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Seemingly unaware that she was being followed, Pageant stopped long enough to dig in her handbag. She then continued toward her car.
Randon cracked the door of his motel room before he stripped off his clothes. “All right, mother fucker. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Chapter Four
Pageant clutched her gun and kept her weapon close to her person. She’d been wise to the man trailing her, but she’d tried to act as if she were unaware of his presence, of the danger he represented.
Formerly a Mia
mi PD decorated officer, Pageant had been dubbed the department’s chemical weapon. The reason supposedly had more to do with her lack of conscience than her quiet approach during brutal attacks.
Pageant eventually left Miami because she’d grown tired of feeling that ever-present knot in her chest, the clenching sensation that often left her gasping for air and wondering if her next breath would be her last. As she tried to remain calm, she forced herself to maintain a steady pace.
She’d left Miami because she couldn’t stand the heat. She’d been honest and forthcoming with her superiors and told them precisely why she wanted out and what had they done? Attributed her request for transfer to the weather instead of the constant threats most officers received on a daily basis.
They’d saved face and she’d fled Florida. She still remembered stopping for fuel, checking over her shoulder, and thinking to herself that it would be the last time she’d check underneath her car for faulty wiring or a red flag to signify someone had tampered with her brakes while she’d used the restroom. Once Miami had been in her rearview mirror, she’d been convinced of her safety.
Pleasant, North Carolina not only carried a name depicting its mountainous scenery and overall serenity, but the small town boasted a family-like community with neighbors ready to embrace a newcomer. She shuddered then as she remembered the attributes that had drawn her to Pleasant.
Her neighbors had likely welcomed a killer. Someone in the community, perhaps even those who lay still and dead in the morgue, had embraced a stranger. On that fine, full-mooned evening, Pageant didn’t wonder what awaited her. If the man behind her had blood on his hands—figuratively speaking since he’d apparently murdered without weapons in play—then she knew what awaited her. She understood the fate she faced. Death was upon her.
By all accounts, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it, except maybe pray. Her key was in hand, locked firmly between two fingers. Her gun was cocked.
About the time she reached her sedan, a cool eerie breeze shot past her, leaving a bluish blur in its wake. At the same time, a huge animal—and she thought it might have been a werewolf but she’d never actually seen one—jumped high in the air, leaping across the front of her car. The beast dashed into the woods, completely covered by the tall trees, overgrowth of brush, and the dark night.
Pageant gripped her key until the jagged edges cut into her flesh. She swung her gaze from one side of the parking lot to the other. She kept her forty-five in front of her, expecting another jolting turn of events.
In the distance, the undeniable sound of motorcycles filled the air as a near nasal-like racket came closer and closer. Pageant shook off her fear, tucked her car key in her front pocket, and dropped her arm to her side.
Hurriedly, she made her way to the Sheriff’s office and was stunned to find the door ajar. Lifting her weapon again, she cautiously entered. She kicked aside an overturned wastebasket and stepped over a few lidded cardboard boxes. “Bart? Blaine? Is anyone here?”
She went to the light switch and jiggled it up and down to no avail. Hearing a low moan, she whipped around to search for the source behind the noise.
Pageant gasped in surprise when she nearly tripped over a body. Bart held his neck with both hands and collapsed to his knees. Before she could hold him steady, he fell face forward. His arms dropped like limp rags. Blood spurted free from both sides of his neck. The young deputy’s life drained from his body, leaving him with a deadly existence, barely breathing and facing his demise so quickly, no one could possibly save him.
* * * *
Randon’s ragged breaths pounded in his ears. Keeping his head low, he darted through the trees and followed the hazy mist. One minute the fog was so thick he could barely see in front of him. The next minute, a ray of light would brighten the path. Several times the increased visibility kept him from crashing into trees.
There wasn’t time to second-guess his gut. The creature toying with him wasn’t a he or a she. The extortionist was an entity, an it.
Randon thought he might have been gaining ground and catching up, but soon found himself swept into a blind field of confusion. His sixth sense momentarily deteriorated and left him profoundly confused. Several times, he lost his overall sense of direction and that alone should’ve alarmed him.
Still, he pressed forward, determined to find out what he could, perhaps take advantage of an opportunity that wouldn’t come along again. Besides, he had to weigh the pros and cons. On a positive note, the extortionist was leading him into the heart of the woods. As a werewolf, Randon would fight on familiar ground, a wolf-shifter’s turf.
Howling commenced at his back. His Bold and Free brothers had arrived in Pleasant. Some had already taken their wolf form and Kurt wasn’t far behind him. His senses were razor sharp as he focused on the heavy breathing behind him, the way the leaves crunched and twigs snapped as the wolves traveled over the natural terrain.
The extortionist wouldn’t stand a chance. His brothers would have him surrounded before it could plan for an escape.
Randon kept chasing the shadows, running faster and faster as the gnarling and howling lessened, suggesting more distance existed between himself and his pack.
He kept his nose down and didn’t pause to bark or howl in return, even when Kurt’s yowling turned into a chorus of synchronized warnings.
They had this! They possessed a chance like never before. The extortionist had led Randon into the forest, a werewolf’s preferred battleground. The only question was why. Why would this powerful being want to confront a challenge where his opponent would feel most at home? Why there?
A plausible explanation entered Randon’s mind.
The extortionist wanted to lead Randon away from town. If he’d gone to these extremes, set up the perfect scenario by using Pageant to lead him into the forest, it was fair to assume that the extortionist had been in control of the situation from the start.
