The pool hall Wes took me to turned out to be a dive bar in the middle of nowhere. The crooked sign out front said Fred’s Place, in dirty letters, and there were only two cars in the gravel lot besides ours. Both were old enough to be antiques, and not in the classy, expensive sense of the word. One had a bag taped over the passenger side window in place of the glass. Wes parked the car, and I raised my eyebrows at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Is this place safe?”
Wes laughed. “You managed to slay an angry Werewolf in a dark alley with barely a scratch and you want to know if the drunks inside Fred’s are going to bother you?”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed. “Safe enough,” he answered. “And out of the way. Besides, Fred will make sure the regulars leave us alone.”
I reluctantly got out of the car and followed Wes to the entrance.
I stopped, just inside, to let my eyes adjust. The lighting was dim and hazy with smoke so thick you could taste it in the back of your throat, even with your mouth closed. To my right was the bar, scarred and chipped. A bald man in a flannel shirt stood behind it and nodded to Wes before going back to washing dishes. Two men occupied bar stools, their hands clamped protectively around half-filled glasses. Neither one looked up. One of them tapped his foot against the stool, in time with the static-filled radio that droned with the sounds of country music. Other than that, the place was empty, and I remembered it was noon on a Sunday. To my left were three pool tables spanning the length of the small lounge area. Wes pointed to the table in the far corner.
“Meet you over there. I’m going to grab us some sodas,” he said, wandering up to the bar.
I went to the table and began to rack. A moment later, Wes appeared with two drinks. He set them on the table, and I handed him a stick.
“You break,” I said.
“Ladies first,” he said, pushing the stick back at me.
I took it and leaned down, lining up to break. The cue ball hit with a satisfying crack, sending balls spinning in all four directions. A striped one sank in the far left pocket and I turned to Wes with a smirk.
“You’re solids,” I said. I turned back to the table to work out my next shot. Wes slid into a chair nearby and waited. Neither of us spoke as I lined up and sank two more shots. I missed the next one by a centimeter and stepped back to let Wes shoot. He did a lap around the table, eyeing the setup, and then bent over to line it up. His stick glanced off the side of the cue ball, sending it spinning in the opposite direction of his target. He straightened and frowned at the table, before returning to his chair.
“So, how’d you find this place, anyway?” I asked, leaning down to line up my shot. The ball glanced off the corner pocket, barely missing the hole.
“Someone brought me here,” he finally said.
“Like, on a date?”
“Not quite.” He rose, shot, and missed. “I met someone here, on Cause business, a few times. He had information, but he didn’t want to be seen giving it to me.”
I looked around the sad little bar. “I guess it’s a good place to go unnoticed.” I wondered what sort of covert missions went along with being a part of this Cause.
“Your turn,” Wes said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh, right.” I slid out of my chair and sank another ball but missed the next. “I have another question about Werewolves,” I said, settling back in my chair. “What is your favorite food?”
The hint of a smile ghosted his features. “Cheeseburgers.”
“I had a feeling it would be some kind of meat. You do like them cooked, though, right?”
“Funny.” He got up to take his next shot. “What’s yours?” he asked, returning a minute later after missing, again.
“Sushi,” I said.
“Interesting.”
I took my shot, and the next, and the next, finally ending the game. “You rack,” I said, sitting back when I was done.
Wes complied, and we started a new game. “Keeping on the ‘favorites’ topic, I’ve got one for you,” Wes said. He was standing at the front of the table, fumbling with the ball placement in the rack. I tried not to laugh. “Month of the year?”
“Month of the year? That’s a little off the wall.”
He used my own argument against me. “You can tell a lot about someone by their favorite month.”
“Well, then, I’d have to say June, for my birthday, and because it’s finally not cold anymore. You?”
He finished racking and walked back to the chair, sliding into his with a swish of leather. His eyes found mine and instantly, there was a heavy undercurrent of tension. “February,” he said, quietly.
I held his gaze, wanting to ask why he’d chosen the current month, but within seconds I couldn’t even remember the conversation. My face began to heat up as I realized I was just staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, with no real sense of exactly how long I’d been doing that. I looked away and tried to collect my hazy thoughts.
“Favorite holiday,” I said, finally.
“Thanksgiving. You?”
“New Year’s.”
“Seriously? Why?”
“It’s a fresh start, anything is possible, and everyone tries to put their best foot forward, you know, with resolutions and stuff. I think it brings out the best in people.”
