—he was bitten.”

      “Bitten?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice mild, his expression neutral. Holy hell. The nightmare continued. “Bitten by what? A wild dog? A bear?”

      She set the mug on the table. “No bears in these parts. Not for decades. No wild dogs, either, that I’m aware of.”

      Easy, Payton. Easy. Keep your eyes and face like Switzerland.

      Silence weighted the space between them.

      “I can’t help thinking of that creature I saw near here,” Tallulah said at last. “The wolf that entered the house.”

      Payton smiled sardonically. “If a wolf had walked in here, I promise one of us would have noticed.”

      “I know what I saw.”

      “What you think you saw,” he amended.

      “Something strange is going on around here. Is there something you want to tell me? While we’re alone?”

      A pang of longing shot through his heart. How nice it would be to confide in someone instead of keeping the secret locked inside. Never. Don’t even consider such a dangerous notion. His loyalty was to the pack. To his own kind. And they were in deep, deep trouble.

      “There’s nothing to tell,” he replied dully. “We’re here to do a job and then we’ll be on our way in a few months.”

      “You’re lying,” she said flatly.

      Payton pursed his lips, biting back a sharp retort. Bad enough he was forced to live a lie, but he wasn’t a hypocrite. He did what he must in order to protect himself and the pack. If the wrong people knew they were shapeshifters, it would result in a witch hunt—the likes of which would make Salem appear tame by comparison.

      He shifted the inquisition. “Who did you call?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “When I was upstairs, you called someone. Who? And why?”

      Her face was as calm and stoic as a piece of polished amber. “Nobody.”

      “Now who’s lying?”

      Siren wails intruded upon their impasse, signaling the rapid-approaching arm of the law. Footsteps lumbered up the back porch steps as several members of the pack returned.

      It was going to be a bitch of a day.

       Chapter 5

      “I understand you’re the one who found the body.”

      Sheriff Angier casually maneuvered her to the side.

      A young Bayou La Siryna cop frowned, clearly irritated. “I can take her statement.”

      “Relax, rookie. We all want the same thing—to discover what happened to Mr. Johnson. Now go talk to some of the others.”

      The rookie flushed, but left them alone, grumbling under his breath.

      “Tell me why you wanted to speak to me personally,” the sheriff said. “Do you have some suspicions you’re afraid to voice in front of anyone else?”

      “I trust you. Your dad and my dad went a long way back.”

      “I remember,” Angier said.

      “So hear me out. What I’m about