Chapter Three
Frank Dubois breathed in the cool early morning air. He loved jogging this time of day. Everything was fresh, quiet. The world was just waking up. And being in his hometown for the first time in years made it that much more special.
Coming around the corner into town, his feline’s extra-sensitive nose caught a whiff of juicy red meat, raw. He hadn’t had breakfast yet and his cat decided now was time to eat. François noted how his cat had been getting rather bossy these past several months. He hoped a trip home would chill the pussy out. It’d only been eight hours since his flight got in, so maybe it’d take a bit.
Whatever, his cat said. It didn’t matter where in creation they stayed. They weren’t with their mate. It’d been long enough, almost four years, and it was time to get his ass in gear and find her.
He asked, Where would you like to start looking on a globe that has a total surface area of about 197 million square miles? His cat was quiet to that. Yeah, that’s what he thought.
Ahead, François saw their alpha, Butch, the town butcher, unloading a truck full of chilled meat. He thought he’d lend a hand, or a paw. Butch glanced up when he approached.
“Franky. How ya doing, boy?” The big lion held out a thick hand to shake his. “I heard your mom say you were visiting for a while. Good to see you.”
“Yeah, great to see you, too, Alpha.” François never thought about it until now, but if Butch was a nickname because of his profession, he had no idea what Butch’s real name was. It’s funny how those kinds of things occur when visiting home after being gone a long time. Things that seemed so normal and everyday when young looked different with older, wiser eyes.
Butch scowled at him. “François, you know we don’t go by titles here. Everyone is free to do as they wish as long as they don’t hurt others. I don’t like telling shifters what they have to do.”
François nodded. “I know, Butch. Just showing you my respect for how you help everyone and make sure the town is safe.” Specifically, keeping watch over his single mother. François worried about her all the time. Hopefully one day, she’d remarry. He lifted a heavy chunk of meat. “Anyway. It’s good to be back. Besides being a bit older, everything looks the same here.” He followed the butcher into the back of the store.
“Yeah, the outside changes slower than the inside it seems nowadays,” Butch replied.
“What do you mean by that?” François laid his package on the shelf next to a rack of ribs. Those looked really good, too, his cat mentioned.
Heading back out, the lion shifter took a rag from his back pocket and wiped his forehead. “Oh, you know,” he said, leaning against the meat truck, “time moves on. People get old and out of touch with the world. The young ones get out of town as soon as they can and have families hundreds of miles away.”
Butch yanked on a box of sausages from the back of the truck. “When I was young, the few shifter towns like ours were the only places we could peacefully live. But that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. The town is dying, falling apart at the seams.”
François looked at the buildings lining the main street. Really looked. The structures were built almost a hundred years ago, and time had taken its toll. Bricks crumbled, paint peeled, wood deteriorated. The post office resembled something out of an old Western movie. The abandoned buildings looked like fire hazards ready to happen.
“The place does look a bit rough,” François said.
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. If I didn’t have the store, I wouldn’t have a clue what was going on with anyone. Our last town social was thirty years ago. Shifters come and go, some causing problem before they do go. We’re down to two restaurants, one hair place for the ladies, and one clothing store for everyone.”
“Seems like the town needs some life. Someone to create events and restoration projects, bring people together.”
Butch closed up the truck and the back of the store, then headed for the front. “If you find someone who can do all that, bring him in. We can’t pay him a dime, but we’d appreciate his time.”
François laughed. “I’ll keep my eyes open for someone like that.”
Butch slapped him on the back and handed him a pack of ribs. “Give these to your mother. I saw her eyein’ them pretty heavy the other day. I know she’ll love ’em.” He unlocked the front door for François. “Great seeing you again, kid. Glad you found time to come back and see your ma.”
François waved bye and continued his jog toward his mom’s house with the package in hand. Now he noticed the downturn in the town’s details that his eyes had glazed over before. But wasn’t that what happened to every town? It expanded in all directions, leaving the original, older areas behind to decay while other new spaces become the “it” places to be? Then eventually, investors come in, buy up the old, cheap stuff, and make it new again?
Maybe some things were meant to dry up and disappear alongside the dust in the wind. He really liked his hometown, though. After living in Washington, DC, for years, being in rural areas was a godsend. Who would have thought California had such forested mountain areas? Nowhere in DC could his cat roam wild and free. He had to hike the mountains west in Virginia for any privacy. Here, he could walk naked out his back door and be in the forest. His parents knew what they were doing when they settled here.
After hurdling the decorative fence, François ran through his mom’s yard to the back porch and up the stairs to the kitchen door. Aromas of cooking meat riled his thankful, hungry cat.
Inside, he handed the ribs to his mother, who stood over the stove flipping bacon.
“Where did these come from?”
“Butch said to give them to you. I saw him unloading while I was out.”