“And you like it better than Christmas? Or your birthday?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Those are nice, too. But for Christmas, we usually just go to my Grandma’s, and it’s just the three of us, so it’s not really that big of a deal. New Year’s is a big deal—without the pressure of presents—and everyone is different because of it, at least for a little while.”
“What?” I asked, taking in his slanted brows and thoughtful expression.
“Nothing,” he finally answered. His gaze flicked to the pool table behind us. “Is it my turn?”
“No, it’s mine,” I said. I got up and picked my shot, and missed, which wasn’t like me. But Wes’s eyes had a way of making my extremities feel like Jell-O. Wes took his turn and actually sunk a ball this time, only it was mine. He returned to his seat, smiling at his own mistake.
“See, this is what fun looks like,” I said.
By the end of our third game, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t totally kicking his butt. “Have you ever played pool before?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was enjoying myself too much. It was fun knowing I was actually better than him at something.
“I’m better at sports,” was his reply.
I gave him an offended look. “Pool is a sport.”
“Whatever.”
“People make a lot of money competing at pool,” I said, icily.
Wes rolled his eyes. “The potential for making money doesn’t make it a sport.”
“You’re being a sore loser.”
I hopped out of my chair and did a lap around the table, sizing up my choices. I picked my angle, and leaned over to line up the shot. As I did, a prickly feeling began on the back of my neck, raising the hair. I jerked and straightened, already scanning the room.
“Do you see it?” Wes asked, already beside me.
“No.”
I tried to see through the haze in the air. The two men were still at the bar, looking bored and half drunk. The bartender was wiping glasses with a towel, not paying attention to the rest of the room. I dismissed all three of them as the source. They’d been here the entire time, but the creepy crawlies had just started.
As I scanned, I realized there were two places I couldn’t fully see from where I stood. A door behind the bar, leading to what must’ve been the kitchen, and a hallway to my left, a faded restroom sign hanging on the wall above it. Instinctively, I took a step toward the hallway and felt Wes’s hand on my arm, pulling me back. I turned to snap at him to let go but his expression stopped me. His gaze was fixed on the back hallway, too, a dangerous glint in his eye.
“Stay behind me,?
?? he said.
I nodded, glad he hadn’t told me to wait here, and we made our way toward the darkened hallway. The tingling grew stronger as we got closer, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs. When we reached the opening, a door slammed at the other end, from around the corner. Wes took off toward it, and I ran after him. I rounded the corner and was out the door a split second behind Wes. I blinked into the sudden glare of the afternoon sun and scanned the gravel lot. It was empty. And the creepy-crawlies had dissipated.
“It’s gone,” Wes said, turning back to me.
“Who do you think it was?”
“I don’t know, but we should assume it wasn’t friendly. Are you okay?” He looked down at me, brows creasing with worry.
“I’m fine,” I said, before turning to head back inside.
He grabbed me by the elbow and stopped me. “You’re sure? I mean, I would understand if you’re shaken up.” His eyes seemed to be searching for something, and it took me a minute to realize what it was.
“I’m not going to freak out,” I said, in a firm, slightly frosty voice. I removed my elbow from his grip and headed for the door. “But I’m definitely ready to go.” Two pool halls ruined. That sucked.
“Give me a second, okay?” He pulled out his phone, without waiting for an answer, and pushed a button. I stopped and waited, tapping my foot against gravel. It wasn’t that I was that impatient, but I felt like I should do everything possible to prove I wasn’t going to have another nervous breakdown. Which was obviously what he kept expecting. It irritated me.
A minute later I heard a faint male voice answer on the other end of the phone. “Jack, it’s Wes. Listen, I need a favor.” They talked for less than a minute. Wes filled him in on our unidentified visitor and then listened while Jack responded and then they disconnected. “Okay, let’s go,” he said to me, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
“What was that about?”
“Jack’s going to come and try to get a trail, so I can get you out of here.”
We passed back into the bar and no one even glanced up. Apparently, the entire episode had gone unnoticed. Our jackets were still on the hook by the door. I pulled mine on quickly and followed Wes out to the car.
We were backing out of the lot when I felt a buzzing in my jeans. I jumped, sure I was tingling again, but it was just my phone. I pulled it out and checked the screen. My mother. Crap. I motioned for Wes to be quiet with a finger to my lips and then pressed the talk button.
“Hello?”
“Tara?” My mother’s voice was strained. It sounded like she was close to tears.
