Tag laughed shortly. "Which is where you'd hole up. I wouldn't want to be the wolf hunting you in that place in high summer, let alone midwinter. Happily, Baree Lake is as close to a Sunday hike as you can find in the Cabinets." He looked at Anna. "Not that it's easy, mind you. But possible. The only way to get to Vimy Ridge in this weather is by chopper. The snowpack can get over fourteen feet deep in some of the high country-you'll see some of that up there in the ridges above Baree. You go with this old lobo, and you listen to him, or-werewolf or not-we'll likely be out searching for your dead body."
"No need to frighten her," Charles said.
Tag leaned back in his chair and smiled. "She's not afraid. Are you, dovie?" And in that last phrase she heard a hint of an Irish lilt, or maybe Cockney. She might have a good ear, but she needed more than three words.
Tag looked at Charles. "Heather had to hike to the high stuff to call me. Most of the Cabinets still don't get cell phone reception. I parked here"-he tapped the map-"and walking around a little bit I found cell reception. I suggest you park near there and leave the cell phones in the car."
Charles gave him a sharp look. "In case this isn't a lone rogue?"
"You and Bran aren't the only ones who can add two and two," Tag said. "If this is an attack of some sort, you don't want to let the villains track you by that neat little locator cell phones carry nowadays."
"I hadn't intended to," agreed Charles. He leaned over the map again. "Just from the attacks, it looks as though Baree is the center of his territory-but..."
"Once the snow falls, you aren't going to get a lot of people east or west of the lake," Tag said decisively. "Baree Lake could as easily be the edge of his territory as the center."
Charles frowned. "I don't think we'll find him to the east. If he was in that big valley on the other side of the ridge above Baree, the natural lay of land would set his territory through the valley and maybe up to Buck Lake or even Wanless, but not over the ridge. That climb out of the valley to Baree is next to impossible this time of year, even on four feet."
"West then."
Charles ran a finger from Baree to a couple of smaller lakes. "I think we'll go to Baree and head west, over to the Bear Lakes through Iron Meadows and back over this mountain to the Vee. If we haven't encountered him by then, I think it will be time to call out the whole pack."
"You'll have to be careful, there's a lot of avalanche country up by the Bears," Tag said, but Anna could hear the approval in his voice.
They spent some time planning a route that would take four days to hike. When they were finished, Tag touched his hand to his forehead as if tugging an invisible hat.
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he told Anna. Then, without giving her time to say anything, he left as precipitously as he had come.
Chapter SIX
"He likes you," Charles said, folding up the map.
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"People he doesn't like, he doesn't talk to." He started to say something else but lifted his head and stared at the door with a frown instead. "I wonder what he wants?"
Once he drew her attention to it, she heard the car drive up, too.
"Who?" she asked, but he didn't answer, just stalked out to the living room, leaving her to follow hesitantly.
Charles jerked open the door, revealing the wolf from the funeral. Asil. He had one hand raised to knock on the door. In the other he had a bouquet of flowers, mostly yellow roses, but there were a few purple daisy-looking things, too.
Asil adjusted to the reordering of his entrance smoothly, gifting Anna with a smile while avoiding Charles's gaze. It might have been the proper and right response to an obviously irritated wolf who was more dominant-except that his eyes were boldly locked on Anna's.
"I brought an apology," he said. "For the lady." He was, Anna noticed, almost a foot shorter than Charles, just an inch or two taller than she was.
Standing next to Charles, she could see that their coloring was similar, dark skin and darker eyes and hair-black in artificial light. But the skin tone was different and Asil's features were sharper, Middle Eastern rather than Native American.
"For my lady," said Charles, slowly, with a growl in his voice.
Asil smiled brilliantly, the wolf apparent in his face for an instant before it faded. "For your lady, of course. Of course." He handed the flowers to Charles, then said silkily, "She doesn't carry your scent, Charles. Which is why I made the mistake." He glanced up at Charles slyly, smiled again, then turned on his heel and all but ran back out to his car, which was still idling.
Anna hugged herself against the rage that she sensed sweeping through Charles, though she didn't understand why Asil's last words had made him so angry.
