To Groot the cat, our fearless hunter of snakes, frogs, and birds who sits in the window after dark and growls at the night.~

Such a fun chapter to write XD

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Chapter 27: A Time for Wolves

Will you hide when the wolves come
to the quiet of your den
Or stand and fight determinedly
although you cannot win

Or will you cast your lot with theirs
-a reaper of the damned
a connoisseur of docile sheep
and tasty little lambs.

The time for choice comes once for all
a day we know not when
To run and hide, or fight and die,
or sell our souls to sin.

~the author, for Evergreen

Saturday, October 15th, 1988

"Are you sure there is nothing you want?"

Enos looked up at Melinda, cast half in shadow and half in light, and shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

The crack of a log drew him back to the flames. Outside the circle of light, darkness had settled, broken only by the brick house drenched in a soft orange glow.

Tonight was the first time he'd been to her house. Her excuse sounded reasonable - snow had fallen that morning and the Ashbury's porch was cold, damp, and dreary, and there was a stack of dry firewood behind her house that would be rotten by spring. He let her believe she'd convinced him, but the truth was he hoped she would be more forthcoming about her past in her own back yard.

She sat down next to him on the straw bale, her woolen clad shoulder touching his, a glass of wine in her hand. The flames danced and licked greedily at the timber, and he gave it less than an hour before it died. The wood was dry and half punk; it would be a quick burn. Over the last 18 hours, he had discarded a hundred ways to start this conversation, never settling on one that fit. Now, sitting here with a warm fire and a woman who no man with a pulse could complain about, it would be easy to let it slide another day.

He had almost talked himself out of it when she spoke.

"When I was a little girl in Baltiysk," she began, her voice so quiet that he had to lean in, "we had a cat. He would spend the day outside, and he was a very good hunter. Always, he would catch mice or sometimes birds if one got too close. But at evening, we brought him in because there were wolves in the forest outside of town, and they would run in the streets after dark. The cat would sit in the window and growl at the night and want to go out and fight the wolves, even though they would tear him to pieces."

Her story mingled with the smoke, drifting up into the darkness. In his mind's eye, he saw their teeth as they tore at the cat, and it made him feel sick at his stomach.

"Are you fighting wolves, Enos?"

"I wish it was only wolves."

"Tell me what has happened? Is it about the murders?"

He took a deep breath. Slowly, he thought, start simple. "When you lived in Brooklyn, did you ever hear of a man named Andrei Mudrik who lived in Brighton Beach?"

She shook her head. "My uncle lived in Brighton Beach, but there are many, many people there, and most are immigrants from the Soviet Union. Why? Should I know him?"

"Maybe not."

"There must be a reason you ask."

His fingers fidgeted with a piece of straw, falling into old habits to ease the stress. "What if I told you he was killed by whoever killed Gino Spione? By the same person who sent a Queen of Hearts with her eyes scratched out to our Sheriff's Department."

Instead of answering, she studied the fire, and he wondered why she wasn't surprised.

"You know this for certain?" she asked, finally.

"Scout's honor."

A block away, an enthusiastic group of kids huddled around Daisy. Joy's youngest siblings, Ruby and Rilla, had badgered her into coming down to the local park where the county had erected an outdoor hockey rink, showing up on her doorstep just as the evening sky had filled with smudges of pink clouds. No sooner had she set foot into the park with the oversized duffel bag of equipment Enos had convinced her she needed, than a gaggle of local kids set upon her, eager to show her the ropes of a game they had played since they could walk.

Already, she felt like an over-stuffed couch cushion, and she still had more pads to put on. "Where does this one go?" She held up a length of padding with Velcro at both ends.

"That's your throat protector," said Rilla. "So's you don't get your throat cut out by someone's skate blade."

Ruby scowled at her sister. "She's not playing in a game, Rill, just learning to skate." She turned to Daisy. "You don't need that one right now."

"I think I already know how to skate," said Daisy. "I was pretty good at roller skating when I was little."

"Ice skating's way easier than roller skating," said a boy wearing a Redwings jersey. "But stopping is harder."

A little girl in a pink Mighty Ducks jersey asked her what team her jersey was.

"I don't know," admitted Daisy. "I just got whatever was cheapest at the store. I don't know much which ones are good or bad up here."

She rummaged in the bag and pulled out a red jersey with a big black 'M' on it. Several of the kids groaned and a few made vomiting noises.

"What?" she laughed.

"That's Marquette," explained the boy. "Gross! That's like wearing a Bear's jersey to a Green Bay game."

"Oh well," she sighed. "It's all I've got for now. It'll have to do."

With the kids' help, she was soon fully outfitted in her pads, jersey, skates, and helmet. With all the padding she was wearing, she certainly didn't think falling would hurt. Probably getting back up would be the problem.

"Does Enos ever play hockey with you?" Daisy asked. "He said something about learning to skate."

"The Sheriff? Oh sure!"

"You betcha!"

The boy with the Redwings jersey shrugged. "He was pretty awful when he moved up here," he told her. "but he's really good now. He play's on my uncle Pete's team when Whitefish County has a game. It's just a bunch of guys who work for the county and the road crews."

"Good thing there aren't many adults out here, yet," said Ruby. "That way you can practice without everyone seeing you fall down."

A rubber mat had been laid across the ground leading from rink to the bench where other kids and some adults were putting on their equipment. It was easy to walk on the hockey skates, and she followed the kids out to what were tennis courts during the spring and summer. The county had put up 8 foot high barriers of plywood and plexiglass around a white waterproof plastic sheet with the markings of a hockey rink, filled the area with water and let it freeze. She caught the barrier as she stepped out onto the ice, surprised by how sturdy it was.

"Try skating around the rink, first," a kid suggested. "Get the feel of it."

