Chapter 8

Doug slipped out of the room softly, the door clicking softly behind him. He couldn't help the smile that was playing across his features. His last exam—and he thought he did pretty well too. It had taken him a while to get back into normal shape after the job. His cheeks were still pretty drawn. He hadn't been able to eat for days after Moldowin's death.

Things had been silent for the two weeks following the event—Rollson hadn't called him once. He was starting to hope that the man had forgotten all about him. He was two thousand dollars richer and he'd had enough time to study for his finals. He just wanted to put the terrible events behind him.

A great jangling noise erupted from the recesses of Doug's backpack. He nearly jumped in fright. He slipped the backpack from his back and it fell to the ground with a soft thump. When he was finally able to move again, he reached down; touching the backpack gingerly with the tips of his fingers like it was some foreign and dangerous object. The zipper peeled away to reveal his textbooks resting innocuously against the dark fabric. There was one object he was not familiar with: a tiny silver cell phone. It had finally stopped ringing.

He lifted up the tiny object. It nestled in the palm of his hand. He didn't have a cell phone. He'd given his up after his father had died. He couldn't afford such luxuries at the moment.

A girl who was walking by gave him a strange look. He smiled belatedly and mentioned, "I can't get it to play the right ring tone."

The girl shrugged and walked on.

Doug bit his lip, silently cursing. Only a guilty party is so forthcoming with excess information, he reminded himself. Like a nervous tick.

Doug laughed softly to himself. It was a bitter and mocking laugh. He kept hold of the phone as he continued walking toward his truck. Whoever had planted it would call again. Meanwhile, he had a few things he needed to pack from his dorm before he headed back to Lampton Hill for the summer. He could sleep in the truck until he found some suitable rent.

Just as he expected, the phone jangled loudly. Doug flipped it open and pressed the talk button. He held it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked, trying not to sound too tentative. He had an image to portray.

"Like the new present I bought for you?" Rollson's voice came back to him.

Doug felt his heart sink. So much for the forgotten theory.

"It could come in handy." Doug spoke with little enthusiasm. "Long time no see—or should I say talk?"

He stepped out into the hot and muggy afternoon. A group of guys passed him, laughing and jeering loudly. Doug tuned out their voices so that he could hear what Rollson was saying.

"I thought I would give you a chance to finish up your exams before I sent you on another assignment."

"How considerate of you," It was all Doug could do to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his tone. He could feel something pressing on him. It felt like the thick and oily air from his nightmares. If he simply closed his eyes, the images would be etched on the back of his eyelids, endlessly haunting him. Blood…so much blood. And he, an evil murderer. Hurting people—some of whom had never deserved it.

He wrenched his mind back to the issue at hand.

"Yes, it was," Rollson was musing, "wasn't it?"

Doug had no reply. Conversation seemed to have petered to a close. Doug hoped it would end there.

"Are you alone?" Rollson asked suddenly.

Doug scanned his surroundings. A guy and his girlfriend were eating a picnic lunch on the front lawn. He couldn't help shaking his head. The mosquitoes were terrible at this time of year. They would be eaten alive. Just as he was thinking this, a mosquito buzzed by his ear. He swatted at it in an offhanded gesture.

"Just give me a moment." He replied as he strode across the bright green lawn toward the parking lot. His eyes squinted in the sunlight. There was only one way he could be truly alone out here. His eyes located the truck he always parked as close to the exit as possible. He moved to it, hopping inside deftly. He slammed the door shut behind him, sealing the outside world from earshot.

"Go ahead."

"First off, I want to congratulate you on your excellent work last job. I couldn't have done it better myself."

Doug sighed, rubbing his eyelids with a thumb and a forefinger. "What's the new job, Rollson?"

"Not much for conversation, are you?" For a moment Rollson sounded almost offended.

"Learned it from my old man," Doug replied. He was surprised at how quickly his good mood could turn sour. He didn't feel any need to apologize for his short tone.

"The job has to do with your sister."

"Jamie?" Doug stiffened.

"Yes. And all the other 'wolves in Lampton hill."