Charles shut the door and silently held out the flowers. But there was a savageness in the tension of his shoulders and body language that made Anna put her hands behind her and take a step back. She didn't want anything to do with Asil's flowers if they made Charles so angry.
He looked at her then, instead of through her, and something tightened further in the muscles of his face.
"I'm not Leo or Justin, Anna. These are yours. They're pretty, and they smell good, better than most flowers. Asil has a hothouse, and he seldom cuts the blooms from his plants. He was grateful for your help this morning, or he wouldn't have done it. That he could goad me when he gave them to you just made him a little happier. You should enjoy them."
His words didn't match the fury she could smell-and even though Charles thought she didn't use her nose very effectively, she had learned to believe it over her ears.
She couldn't manage to meet his eyes, but she did take the flowers and walk into the kitchen, where she stopped. She had no idea where she could find a vase. She heard a noise behind her, and he set down on the counter one of the pottery jars from the living room.
"This should be about the right size," he said. When she just stood there, he filled the jar with water himself. Slowly-so not to spook her, she thought-he took the bouquet, trimmed the ends of the flowers, and arranged them with more expedience than art.
The sudden shock of fear, followed by shame for her cowardice, took her a while to work through. And she didn't want to compound matters by saying the wrong thing. Or doing the wrong thing.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her stomach was so tight it was hard to breathe. "I don't know why I get so stupid."
He stopped fussing with the last flower, a purple one. Slowly, so she had plenty of time to back away, he put a finger under her chin and tilted it up. "You've known me less than a week," he told her. "No matter how it sometimes feels. Not nearly enough time to learn to trust. It's all right, Anna. I am patient. And I won't hurt you if I can help it."
She looked up, expecting black eyes and met golden instead. But his hand on her was still gentle, even with the wolf so close.
"It is I who am sorry," he said. Apologizing, she thought, as much for the wolf as for his brief display of temper. "This is new to me as well." He grinned at her, a flash and gone. The oddly boyish expression managed to make him look sheepish despite a certain sharp edge. "I'm not used to being jealous, or having so little control. It's not just the bullet wounds, though they don't help."
They stood there for a while more, his hand under her chin. Anna was afraid to move for fear she would provoke the rage that kept his eyes wolf yellow or do something that might hurt him the way she'd hurt him with her flinch. She didn't know what Charles was waiting for.
He spoke first.
"My father told me that there was something bothering you when you left the church this morning. Was it Asil? Or was it something else?"
She took a step sideways. He let her go, but his hand slid from her face to her shoulder, and she couldn't make herself take another step and lose that touch. He was going to think she was a neurotic idiot if she didn't get a better grip on herself. "Nothing was bothering me. I'm fine."
He sighed. "Six words and two lies. Anna, I'm going to have to teach you how to smell a lie, then you won't try them with me." He pulled his hand back, and she could have cried out at the loss-even though part of her wanted nothing to do with him. "You can just tell me you don't want to talk about it."
Tired of herself, Anna rubbed her face, puffed out her cheeks, then blew like a winded horse. Finally, she lifted her gaze and met his again. "I'm a mess," she told him. "Mostly I don't know what I'm feeling or why-and I don't want to talk about the rest yet." Or ever. To anyone. She was a stupid coward and had gotten herself into a situation in which she was helpless. When they got back from the mountains, she would find a job. With money in the bank and something constructive to do, she could get her bearings.
He tilted his head. "I can understand that. You've been uprooted from everything you know, dumped among strangers, and had all the rules you knew pulled out from under your feet. It's going to take some time to get used to. If you have questions about anything, just ask. If you don't want to talk to me, you can catch my father or...Sage? You liked Sage?"
"I liked Sage." Did she have any questions? Her irritation at herself transferred to him just fine, even though she could tell he didn't mean to treat her like a child. He wasn't trying to be patronizing, only trying to help. It wasn't his fault that his soothing tone put her teeth on edge-especially when she could tell he was still angry about something. Did she like Sage? As if he had to go out and find friends for her.
She was tired of being afraid and uncertain. He wanted questions. She'd been taught not to ask-werewolves keep secrets as if they were gold in a vault. Fine.
"What was it that Asil said that pushed you from irritated to enraged?"
"He threatened to try to take you from me," he told her.