Mercy Thompson 06 - River Marked

that.”
    Adam had knelt to get a good look. I heard him take a deep breath, then move closer. After a minute, he shook his head and stood up. “Thought I smelled something odd, but there’s no telling what a rope might gather sitting in the river.”
    The deputy swallowed, having been reminded what Adam was. “You four can take your boat back? Okay. Leave Benny’s boat there, and we’ll get people to check it out and see what that tells us. Mostly we’ll just have to wait until Benny can tell us what happened to Faith and his foot. At this point, I expect it’s some sort of accident.”
    “I saw a man attacked by a barracuda once,” said Adam. He looked at Hank. “I agree it looked a lot like your Benny’s foot.” He glanced at Calvin. “Not a metal trap. Those old jaw traps are built to dig in and hold the animal, not go all the way through the bone. A bear trap might crush a foot off, and there was some crushing on Benny’s foot—but mostly it was sliced. Something with sharp teeth went after him.”
    “No barracuda in the Columbia,” said Fred. But he didn’t sound like he was arguing. “No sharks, either, for that matter. It looks to me like something a piece of farm machinery might do. But I’ve never run into a baler or harvester in the river.”
    My leg, once I’d noticed it, began to itch. It looked as though it ought to hurt more than it did, but right now, it itched. Maybe I’d gotten into some nettles or something while I was running around bare-legged.
    Adam glanced at me. “I need to get Mercy to camp.”
    The deputy said, “You guys go get your boat and go home. Mr. Hauptman, I can take you and your wife back to your camp so you can take care of her.”
    He was scared of Adam. When we got in the car, the scent of his fear filled the air. I don’t think a human would have noticed, though, and a little bit of fear wouldn’t set Adam off.
    Adam had a lot of experience dealing with scared people. By the time we reached the campground, the deputy was deep in a discussion about what the impact of a second campground in the Maryhill area would be.
    “What we really need here is a good restaurant or two.” The deputy’s voice carried his conviction. “The museum has a nice deli, and there are a couple of places in Biggs, but they are always overflowing with highway traffic. You have to drive all the way to Goldendale, The Dalles, or Hood River for really good food. Those are too hard to find for the tourist business pulled in by the museum or Stonehenge. I figure we lose a lot of business because we don’t have enough places to eat.”
    He pulled up to the gates and let us out. “I’d appreciate it if you folks stayed around here for a few days in case we need to ask you anything else.”
    “We were planning to,” said Adam. “But if you need us, you have my cell.”
    He drove off, and I told Adam, “You’d better not let Bran see how diplomatic and reassuring you can be when you want. He’ll make you go around the country and make speeches about how werewolves are gentle and not scary at all, too.”
    Adam smiled and picked me up. “Shh,” he said.
    I didn’t argue. The itching hadn’t gone away, but the pain had increased just on the short ride to the camp. Besides, carrying me wasn’t much of an effort for a werewolf.
    “Hey,” I said. “You’ve been playing the hero pack mule all day. First Robert, then Benny, and now me.”
    He set me down in front of the trailer and opened the door for me. When I sat down on the leather sofa, he turned on the interior lights and rolled my pant leg up to my knee. In the bright light of the trailer, it looked a lot worse than it had. Yellow stuff and blood crusted the cut, which was about an inch wide and deeper than I’d thought. The first hint of bruising was beginning to show up above and below the cut, and the edges had puffed up.
    Adam put his nose down to my leg and sniffed again. He took a fluffy towel out of a cupboard and put that over his leg. Then he propped my calf on his thigh and poured liquid fire over the cut. I know some people claim that hydrogen peroxide doesn’t hurt. Goody for them. I hate the stuff.
    I jumped when the hydrogen peroxide hit and shrank down into the couch as it continued to bubble ferociously. Adam used the damp towel to clean my leg, then he sniffed again.
    “That was no rope,” he growled. “There was something caustic or poisonous on whatever grabbed you—I can smell it.”
    “Is