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  Breathlessly, Sally sat back. “Holy moly.”

  “The stage calls,” Oscar’s voice was husky. He donned his hat. “Will you stay for another set?”

  Sally fanned herself with a fluttering hand. “I—I don’t think I better.”

  “Very well. I have some things to discuss with you, but not until I discuss them with Thorn first. I will call on you soon.”

  She watched him return to the stage and pull the double bass from its stand. Her mind twisted with opposing thoughts. The first was that she was relieved that he hadn’t been planning a hook-up right after they made love; that his secret mistress was music. The second was that she was so hooked on him, that she didn’t know what she was going to do about it. With a last glance of him playing a run that led into “Take the A Train,” she fled into the rainy night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cars surrounded him on the freeway, slowing the Lincoln to a crawl. Coltrane on the stereo could not dispel his frustration of feeling like a herd animal. Oscar bulled the big car over three lanes to an off ramp so that he might taste the freedom of the backroads. Breath easing somewhat, he began a possibly slower, though less impeded, drive toward Mount Hood.

  His evening had not gone as planned. That cranky cocktail waitress was about four sexual positions away from a proper attitude adjustment. One of the bartenders had a great many tattoos, and he wanted to discover just how extensive her ink was. Given his animal magnetism, Oscar was certain he would perform both endeavors at the same time.

  However, when the set ended, instead of employing his silver tongue so that he might later employ his tongue in a different, although equally satisfying fashion, he was plagued by thoughts of Sally. It seemed time was running out before the law descended and put her behind bars. At the same time, nothing had been heard from the hijo de puta who wanted Thorn dead. The pregnant pause in the atmosphere couldn’t last much longer. Something bad was close on the horizon. It made him press the accelerator down harder on the twisting roads.

  More than that, when he considered smooth-talking the women at the club, Sally’s face emerged in his thoughts. His experience with women was extensive. Yet in all his relationships, regardless of length, not one of those women had actually put for the effort to explore Oscar’s life.

  Intrude upon it might be a better word.

  It gave him an unfamiliar feeling, and at once brought forth something akin to fear. He was a creature of freedom. He could not live his life with thoughts of one woman overwhelming him. Attachments, leashes, collars—these were the instruments of the domesticated, not a free, feral being such as himself.

  The afternoon before at the county assessor’s office had proved as fruitless as his visit to the grandfather’s former holdings. He found nada. This morning’s errand brought him to the county clerk for a last-ditch attempt to name the mysterious “a-hole” bent on destroying Sally’s life. Armed with as much information as he could find, he walked past the bronze statue of the antelope and into the courthouse.

  He had only the slim hint of a theory, and if the records on file did not bear it out, Oscar was not sure what his next move might be. He pushed through the doors of the office, finding it empty. Removing his hat, he paced to the front counter. Beyond, two women sat hacking at computers. Oscar cleared his throat.

  Both looked up at the same time. One was a woman in her sixties with a helmet of gray hair and reading glasses that hung by a chain. The other was a young, blonde twenty-something in yoga pants and a snug silken blouse. Her blue eyes popped open as she jumped from her chair.

  “I got this, Mildred.”

  Oscar’s investigative prowess minutely examined the bodacious figure heading toward him. The blouse revealed three inches of creamy cleavage. Melon-sized breasts bounced beneath taut fabric. He was certain he could encircle her waist with his hands. Hips flared to shoulder width, points of the pelvic bone just apparent. Most compelling was the look in her blue eyes. He could only describe it as ravenous.

  “My goodness, look what the cat dragged in.” Her voice was breathy, lips full. As if to better study him, she pulled cats eye glasses from the top of her head. Sexy librarian. Meow. “How can I help you, handsome?”

  Without revealing a hungry smile of his own, he nodded to her. “Buenos dias, Seniorita. I am interested in property exchanges from around one hundred years ago in this county.” To up his game, he took his license wallet from his suit coat pocket and opened it for her.

