bedrooms—weren’t why she was here.
Even though her body throbbed just a little at the idea of joining Quinn, with that amazing body of his, in bed.
That wouldn’t happen.
Instead, she sat determinedly beside Quinn, who had already booted up the small computer that lay on a shelf that acted like a desk in that alcove.
First, though, he pulled out his smartphone. “I’ve tried this before,” he said, “but I’ll call each of them again, just to see if they answer.”
They didn’t. Nor did they respond even now to any of the many text messages and emails he’d sent. He had even resorted to trying to contact them through Twitter and Facebook. Nothing.
Quinn and she had asked both Major Connell and General Yarrow if they’d continued to try to reach Simon and Grace. They had—also to no avail.
The last anyone had heard of them—or so it seemed—was a call Simon had made to Quinn while sightseeing along the Mount Desert Island coast just after they had reached the Acadia Park area.
Which made Kristine fear the worst. Were they dead? If not, were they ignoring calls because they were, indeed, guilty of the mutilations and murders?
She didn’t want to think about either. But they had to know.
“So what are we looking for?” she asked Quinn as he sat and began typing in a web address. His home page had wallpaper depicting a big question mark in the center of it.
Interesting. Was that because he was a private investigator by background, used to answering questions?
“Okay, first I’m putting on my P.I. hat,” Quinn said, not surprising her. “I’ve already checked to see when my bro or his bride last got into their bank accounts or used their credit cards. I found nothing useful, but I’ll do it again before we decide what’s next.”
He had typed in the web address of a major credit-card company and now inserted a number and password. Had he already known Simon’s account information, or had he used his investigation resources to learn it? He next did the same with Grace’s account—and he was less likely to have been given her info than his brother’s.
He checked not only on this site but a couple of others, apparently knowing data on multiple accounts, including a bank where he said Simon maintained checking and savings accounts. “Grace and he have already opened a joint account here,” Quinn told Kristine. But after scanning the latest page of each, he shook his head. “There’s a charge for a bed-and-breakfast in Bar Harbor and some meals, ending a couple of days ago. Then nothing. Not even a visit to an ATM for cash.”
“Oh,” Kristine said sadly. That gave no further answers. But it did suggest that something awful had happened to the newlyweds.
If the suspicions expressed at the earlier meetings were true, that they’d planned this attack to undermine Alpha Force somehow, they could have started new accounts under assumed names.
But at least they could still be alive.
No. She wanted to believe they were okay, and she knew they wouldn’t—couldn’t—be responsible for the attacks.
“I’ll check some news sites next,” Quinn said, “looking for more current detail about that damned fatal assault in Acadia.”
Where two people had apparently been mauled by wild animals and died. Not something Kristine would usually want to learn the gory details about, but this was different. Maybe somehow those details could lead to more information about Grace and Simon.
“Good idea,” she said and watched as his long, thick fingers sailed over the keys. She had a passing wonderment about how those fingers would feel playing over her … Ridiculous!
She settled down to watch the screen over his shoulder. There wasn’t a lot of data in most of the news stories Quinn brought up at first, but enough to make Kristine wonder.
Even so, she still wasn’t willing to accept Simon and Grace’s involvement.
Quinn turned on the sound as he went into a video news clip from a local Bar Harbor television station.
That one was so horrible that parts of the pictures were blurred.
Enough was shown to display how mutilated the bodies were—gashed and bloodied, as if ripped by teeth and claws.
“The authorities are still investigating,” the announcer intoned as the camera panned around what appeared to be a clearing in a forest, described as part of Acadia National Park. “So far, they appear to believe this was an attack by some kind of wild animal that has not yet been identified. This is the worst event in the park since a man walking his dog apparently fell to his death and, before that, a young tourist was killed by a rogue wave along the shore several years ago. Back to you, John.” The picture returned to an announcer in a studio somewhere before phasing out.
“Some kind of wild animal,” Kristine mused aloud.
“A wolf?” said Quinn. “Two wolves?”
“They’re not speculating on that—or at least this reporter didn’t,” Kristine responded.
“Yeah, but—” Quinn clicked on another site, one for which he had to enter a password. Kristine couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to be some kind of official law enforcement website, although Quinn got off the main page immediately to do a search for Acadia.
What showed on the screen was a detailed list of crimes in the Bar Harbor area. Next, he clicked on something that brought up this specific crime.
Kristine watched his face as Quinn squinted at the small print that came up. “Couple of agencies are involved in this investigation,” he said. “There’s some speculation about what kinds of animals could be involved. Species that still have habitats around there include foxes, coyotes, bobcats and black bears. Used to be mountain lions, too—and gray wolves.”
Wolves. The word hung in the air this time.
“Not Grace and Simon,” Kristine whispered, hoping it was true. She put her hand on Quinn’s shoulder—whether to reassure him or convince him, she wasn’t sure.
The touch was like a bolt of lightning, making her even more cognizant of his hot and alluring presence. But she wasn’t a wimp. She had courage—of all kinds. She let her hand rest there … for now.
Even when he turned his head a little and looked at her with those golden eyes.
“So what do you think?” she asked him.
“What do you think?” he countered. “You willing to go there to help me investigate—in any form I need to be? Your commanding officers—our commanding officers—apparently have to act dead set against our being there.”
He’d used the word dead. Like the two mutilated tourists.
Like Alpha Force would be, if the perpetrators really were Grace and Simon, and that got out to the world.
Kristine understood why the muckety-mucks like General Yarrow and that guy Olivante from the Department of Defense’s Defense Special Projects Agency were so concerned.
Not everyone, even in the military, knew about Alpha Force. But if it were ever shown that the killings were done by shapeshifters, and that those shapeshifters were not just part of some grotesque horror story but members of a very covert and elite U.S. military force, the repercussions could be terrible.
Terrible to the U.S. Armed Forces.
And potentially devastating—fatal—to the existence of Alpha Force.
What would happen to its members then—especially its shapeshifter members?
They’d be humiliated at the least. Outed. Paraded as absurd freaks through the media.
They would never be able to use their very special, unique and amazing