Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love (26 page)

“Humph!” Melody turned her nose up at his warning. “If you roam, you better not come home! I’ll cut Buford off and have him stuffed. That’s my cock, and if I ever catch you putting it in anyone else’s hole, I’ll make Lorena Bobbitt look like Olive Oyl!”

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They walked up the driveway in silence. Halfway to the door, Melody glanced up at Hunter. “By the way, hon ... I was joking.”

He sputtered. “What?”

“Oh, not about lopping Buford off and stuffing it, if you ever tom-cat on me.” Her smile made Hunter shiver. “The joke was about you not getting any tonight.”

Grinning, Melody licked her lips and touched her finger to her tongue. Writing on the air, she marked four picket sticks and then crossed them with a diagonal. “You know I got you!”

This time, Hunter’s jaw dropped. He smiled in admiration. “You are one sneaky bitch!”

“And you love me.”

Hunter snagged her about the waist and drew her close. “With all my heart, sweet bitch.”

“And I love you, Hunter. Blair and I love you and need you. Remember that if everything falls apart today.”

“You’re my center, babe. I’ll remember that.” He recaptured her hand in his free one.

Using the excuse of full hands, Hunter nudged Melody to press the doorbell, not wanting her to see how badly his hands were shaking.

The door opened. A young Hispanic girl stared up at Hunter, a question in her eyes.

“May I help you?”

“Hunter McCallum, Melody Spenser and son. We’re expected.”

The girl’s expression cleared. “Oh, yes, Mr. McCallum. Commissioner Morrison is expecting you. Please come this way.” She stood back to allow them entry into the house.

Melody and Hunter exchanged a look. Where were the Morrisons to greet them?

Where were the children? A growing sense of unease filled Hunter. He no longer trusted Kevin, not where personal matters were involved.

“Where is Mr. Morrison? Or Mrs. Morrison?”

The maid didn’t turn around when she addressed Hunter’s question. “Commissioner Morrison is in his library. That is where he instructed me to lead you.”

She led them down a long corridor wallpapered in classic broad, maroon stripes. The wainscoting was mahogany, the grain boasting a deep, rich patina that screamed expensive.

The last door on the left proved to be the library. Tapping once, the petite woman turned the handle and cracked the door open. “Mr. McCallum has arrived, sir.”

“Show him in, Grace.”

The little maid opened the door wider, one hand beckoning them into the room. She silently slipped out the door, easing it into the jamb with a minimum of noise.

Kevin stood behind his desk, shuffling some papers. “McCallum, I was hoping you’d have the sense not to come. I should have known better.”

140

Camille Anthony

Hunter stiffened. Lifting his head, he sniffed, scenting the area for any sign of the children’s or Alison’s presence. A faint whiff floated about, but he could tell they hadn’t been in this house for at least two days. The day Kevin had made the agreement with him ...

“You never planned to keep your word, did you, Kevin?” he asked, voice sounding remote in his own ears. “Where are Kevin, Jr. and Danielle? Where’s Alison? What did you tell them -- or did you tell them anything, at all?”

Kevin looked up. His eyes shied away from a true meeting of glances. “I told them I had an unstable associate coming to the house, and while he wasn’t a criminal, his behaviors were unpredictable and possibly dangerous.”

Hunter nodded. It was pretty much as he had suspected. “You think you’re so smart, that you took everything into account, but you didn’t, Kev.”

“What are you talking about, McCallum?”

Hunter listened to the purring motor of the car pulling up into the driveway, heard the slamming of doors and the low susurration of quiet conversation. “I sat outside for a long while, trying to gather the nerve to come in here, to face the children I’d vowed to protect and help throughout their lives. I was afraid, Kevin. Afraid of the lies you might have told them -- afraid to see rejection in their eyes. I’m late ... way past the time I was supposed to arrive.”

The front door opened down the hall. Kevin, with his human hearing, heard nothing.

“You’re late on all fronts, McCallum. I don’t want you here. You knew that when you forced me to concede to your blackmail.”

Hunter smiled, ears attuned to the sound of feet coming down the hallway. “Is that what you’re calling it? Labeling our agreement as blackmail to get you off the hook of actually living up to your word?”

“Isn’t that what it was?” Kevin spread his hands. Lowering his voice, he growled, “‘Do what I want or I’ll leave you to deal with the troll on the Golden Gate Bridge.’ Isn’t that what you said?” He shrugged.

