Storm Shift (The Charming Shifter Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

  When she arrived at Blue Horizons, she parked in the concrete lot outside the plain, concrete building. The graveyard behind Blue Horizons stretched along a gently rolling hill. Dotted with headstones dating as far back as 1699, it looked like there were plenty of vacant spots.

  Still seated inside the Jeep, she took a few deep breaths. It didn’t work. The unsuccessful attempts at calming down only made her madder.

  After shoving the door open, she uttered her grandpa’s favorite phrase. “Dag nab it.” Before exiting, she yelled at her pesky ghosts. “Do something useful, for a change.”

  As usual, they ignored her. Today, she swore they hummed as they floated around her head.

  “Go away. Shoo!” she said, picking up her pace. As she raced toward the entrance, she batted at them. Her hand merely slid through the blips. Good thing no one’s watching—Lemming News would have a field day.

  She pictured a reporter, staring at her from the TV, telling the townsfolk, “After assuming her role as town manager, is Chia Petit already showing signs of mental illness?”

  “No, Lemming News, she is not,” she uttered, striding through the front door.

  Inside Blue Horizons floral bedecked lobby, she paused.

  Huge vases of fresh flowers stood on polished wood stands. The floral fragrance did nothing to cover up the sense of death lingering in the air. Hurrying, she made her way to the director’s office.

  The door to the sterile looking room hung open. It smelled of old-man aftershave and a strong cleaning agent, probably meant to distract from the smell of death.

  “Knock, knock,” she said, her face so grim she wondered if it might crack.

  “Miss Petit,” Walt said, looking up from some paperwork on his neat desk.

  “Walt,” she said, while remaining in the hall. She forced her insides to a simmer instead of a boil about to spill over the edges.

  He started to clear his throat for the millionth time but instead reached for a glass of water. He took a drink, then set the glass on a coaster. Refusing to meet her eyes, he folded his hands over the desk.

  Chia cocked her head, studying his odd behavior.

  Finally, as if he’d formulated the right words, he smiled benignly at her, peering through eyeglass lenses that made his creepy, hazel-colored eyes look huge and bulbous. “Please, come in.”

  Stepping into his office, she stood across from him. She glanced at his nondescript workspace.

  The space gave her the impression of forced calm. She pictured Walt studying a book on Fung Shui principles, like, Really Simple Techniques for Serenity. She imagined him placing the guest chairs at a forty-five-degree angles to the formidable desk, and the bookcase three inches away from the wall to allow for breathing space. Pictures of seascapes with lots of glowing light in the heavens were probably meant to imply one’s loved one looked out over water from his or her position inside a ball of light. It made her anything but serene. It made her want to mess up his desk and tear each scruffy whisker from Walt Abbadon’s face.

  He swept his hand over the paperwork. “So. I checked the records. I think if you’re willing to split your grandparents’ resting places…”

  Chia strode across the room. “You mean bury them in different parts of the graveyard?” She leaned over the desk, placing her palms flat.

  He swallowed. “As I was saying, if we bury your grandmother here…” Using his fingertips, he twirled a paper map of the cemetery to face her. He tapped a spot on the map. “Your grandfather could go here…” Tap, tap, tap. “And your grandmother…” He picked up the map, held it close, and studied it. His face brightened. He placed the map in front of her triumphantly. “Grace—your grandmother—could be buried here.” He stabbed a spot in a corner lot, at the opposite side of the page.

  “Unacceptable.” She picked up a pen and stabbed the center of the map, making a tiny hole. “This is the lot they paid for. Beneath the rook’s tree. Grandpa always loved the crows.”

  She tossed the pen on the desk, stood tall, and folded her arms across her chest.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” He brushed his thumb across the hole she’d made, smoothing it.

  “Fix it.”

  “I’m not sure if I can…”

  “I said, fix it. You do realize I’m now the town manager, don’t you?”

  He met her gaze with his goldfish eyes. “Yes, I…”

  “Then, fix it. Make a few calls.” She uncrossed her arms and jabbed her forefinger several times against the map. “Here. Right here. See this spot? This is where they paid to be buried and where I’m going to bury them, even if I have to dig the grave myself. Are we clear on that?”

