Flashing Her Gators Page 6

  Okay, this is what she really wanted to tell me about. I let that thought sink in a little before I ask, “Why is he bad news, Marina? What did you find out?”

  She flushes a little and it gives me at least part of the answer. She’s been digging up dirt. She always burns like that when someone calls her on it. Like when kids branded her a snoop in high school.

  “He has an ex-girlfriend with serious scarring on her neck and upper body,” she starts, pausing to check the waitress is done with us.

  I glance that way and see the girl is busy with another table. When I look back at Marina, a frown is creasing her forehead.

  “I met her by chance, and I asked what had happened. I just blurted it out. She told me she was attacked by a gator at a late night picnic with her boyfriend when she was a teenager. He saved her, got her to a hospital in time. She said she thought she was goner when it happened. He’d just gone to take a piss in the woods and she passed out before he got back.”

  “Okay,” I say, letting the story sink in. Yes, it’s kind of coincidental that a shifter would leave his girl alone and the next thing she knows she’s being mauled by the creature that he turns into, but does that really mean he attacked her?

  “There’s more,” Marina goes on, her lips setting into a grim line. “I looked up the details of the attack and found out Ty was the boyfriend, which set alarm bells off instantly, but it wasn’t until that waitress was found dead that I started to wonder if his less human side might be kind of blood-thirsty.”

  “The first victim?” I ask, remembering the details from the news reports I read, corroborated by the notes Ty gave me. She was a waitress, and she was found close to the river, not inside her home like the others who came after.

  Marina nods. “It’s probably going to sound pretty messed up, but I know which parts of the river Ty and Sam frequent. I know which areas the others in town hang out too. I know they’re territorial. The place they found her was within Ty’s territory.”

  “That doesn’t mean...”

  She cuts me off with a hard stare. “I know you like him. He has that brooding, mysterious thing a lot of women are totally hooked by. I get it, seriously, but, Misty, why do you think he’s so interested in this case? It’s because he has a personal stake in the outcome.”

  She leans back in her seat and picks up her drink.

  It makes sense. It does.

  I just can’t see Ty as a killer, the same way I can’t see Sam as one. Don’t get me wrong, I know they sometimes eat small animals when they’re hunting in gator form. It’s kinda gross, and it makes me a little sad, but they can’t help that. Their human side isn’t in control once they shift.

  Sam explained it to me a long time ago. He told me when the shift happens he hits a point where he blacks out, and he doesn’t come back to himself until he shifts back. He always warned me that if he ever started to shift in front of me, that I should get as far away from him as possible. Climb a tree if I have to. Whatever it takes.

  “Misty, he called you here because he knew you’d come running,” Marina tells me.

  “Because I can’t turn down the chance to break a good story.”

  She shrugs. “He’s got your number, that’s for sure.”

  “You think he got me to come here because he wants to kill me?”

  “Maybe he thinks you’ll help clear his name,” she suggests, sounding flat.

  I try to wrap my head around it. I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe he could have done what Marina’s telling me he did. The evidence is stacking up against him. It just doesn’t feel true.

  “Just promise me you’ll stay away from him.” Her big blue eyes plead with me.

  “Sure,” I tell her, shrugging. “I’ll be working next week. Won’t have time to meet anyone.”

  She relaxes and I wonder how I got to be so good at lying. I guess it helps that I know what my tells used to be and I worked damn hard to lose every last one of them.

  “So, have you seen Sam yet?” she smiles and I think about the pendant in my purse.

  “For like five minutes at my mom’s house this morning. I told him Justin’s my boyfriend.”

  She snorts. “I bet he took that well.”

  “He kind of did, actually.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “He acted like he didn’t care.”

  “He’s good at that. I don’t think he’s had more than a one night stand since you’ve been gone. All the single women around town fall over themselves around him but any time he tries to date it falls apart in about three seconds flat. He’s totally stuck on you.”

  I feel my skin warm. Everyone seems to know Sam was totally into me, but me. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s still harboring feelings, but I can’t help the gut reaction to laugh off what Marina’s telling me. He can’t feel that strongly about me. He hasn’t seen me in five years. It’s crazy.

  “I doubt it,” I tell her.

  “Let him take you out while you’re here. You won’t doubt it when you’re alone together.”

  Won’t I? I think of the mess I’ve made so far, screwing with Justin’s feelings and Sam’s both. It’s only going to go downhill from here. I hold back a groan and try to eat a little of my salad.

  I’m not here to find a man. Well, I guess I am, but it’s not like that. Ty isn’t a killer. Sam isn’t either. So who the hell is murdering women in this town? It’s time I started doing some digging of my own.

  Nineteen

  Tyler

  I wake up tangled in my sheets, muscle spasms wracking my body. A string of curse-words leave my lips as I fight to control the overwhelming urge to shift. I was way off thinking I could wait any longer. If it’s going to happen while I’m sleeping, I’m going to have to stay awake until I come up with a new plan.