Hunter frowned and shifted Blair on his arm.

“So I did what the job demanded,” Morrison said. “I got you to take care of the problem. The department is grateful. There’ll be a big bonus for you come payday, but that doesn’t mean I have to socialize with you in my home.”

“That is more than enough!”

Intent on tracking the footsteps beyond the door, Hunter had failed to take into account Melody’s growing ire. Whew, his mate was angry! The burnt rubber smell flowed off her skin in waves so hot and acrid they seared his nostrils.

Just as the door to the Morrison’s library was opening, Melody looked at her son and snapped, “Blair, put your hands over your ears ... Mommy’s about to cuss!”

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“Kevin Morrison, you’re a low-down, yellow-bellied, snake crawling, slime-slicking, lying-assed mother-fucker! It’s too bad you look like a Ron Glass wannabe. I always liked his looks.”

“Melody ... watch your language! Even with his ears covered, Blair couldn’t miss that!”

“Who the hell are you?” Kevin sputtered.

“Hunt ...? Hunter McCallum ...?”

Silence fell as Melody whipped around to confront the newcomer who’d called Hunter’s name.

“Hello, Ali-oop. Yes, it’s me, Hunt.”

“Ahuh ...!” Her mouth open in disbelief, the woman -- Alison Morrison -- shook her head slowly from side to side.

This, Melody suddenly knew, was the woman who’d turned Hunter on to black women. Blessed with a matte chocolate complexion, the woman didn’t have a blemish or spot on her lovely skin. Alison’s svelte figure was draped in a slim-fitting peach shirtdress that brought out the undertones of rosy peach in her skin. Dots of gold in her ears and a matching subdued necklace dressed it up without overdoing it -- classic chic from her close-cropped silky curls to her Prada-shod feet.

Sounding frantic, Morrison asked, “Alison, what are you doing here? I told you to take the kids shopping.”

His wife ignored him, her full attention on the man she hadn’t seen in years. She walked toward Hunter as if drawn by a magnet, slowly, still not believing. “My god, it’s been ... a long time.”

“Fifteen years.” Hunter’s voice sounded gruff, gravel-scraped-across-the-road gruff.

142

Camille Anthony

Melody’s heart ached for him, knowing his emotions were just as abraded. Her anger at how these people had hurt her man -- were still hurting him -- flared even higher.

Alison had reached Hunter and her eyes tracked up and down, cataloguing, looking for changes. She noted the toddler in his arms. “Who is this cute little boy?”

Hunter cleared his throat. “This is Blair, my ... stepson.” He glanced down at the baby, who’d tucked his head against his shoulder and popped his thumb in his mouth, obviously responding to the tensions flooding the room. “Blair,” he asked gently, “can you say ‘hi’ to the lady?”

Blair shook his head, not dislodging his thumb. His free hand crept up, patted Hunter’s cheek, and then dropped to the strong curve of his neck.

“Blair, you’re being rude,” Hunter chivvied him. “Come on, son, say hello.”

Melody had a clear view of her son’s face so his actions didn’t surprise her. She watched as Blair straightened in his father’s arms, letting his thumb fall from his mouth.

Baring his tiny teeth, he growled in the woman’s face -- a full-rumbling threat that clearly said, “Don’t mess with me!”

“Blair! What did Daddy tell you about being nice?”

Blair immediately laid his head down on Hunter’s shoulder, his neck exposed and vulnerable. He popped his thumb back in his mouth, prepared to watch through solemn eyes as events unfolded around him.

Smiling, Mel nodded her head and snuck a wink at her son, letting Blair know she agreed with his actions. Damned if she didn’t feel like growling, herself.

“I apologize for Blair,” Hunter was saying. “He’s not usually like this.”

“Don’t apologize for our son, Hunter,” Melody ordered, voice hard, her anger spilling over into her words. “He’s no hypocrite, and he doesn’t want to make nice with people who have hurt his new daddy. I don’t blame him one bit.”

Alison held out her hand to Melody. “I’m sorry. You must be Hunter’s wife. I didn’t catch your name ...?”

Melody ignored her outstretched hand. Her lips widened in an expression no one would call friendly. “I didn’t give it. I know yours, though. You’re Mrs. Joe Asshole.”

Alison gasped.

