Death's Servant(9)

The couple’s outrageous explanation of my wounds sunk in only after I witnessed my own body healing at an unreal speed. They assured me the attacking wolf had been dealt with by the local pack. Could Loudoun County, just a little ways north in the same state, have lone wolves and no ruling pack? Doesn’t seem likely. And yet I was all too ready to swallow that line when Raine fed it to me. I grip the wheel in frustration, wishing I could rip it out and toss it through the darkening parking lot.
I want to call Romeo and ask advice, but can’t risk it. There’s no way he’s ready to talk to me after the scene I made when leaving. I should be grateful he hasn’t sent pack members out to haul my ass back to the fold. Maybe it’s the whole alpha thing. He could be relieved I left because now we wouldn’t have any physical confrontation.
Dammit! I punch the dash, my rage getting the best of me. If I hadn’t stood frozen in shock I could have followed Raine and questioned her further. I’ll have to wait until she’s working again to corner her.
I’m not a quitter. I’ll be damned if I walk away from her without a real reason.
That look on her face when I asked what was going on haunts me. Her slight recoil and the subsequent fear mean something. Resigned to the fact I won’t get any answers tonight, I head home, determined to discover the truth.

Raine hasn’t been at work for two days. Since I know which car is hers, I cruise by several times a day looking for it. At first I worried maybe she had someone drop her off, or borrowed someone else’s car, just to avoid me. A casual stroll from me past the large windows to check out the wait staff working each shift confirmed she wasn’t there. I even searched for her scent on the back stairs. Nothing.
When I finally see her battered Honda late on Sunday relief sweeps through me. Should I approach her inside at work, wait out here for the end of her shift, or just follow her home? My attempt to talk to her in the parking lot a few days ago didn’t go well and I’m acutely aware the second option of following her home skirts perilously close to stalker behavior.  Well, my actions of driving by several times a day were stalkerish, too, and that didn’t stop me.
Before I decide on a suitable plan, the back door swings open and Raine walks down the steps. Her shoulders hunch forward and her thin arms wrap around her middle like she’s cold despite the high temperatures hitting on the first day of June. She’s not dressed for work and heads directly to her car, not sparing a glance around the lot in her haste.
Looks like my only option is the scary stalker following her home.
My jeep idles on the side of the road with the windows up. With any luck she won’t smell I’m here and I’ll be able to follow her. I slide down in the seat when she turns onto the road, waiting a few seconds before straightening and following. I ease off the shoulder and tail her car at a discrete distance. She continues on 15 South toward Purcellville. After a dozen or so miles, Raine takes the exit for town. I follow a hundred yards behind, glad it’s not full dark yet when headlights could give away my position.
She takes a lot of turns, leading me deeper into undeveloped farmland and away from the construction sites mushrooming all over Loudoun County. She turns onto a long gravel drive. Thick trees and deep underbrush hide any glimpse of a house, and her bumper disappears beyond a bend as I pass the mouth of the driveway. Unwilling to risk discovery, I pull over a quarter of a mile past the entrance and shut off the jeep.
No other homes are close by. I roll down the window to sample the air. Scents of fertile dirt, new plant growth, and fresh horse manure stream in. Man, we are isolated—about three turns back we crossed into what I call the boonies. This is what I’ve heard the locals affectionately refer to as “horse country.” Living most of my life in southern Virginia, I’m no stranger to desolate farmland, but to find it close to an area with one of the biggest construction booms in the state feels surreal.
The wind shifts and the pungent odor of wolves drifts over the lowered glass. My gut tightens in response. Lone wolf, my ass. There’s a pack in this area and I’ve just stumbled onto their den. Why in the hell did she lie to me?
I quietly exit the jeep, keenly aware that walking uninvited onto their property could be the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life to date.
Is this the place she invited me to last week? Her being part of a pack changes the meaning of why she acted the way she did.
She’s hiding something.
And as I slip into the dense greenery next to the driveway, my heart hardens with resolve—I intend to find out exactly what she’s concealing.