How to Run with a Naked Werewol(14)

In other words, I was bored out of my skull.

This, combined with sudden nervous fidgeting, was hell on my lips, which I chewed mercilessly. I checked the glowing red numbers on the bedside alarm clock. Caleb had been gone for almost three hours. I was getting increasingly uneasy without his warm, gruff presence in the room. What if he didn't come back? What if he decided I wasn't worth the trouble of hauling all over the state? And why was I suddenly so concerned about him not coming back?

Someday, if I ever had my career back, I would write a peer-reviewed journal article on werewolf Stockholm syndrome and its effects on hormones and mental health.

Oh, wait, that would probably get me committed to a long-term-care facility.

I wasn't sure when exactly I'd decided to slip into the most demure of my biker-mama tops, the black V-neck T-shirt that fit like Saran Wrap, and sneak down the street to Len's bar. I'd paced and fretted around the room, the growing unease settling into my chest like an acidic weight, until I suddenly found myself scampering down a dark, mostly abandoned street.

"What are you doing?" I muttered into the collar of my jacket as I braced myself against the wind. "You're running in the dark toward a bar inhabited by at least one criminal and one werewolf. What are you doing?"

OK, I was worried about Caleb. He'd been gone for hours, and I didn't know what he was dealing with in this Jerry character. It certainly wasn't because I was afraid he was off flirting with some cocktail waitress, because that would be insane . . . right? What if he had been hurt? What if he wasn't able to get to help? The more I thought about it, the more the nervous tension constricted my chest, making it harder to breathe. I needed to see Caleb. For reasons no medical training could explain, I knew that once I saw Caleb and heard his voice, I would feel better.

Besides, the bar was just a short walk in a town that was only a few city blocks long. I had been going stir-crazy in the room. Watching Caleb in his environment might give me some insight into who I was traveling with. I worked through a couple more rationalizations before I sneaked into the bar through the employee entrance and edged my way down a dark-paneled corridor, following the noise of the barroom.

My semiprivileged upbringing hadn't acquainted me with dives like this. Despite growing up in Tennessee, home of country music and hard living, I couldn't say I'd walked inside a honky-tonk until I got a job at a place in Texas called Oil Slick's. The waitresses had to wear tiny red tank tops and jeans that were practically painted on. I'd never waitressed, but I still made decent tips, because the customers found my clumsiness endearing and my butt suitably heart-shaped. Gustavo, the enormous boulder-shaped bouncer who watched over the barroom, made me feel safe when the crowd got too loud and the customers got too close. The other girls were nice enough, as long as I put my share in the communal tip jar. Over the first few weeks, I perfected the art of not answering personal questions, which eventually became a vital survival skill.

But the first time a fight broke out at one of my tables, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Being around violence like that, I just lost it. I realized it was going to be an occupational hazard, and I thought the best way to desensitize myself to it would be self-defense classes. So two stops later, in Topeka, I took a Monday-morning women's defense class at the Y. I followed it with brief stints in karate and tae kwon do. Heck, I even took a month's worth of jiujitsu before I got spooked by a fellow student whose dark hair and unsmiling blue eyes reminded me of Glenn, and I ran for Nevada. I was far from an expert. I knew just enough to defend myself if needed. I would have to enroll in a class once the Network got me settled again. For the moment, I was pretty happy with my misappropriated baton.

The music grew louder as I made my way to the barroom. It was a blend of rock and country and was very, very bad, which was almost a prerequisite in a place like this. Smoke billowed over the room, the neon from the Early American Beer Sign decor turning the fog a faint, improbable pink.

I paired up with a painfully thin woman walking from the ladies' room to the jukebox, so I could get a better look at the bar. Waitressing had taught me how to move unobtrusively through crowds. Between that and my new wardrobe, anyone who didn't know me would think I just wanted to peruse song selections with my skinny gal pal. In the glow of Hank Williams Jr. and Alabama titles, I spotted Caleb at the end of the battered oak bar. A weathered, chubby man in a dingy gray apron stood behind the bar, shaking his head as he chatted with my werewolf traveling companion. At the sight of his dark head bent over a pilsner, I took a deep breath and felt that terrible tension ease from my chest. A faint, warm, pleasant buzz spread out from my belly to my extremities, easing the wind's chill from my cheeks.