My anxiety kicked in, and I gripped the phone tighter. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Julie’s father. She was camping last night.” My mother paused to take a deep breath, to brace herself for what she was about to tell me. “She and her boyfriend. They were attacked by an animal. She’s dead.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes blurring with tears. The article, the dead college kids. That had been Julie? “Are you okay?”
She sniffled. “I think so. There’s nothing to be done, really. I’m going to stay and do inventory, anyway. It’ll keep my mind off … things. I just wanted you to know because they haven’t caught the animal responsible, and I want you to be careful. No going into the woods. And keep the alarm on, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed. What good would the alarm do if it was some wild animal, assumedly without opposable thumbs? I didn’t ask. I was starting to think Mom knew more than she was letting on, and I just couldn’t handle that conversation right now. Mostly, I didn’t want to bring it up and then find out I was wrong. That would be hard to talk my way out of; a one-way trip to a padded room.
I was sad for Julie and her boyfriend. I’d only met her a couple of times, but she was nice and friendly and hadn’t talked down to me, like an adult might. She’d treated me like I was her peer, and I’d appreciated that. She and my mother had spent a lot of time together, though, and I could only imagine how hard this was for Mom.
“Okay, I’m going to hang up and get some work done,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
I wanted to say something to make her feel better, but I was drawing a blank. “Okay, um, love you. Bye.”
We hung up, and I could feel Wes watching me. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and stared down at my jeans, trying to blink the tears away before I met his eyes. He surprised me by taking my hand and gently squeezing it.
“Did you know her well?” he asked, quietly.
Now, I did look up. “You heard that?”
He nodded. “Wolves have excellent hearing.”
“Right.” I let out a deep breath, wishing all of the stress would go with it. “I didn’t really know her. She worked for my mother, at the flower shop.”
“I see.” He frowned and his gaze settled on something beyond me.
“What is it?”
“Well, whoever left you that note obviously picked someone you knew.”
“You think they did that on purpose?”
“Probably. What are the odds?”
“So, the message about this being a preview, you think that means they’ll do it again, with someone else I know?”
His gaze swung back to me, and he squeezed my hand again. “We’ll make sure they don’t.”
I felt the air in the car begin to change as I stared back at him. It felt warm and thick, like a humid, post-rain summer day. And even though we were already touching, palm to palm, I suddenly had an intense desire to be closer to him, pressed to him. My muscles ached with it and I had to restrain myself from scooting across the seat, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and burying my face in his neck.
The image wouldn’t remove itself from my mind and I finally had to wrench my gaze from his to keep from acting on the impulse. I was breathing heavier, partly because of the thickness in the air and partly from wanting to touch him. I wondered if he was affected, too, but I couldn’t look at him again or I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
His hand slid free from mine, and he started the car and busied himself with checking the rearview and easing us out of the lot. I pressed the button for the window, letting in a gust of cold air. For once, I didn’t curse the cold, and was relieved when I felt the tension melt away.
When we were on the road, Wes cleared his throat. “Well, that was …”
I lifted my head from where I’d been leaning closer to the open window and looked over at him. He was running a hand through his hair, still searching for a word to describe what had happened. He’d noticed it, too. “Different,” I finished.
He sent me a half smile. “Yeah. Definitely that.”
My phone buzzed again. Not my mother this time, but a text, from George. “Babe, miss you. Call me.” I typed out an excuse and hit send, hoping it would be enough to keep him from stopping by this time, and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
“Who was that?” Wes asked.
“George,” I answered, after only a few seconds hesitation.
Wes made a noise, like he was about to speak but then he stopped. I looked over at him. His lips were pressed together in a frown.
“What?” I asked.
“I just don’t understand why you chose him.”
“We broke up,” I said, like that was somehow answering his question.
“I know. I mean, initially.”
I tried to think of an acceptable answer. I’d never had to put it into words before, especially not to another guy. And not just any guy, but my human magnet. “Well, we’ve known each other for a long time. Sort of grew up together, I guess, and I know him better than almost anyone.”
“That’s not a reason,” Wes pointed out.
“I know. It’s not just that, though … We have a lot in common, and I can tell him anything,” I finished.
“Anything, huh,” Wes repeated.
“Wel
l, I used to be able to tell him anything.”
“And that’s important to you?”
“Very.” I might’ve said more, but we’d already pulled up in front of my house.
“I’m going to park around the corner,” said Wes. “No point in drawing attention. And whoever’s doing this might show themselves if they think you’re alone.”
I got out, and he pulled away to park.
~ 11 ~