Three months later…
Things had been quiet since Melissa fled Feral. Gordon was on edge the whole time, worrying that
Melissa was up to something. It was not like her just to give up. She was bat shit crazy, and he was
certain his last encounter her with was his last. She was like a demon hiding in the shadows waiting for
the right time to show up and make things worse.
Things in Feral had returned to business as usual. Gordon returned to work, and Mackenzie spent
much of her time at the shop with him, discussing wedding plans while he worked. After the last close
call, Mackenzie never ventured far from Gordon. She was always within earshot.
The baby had doubled in size, and Mackenzie’s belly was large, round, and hard. Gordon and
Mackenzie would theorize on the sex of the baby. Mackenzie was hoping for a girl, whereas Gordon
was almost certain by the size of her belly at six months that the baby was a boy. Or so he hoped. He
had a daughter, and Gordon could not think of anything better than having a son. Someone he could go
fishing with and do guy things. Sure, he had taken Aster fishing and hunting, but as much as he loved
his daughter, it was not the same as having a boy.
Planning the wedding kept Mackenzie happily occupied. She was in her element. It made Gordon
happy to see Mackenzie so contented.
The chime above his door alerted Gordon to Mackenzie’s return. She had wandered down the street to
the grocery store to pick up something for lunch. There was an entire small section that had ready-
made sandwiches and subs that Aurora made at the start of each day and sold. Mackenzie had
brought back two. She came into the back room with a bag of sandwiches and two drinks. As she came
in, she walked up to him and kissed his lips, then looked at his work. He had spent the last two hours
finishing a tattoo that had taken twelve hours spread out over six days. He was just putting the finishing
touches on it.
“That looks great,” she said, standing next to the tattoo chair as Gordon sprayed it with saline solution
then gently wiped it clean with a soft disposable rag.
“And we are done,” Gordon said as the man got up. Gordon walked him over to the full-length mirror
mounted on the wall so the client could get a good unobstructed view of his new tattoo.
“Damn, you do great work,” the man said, admiring his new ink.
“Thank you. Follow me, and we can settle the fee,” Gordon took the client to the front room and rung up
the cost of the tattoo along with the cost of some care products to help the man keep it clean while it
healed and avoid a staph infection. The man paid with a credit card and thanked Gordon one last time
as he left.
With his business concluded, Gordon went back to clean up. He found Mackenzie already cleaning up.
They sterilized everything except his needle, which he removed from the machine completely and
threw out. For health and safety, he never used the same needle twice. Responsible tattoo artists never
did. Then again, there were the occasional unscrupulous shop owners who cleaned and reused old
needles. It was unconscionable, but it did happen; the customers were the ones who paid the price
when they contracted infections or worse.
Once things were clean, they sat down together and enjoyed their lunch while they waited for the next
appointment to arrive. This afternoon the baby was fairly active. Mackenzie told him the baby was
kicking like crazy, which Gordon took as a good sign. During their lunch, Gordon sat next to Mackenzie
with both his hands on her belly so he could feel his child moving. When the baby kicked his hand,
Gordon smiled. It was a good strong kick. “He’s strong.”
“She’s strong,” Mackenzie snickered.
“Naw, with a kick like that, it’s defiantly a boy.”
“You don’t think a girl can be strong?” She teased.
“I’m not going to get sucked into a gender war,” he chuckled. “I’ll love it no matter what it is, but I hope
it’s a boy. I already have one daughter.”
The chime from the door alerted them to someone coming into the shop. Gordon looked at the clock on
the wall and was confused. He was not expecting his next client for another forty minutes. He got up
from his seat, and he walked to the front of the shop, where he was met by a man dressed in jeans and
a leather jacket. He was a younger man, probably in his early thirties.
“Can I help you?” Gordon asked.
The man pulled the bottom of his open jacket aside, flashing Gordon a badge clipped to his belt on his
right hip. “I’m Detective Winthrop with the Colorado State Patrol. I’m investigating some strange
occurrences on the highway this last year,” the man said, identifying himself as law enforcement.
The man did not look like a cop. He was a First Nation’s gentleman. His complexation was deeply
bronzed, and his thin ebony hair was long but tied back. He was a fit man with broad shoulders and
long legs. He looked like he knew how to hold his own in a fight. He was awful young looking to be a
plainclothes State Detective.
“Do you have time to answer some questions?” Detective Winthrop asked. It was clearly a rhetorical
question. Gordon did not believe he had a choice in the matter.
“Sure. Can we make it quick? I have another client coming in, and most of my clientele are bikers, and
cops make them nervous.”
“No problem,” the Detective said. “I don’t know if you have heard, but there have been a few incidents
on the highways around Feral mostly. People are getting run off the road. There has been some
serious car wreckage.”
“Mountain roads are dangerous. Careless drivers die,” Gordon said, trying to sound disinterested.
“That is true,” Detective Winthrop agreed. “Thing about these specific wrecks is that the crash is not
what is killing these people.”
“Oh?”
“The men in these accidents,” He said, making air quotes with his fingers to illustrate that he did not
believe these accidents were accidents, “weren’t killed by the crashes. They were torn apart by
animals. In fact, one car showed evidence of an animal. The driver’s door and the trunk had been
ripped off with massive claw marks in the metal. Something ripped open that car and dragged the
victim from the vehicle to kill him in the street.”
“Really?” Gordon acted surprised by the news.
