A few hours later, Amara parked her car outside of the police station and eased herself out of the vehicle. She stared up at building. She couldn’t believe it. She was going to be a cop. Okay, a deputy. But still. She was going to be a cop. Her dad would have been so proud.

Though she was nervous, she made herself take the necessary steps forward. With one shaking hand on the metal bar handle, she pulled the door open and stepped inside.

What she had expected was the hustle and bustle of a fast-paced station that she had experienced with her father when he was on the force when she was a child. What she got, however, was much, much different.

Though the air of tension was incredibly thick, enough so that she was sure that old cliché was applicable and she could cut it with a knife, there was hardly anybody around. Madge, the old receptionist who had probably been there for a hundred years, was drinking what was most likely her sixth cup of coffee that morning and pouring over a pile of crime scene photos. Alec, the only deputy the force still had, was nervously tapping his pencil against his desk and reading some kind of report. And Mac was locked up in his office, pacing back and forth across the tiny room.

Amara smiled at Madge as she passed, but the old battle ax hardly even looked up. The only indication she gave at all to acknowledge Amara’s presence was just the hint of a nod. Alec, on the other hand, looked up at her as if he were going to scream or cry or something. The small town of Strathford had received their share of dead bodies over the years, especially when it came to wolf attacks, but to be honest, those attacks were few and far between. Then a few years ago, long after Amara’s own attack, those deaths became more and more frequent. The stress appeared to have taken a toll on the law enforcement of the town. Was this seriously all that was left of the Strathford Police Department?

Amara offered Alec a small smile, then proceeded past him to knock on Mac’s closed door. The Sheriff stopped in his tracks and stared at her like a deer in the headlights. She stepped back to let him unlock and open the door.

“Amara,” Mac breathed. “I’m glad you came.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Honestly, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Your father would be so proud.”

She took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be there, or didn’t appreciate the compliment. She did. But it also made her a little uncomfortable. Did she really want to be right in the middle of all of this, given all the secrets she was keeping for the Pack?

Either way, she and Nova had decided this was the best thing to do for everyone.

“So?” she asked, raising her arms to indicate the empty station. “Where do we start?”

 

“You did what?” Mitchell asked, staring at her as if she’d just sprouted two heads. If he squeezed the glass he was drying any tighter, he was going to break it.

A small smile crept across Amara’s lips. “I joined the police department.”

“But…” He stared incredulously at her. “But why?”

He seemed so perplexed, she wanted to laugh. “Because Mac asked me to. And, truthfully, they could use an extra set of hands.”

Zoe, who was building a Guinness for one of their regulars, nodded gravely. “Personally, I think it’s a great idea, Mara.”

Both she and Mitchell stared at her. “You do?” they asked in unison.

Though she looked a little stung by their surprise, Zoe squared her shoulders. “Yes, I do. You probably know more about the packs in this area than anyone. You basically got obsessed with them in high school after our…well, you know. You’re a great shot with a gun. And the department really is short-handed. Nobody wants to mess with more bodies, especially when they’re all people we know. I think it’s very brave of you to join. Your dad would be proud.”

That was unexpected, coming from Zoe especially. More than a little touched, heat rushed to Amara’s cheeks, and she was comforted by the red sheen that covered Zoe’s as well. “Thanks. Mac said the same thing. You really think he’d be proud of me?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Of course, I do. The Mayor will probably be sending you flowers.”

Flowers. Amara frowned. “That reminds me. Have you heard about anybody sending me flowers lately?” Both of them stared at her. Zoe appeared to be annoyed by the question, while Mitch just seemed uncomfortable. Either way, neither of them seemed to know anything about it. Amara resisted the urge to scuff her toe against the floor. “It’s just that, that night after the watch, there was a big bouquet of red roses on my porch. No note. Any idea who they were from?” Both her friends shrugged, and Amara sighed. “Oh well. If you do hear anything, let me know, yeah?” They both nodded their agreement, but Amara couldn’t help but feel disconcerted. Was it her imagination, or had they both looked like they knew something?

Amara mentally shook herself. Maybe she needed a vacation or something. If she was becoming suspicious of the people she trusted most, perhaps it was all becoming too much for her.

Something to think about, at least.