  When the urges finally fade, I get up. Every bone in my body aches. Every muscle feels tense. Showering takes the edge off, but I can’t linger there. Anything that reminds my body of its other state is a potential threat. I need to cut my risks as low as I can.

  I need to find a place to shift that doesn’t endanger anyone. I won’t let myself be taken unaware by this. Not again. Not ever again.

  I don’t remember hurting that waitress, but I wouldn’t. Shifting forms means blacking out.

  I didn’t know that when I was younger, and that lack of knowledge almost got a girl killed. What was supposed to be the first time I slept with my girlfriend became the first time I shifted instead. She was human, and I barely got her to a hospital in time to save her.

  I learned how to suppress the urge quickly. I only ever allowed myself to change when I was someplace safe, alone. Now it feels like no-place is safe.

  Maybe that’s paranoia. Or maybe something else is going on.

  Finding Sam’s pendant made me realize that whatever’s happening right now, it’s not all on me. Four other women have died since the waitress was found. I’ve been completely human that whole time. Something seriously fucked up is going on.

  I called Misty, telling myself it was only a phone call. Meeting her could put her in danger. I wouldn’t do that. Things were bad enough. But then I heard her voice, and the need to see her took hold of me, and I couldn’t help myself. I dangled enough information to tempt her to come back to town, then I asked her to meet me when she got here.

  It was selfish. I tried to justify that desire, telling myself it could be dangerous to talk about what I’d found over the phone. I’d only meet her once. I wouldn’t shift. She’d never be in harm’s way.

  Truth was I needed to see her, to find out if the longing for her company would fade. To see if anything had changed. It hasn’t. I still feel drawn to her in a way I’ve never been with anyone else. What I have with her always felt like more. More than lust, more than human. A primal desire to make her mine burns through me, and it’s torture because I know she’ll never be mine.

  I groan even thinking about it. We barely even kissed. Once. At a godd
amn fucking party.

  Christ. I’m head over heels for a woman I haven’t even slept with. A woman who has other guys clamoring for her attention.

  I don’t deserve hers. If anything, Sam’s the one she should drop her walls for. If I think I have it bad, I know he has it a million times worse.

  Twenty

  Misty

  Research is boring. It takes hours of dedicated mental focus and it usually means I eat meals without noticing them, which means a box of donuts can disappear before dinner time and I won’t even remember eating one. In short, it sucks, and being stuck in a room with a guy I’m crushing on who I can’t make a move on is making it even worse.

  I came back here on a mission, giving Justin orders while he stood nodding in front of me, the expression on his flushed face anxious. I’d wanted to ask what was wrong, but I couldn’t find a way to do it without point-blank telling him he looked like he was freaking out.

  A few hours later, and we’ve been silently staring at our lap top screens, pretty much ignoring each other all night. I feel awkward again, thinking about the way I messed with him at my mother’s house, and then abandoning him here while I went out to meet a friend. He must really hate me right now.

  “Anything?” I ask idly, wondering if he’s fairing any better than I am. I look over.

  Justin shakes his head. “Are we sure these attacks are linked? I mean, it’s weird that they’re happening in a small area and they mostly seem to be happening in the victim’s homes, but I can’t find anything that links them. Like nothing at all, except the area.”

  He’s got a point. There’s nothing obvious that links them. Kind of why I’m asking him to check the victims out to the point where he’s digging up every last detail of their lives. It can be dull, but it’s a lightning strike moment when you pick up a common detail, something that can break the story.

  Besides, it’s not like I can tell him the truth about the murders. He has no idea shifters even exist.

  “Just keep trying. We’ll find something,” I tell him, checking through my suspect list. I mean, I’m calling it that, but really it’s a list of the known gators in town. All six of them. Yeah. They don’t like to live too close together so there are never more than a dozen in any given town. Marina was right about the territorial part.

  I’m discounting Ty and Sam from the list, knowing in my heart neither of them have anything to do with this. It’s not a typical response to the damning evidence, and maybe some part of me is wearing rose colored glasses, but I just can’t take the idea of either of them as the killer seriously.

  I know them. It’s not them.

  So, who else is there? That’s where things get interesting.

  Mercy Dahlen, anchor for the town’s news station, is a gator. Only female in town. I’ve looked up to her ever since I was a kid. Wanted to be her so freaking badly. She’s a fucking legend. I really hope it isn’t her.

  Jeremiah Jones, Sam’s dad, is obviously a gator. He’s been a mess ever since his wife died when we were kids. Sam was devastated too, but his dad still hasn’t recovered from the grief. He turned into a survivalist after that, kind of acting like a crazy person, but I understood the need for control that was behind it. I want to rule him out. Some tiny part of me wonders if his ongoing grief might have an effect on his gator side. He’s low on my list, but he has to stay there. Sorry, Sam.

  Pete Swanson is the local drunk. He’s in his eighties and he’s had one foot in the grave for the past few decades. It seems unlikely, given his age, but he could still be lethal in his other form. That’s kind of the whole point.

  Deputy Leo Parker is a few years younger than me and seems to have moved to town for his job. He seems like a real go-getter crime-wise. Maybe he has a Jeykll and Hyde thing going on. I don’t know. I’ve never met him.