Although his back was turned to me, I saw Caleb perk up the minute I walked in. As he turned, I ducked behind a large biker making his way over to the pool table. If the Harley enthusiast noticed a tiny woman suddenly melting into his shadow, he didn't say anything. Caleb's eyes scanned the room before turning back to his beer.

For a few moments, I watched Caleb in conversation with the bartender. He was relaxed, but there was an air of menace in his posture. Whatever had happened before I arrived, he was not happy about it.

I felt something brush against my shoulder as someone moved from the front entrance toward the barroom. The contact surprised me, and I jumped, barely containing the urge to yelp. Caleb's head turned toward me again, and I scrambled into a nearby booth. Just as I sat down, a weaselly little blond man slid into the seat across from me. He seemed just as surprised to see me there as I was to see him.

The man grinned at me. "Well, hey there, sweetie. How are you?"

I blinked rapidly, recognizing that eager, crooked smile, the bulbous little nose. I'd seen those features in the photos from Caleb's files. Somehow, I'd managed to grab a booth with Caleb's quarry. And he seemed to think my rapid blinking was some sort of eyelash-batting gesture.

Fan-freaking-tastic.





5


The Misadventures of Alcoholus Moronicus





If I jumped out of the booth as if my butt was scalded, Caleb would probably notice. If I tried to slink away quietly and offended Jerry, making a scene, Caleb would probably notice. All I had to do was humor this moron for a minute or two and then hightail it before-

Crap. Caleb had noticed.

And from across the room, he did not look happy. He stood, moving swiftly around the tables, approaching Jerry from behind. I shook my head slightly, prompting Jerry to ask, "Everything OK, sweetie?"                       
       
           



       

Caleb frowned, and I drummed up the ditzy-blonde voice I'd perfected at Oil Slick's. "Hi! Do you mind if I sit here?"

Jerry's dim but perfectly friendly grin was back. "Well, since you already are, I don't mind at all. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," I said, smiling sweetly.

He hollered, "Beer!" across the barroom, which prompted a rude gesture from the bartender. Jerry turned back to me. "Well, look at you. Here I thought I'd met all the pretty girls in town. You're new around here, huh?"

Right, right, idle chitchat. I can do this, I told myself. I could keep Jerry pleasantly distracted and maybe even get him outside, where Caleb could intercede without causing a loud, violent scene. Jerry didn't seem like a sleaze, which helped considerably. He just seemed like a rather sad, lonely guy who had very bad judgment regarding auto loans and business transactions. Part of me sort of wanted to help him escape out the back door. I smiled, although the expression was a bit shaky, and leaned across the table toward him.

"My boyfriend and I just blew into town a few days ago. But I can't seem to find him. I guess I'll just have to spend my time with you." I slowly walked my fingers up his denim-clad arm.

"Well, his loss is my gain, sweetie. I'll just get us some drinks." Jerry waved his arms in the direction of the bar and frowned. "Len doesn't seem to be cooperatin'," he said, frowning slightly at the bartender, who was pointedly ignoring him. "Why don't I go get you that beer?"

I smiled, all sweetness and light. "Why don't you?"

He sauntered toward the bar, grinning at me the whole time.

Now was probably a good time to run. As nonsleazy as he seemed, Jerry could try his own luck with Caleb. When he turned his back to me to order, I hopped up from the table, made toward the back exit, and ran right into Caleb.

There's nothing like a face full of pissed-off werewolf to get your adrenal responses going.

"What are you doing here?" Caleb hissed, dark eyes flashing faintly golden as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me toward the corridor. Although he clearly wasn't messing around, his grip wasn't tight enough to hurt, and I felt insistently guided rather than dragged against my will.

"I got bored," I whispered, in an effort not to attract Jerry's attention. "And then I got here, and it all just sort of spiraled out of control."

"I told you to stay at the motel."

"I'm starting to grasp why," I told him. "And I'm sorry. I got anxious when you didn't come back."