Doug wracked his brain for a good reply. He finally answered, sounding weak and almost frantic. "You want me to kill them? All of them? Don't you think that will attract too much attention?"

"Of course." Rollson spoke simply and plainly. "That's why I'm sending you. You've got years of experience on covering your tracks. The deaths will go down as another one of America's Unsolved Mysteries."

"You see how well it went last time," Doug replied. There was no way he was going to tell Rollson his real reason for being hesitant. He would never admit to caring about a 'wolf—to being willing to protect one with his life. He would go down in hunter history as a traitor—as someone to be despised.

Doug took a deep breath and continued. "I wouldn't take a job if I didn't think it was smart. It's about living another day to inflict more damage. My father forgot to weigh the odds more carefully and look where he ended up."

"Doug, you're forgetting," Rollson spoke with amusement in his voice, "I am the odds. With a snap of my fingers I could give you enough resources to win any fight. I'm not as strained as I was last fall. I'm picking my battles more carefully now."

Doug scratched his chin, feeling a day's growth of stubble. He chose his words carefully. "I'm wondering why their deaths are so important to you. They seem far less formidable than some of your other opponents."

"I'm wondering why you're so hesitant," Rollson growled in return.

"It's a fair question!" Doug shot back.

Rollson chuckled at Doug's daring. "Because that was my first defeat in years. It makes me look weak. The story's not unheard of in the 'wolf community. They're becoming more brazen. I even had a group try to infiltrate my base. They're all a bunch of sizzled meat now. They didn't count on the electric fence. But it won't deter them—not when someone has won a battle. I need to hit at the root of the source. If I destroy the ones responsible for the lost battle, I gain back my respect. The fights will be on my terms."

Doug shuddered slightly, glad that Rollson couldn't see him at the moment. So this wasn't just about revenge. It was about war politics. But Doug bet the man had a good deal of hatred festering in him too. Well, this man wasn't going to hook him into killing his sister. Not in his life.

"I feel for you," Doug replied, "but it isn't my problem."

"Doug, let me make myself clear: I'm going to do this with or without you. I have plenty of able bodies for the job. I was only giving you first dibs. I thought you'd like the chance to give your sister's body a good grave. My other men aren't as likely to be as kind. You must reconsider for her memory."

Doug would have slammed his head against the steering wheel if the other man hadn't been on the phone. He resisted the urge. It probably wouldn't have portrayed the right message. He took a deep breath, "I'll take the job."

And he'd have to make sure Jamie was far away from danger. Screw her friends. He couldn't save all of them without making Rollson suspicious. Jamie was what really mattered anyway.

Doug gulped hard. He didn't know how he would forgive himself after this one. Forget forgiveness, he thought. Just think about what needs to be done.

"Great!" Rollson's voice had suddenly turned genial and accommodating. "I'm so glad you came around to seeing things my way. It's for the best, you understand. I've already made arrangements for an apartment in Lampton Hill. It's all on me. And because I know how hard this is for you, I'm willing to pay generous compensation. Since the job will probably take all summer, I'm willing to pay you two thousand a month and a fifteen thousand dollar bonus once the job is complete."

Doug nodded, ready to hang up. For once he really didn't care about the money. He needed to think up a plan.

"Oh!" Rollson continued. "One more thing: I've arranged for you to have a companion of sorts to help you with your mission. His name is Grady Clark. I've instructed him that he must be the one to kill Jamie. You must not dirty your hands with that. I know how hard that would be."

Doug swallowed. "I work alone."

"Yes," Rollson agreed, "but due to the circumstances, that might not be such a good idea. You're much too involved. You may not think clearly."

There was no way he could convince Rollson otherwise. He wanted to smash the cell phone into a hundred pieces. Instead, he said a calm and curt goodbye. As soon as the phone had been turned off, he let out a loud and throaty yell. He threw the phone at the closed window and it bounced off harmlessly.

A girl fishing for her keys a couple rows over jumped in fright. Doug didn't even care. He couldn't just kill Grady. Rollson would send another man.

He muttered a plaintive wail, stuffing his face into the steering wheel. Why, when he needed a plan most of all, couldn't he think of one?