His mom’s cheeks turned red. What was that about?
“I’ll have to thank him the next time I’m down there.” She turned the stove off and forked several pieces of bacon onto a paper towel–covered plate. “You ready to eat now?”
“You bet. The cat hasn’t thought about anything else since we came around the corner to the meat market.” His mom placed plates filled with ham, sausage, bacon, and steak on the table. Heaven. If he ate like this every morning, he’d get back from vacation ten pounds heavier.
Mom sat across the table from him. “So, what all did you and Butch talk about?”
He gave a single shoulder shrug. “Nothing, really. Just about the town getting older and people leaving. I hadn’t noticed how downhill the buildings in town had gone.”
His mom nodded. “I have to agree. People are definitely moving away. You left the first chance you got.”
“I went to school then got a job, Mom. You make it sound like I abandoned the place.” In all honesty, he did want to leave. But everyone knew there were no opportunities in the dying town.
“You seem pretty set now, living in DC and all. When you going to find a nice cougar or human and settle down? I’m not getting younger and I expect cubs, like, last year.”
He smelled the humor in her words. Thank god. This conversation would get awkward quickly. His thoughts rarely veered toward the opposite sex. His cougar on the other hand . . .
“I’m not ready to find somebody yet,” he said.
“What about that girl from college? You really liked her.”
François tried to control his intense emotions that always erupted when thinking about that time.
“Oh, I’m sorry, François,” Mom said. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
“It’s okay. And I can say the same for you, Mom. It’s been years since Dad died. Why haven’t you hooked up with anyone?”
His mom laughed. “I see I taught you well. The art of changing the subject flows rather smoothly from you.”
He smiled. “I did learn from the best. But seriously, maybe you should get into the new century and leave the 1950s behind. The avocado-and-harvest-gold-colored appliances are really outdated.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just such a daunting task and I don’t even know how to start.” Mom pushed ham around her plate. “Maybe one day.”
“Would you please pass the sausage?” Mom handed over the plate and François borrowed his cat’s claw and speared a link.
She rolled her eyes. “I see your table manners are out the window.”
He bit into the sausage and chewed with a smile. “Nah. I just like tormenting you. It’s been years.” Plus, he didn’t like when she got down about her life without Dad.
“Speaking of years, how’s the job going? Fourth year soon, right? Are you glad you volunteered right out of college instead of waiting like your father?”
His father, and grandfather before him, spent time working with the U.S. government. Shifters had kept their general anonymity for hundreds of years until one of the military officials decided to tap into the abilities shifters had that humans didn’t.
An agreement was written between the two groups that said the government would deny shifters’ existence and do everything in their power to keep the species unknown to the public. In exchange, shifters would keep a group of men available on a moment’s notice to do whatever they were called to do by the government.
The men were specially trained in espionage, hand-to-hand combat, martial arts, and supernatural intelligence humans couldn’t know. They were the shifter equivalent to the Navy SEALs and Special Ops.
The group was called the Alpha League Federal Agency: ALFA.
Unlike him, his father mated his mother and started a family before volunteering for the agency. The job was well paid and usually not overly dangerous. Most of the time, they were bodyguards for someone the government deemed important.
But not too long ago, fellow agent Parish Hamel was dragged into the demon world to save his mate he was protecting. The stories Hamel relayed were beyond incredible. He truly hoped he’d never have to deal with things like that. He wasn’t sure how he would react if a demon kidnapped his mate to take for his own. Hamel was a great agent and friend.
“Yeah,” he started, “I’m glad I hired in after graduating. It was the right thing for me at the time.”
“At the time?” His mom’s brow raised. “Are you saying the time isn’t right anymore?”
“No, I’m not saying that exactly. I just need a break. That’s why I’m on vacation for a week.” Not to mention the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s death was in a few days. He wanted to be with his mom during that time. Make sure she was okay.
His cell phone rang in the back pocket of his running pants. He pulled it out and read the ID on the screen. “Come on. No way.” He tapped the green icon and immediately put the phone to his ear. “I’m on vacation, remember?”
“Yeah. But you know with Hamel on his honeymoon, we’re a man short. I need you,” his boss, Director Josh Tumbel, said.
François rubbed the bridge of his nose. This really was a bad week for his vacation, but he’d had it planned for a while. Hamel finding his mate was a surprise, and he couldn’t deny the man getting married.
“Besides,” his boss continued, “this is an easy gig. You’re babysitting a Mafia prima donna who the police want to keep alive. They’re worried she has a hit out on her, even though her uncle is the Mafia boss.”
“Huh,” François said, “that’s a fucked-up family.” Realizing who else was in the room, his eyes widened. “Sorry, Mom.” She gathered empty dishes and carried them to the sink. “All right, Director, send the details and I’ll get on it. When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”