  “Oo, a private eye and a sexy accent. And I thought this was going to be a boring day.”

  He leaned closer, putting his hat on the counter. “Each day is what you make it, Senorita…?”

  “Ashley.”

  Of course. “This may be muy dicífil. I do not have a lot to go on, only an approximate year, and the name of one of the parties involved.”

  “Well, in that case, we’d have to go back in the file room.” Ashley licked her lower lip and raised her eyebrows above the glasses. From the expression and the shift of her hips, Oscar began to form a picture of what might happen in the file room, and went stiff.

  He let the smile spread across his face. “Lead the way.”

  Ashley pulled up the pass through in the counter, and Oscar moved through. She didn’t give him much room. He didn’t mind.

  “Judy doesn’t like members of the public back in the file room.” Mildred didn’t look up from her computer.

  “Judy isn’t here today, is she?” Ashley said with extra annunciation.

  The older woman responded with a flurry of typing.

  “This way.” Ashley led the way to a side door. This gave Oscar the opportunity to examine the perfect blend of soft and firm of her lower body through the magic that was yoga pants. Speaking of pants, he adjusted his own so that he might walk unimpeded.

  The file room was just that, a room filled with floor-to-ceiling files. Oscar had never investigated a case in this county before, and was amazed at the volume of information.

  “Our oldest files are all the way in the back corner,” Ashely said in his ear.

  Oscar searched her eyes, and found something willing. “Perfect.”

  “I know, right?”

  To his pleasure, she took his hand and led him. What better way to unfetter himself from attachments than a quickie in a quasi-public office? He undressed Ashley with his mind, wondering if she had freckles or moles, knowing how her skin would taste. Oscar considered whether he wanted to take her against the file cabinets, or on the floor. ¡Qué diablos! Why not both?

  “What was the date?” She ran her tongue over her lower lip again. Blow job lips was the English slang. Oscar hoped this was appropriate.

  When he gave her the year, she opened a file drawer. There were only a dozen folders within. Oscar quickly found what he was looking for. He glanced over the document.

  Know all men by these presents that Elathan Blood, for and in consideration of the sum of ten and three-quarter ounces of gold to him in hand paid by the United States Bank of Portland, the receipt hereof is acknowledged, does sell one plot of land heretofore marked as Plot 131.

  Oscar’s jaw dropped. Elathan Blood. At last, he had a name. The document was more than he had hoped for. It showed the bear-shifter selling a single plot of land to Sally’s grandfather, and from the copy of the map, it was the site where the farmhouse now stood.

  “Looks like you found what you wanted. That was easy.” Ashley tilted her head at him. “Do you like easy?”

  Found what he wanted, Oscar thought. The busty blonde was so close he could feel her breath on his neck. An alien idea, diametrically opposed to the situation, flashed into his mind crystal clear and fully formed. The memory of Sally from the night before came on strong. It would make me happy if you kissed me.

  He blinked several times, bewildered. “I believe I have found what I wanted,” he said.

  Ashley angled her head in a question. “You have?”

  Oscar moved even closer to her.
“Indeed. Thank you for your assistance.” With that, he turned and walked out of the file room.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Oscar knocked for the fourth time on the trailer door, competing with the symphony of hammers at the construction site. Frustration formed a tight knot in his stomach, so much so that the wooden door frame splintered under his pounding. Pounding on a door instead of a woman. What was Sally doing to his head?

  Finally, the structure quivered and creaked with the weight of the occupant. Torso bound in bandages, tighty-whities and socks greeted him with a grunt. While Oscar wasn’t particularly interested in seeing this much of Thorn, he could now see that his injuries were more extensive than he realized. The evil man had come much closer to doing Thorn in than Oscar imagined.

  “What?”

  “We have things to discuss, you and I.” Oscar frowned. “It might go better if you put on some pants.”

