I kept an eye on the place while she was inside with the suit. When they disappeared to the back, I moved up closer to the glass so I could hear better with my keener-than-human senses. I returned to my Jeep when they emerged from the office.

She was safe, and I knew it. But why did I get out of the Jeep and cross the street towards the gallery? Probably because of that tortured look on her face, like the world was coming to an end and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.

I crossed Main Street as she disappeared into the back again. As I pulled open the front door, I called out to her. “Jessica? It's me, Richard.”

“Back here,” she called, her voice sullen and heavy.

I looked around the art gallery as I passed through it, at all the pictures of wildlife and landscapes. There were a few great ones of some wolves, nice oil paintings with some heavy brushwork. There were a couple pieces I wouldn't mind hanging on the walls of my little place on the edge of town. I glanced at the price tags, surprised at how many of them I could afford. I wasn't incredibly wealthy, not by any means, but I'd socked quite a bit away when I was on deployment. Most guys blew their whole earnings when they got back, but I'd managed to pick up a cash job right off the bat as a bouncer. And the security work paid pretty well, too. I definitely wasn't hurting, and could probably look at an early retirement if I really wanted.

I adjusted the gun on my hip, making sure it was out of view, and leaned my head around the door. “Everything okay?” I asked.

She was sitting there in one of the chairs pulled up in front of her desk, her head thrown back, her hair cascading like silky waves. With her head upside down like that, she locked eyes with me. “That was the lawyer for my dead partner's estate,” she groaned.

“Not good news, I take it?”

Jessica raised her head and looked back over her shoulder at me with a sigh. “No. Well, I guess not. He didn't leave me his shares of the business so I could own it completely. Not that he had to or anything; I wasn't exactly his adopted daughter or anything like that. But he did leave me a few paintings. That's good, right?”

I chuckled. “Guess it depends on if they're any good.”

She smiled. “No, they're good.”

“Who'd he leave his part of the business to? His widow?”

She shook her head. “Blake wasn't married. Had a string of ex-wives, but hadn't been with any of them in a few years. Nope, he left it to his nephew.”

“His nephew, huh?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Think he could be the one calling with the threats? You said they started right around the time your partner died, right?”

She shrugged. “I guess, but what would he want with a business like this? An art gallery?”

“You have a name for the guy?”

“Waylan, Wayne? Something with a W. I remember it was the same as one of those famous gunfighters.”

“Wyatt? Like Earp?”

She snapped her fingers, grinning. “Wyatt Axelrod. That's it.”

I took out my little pad and scribbled down the name.

“Really think he might have something to do with it?”

“Considering you don't know anyone who has it out for you?” I asked, then nodded. “Yeah, I give it even money. At the very least I can have Lacy look into him when she gets into the office, or Peter even. Anything else happening?”

She shook her head, gestured to a vacant seat next to her. “Why don't you take a load off, Richard? I can get us a cup of coffee.”

My heart leapt at the invitation. Between the smell of her and the knowledge we were alone and could maybe discuss something other than business, I was tempted to accept her invite. But, there was a mission here—I had to protect her. I sighed and shook my head. “Sorry, Jessica, you know we're not getting paid to sit around and drink coffee with the client. I should really get back up front and keep an eye on the place.”

“Sorry,” she said, smiling like it was no big deal. “I forget sometimes what it's like to have people around while working. Most of the time I'm here alone. Sheila, my friend who told me about you guys, has been helping me figure out the books for the gallery, so I've been spoiled with having her around. But working here all alone can get, well, lonely.”

“Believe me,” I said with a grin, “I understand your pain. I've had to work quite a few stakeouts all by my lonesome. It can be tough.”

She glanced away. “Well, you should probably get back at it, then. Hate to have your boss come along and get upset or something.”

I laughed. “I think Peter would be fine with me coming in. But I'll let him know you're concerned about employee performance.”

Just as she laughed again, the phone began to ring.

I tensed up and began to look around for the phone.

“Don't worry,” she said quickly. “It's just the fax. It'll pick up in just a minute.”

“You still have a fax?” I asked teasingly. “Thought those died out while I was over in Afghanistan.”

She laughed as she got up and went over to see what was printing. “We get a lot of faxes, actually. Shipping orders from some older customers, that kind of thing. Some of our suppliers even send our invoices that way…” She trailed off as she stared down at the printout from the fax machine.

“Jessica?” I asked, concerned. “Everything okay?”

She picked up the page and held, it out and away from her like it was contaminated. A look of horror twisted her face.

“What is it?” I asked, crossing the room and taking it from her. I looked from the page to her face, and back again.

The same phrase covered the sheet over and over again in a small, tight, single spaced font.

LEAVE ENCHANTED ROCK OR ELSE. LEAVE ENCHANTED ROCK OR ELSE.

As I stared at the screed, more sheets came streaming out of the fax machine. They were sending page after page of this stuff. What kind of psycho did this?

“I don't even . . .” she began, her lower lip trembling, before bursting into tears.

On impulse, I pulled her into my chest, her warm, tiny body pressing into mine.

“Why?” she cried against me. Her body wracked with sobs, her arms wrapping around me and pulling herself tighter. “Why me, Richard?”