  His eyes slid right then left. “There might be something I can do. There are no guarantees…”

  “And I can’t give you a guarantee your zoning permit to build a new wing can be approved.” She pressed her lips into a cold, flat smile, and batted her eyelashes at him. “I recall it sitting on my desk this morning, just waiting for my stamp of approval.”

  A deep scowl dragged his jowls down, like those of a hound dog. “I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And I appreciate it.” She slapped the map with her palm.

  He jerked back.

  “Always a pleasure,” she said, before whirling and striding out the door.

  She strode through the lobby, stalked outside, and made her way toward her trusty Jeep.

  The ghosts kept up a humming chatter.

  Making a gun out of her hand, she shot at them, focusing on the red one.

  “I know, I know, just deal with my past transgressions,” she muttered as she slid in the front seat.

  She decided to drive around the town on Old Route 19. Immersing herself in the calm of the wooded river area always soothed her soul. She loved to trek alongside it, following its flow into Charm’s Inlet.

  Few vehicles traversed the unused highway. Years ago, it had been replaced with a newer road that made a beeline to the north, instead of a meander.

  Rolling down the window, she let the crisp, spring wind and the river song soothe her temper.

  A deer bolted from the trees, dashing across the narrow road.

  She slammed on the brakes. The Jeep screeched to a halt, clipping the rump of the deer.

  The doe fell to the ground, its legs flailing.

  “Oh, no!” Chia yanked the parking brake into position, and leaped from the seat, leaving the engine idling. Right as she crouched next to the deer, a flash of light burst before her eyes.

  The deer shifted into a pretty, young, strawberry-blonde woman.

  She looked familiar. Have I seen her in town?

  One bloody hole in her shoulder marred her perfect, porcelain skin.

  Chia gasped. “You’ve been shot!”

  The woman’s wild eyes tracked toward the other side of the road.

  “Let me help you,” Chia said, reaching for the woman’s hand.

  “No! He’ll kill me!”

  Chia turned in the direction the young woman had stared.

  A hunter stood between two trees, his rifle hanging at his side. His eyes tracked to Chia…slid to the river…then, back to Chia.

  The shifter’s blue eyes wide and fearful, she sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the river.

  “Wait!” Chia called out.

  “Stop!” Chia yelled, scrambling to stand. She hustled toward her Jeep to retrieve her Nosler M48.

  Too late.

  The man turned and bolted from where he stood, blurring like a ghost into nothingness.

  Chapter 3

  A splash, followed by a scream, rang out from the nearby river.

  “Christ! Stupid girl! The water temp could send her into hypothermia,” Chia muttered.

  She raced across Old Hwy 19, away from the woods where the armed man had just disappeared. She scrambled down the muddy bank and came to a halt at the water’s edge.

  The river, swollen with spring-thaw snow water, gurgled,
and swirled as it rushed toward the sea. Across the other side, the shifter woman clung to tree roots which poked through the four-foot bank.

  “Help!” she screamed. “I can’t hold on for much longer!”

  Chia cupped her hands around her mouth. Shouting over the din of the river, she yelled, “Can you swim?”

  “I think so,” the blonde called back. Her words came out in a chattering shiver.

  She thinks so?

  “Let go! Relax and float. The water’s glassy calm just around the bend.” She pointed downstream.

  The woman shook her head.

  “It’s either that or die from the cold,” Chia yelled over the rushing water cacophony.

  “What?”

  “Let go,” Chia screamed. “Calm water.” She pointed downstream, stabbing the air repeatedly.

  The shifter glanced downstream. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll meet you there. I promise.”

  The shifter released the roots. The rapid current folded around her, tossing her down-river.

  Chia jogged along the bank, tracking the woman’s progress. While she ran, she tugged her phone from her jacket. Praying for a signal, she pressed 911.

  When the operator answered, Chia said, “Hey, Millie. A young woman got caught in the river. She’s been shot. We need an ambulance.”