“You know an animal like that must be massive and dangerous. You haven’t seen any strange animals
roaming around the area, have you?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you said that you were with the State Patrol. Isn’t this an Animal Control problem?”
“Well, here is the thing. I think someone is in possession of dangerous vicious dogs. I think they are
running motorists off the road and using these dogs to kill the victims,” it was a very good theory.
Completely wrong, but still a reasonable theory. “Do you know anyone who has dogs around here?”
Gordon took a deep breath and pretended to think about his answer. “No,” he finally said, “None that I
know off.”
“You know the last victim was an FBI Agent. I think he died because he knew too much. He was
investigating a case and clearly uncovered something that got him killed. Someone around here is a
cop a killer.”
“I wish I could help you, but I don’t know anything. Feral is a fairly uneventful place,” both men stood
there, their confident gaze holding the other, staring each other down. The cop was hoping to intimidate
Gordon into saying something to incriminate himself, but Gordon had a lifetime of experience covering
his ass, and he did not break.
“What is going on, Baby?” Mackenzie asked, coming from the back when he had not come back.
“It is nothing,” Gordon said firmly. “Go back into the back room. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“No, wait,” Detective Winthrop said, putting up his hand to stop her from leaving. “I want to ask her a
few questions. First off, who are you?”
“My Fiancée,” Gordon answered.
“If you don’t mind, I want to hear her answers, not yours,” the cop scolded Gordon.
Gordon said nothing as he shared a warning glance with Mackenzie. It was a look he hoped she
understood to mean she was not to tell this man anything.
“Who are you?” Detective Winthrop asked again.
“I’m Mackenzie Starr.”
“Do you live around here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anything about the recent automobile crashes on the highway around here?” She shook
her head, no. “Do you know anyone who might own some large dogs?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“See, Detective, we don’t know anything,” Gordon stressed. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were in the
middle of lunch, and I’m expecting a client.”
“Alright,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. He removed a business card
and handed it to Gordon. “If either of you remembers anything, we haven’t already discussed. Please
call me.”
Gordon accepted the card. “Will do.”
The door opened, and the chimes sounded as Aster came into the shop. The Detective took one look
at Aster, and his gruff exterior softened as he smiled at her. Gordon knew the cop would likely stop
Aster and ask her the same questions.
“Hello,” Detective Winthrop smiled at Aster.
“Hello,” she smiled back.
Gordon cleared his throat. “Detective Winthrop, allow me to introduce my daughter Aster Wilder. Aster,
honey, this is Detective Winthrop with the Colorado State Patrol.”
Gordon’s gaze held Aster’s for a moment, and then she smiled once more and shook the Detective’s
hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
“It is very nice to meet you, Miss. Wilder,” he smiled back as he shook her hand.
“He is investigating some traffic fatalities around here,” Gordon informed his daughter. It was all he had
to say, and she understood completely.
“Do you know anything about them?” Detective Winthrop asked.
“I don’t watch the news. I find it depressing.”
“Do you know anyone who might own some large dogs in the area?”
Aster pretended to think over his question. “No, sorry, I don’t. But I’m often working, so I don’t socialize
much.”
“What do you do for a living?” He asked.
“I own a bakery,” she said.
“In Feral?”
“In Aspen.”
“If that is everything, Detective, I’m sure my daughter came to see me. If you don’t mind leaving us to
our business.”
“No, of course not,” he took out another business card and offered it to Aster. “If you think of anything
that might be helpful, please call me.”
Aster accepted the card and smiled as the officer left the shop. Standing alone, Aster slipped the
business card into her pocket with a smile. “He’s cute for a cop,” she said with a crooked grin.
“Should we worry?” Mackenzie asked.
“No,” Gordon said. “As long as we don’t talk, he can’t prove we were involved.”
“What if he has evidence?” Mackenzie asked.
“What evidence? The only evidence he has is that an animal was involved. What is he going to tell his
superiors? Monsters did it? He would be laughed at all the way to the department psychiatrist. As long
as everyone holds their tongue, we have nothing to worry about.”
“Dad is right. Besides, we have other problems.”
“What?” Gordon asked.
Aster took out her cellphone and brought up some text messages to show her father. “Mom’s been
messaging me?”
Gordon took the phone and read the messages. He could see all the messages where Melissa was
telling Aster to go on a vacation and come visit her in LA. Gordon could not help but notice how Melissa
insisted she come right now and not tell anyone.
“She’s plotting something, isn’t she?”
“It certainly seems so,” he handed the phone back to Aster. “Spread the word. I think she’s going to
show her face again.”
“Do you think I should go to her? I could meet up with her and deal with her in LA.”
Gordon shook her head. “She’s not in LA,” he knew his wife all too well. She wanted her daughter far
away and safe before she showed her face and struck. Melissa was a viper. She was trying to lure
Aster to a safe place. Which meant she intended to do something big that would likely destroy the
pack. Gordon refused to let that happen. From now on, he wanted patrols in the woods. All eyes open
until they found Melissa. “No one goes anywhere alone. Melissa is in the wind, but I anticipate
whatever plan she has will be exposed soon.”
“Alright, I’ll spread the word,” Aster said, searching her contacts list, trying to decide who to talk to first.
“Aster, be careful. Your mother is dangerous and unpredictable. If she thinks you betrayed her, she’ll kill
you too.”
“Not without a fight.”
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