White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul Read Free Page A

years she’d worked at the diner had Melanie ever waited on Valérie, no matter what section she sat in. The other waitresses had protected Melanie in some sort of unspoken diner-women bond. So she hadn’t seen the ring up close, but it would’ve been hard not to notice the diamond glinting under the Caboose’s track lights.
    Mike and Valérie had been prom king and queen, had been hot and heavy in high school, and every time he came back to Chabegawn, photos of the couple had been splashed across the front page of the Spectator —the county’s newspaper. Melanie had read the caption under each and every picture, and she could probably regurgitate them verbatim by now. Heck, she’d read every single article published about Mike Dorland since the day he and his brother picked up and left town all those years ago. Spent hours at the library using the computers to track him. Felt inordinate pride the day he’d won his first poker tournament and the media dubbed him “Mike the Machine.”
    “Why are you flirting with me?” she blurted.
    “Ask me why I’ve come back to Chabegawn, Melanie Frances White.”
    Lordy, that boyish grin made her mind go blank and fried her vocal cords. Not for nothing could she break away from his hot stare, those amazing silver-rimmed eyes. Blood crashed like storm waves in her ears, and she couldn’t formulate a single thought.
    “Well that’s that.” Doc G.’s booming bass reverberated across the room.
    Mike held her gaze for a second and then whispered, “We’ll finish this later.”
    He glanced over his shoulder. “Problem, Season?”
    “Looks like we’ll all be missing Whisper’s foal.” Doc G. set the phone back on its base. “There’s been a murder out near the reservation. Sheriff Pincer wants me to take a look at the body. The coroner’s on the other side of the county. Mel, call Jim and tell him he’ll need to get young Fitzwilliam to come out for Whisper. I won’t need to be at the crime site for long, so I’ll drop you home afterward and then I’ll head up to Jim’s.”
    A kind, merciful Lord did exist.
    Melanie repressed a long sigh, ducked around Mike, and near ran to the reception desk. “Do you want me to call Dr. Fitzwilliam as well?”
    “Good idea. Call him first; then call Jim.” Doc G. did that man-back-slap-brotherhood thing. “How long you been back, Mike?”
    If Mike felt the impact, he didn’t show it. His stare never strayed from her.
    The cotton neck of the uniform rasped her skin, and only by grabbing the phone did she refrain from tugging at the fabric. Trying not to be too obvious about eavesdropping, she punched out Dr. Fitzwilliam’s number, got voice mail, and left a message.
    Mike had got into town the day before. Why was he here now? He and his brother had rarely come back to Chabegawn after his father’s death and his mother’s commitment to a mental institution. She could count on one hand the number of times they’d visited since their abrupt departure in 1994. Eight years ago. But then again, his mother had returned to town recently and even bought a house in the country club development on the east side.
    Even more important—why did he want her to ask him why he’d come back?
    Don’t go there . She punched in the Baldens’ number. That phone also went straight to a recording, so she left another message. Doc G. and Mike were deep in a murmured conversation Melanie couldn’t decipher, and she had a few moments to study him unobserved.
    If anything, he had grown more handsome over the years. The grooved lines around his eyes gave him a brooding air, his full lips, once always curved in a ready smile, had taken on a grim cant, and he wore not an ounce of spare flesh. The bulging muscles of his biceps challenged the sleeves of the black T-shirt clinging to his powerful arms. He was her every fantasy, her only fantasy, and had been from the get-go.
    A burst of anger tore through her.
    Every time Mike came to town, the mere