  I ponder on my next move as I check details and try to find something that could be a lead.

  Justin clears his throat. “You hungry?”

  I look up from my laptop. “I could eat.”

  “You want to go find a place for dinner, or I could go bring something back?” He winces after he tacks on the part about bringing something back. He’s desperate to get out of this room. I don’t blame him. Being cooped up for too long drives me crazy too.

  I think about it for a fraction of a second before I power my laptop down. It’s close to eight now. Hours have passed since we had those pancakes at Mom’s. Justin’s probably starving, the poor guy. My stomach’s grumbling a little too, now that I’m thinking about eating.

  “We can go out. There’s an Italian we could walk to, or I think there might be a new pizza place further down the street.”

  “Italian sounds good to me,” he tells me, switching his laptop off. “Let me get a quick change.”

  He grabs his bag and heads into the bathroom. I wiggle out of my denim skirt and summer top and throw on a nice, low cut emerald green dress in about five seconds. Spritz on perfume, freshen my lipstick. He takes a couple minutes to come out of the bathroom, but the black shirt and dress slacks look pretty damn good on him when he does.

  “That dress is... wow,” he tells me, shaking his head.

  “Glad you approve. Now let’s get moving.” Before I wind up pinning you to the bed and ruining our friendship forever.

  Twenty-One

  Justin

  Okay, it’s time to man up and make a move. She put on that dress for you, and she already called you her boyfriend. What more do you want? Those were pretty big go signals, dumbass. If you don’t make a move soon, you’ll lose her to that cocky football coach.

  Who am I kidding? I’m going to lose her to him anyway. She didn’t call me her boyfriend because she likes me. She did it because she was trying to get a reaction from him. And the dress isn’t for me. It’s because she doesn’t own anything that isn’t sexy.

  “You okay, Just?” she asks as we walk in the fading sunlight toward the Italian restaurant.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound relaxed.

  “You seem quiet.”

  I guess I’m not talking much. I don’t what to say. Every conversation she tries to start, I manage to kill with short answers. Ugh, I’m tanking this effort already. Can’t make a move out of the blue. We have to be vibing at least a bit first.

  “I’m a little tired, I guess,” I tell her, trying to get outside of my own head and think of something to talk about that isn’t just spilling out everything I love about her all at once. The case. We should talk about that. It is kind of weird. “Are you going to tell me why six animal attacks have you looking for a murderer?”

  Shit, that came out sounding like an accusation.

  “Wow, you cut right to the chase,” she says, laughing a little.

  No answer. Huh. I wait, but she doesn’t even attempt to give me one.

  “Well, it is kind of weird.” I glance at her and she shrugs.

  “There’s something I can’t tell you. Yet,” she says.

  She’s holding something back. I kind of already knew that, but it’s nice that she’s not trying to lie about it. She tells a lot of lies. Mostly to other people. Feels kind of nice that she doesn’t want to use them on me too.

  “I really hope they have lasagna tonight,” she says, moving the conversation on. “It’s one of my favorites. My mom makes the best, but don’t tell her that. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “Your mom seems nice.” At little overbearing maybe, but definitely a sweetheart.

  “She’s too much, you can say it. Everyone does.”

  “I like her,” I say, wishing she could see I’m not everyone. Maybe by the end of the night.

  A little Dutch courage, a tentative move to show I’m interested. Worst that could happen is she turns me down. I can live with that. It’ll hurt, but at least I can say I tried.

  “You just like her pancakes,” Misty says, smiling. “We’re here. I can smell the bread sticks!”

  She walks inside befor
e I can get the chance to hold the door open for her. Same thing happens with her chair. I tell myself to relax. It doesn’t matter if this doesn’t start off as a date. By the end of the night, it’s going to feel like one.

  Twenty-Two

  Misty

  Justin’s nervous. He has been all night. I sink another rum and coke, letting the tension drain from my shoulders as I try to decide whether to eat the rest of my Tiramisu or ask the waiter to box it up for later. I take another bite and moan, making Justin’s dark eyes widen.

  “I think we should forget about everything this week,” I tell him, already awash in that relaxed vacation kind of vibe.

  “Everything?” he asks. “Like what?”

  “Like that we work together,” I say, “And that my ass might get fired if I report anything other than kitty sweaters and local football team victories.”

  “Okay,” he starts, nodding.

  He sank a few beers when we got in and then stopped. I’m onto my fifth rum and coke and I’ll probably have another. The idea I’m having right now is probably a bad one. I can’t seem to care.

  “What if we were just strangers who met on a blind date?” I ask, watching his mouth fall open and hiding my smile with my glass. I tip it to get an ice-cube to crunch while I wait for his answer.

  “If that was the case, I’d ask you if I could walk you home.”

  “And what would you say if I invited you in?”

  He waves the waiter over, “Check, please.”

  I laugh as he takes care of the bill and reaches for my hand. We leave the restaurant on a high, walking out to the moonlit street holding hands. He stops suddenly and pulls me toward him.