  Without a word, the giant spun away, leaving Oscar to follow. He had to take a deep breath before stepping into the claustrophobic trailer. After some pained noises from the bedroom, Thorn emerged in purple stretchy sweat pants. With a groan, he sank to the couch. “Felicity thinks you’re good at what you do, but I haven’t seen any evidence of that yet.”

  Other than a chair in the kitchen, there were no other seats. Since Thorn took up most of the couch, Oscar decided to stand. He smiled at the bear shifter. “Felicity knows I’m good.”

  Thorn said nothing, but his glare felt like thunder in the air.

  “I’ve identified the man who wants to kill you.”

  For a split second, Thorn almost looked impressed. “So why come to me? Go to the cops. That motherfucker turned Sally, made her his mate, for fuck’s sake. Let’s just put the son-of-a-bitch away.”

  This time, the thunder broke in Oscar’s heart. More than ever, the man trapping Sally like that stirred anger like lava inside him. “The cops can’t get involved.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Thorn’s outburst made him wince, a hand going to his broken ribs.

  Oscar opened his laptop case and set the computer on an end table. He talked while the machine booted. “Despite my best efforts, I have only three official documents naming the man in question. One is a purchase of land not far from here, adjacent to Sally’s property. One is the sale of a portion of that land to Sally’s grandfather. The third is a military discharge.”

  Thorn squinted at the image as it came up. Over the top of the document in big fancy letters was the phrase To All of Whom it May Concern over the picture of a bald eagle with lots of flags and shields. “‘Know ye that Elathan Blood’—is that the asshole’s name?”

  “Read on.”

  Thorn whispered to himself as he read. “‘Discharged, thirtieth day of September—’” Brows lowered, he side-eyed Oscar. “‘Eighteen sixty-five?’”

  “Exactemente. Our perpetrator is more than a century-and-a-half old.”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to make of this?”

  Oscar shrugged. “There are no experts on shifters, although I do understand that we are long-lived creatures.”

  “I know an expert.”

  “You do?”

  Thorn smirked. “I can’t recommend her. Anyway, this guy’s still alive. Whether he’s two hundred years old or not, he still leaves fingerprints and stuff. Let the cops go after him.”

  “I have no compelling evidence to give them.”

  “He’s using Sally to try to kill me.”

  “Be that as it may, the motive is fully unbelievable. To human kind.”

  “What is his motive?”

  Oscar closed the computer. “I’m not fully certain. But I can hardly go to the police and say that this man has turned your great-niece and is using her to kill you through some animal control.”

  “Great-niece?”

  “Your father is Sally’s grandfather.”

  Thorn’s features opened. It took him a while before words emerged. “How the fuck can that be? I’m not even thirty years old.”

  “You see why I’m here instead of the sheriff’s office.”

  Thorn’s brow knitted. “No. I don’t see anything.”

  Oscar pursed his lips. “This is quite complicated. If you would be so kind as to direct me to your expert on shifters.”

  “Sybil Auger. She runs a wild animal hospital on Little Crater Lake.” Thorn made a face. “She’s the one they call The Vet.”

  “Ah.” Oscar took out his notebook and scribbled. When he put it away, he assessed Thorn. “You still seem very injured.”

  The giant sighed. “I’ve tried shifting, to heal up. But shifting with six busted ribs…”

  “You could puncture a lung,” Oscar mused.

  “No way of knowing if the bear could heal away that much damage before I died.”

  A dark idea bloomed in Oscar’s mind. “And you walk around, the way you greeted me? People can see you?”

  “Hey, you don’t want to look at all this, that’s your problem.” Thorn made a grand gesture with both hands.

  “If this Blood has seen your injuries—”

  A loud ding and a buzz silenced Oscar. He saw Thorn’s cell phone vibrate across the kitchen counter. “A text message?” he asked.

  “Probably Felicity wanting to know what I want for lunch.”

  “I think not.” Oscar moved quickly, snatching up the phone before Thorn could get up. He handed the cell to Thorn. “I believe that is Sally luring you to your death again.”

