Every Which Way But Dead. Ким Харрисон

jaw clenched. Maybe it’s time we chatted? I thought as I ran past the cat house.

      There was a drop-off ahead by the eagles. I cut a right, leaning back as I went downhill. Mr. Were followed. As I thumped along behind the eagle exhibit, I took stock of what I had. In my belt pack were my keys, my phone, a mild pain amulet already invoked, and my minisplat gun loaded with sleepy time potions. No help there; I wanted to talk to him, not knock him out.

      The path opened up into a wide deserted section. No one ran down here because the hill was such a killer to get back up. Perfect. Heart pounding, I went left to take the slope instead of heading for the Vine Street entrance. A smile curved over me as his pace faltered. He hadn’t expected that. Leaning into the hill, I ran up it full tilt, seeming to be in slow motion. The path was narrow and snow-covered. He followed.

      Here, I thought as I reached the top. Panting, I snuck a quick look behind me and jerked off the path and into the thick shrubbery. My lungs burned as I held my breath.

      He passed me with the sound of feet and heavy breathing, intent on his steps. Reaching the top, he hesitated, looking to see which way I had gone. His dark eyes were pinched and the first signs of physical distress furrowed his brow.

      Taking a breath, I leapt.

      He heard me, but it was too late. I landed against him as he spun, pinning him against an old oak. His breath whooshed out as his back hit, his eyes going wide and surprised. My fingers went chokingly under his chin to hold him there, and my fist hit his solar plexus.

      Gasping, he bent forward. I let go, and he fell to sit at the base of the tree, holding his stomach. A thin backpack slid up almost over his head.

      “Who in hell are you and why have you been tailing me the last three months!” I shouted, trusting the odd hour and the closed status of the zoo to keep our conversation private.

      Head bowed over his chest, the Were put a hand in the air. It was small for a man, and thick, with short powerful-looking fingers. Sweat had turned his spandex shirt a darker gray, and he slowly moved his well-muscled legs into a less awkward position.

      I took a step back, my hand on my hip, lungs heaving as I recovered from the climb. Angry, I took off my sunglasses and hung them from my waistband and waited.

      “David,” he rasped as he looked up at me, immediately dropping his head while he struggled to take another breath. Pain and a hint of embarrassment had laced his brown eyes. Sweat marred his rugged face, thick with a black stubble that matched his long hair. “God bless it,” he said to the ground. “Why did you have to hit me? What is it with you redheads, anyway, always having to hit things?”

      “Why are you following me?” I shot at him.

      Head still bowed, he put up a hand again, telling me to wait. I shifted nervously as he took a clean breath, then another. His hand dropped and he looked up. “My name is David Hue,” he said. “I’m an insurance adjuster. Mind if I get up? I’m getting wet.”

      My mouth dropped open and I took several steps back onto the path as he rose and wiped the snow from his backside. “An insurance adjuster?” I stammered. Surprise washed the remnants of adrenaline from me. I put my arms about myself and wished I had my coat as the air suddenly seemed colder now that I wasn’t moving. “I paid my bill,” I said, starting to get angry. “I haven’t missed one payment. You’d think for six hundred dollars a month—”

      “Six hundred a month!” he said, his features shocked. “Oh, honey, we have to talk.”

      Affronted, I backed up farther. He was in his mid-thirties, I guessed from the maturity in his jaw and the barest hint of thickening about his middle that his spandex shirt couldn’t hide. His narrow shoulders were hard with muscle that his shirt couldn’t hide, either. And his legs were fabulous. Some people shouldn’t wear spandex. Despite being older than I liked my men, David wasn’t one of them.

      “Is that what this is about?” I said, both ticked and relieved. “Is this how you get your clients? Stalking them?” I frowned and turned away. “That’s pathetic. Even for a Were.”

      “Wait up,” he said, lurching out onto the path after me in a snapping of twigs. “No. Actually, I’m here about the fish.”

      I jerked to a stop, my feet again in the sun. My thoughts zinged back to the fish I had stolen from Mr. Ray’s office last September. Shit.

      “Um,” I stammered, my knees suddenly weak from more than the run. “What fish?” Fingers fumbling, I snapped my sunglasses open. Putting them on, I started walking for the exit.

      David felt his middle for damage as he followed me, meeting my fast pace with his own. “See,” he said almost to himself. “This is exactly why I’ve been following you. Now I’ll never get a straight answer, I’ll never settle the claim.”

      My stomach hurt, and I forced myself into a faster pace. “It was a mistake,” I said, my face warming. “I thought it was the Howlers’ fish.”

      David took off his sweatband, slicked his hair back, and replaced it. “Word is that the fish has been destroyed. I find that extremely unlikely. If you could verify that, I can write my report, send a check to the party Mr. Ray stole the fish from, and you’ll never see me again.”

      I gave him a sidelong glance, my relief that he wasn’t going to serve me with a writ or something very real. I had surmised that Mr. Ray had stolen it from someone when no one came after me for it. But this was unexpected. “Someone insured their fish?” I scoffed, not believing it, then realized he was serious. “You’re kidding.”

      The man shook his head. “I’ve been following you trying to decide if you have it or not.”

      We had reached the entrance and I stopped, not wanting him to follow me to my car. Not that he didn’t already know which one it was. “Why not just ask me, Mr. Insurance Agent?”

      Looking bothered, he planted his feet widely with an aggressive stance. He was my height exactly—making him somewhat short for a man—but most Weres weren’t big people on the outside. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know?”

      I gave him a blank look. “Know what?”

      Running a hand across his thick bristles, he looked at the sky. “Most people will lie like the devil when they get ahold of a wishing fish. If you have it, just tell me. I don’t care. All I want is to get this claim off my desk.”

      My jaw dropped. “A—A wishing …”

      He nodded. “A wishing fish, yes.” His thick eyebrows rose. “You really didn’t know? Do you still have it?”

      I sat down on one of the cold benches. “Jenks ate it.”

      The Were started. “Excuse me?”

      I couldn’t look up. My thoughts went back to last fall and my gaze drifted past the gate to my shiny red convertible waiting for me in the parking lot. I had wished for a car. Damn, I had wished for a car and gotten it. Jenks ate a wishing fish?

      His shadow fell over me and I looked up, squinting at David’s silhouette, black against the faultless blue of noon. “My partner and his family ate it.”

      David stared. “You’re joking.”

      Feeling ill, I dropped my gaze. “We didn’t know. He cooked it over an open fire and his family ate it.”

      His small feet moved in a quick motion. Shifting, he pulled a folded piece of paper and a pen from his backpack. As I sat with my elbows on my knees and stared at nothing, David crouched beside me and scribbled, using the smooth concrete bench as a desk. “If you would sign here, Ms. Morgan,” he said as he extended the pen to me.

      A deep breath sifted through me. I took the pen, then the paper. His handwriting had a stiff preciseness that told me he was meticulous and well-organized. Ivy would love him. Scanning it, I realized it was a legal document, David’s handwritten addition stating that I had