Page 16 of Fire Dancer

But I’d been digging through that rabbit warren all day, and my wolf was howling for a change.

Well, howling for Pippa. But a run would be good too.

So, I drove “home” to the cabin I was renting, having taken over the lease from Nash. It was way out of town, down a dirt road, on a property owned by an older guy named Henry.

As the dragon flies, it was only about three miles west of Pippa’s ranch. As the wolf trots, it was more like five miles. I knew, because I’d been drawn in that direction night after night. Drawn by what, I wasn’t sure. By Pippa? Destiny? By my own foolish hopes and desires?

That night, like every night, I told myself I wouldn’t go. But that night, like every night, I went anyway.

Just a little run,my inner wolf begged.Just to get out and move. We don’t even have to head in her direction.

The same lie I let myself fall for every time.

I only entered the cabin long enough to drop my car keys and jacket. Then I stepped outside again, stripping layers as I went. Sweater, shirt, pants, boots, socks. Henry was a perfect neighbor as far as that went — plenty distant and lights out by nine, dueto his early starting time with the hot air balloon company he owned. So I was all alone.

April nights in Sedona were as chilly as the days were warm, so I shifted as I walked. The tiny hairs on my skin thickened and grew. Color drained out of my eyesight, while scents flooded my nose. I hadn’t been in Arizona long enough to name each of the flowers I whiffed, but there was an astonishing array — everything from prickly cacti to the sticky-sweet blossoms hummingbirds buzzed around.

I dropped to all fours, curling my hands, hunching my back. My body ached and burned. Then, once every bone, muscle, and sinew snapped into place, the usual adrenaline rush hit me, and I took off at a sprint.

I’d been able to shift from the age of seventeen, but the sense of freedom never failed to thrill. All day, I was bound by a thousand human rules: where to drive and how fast (or how slow), when to wait (always too long), what to say (and what not to). Now, I could do anything, from rolling in the dirt to howling at the moon. I could scratch an ear with my rear leg without being told it wasn’t polite, and I didn’t have to fuss with clothes. Wherever instinct led me, I could go without thinking about how or why. In fact, without having to think at all.

Which was how I found myself panting under the stars on a ridgeline overlooking a familiar cluster of buildings and barns. Painted Rock Ranch, where Pippa and her sisters lived. Nash, too, though my nose wasn’t pointed in the direction of the cabin he shared with Erin, nor the main house where the younger sister, Abby, lived with her daughter, Claire.

No, my nose was pointed at Pippa’s home, a converted barn at the far edge of the ranch.

The entire property lay under a protective spell none of the sisters could — or would — explain, so it was blurry at first. If an ordinary human had stumbled across my viewpoint, their eyeswould only register another expanse of dirt, scrub, and ochre-tinted rock. But if you knew where to look and you concentrated hard enough, the buildings and paddocks took shape, as they did to me now.

Pippa’s car was parked in its usual spot beside the barn and the fire pit. No fire, though a couple of embers glowed. I perked my ears, half hoping Pippa would step out, wave, and invite me in.

There you are, my love.I imagined her calling.Come on in and make yourself at home.

That didn’t happen, of course. Not in the first five minutes I spent waiting, wishing, hoping. Not in the next few minutes that ticked by even more slowly. Gradually, my wagging tail went limp. My ears drooped, and I sat on the cold ground, trying to digest the truth. We were destined for each other, but my job kept driving us apart. Pippa was right about work becoming an obsession. But how could I live with myself if I quit?

A howl built in my throat, but I held it in until I was halfway back to my place. Pippa didn’t need to see — or hear — me in such a state.

It was only when I reached a faraway, lonely patch of desert that I stopped for a good, long howl.

Well, a long howl, at least.Gooddidn’t apply when the emotions tore your own heart to shreds. The long, sorrowful notes hung in the chill night air, and the stars winked, trying to cheer me up. They didn’t, but I did take solace in the fact that Pippa was home safe. She must have left the bar shortly after I had instead of staying on to drink or dance. So maybe there was still hope. Maybe she was in bed now, yearning for me the way I yearned for her.

I listened to my last, warbly note fade into the night, then made my way home. Outside the cabin, I shifted wearily, then headed to bed. There were bad guys to catch — really, really badguys ready to harm, steal, and kill. If I didn’t stop them, who would?

* * *

Sleep did about as much for me as howling did, so the sunny day I woke to didn’t shine all the way into my soul. On the drive into town, I cursed every delivery truck and monster motorhome crawling along the roads. I stopped in at my office — a back room of the local Department of Agriculture office, in line with my cover story — then headed out again. No new leads in the hiker case, not that I’d had much hope in official channels anyway.

But I did have a lead on a bear shifter, whether he was involved in the hiker case or not. So, I decided to start there. That meant staking out the strip mall in hopes of picking up the trail of Stacy’s SUV — and driver — there.

Sure enough, the Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows appeared, dropping Stacy off at the coffee shop. All I could see of the driver was a faint profile.

My mind drifted as I waited, taking me to a different place and time. A different case — my one big failure. I’d been taking my time, building my case against Jananovich… Too long, at least for the woman who’d come forward with a tip. She’d been afraid for her life, and rightly so.

Her name was Bridget, and she was only twenty-five when she died.

A death I might have prevented, if I hadn’t waited as long as I had.

So, yeah. I overdid it sometimes, and the price I paid was my own relationships. But I’d made my peace with that.

Well, mostly.