Blood Trail

his life."

    Nor do you approve of the rest of his life, Vicki realized. "Has he been staying with you long?"

    "No." Then he added, "Mark is my late sister's son. My only living relative."

    Which explains why you let the slimebag stay around at all. She sensed his disapproval, but whether it was directed at her or at Mark she couldn't say. "I've, uh, never hunted," she told him, attempting to get back into his good graces. Technically it was the truth. She'd never hunted anything that ran on four legs.

    "Good for you. Do you pray?"

    "Probably not as much as I should."

    That startled him into a smile. "Probably not," he agreed and pulled over at the end of the long lane leading to the Heerkens farm. "If you'll excuse me, this is as far as I can take you."

    "Excuse you? You've saved me a long hot walk, I'm in your debt." She slid out of the car and with one finger holding her glasses, leaned back in through the open window. "Thanks for the ride. And the water. And the chance to see your garden."

    He nodded solemnly. "You're welcome. Can I convince you to join me at worship tomorrow, Ms. Nelson?"

    "No, I don't think so."

    "Very well." He seemed resigned. "Be careful, Ms. Nelson; if you endanger your soul you endanger your chance of eternal life."

    Vicki could feel his sincerity, knew he wasn't just saying the words, so she nodded and said,
    "I'll be careful." and stepped back onto the shoulder. She waited where she was until he maneuvered the big car around in a tight three point turn then shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder, waved, and started toward the lane.

    Which was when she saw Storm emerge from the hedgerow about a hundred meters down the road. Tongue lolling, he trotted toward her, sunlight shimmering in the golden highlights of his fur.

    Tires growled against gravel, the big sedan picked up speed, and headed right for the young wer.

    Vicki tried to yell - to Storm, to Carl, she wasn't sure ut all that came out of a mouth gone suddenly dry was a strangled croak.

    Then, in a spray of dirt and small stones, it was over.

    Carl Biehn, his car, and his God, disappeared down the road and Storm danced a welcome around her.

    As her heart started beating again, Vicki settled her glasses back on her nose, her free hand absently rubbing the warm fur between Storm's ears. She could have sworn. ... I must've got just a little too much sun.

    Finding nothing to interest him in the highly overrated great outdoors, Mark Williams wandered back into the house and pulled a cold beer out of the fridge. "Thank God dear Uncle Carl has nothing against 'alcohol in moderation.' " He laughed and repeated, "Thank God."
    Hopefully, that blonde bitch was getting an earful of peace and love and the rest of that religious crap from the crazy old coot.

    She hadn't been his type anyway. He liked his women smaller, more complacent, willing to be overwhelmed. The kind he could be sure wouldn't go screaming to the police over every little bending of the rules.

    "What I like is the kind of woman that doesn't land me in the middle of goddamned nowhere."
    He took a long swallow of beer and looked out the kitchen window at the fields shimmering in the heat. "Shit." He sighed. "This is all Annette's fault."

    If Annette hadn't been ready to blow the sweet little operation he'd been running out of Vancouver, he wouldn't have had to have her killed so quickly that he'd had to hire professional help, and sloppy professional help at that. He shuddered to think of how close he'd come to spending his most productive years behind bars. Fortunately, he'd been able to arrange it so that the hired help had ended up taking the fall. He'd barely been able to close down the business, realize most of the projected profits, and get out of the province before the hired help's family had arrived to demand their share.

    "And thus I find myself in the ass-end of civilization." He finished the beer and yawned. It could've been worse; the nights, at least, offered rare sport. Grinning, he tossed the empty into the case. Last night's bit of fun had proven his skills were still as sharp as they'd ever been.
    A second yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw. He'd been up until the wee small hours of the morning and been awakened obscenely early. Maybe he should head upstairs for a nap. "Don't want the fingers trembling at a critical moment. Besides," he grabbed another beer to take with him, "there's bugger all else to do until dark."

    When an