  ###

  “There’s a sawmill around here? I’ve never seen one.” Thorn, now dressed in jeans, boots and a half-buttoned flannel shirt despite the chill, sat in the vintage Lincoln’s passenger seat. Luckily, Oscar loved a big car. He couldn’t imagine trying to get Thorn into one of Felicity’s tiny sports cars with his injuries.

  “It is about a mile into the woods behind Sally’s bar. Your father built it, along with the man who wants you dead.”

  “My father.” Thorn squirmed in the seat, grimacing. “Figured I had one, but… I’m really Sally’s great-uncle?”

  Oscar piloted the land yacht down the mountain roads. “Technically, sí. Her grandfather built the bar in the nineteen-teens, before prohibition, before he got sick.”

  For the rest of the drive, Oscar related what he knew about the man, which wasn’t much. Thorn’s expression pinched in doubt, but he listened carefully.

  “So my old man boned my mom, who this Blood guy had a thing for, and after all this time, he’s still pissed off about it?”

  “Given that Elathan Blood is a cold-blooded killer who manipulates others in order to keep his hands clean, it is impossible for me to estimate his emotional state. As we are likely dealing with a psychopath, there must be more to it than being pissed off.”

  Thorn stuck out his lower lip, eyes drifting. “More to it like what?”

  “Ah, if I knew that—case closed.”

  “More to it like I was born less than thirty years ago, but the old man knocked up my mother a hundred years ago?”

  “Sí. More to it like that.”

  Oscar thought that approaching the sawmill from the bar would give them away. Instead, he drove two miles past the intersection to the farm that now contained the old orchard. Parking in the pick-your-own-fruit lot, empty this late in the season, he gave Thorn an assessing glance. “It’s about a mile from here.”

  Thorn levered himself out of the car, bearing his teeth, eyes screwed shut. “No problem,” he managed.

  Skirting the fence, the two of them moved along the stream. Deeper into the woods, a log had fallen across, and they carefully made their way over it. Oscar found the old dirt road, which was hardly more passible than simply walking through the woods. Thorn’s breathing sounded like overworked bellows as they reached the crumbling, detached water wheel.

  Oscar crouched behind it, the sawmill in view through the thick trees. Cat senses scanned the area, but he detected no human—or ursine—p
resence. The cell phone in Thorn’s shirt pocket hummed. With his fingers, Oscar gestured for it. Thorn opened the text function and handed it over.

  Today at 12:46 p.m.: help help Im trapped in the sawmill behind my bar

  Today at 12:51 p.m.: help think my leg is broke please

  Today at 1:41 p.m.: cant move help please please

  “Text her back,” Oscar handed the phone over. “You’re on your way.”

  Thorn thumbed the message. For a long moment, the two of them listened. Even with animal senses, they heard no tone from the dark structure. The bear-shifter inhaled through his nose, and made a face. “Smells like almonds.”

  “There are nut trees in an orchard not far from here.”

  With a scowl, Thorn moved toward the dilapidated structure. “I know my trees. Too cold to grow almonds in this valley.”

  “Then it must be a trap,” Oscar started after him.

  “Must be. I can smell Sally in there.” Thorn picked up the pace with his long legs.

  A bear’s sense of smell was much greater than that of a cat. Even so, Oscar just barely detected the lingering essence of Sally. It hadn’t been here before—just the smell of bear. He knew that if Sally herself were present, Oscar could easily detect her. “Thorn, stop.”

  The huge man didn’t listen, ducking into the collapsing sawmill. Something stopped him short. “Ah! Spider web!”

  Oscar darted in, grabbing the big man’s shoulder. “It’s not a spider web. Do not move, amigo, or you will die.”

  “What?”

  “That is a trip wire, set so that only a very tall man would set it off.” Sweat dripped down Oscar’s neck. “If you move an inch in any direction, you will set it off.”

  “Set what off?” Thorn whispered.