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folding chair and opened it, sitting backward on it next to Heidi.
    “What?” Martin asked, leaning around Tamara. “I smell trouble.”
    “Me too,” Tamara complained, wrinkling her nose as she made a face at her cub.
    “And it stinks.”
    “Everyone quiet!” Bob waved his hands in the air, walking the length of the barn to get the pack’s attention.
    A hush fell over the group. Steve adjusted his chair, moving a bit closer to her. Once she would have snuggled into him—in fact, the action seemed natural. She still considered him a friend and probably always would. Having met up at the Canadian border when the pack had been so much smaller, they’d run side by side until claiming this mountain. In actuality, Steve was as close to a den as she had. But there was no attraction, no sexual yearning when he moved closer to her. And glancing down at his arm, it amazed her how puny he looked in comparison to Nicolo.
    She looked up at Bob when he started talking.
    “We extend our sympathies tonight to the Frank and Jordeaux dens for the murder of their littermates.”
    “Murder?” someone hissed behind her.
    Heidi turned to look at the werewolf who’d spoken while several other pack members started yelling out what they knew about the deaths. Although it was hard to tell with everyone talking at the same time, it sounded as if no one had any facts. She looked quickly at Bob when he yelled for silence. The pack settled down and listened for the details.
    “John Frank and Les Jordeaux were found murdered at the edge of the mountain this morning, nearly torn to shreds by barbed wire conveniently hidden in brush.
    Neither of them saw it and by the time we smelled their blood, both were dead.” Bob ran his hand over his closely shaven head, looking down for a moment while the spicy smell of anger filled the barn.
    “And who do we blame for these murders?” Martin yelled.
    “We have no evidence to blame anyone at the moment,” Bob told him, but then added quickly when the pack started stirring again, “but we’re looking into it. Believe me, this matter won’t rest until we see the guilty parties lying at our feet with their necks broken.”
    “You know it was either the Malta or American werewolves who did it.”
    Heidi fought to keep her seat at the accusation. She glared around her, studying her pack while they began trying and convicting werewolves without any evidence.
    “My bet is on the Malta werewolves,” someone else yelled. “Ever since they took our mountain, those American werewolves have chummed right up to them.”
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    Lorie O’Clare
    “It’s because they’re scared of them.”
    “And we aren’t,” someone else added. “They try spooking everyone because they are freaks, biologically altered by some insane pack leader over on that island they used to live on until they got kicked out.”
    “Enough! Enough!” Bob yelled over the outbursts.
    Heidi couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped out of her seat and pointed at Bob.
    “Tell them what you heard. I heard it too. The Malta pack leader told you that the same kind of deaths happened in his pack. Why don’t you tell everyone here about that?”
    She ignored the suspicious curiosity she smelled on her pack and held her head high. Bob stared at her a moment while the room grew quiet.
    “Sit down, Heidi,” he said through clenched teeth. “I already told everyone we’re investigating this.”
    “But why won’t you tell everyone you talked to the Malta werewolf pack leader?”
    She turned and looked at so many eyes focused on her. Heat rushed to her cheeks but she wouldn’t back down now.
    “How would you know anything the Malta pack leader said?” Steve asked.
    “Because—”
    “Heidi. No!” Bob’s growl echoed off the barn walls.
    A hush fell over the pack. Heidi turned, staring at her pack leader, a man she’d always respected and looked up to. Yet he wouldn’t allow the pack to know Malta werewolves had helped her, had