  “Oh, hey, Chia. Congrats on the election results.”

  “Thanks.” Chia leaped over a log. She huffed and puffed into the phone. “So, I’m over on Old 19, about a mile south of the bridge.”

  “Got it. I’ll send word to the station. Hold tight.”

  Tripping on some branches, Chia nearly dropped the phone. She righted herself and said, “Thanks, Millie. Gotta go. Get them here fast.”

  She scanned for the shifter. There she is.

  The shifter disappeared under the water.

  Chia’s heart lurched. She readied herself to dive in.

  The young woman’s arms flailed at the surface and she reappeared.

  “Thank God,” Chia muttered, resuming her jog.

  The water started to even out as Chia rounded the bend.

  The shifter swam for the shore. She stood and promptly slipped and fell, letting out a yelp. She pushed to her hands and knees and crawled.

  Chia rushed into the shallow water, and helped the shifter to her feet. “I’ve got you.” She guided the young woman toward the shore.

  Once she made it to land, the shifter crouched, fell on her side, and curled into a ball. She coughed and sputtered.

  Chia peeled off her down coat.

  “Here.” Crouching, she thrust it toward the shifter. “Let’s sit you up. Put this on.”

  The shifter nodded. She pushed to sitting, shielding her breasts and groin with her shaking hands. “I’m so cold. I’m numb.”

  “The good news is that might be keeping you alive at this point.” She nodded toward the bullet wound. “What happened? You have a beef with someone?”

  “No.” The shifter gave her a plaintive look. “I don’t know who that was. I was out for a run…as a…well, you saw. You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? That I shifted, I mean? I try to only do it when I’m outside city limits.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chia said, tucking her coat around the woman’s slender, naked body. “I’m on your side. I’m town manager, Chia Petit.”

  She flashed a reassuring smile at the shifter.

  “Megan Giles,” the blonde said, her teeth chattering. “T-t-town sloot.” Attempting to pull a smile, she ended up making a clenched jaw grimace. “So cold.”

  “Sloot? You mean slut? Who doesn’t enjoy sex, girl? Don’t let some jackass label you as a slut just because you do what he wishes he could do.” Chia shook her head, musing at her conservative townsfolk. No doubt some disgruntled boy had labeled the young shifter after she turned him down. “Do you think you can walk, Megan? I can’t carry you. We need to get you back to the road. An ambulance is on its way.”

  “I can try.” Leaning heavily on Chia, she got to her feet. She threw her arm around Chia. “Okay, I think I can manage.”

  Chia smiled. “And, your teeth are ceasing their tap dance. Progress!”

  They made their way back to the Jeep. It proved slow-going with Megan shivering and stumbling. As they traversed, Chia kept a close watch on Megan’s movements, looking for signs of clumsiness, slurred speech, or other indications of hypothermia.

  Megan showed no symptoms. She moved with the grace of a deer, even with the shiver-steps.

  Once they reached the SUV, Chia threw open the back hatch.

  She grabbed some clothes and tossed them at Megan. “Here. Put these on. We can’t have the ambulance driver getting sight of you naked. Besides the fact, he’s not a shifter, he’s single and he’s horny.”

  “You keep clothes in the back of your Jeep?” Megan said, taking the proffered sweat pants, worn coat, and long-sleeved Henley.

  “Yep, for moments like this. Unlike others in town, I’ve got shifter friends and I don’t like to hang out with naked people once they’ve shifted. I get them at the Goodwill.”

  Megan put out her hand to lean on Chia. She tugged the sweat pants over her legs. “That’s sweet. Thanks.”

  Chia rummaged in the cargo area for her Thermos bottle, filled to the brim with cocoa. She tossed aside a spare coat, her snow shoes, hiking boots, other clothes, an empty bullet box, her gun case, a backpack, and a few tools.

  “Here we go.” She pulled it from behind the shovel. After removing the stopper, she poured some steaming hot chocolate into the red plastic cap. “Drink this. It will warm you up.”

  Megan took it and brought it to her lips. “Mmm.”

  Chia lifted her gaze.