“I can't tell you,” I said, unsure of what else I could offer her as I rubbed her back soothingly. “But I do know we're going to keep you safe, alright? You got me, you got Peter. We'll protect you. Okay? I promise.”

Slowly, her tears began to dry and the sobs stopped. She pulled back, wiping streaks of makeup from her face. “You promise?”

“Well,” I said, stepping back from our embrace and smiling down at her, “that's what you're paying us for, right?”

She laughed and shook her head, looking away from me. “Yeah, I guess I am, aren't I?” She broke away and pulled out a box of tissues from a drawer in her desk. Not caring if I was there or not, she blew her nose.

God, I realized, even her nose blowing was cute. That was it. I had to get back to my Jeep before I started obsessing over her even more. “You going to be fine in here alone?”

She sniffled. “Yeah, I think so. I'll probably close up shop early, though, and head home.”

“Well, you have my number. If you need anything, I'll be right out the front doors. Text, call, whatever. If you decide to leave, just go, I'll be right on your tail.”

She smirked. “Right on it, huh? Even with my face looking like this?”

I was so surprised I couldn’t respond right away. I felt my face get warm and looked away. “Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?” Way to go, idiot.

She looked at me with an awkward smile and gave an equally awkward hand wave. “Sorry, that was, uh, inappropriate.”

“Don't worry. You're stressed. People do weird things under stress. In the service, I knew one guy who would say the alphabet backwards every time we got into a fire fight. That was inappropriate.”

She laughed and wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Did he do it with the whole song and everything?”

It was good to see her laugh again, to smile. I shook my head with a grin as I leaned back against the wall. “No, he couldn't ever get that far. A bullet would whiz past his head and he'd have to start over. Farthest I ever heard him get was O.”

She giggled, making her whole body shake. “I know I shouldn't be laughing about this.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay to think some of the war stories are funny. You gotta find something funny when shit's going down, you know?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“But, listen,” I said, jerking a thumb back over my shoulder. “I'm gonna get back out there. I'll make my calls from the Jeep, see if we can't find out something more about this guy.”

“Okay. I'll probably be leaving here in thirty. That sound good?”

“Sure, do what you gotta do. I literally have nowhere else to be.” I turned and left, headed back through the gallery. I stopped and stared up at the wolf painting I'd spotted on my way in, letting the colors and strokes clear my head as I took them all in.

I heard footsteps back in the office, just her walking around, but didn't bother to turn.

She needed her privacy, and needed to know I was working to keep her safe. I headed out of the gallery, the bell clanging above. I crossed the slow Main Street and climbed back into my old Wrangler.

Lacy picked up her phone on the third ring. “Whatchu got, furball?” she asked, her pixie-like voice ringing in my ears.

Lacy Richter was Genevieve’s granddaughter, and probably one of the best computer techs in the High Rockies, if not Colorado. She could tap a line, hack into a voicemail, and find out everything you could about a person in less than a day. She was also an incorrigible brat, and not even old enough to legally drink. Like her grandmother, she knew we were shifters and she just thought it was cool, like we were real life “furries,” whatever the hell that was. If Gen Richter was our den mother, then Lacy was our mascot.

I rolled my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” I reprimanded in a growl. “How do you know I'm not calling you on speakerphone or something?”

“How do you think I keep you from calling me on speakerphone, old man?”

Knowing this would quickly devolve into a skirmish of words I'd never truly win, I chose instead to just grumble and move on. “The boss tell you about what I got going?”

“Death threats on the hot local girl? Yep.”

“She's got a name.”

“Of course she does, fuzzy. Jessica Long, right? What's going on? Time is money here.”

“You know her silent partner that died? The executor of the estate came by just now. Axelrod left his part of the business to his nephew, Wyatt Axelrod. Need you to look into him.”

“Think he's the perp?”

I shrugged as I looked out over the sleepy Main Street. “I don't know, to be honest. But Jessica thinks the calls started right around the time her old partner died. Maybe he wants the business for himself and he's trying to push her out for cheap?”

“I'll look into it. Anything else?”

“One other thing. She received a fax, another death threat, just a little while ago. Any chance you could track where it came from?”

“From here? No, but I can get in there first thing tomorrow and check it out. Depending on what number it came through on, they either used an online service, a cell phone, or the internet.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Do that first thing, as soon as she opens. That fax looked crazy, and I'd like to figure out who's sending it. And you can do that? Fax from the internet?”

“I know, right?” she replied, a grin in her voice. “First men turning into wolves, now this! The wonders, they never cease.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Got anything else for me, old man?”

Sure, I had a hundred questions. Who was this Blake Axelrod guy? Who was making these calls? What was Jessica's biggest goal in life? Did she like Thai food? Why did she feel so perfect when she was in my arms? I shook my head. “No. That's it for me.”

“Got it. I'll see what I can dig up on Mr. Wyatt here and get back to you. You going to be home or out running around in the woods all night?”

“Neither,” I responded. “Stakeout tonight at the client's house.”

She giggled. “Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “Stakeout.”

“Oh, grow up.”

She giggled again. “Got it. S'later, dude.”

After we hung up, there were still questions nagging at me. Most importantly, though, was the biggest one I had: why was I so drawn to her? It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Why her? Why Jessica Long, a woman I'd just met?