“Eighteen-wheeler,” Kenzie observed. She looked down the curve of the narrow road. “Had to be tough to drive it back here, but whoever it was did it.”

Cade sat down on his haunches, growling up a storm. Kenzie didn’t know exactly what he was saying, but she got the gist. He was right—this was creepy.

“You’re saying someone put that weird Shifter thing together?” Jamie asked Kenzie.

“Or found it and tamed it.”

“Tamed it? Did you see what it did to Bowman? And to Cade’s truck?”

Cade’s growl grew louder, the look in his eyes murderous. No doubt about what he was saying now.

“Tamed it,” Kenzie answered. “How else would they have gotten it to a designated area and into the back of a truck?”

“Shit,” Jamie said softly.

The three of them stood looking down the road. Eventually that road would lead to a highway, which in turn would lead to highways and freeways connecting every city in the state, and then every state in the country. A big truck with plenty of fuel could be many miles away by now.

“Yep,” Kenzie answered.

They gazed at the empty road and peaceful woods on either side before they turned around without speaking and made for the roadhouse again. Time to report to Bowman.

Kenzie rounded up the other Shifters who were hunting through the woods, and they all walked or bounded back to the roadhouse, where the Shifters had left their vehicles.

When they reached the parking lot, however, they found police cars surrounding it. The cars blocked the way to the Shifters’ bikes and trucks, and uniformed police were everywhere.

CHAPTER SIX

Cade ducked back into the woods. Jamie said, “Shit,” and slid out of sight as well. He’d left his clothes on Kenzie’s motorcycle, which was in the lot, and human cops loved to arrest Shifters for public nudity.

Kenzie walked forward. Her cousin Bianca and Bianca’s boyfriend, Marcus, who were already dressed, came with her.

One of the cops broke off from the others and strolled to them, not in a hurry. He wore a black uniform, still clean despite the mud and melting ice, had black hair buzzed short, and wore sunglasses against the glare of the winter sunshine. His badge glinted as bright as the sunlight, as did the rims of the glasses when he removed them to reveal eyes of deep brown. His name tag read “Ramirez.” He looked Native American, or as though at least one parent had been.

He approached Marcus first—humans tended to think the males were in charge of whatever Shifter thing was going on, and in the humans’ defense, usually they weren’t wrong. Kenzie stepped in front of Marcus, who conceded to her without getting pissed off about it. He flanked Kenzie on the right, with Bianca on her left, the three of them facing the cop.

Kenzie met the man’s gaze without flinching, and he immediately understood that Kenzie was in charge. He flicked a glance over the other two before returning to look into Kenzie’s eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked in a mild voice. “How many more of you are around?” He indicated the number of motorcycles and small pickups in the lot.

“A few,” Kenzie said. “We came for a run. The woods are quiet this time of day.”

“Uh-huh.” Ramirez’s skepticism was obvious. He had a roundish face, his high forehead emphasized by his short haircut. His eyes held all kinds of depths, and the strength in them rivaled that in any Shifter’s. He was well-built, obviously working out for his job, and wore a holstered black pistol, though Kenzie didn’t know what kind. Like most Shifters, she knew damn all about guns.

“Yeah.” Kenzie folded her arms and looked right back at him, but softened her word with a little smile.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with the disturbance here last night, would it?” Ramirez asked. “The big fight? The damage to the bar? The crazed monster the dead-drunk patrons reported to police this morning? One of the people here told me to talk to Kenzie O’Donnell, who’d know all about it. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Kenzie gave him a nod. “That’s me.”

“Then come inside,” Ramirez said. “Let’s talk.”

He didn’t mean in the still-closed bar. He meant in his patrol car, marked as from the nearby town of Marshall.

Jamie and Cade emerged from the woods, both in their animal forms, as Ramirez opened the door to usher Kenzie into the front seat of his car. He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side to get in. He moved the small computer screen attached to his dashboard so Kenzie couldn’t see it, then settled in and looked at her.

At the edge of the woods, Cade and Jamie stood tense. Kenzie gave them the slightest shake of her head, indicating they were to watch, but to do nothing unless she signaled.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Ramirez said, glancing at the bear and wolf, then back at Kenzie. “I really just want to talk.” His voice carried a rumble of strength and a hint of darkness. His lashes were jet black, matching his hair.

Kenzie had been thinking she should assure Ramirez he didn’t have to be afraid of her. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack and kill a human police officer in his own patrol car, but she could do it if she had to. She could grab him mid-change and claw out his throat before he had the chance to unholster his weapon.

Ramirez rested his hands on the wheel. “Tell me what happened here last night.”

His scent gave off confidence and the fact that he liked coffee. It wasn’t a bad scent, though Kenzie didn’t always like how humans smelled.

She shrugged. “What’s to tell?”

Ramirez gave her a patient look. “I know what I’ve heard, and I’ve heard plenty. But the people who reported the fight were drunk or high, or both. I want the story from someone who wasn’t hysterical.”

Kenzie had to smile. No one had ever accused her of being hysterical. “If you want the truth, I don’t know what all happened. This thing came out of the woods and attacked the bar. I led a counterattack, but we couldn’t make much of a dent in it. It only ran off when my mate drove into it with a truck.”

Ramirez listened, dark eyes on her. He didn’t make any notes or tap things on the computer. He simply sat, his hands on the wheel, and watched her.

“Your mate,” he repeated. “That’s like your husband, right?” He wasn’t being sarcastic or derogatory; he simply wanted to know.