  The distant ambulance sped toward them, lights flashing.

  She placed her hands upon Megan’s shoulders and fixed upon her eyes. “Tell Tony you fell in the river. Don’t let him try anything. He’ll have old Bob Brown with him so he usually minds his manners. I’m going to go check in the woods for the gunman before he gets too far.”

  Megan nodded. She shivered, pulling the coat tighter.

  Chia gave her a reassuring gaze. “You’ll be okay.”

  Before heading into the trees, she retrieved her Nosler rifle from the back. She walked to the front of the vehicle and fished free a few wire ties from the glove box.

  You never know. Maybe I’ll get lucky.

  With a glance back at Megan, she jogged into the woods.

  The muddy ground showed indents from the man’s boots. Calling upon her tracking skills, she moved quietly and stealthily into the woods following the trail. As she progressed, a strange, pleasant feeling pulsed through her bloodstream. She stopped, frowning slightly. What’s this? How odd. She turned in the opposite direction.

  The buzzing sensation grew fainter.

  She moved backward.

  It grew even fainter.

  She pivoted in the direction of the footsteps. The pulsing hummed, roaring in her ears like the river.

  “Whoa. Never had this happen,” she muttered.

  Overhead, birds jeered and called to one another a few yards ahead. The smell of tobacco wafted through the air.

  “Is he that stupid?” she whispered. “Did he actually stop for a smoke, thinking something dumb like ‘no girl can outfox me’?”

  Her lips pursed. She ghost-walked in the direction of the smell. When she sighted the man leaning against a tree, she slid behind a huge stump left behind by loggers. She peeked around the decaying log.

  He sat a few yards away, his knees bent. With his elbow propped on one knee, he lazily brought the cigarette to his lips, then inhaled deeply. With a contented sigh, he exhaled a long plume of bluish smoke. His rifle rested on the ground next to him.

  She could only see the side of his head. The tree he leaned against obscured his other side. Picking up a rock, she hefted it up and down.

  I’ve got one chance at this. If I can shoot a clay marble
from the heavens, surely, I can nail a man’s face with a rock, right?

  Creeping from her hiding spot, she took aim.

  The man seemed so engrossed with his smoke, he didn’t notice her.

  She arced back her arm and let the rock fly.

  His head pivoted and the rock landed squarely in his eye.

  “Fuck!” Pressing his palm to his face, he stormed to his feet.

  She raced toward him. When she grew close, she kicked the rifle as hard as she could. It flew farther into the woods and landed with a crash in the undergrowth.

  He lunged at her.

  She side-stepped him.

  Glancing at the red blip over her head—the one she would never in a million years’ name Brant because that would imply he had meant something to her—an idea formed. The one useful skill she’d gained while with Brant had been cattle wrangling.

  His dad owned a cattle ranch in Washington state.

  The summer before they became seniors, Brant took her down to the ranch.

  Although she was short, she learned how to wrestle a two-hundred-pound calf to the ground. She could hog tie its legs, ending with a “wrap and a slap” in about fifteen seconds flat. The only catch was—she’d been on a horse. Still, what she lacked in height, she made up for in sassy intention.

  Facing the hunter, she brought her knee into his groin.

  Best damn move I learned in self-defense.

  With a groan and a few choice curse words, he doubled over.

  She clasped her hands together and brought them down on the back of his head.

  He fell to the ground.

  She jumped on his back.

  He tried to buck her off.

  She wrenched his arms behind him, retrieved a wire tie, and managed to secure it around his wrists.

  Her arms flew up in the air and she shouted, “Time!” as if she were in the arena. She slapped the hunter’s ass. “Yeeha!”

  “You’re going to pay for his, bitch,” the hunter growled, his cheek pressed into the mud.

  She chuckled.

  “Tell me all about it when you’re in lock-down.” Still straddling him, she retrieved her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She punched 911 again. When it connected, she said, “Hey, Millie? Me, again. Send a police officer to pick up a bad guy. I’ve got him flat on his face, hog-tied and ready for the slaughterhouse…I mean, jail.”