Melody felt Hunter bristle beside her and almost felt guilty for the way she was behaving. She thought better of it, though. Damn it, these people had ripped her mate’s heart out and trampled it a few times before kicking it to the curb. Was she supposed to lick their shoes and pretend she liked them? Well, that was bogus ... no way, no how!

“Tell me something, Alison ... did your husband ever explain why Hunter stopped coming around?” Melody glared at Kevin, who had come around the desk to take his wife’s hand. He was trying to hustle her out of the room, probably because he didn’t want her to hear what Mel had to say.

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“Melody,” Hunter warned, “that’s enough ...”

“It’s not near enough, Hunter.” She turned back to Alison, talking fast. “I mean, did he tell you how Hunter saved his life only to watch him jump in their squad car and drive off --

leaving him to fight off three more criminals by himself? Inquiring minds want to know ...”

Alison’s face went pasty gray. She turned her head, and stared at her husband. “Kevin, what is she talking about?”

“And why does it sound like she’s telling the truth?” Melody tacked on before Morrison could answer.

He glared at her. “Nothing, Alison. Ignore her. She’s a crude woman who has no manners or couth.”

Melody crossed her arms and waited, knowing Hunter’s reaction wasn’t far behind.

He’d never let some no-account man talk about her like that.

The menacing growl that rumbled through the room was as different from Blair’s as night to day. The toddler snapped upright, eyes frightened. It was telling to Melody, if not the other adults in the room, that the boy clung to his dad instead of seeking to flee from him.

“Kevin, in all the years we’ve interacted, I’ve never disrespected Alison. No matter what went on between us, I’ve kept your wife out of it. I’ll be damned if I let you insult Melody. Apologize, or the police force will be looking for a new commissioner while you recuperate.”

“I don’t want his apology, Hunter,” Melody said, still focusing on Alison. “I want her to answer my questions. What did your husband tell you?”

Looking shell-shocked and dazed, Alison stared at her husband. “Is Hunter the unbalanced associate you were trying to shield us from?” Her lips tightened when he didn’t answer. “Is he?”

Kevin Morrison drew back his shoulders. “Yes, he is. I didn’t want him seeing the children. It was in their best interests.”

“The only one whose interest has been served is yours, Kevin,” Hunter said quietly.

Alison raised confused eyes to Hunter. “He said you’d gotten promoted after the big bust, that you were moving up and didn’t want anything to do with us anymore. I was sure you’d come around. After all, we were good friends. You were like a brother to Kevin, and I knew you loved the twins. The children cried for months for their uncle Hunt.” Her chin wobbled, eyes grew wet. “They were inconsolable. You can imagine how easy it was for me to hate you ... But if all that was untrue ...” She turned an accusing glance at her cowering husband. “... if I’ve been lied to, then so have the twins. How could you deprive them of a loving relationship, and -- if what Melody says is true -- deprive Hunter of the same?”

144

Camille Anthony

“You don’t understand, Alison,” Kevin began, flustered at the signs of anger in her face, her voice. “I’ve been guarding you from him. He’s not who or what you think ... he’s not human!”

“Well, neither are you!” Melody pointed out, getting in Morrison’s face. “What you’ve done to Hunter is inhumanly cruel. You knew how he loved your kids, but that didn’t stop you from ripping them out of his life. His only crime was being different from you ... better than you.” Melody sneered, glaring down her nose as if she smelled something foul. “I bet you were jealous. Hunter was faster, better, smarter, on the track toward advancement while you could barely keep up. Then the kids came along and they loved Hunter, too. Let’s not forget Alison. Did she like Hunter a little too much for your liking?”

Melody nodded. “I bet she did ... or at least, you thought so. Then along comes the perfect excuse. You find out Hunter’s different. You convinced yourself his differences were what gave him his edge, not his dedication to duty or his honorable service. No, he’s an animal. He’s not human. That was your chance to break things off, get out from under his shadow without people thinking you just couldn’t cut it. You threw Hunter to the wolves to salvage your self-esteem.”

Alison stared at Melody, her clear black eyes holding an elusive expression. “You hit Kevin’s probable reactions right on the nose. Whatever your profession, you should have been a psychologist.”

“I was a preacher’s wife.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?” Alison smiled.

Melody relaxed, smiling back. Pity the woman was married to the jerk of the century.