She let go of the barrier and skated towards the far end. A few laps around and she was getting the hang of it, only falling a few times in the turns, while the kids yelled advice at her from the sidelines to 'keep your knees bent' and 'fall on your knees not your butt'. Finally, the kids joined her as she skated around.

"Race you around the rink, Daisy," said a little kid.

He couldn't have been more than six or seven, so Daisy readily agreed, thinking with her longer legs she would need to slow down so he could keep up. The shrimpy little kid turned out to be quick as lightning though, and she found herself going faster and faster. Nearing the finish line, he hopped around to skate backwards, thumbing his nose at her. It was funny...until she realized she didn't know how to stop herself from hitting the barrier while going that fast. Slamming into it broadside at full speed, she bounced off and felt flat onto her back, staring up at the park's sodium lights.

A crowd of concerned little faces soon filled her vision.

"Daisy!" called Rilla. "Daisy are you okay!?"

She laughed. "I'm fine, but I think y'all better teach me how to stop."

Enos wrestled with whether he should press Melinda harder about the connection, feeling like she was hiding something, but he couldn't guess what. She leaned over and sat her glass on the ground by the fire, resting her arms on her knees. Her hair spilled across her face, obscuring her expression.

"If you know anything, you need to tell me," he urged. "It doesn't have to go any further than between us, but it might help me to understand who I need to be looking for."

She took a deep breath and nodded, then raked her hair back. "There is something I need to tell you."

"Okay."

"My uncle..." Melinda shook her head and started again. "In Brighton Beach, everyone worked for the Odessa Mafia. You have to understand that. It didn't matter if you wanted to or not."

Enos knew the game. In LA, many families lived under the thumb of the cartels. "You had to survive."

"Yes, that was how it is," she agreed. "My uncle was just a mechanic, but he was good at his job. They took care of him. Kept him safe. They would come to our house and bring me candy when I was a little girl. I didn't understand what they did to people they didn't like. Then I grew up and moved away and...and, I never thought about it again. Not until last summer."

He waited for her to continue, as she rubbed her palms restlessly over her knees.

"Then last summer, a man I did not know came to the museum. He said he had known my aunt and uncle before they died, and that he wanted to talk to me about my family." She turned to look at him, her eyes pouring into his, dark and colorless in the firelight. "I thought maybe he had been a family friend who I had forgotten because it had been so long since I had been to New York, so I asked him to meet me at home, after work."

"So, you met him again later that day?"

"No... No, he only had a message for me. He asked me, did I know that my uncle had a debt that had not been paid. I thought he meant money. I told him I could pay whatever my uncle owed..."

"But that's not what he wanted?"

"No," she murmured, watching the fire. "He told me that 'our friends' would be working in area, and that they needed me to help them."

"The Russian Mafia?"

"Yes, the Odessans."

"Do you remember the date last summer the man came to visit? Would he be on the CCTV cameras at the museum?"

She shook her head. "It would have been early in June, but we recycle the tapes at the museum every six months. I'm sorry, I should have said something when it happened, but the first murder wasn't until December. I didn't know..."

"What did they want you to do? Did the man tell you?"

"Nothing." She turned back towards him, pulling her legs underneath her. "I told him that I didn't know him or any of his friends, and that my aunt and uncle were dead, and I didn't want to help. He said he would give his boss my message, and left. I've never seen him again."

"That man you saw on the beach right before the flowers came to the station, was he the same one who came to see you last June?"

"No...no, I don't think it was the same man," she said. "but I was not able to see him well from the museum."

Chilling to think of the Odessa Mafia so close to them. They weren't cut from the same cloth as the random gangs which terrorized neighborhoods in Los Angeles or even New York. Like the Cartels, they were well organized and lethal, comprised of criminals and mercenaries. He honestly had no idea what to do, other than find a way to keep her safe.

"That's why you were so scared when you saw the flowers in the black vase," He said, remembering her bizarre reaction that day to the azaleas. "You knew they were threatening you for not helping them."

"Maybe I should have told him I would," she whispered. "I'm afraid I will get someone hurt. I'm afraid I will get you hurt."

Her words took him back in time, to every bullet that had grazed him and every knife that had almost found it's mark. "That's part of my job, taking that chance."

She dropped her eyes from his, watching her fingers as she ran them over his heart. He hoped she couldn't feel how fast it was beating.

"How close have you come to dying?"

"Pretty close." No need to lie about it. He tried to drag the conversation back to the situation at hand made harder with her touching him. "You need to get away from Whitefish county. Do you have somewhere you can go?" he asked. "Somewhere they wouldn't know to look for you?"

The corner of her mouth twitched, the only tell that she had not expected his answer to the problem. "Run away?"

"It's not safe for you in Tamarack," he told her, gently. "You know that."

"I have a cabin in-"

"No," he interrupted her. "Don't say where. How do you know it's safe?"

"I paid cash for it, and there isn't a record. It's...it's not in Michigan."

He hadn't pegged her for tax evasion, but it wasn't unheard of, especially up in Canada where it was easier to slip through the cracks. Thankfully, that wasn't his jurisdiction and he didn't work for the IRS. "Promise me you'll go. The sooner the better."

Reluctantly, she nodded before getting up to pace beside the fire.

"It may take a few days," she warned him. "I have my check to pick up and cash on Monday."

"Until then, go through your normal routine, and leave at night. Don't tell anyone when you're leaving. Especially not me," he added, not knowing if he might be under surveillance.

She gazed up at the stars, and he wondered if she was thinking about the other times she had been uprooted from her home. He didn't want her to leave, but he didn't have another way to keep her safe. After a moment, she came back to stand in front of him, blotting out the light.

"What if I never return?"

He thought of Gino and the red spiraled snow beneath his corpse. "Better to never see you again than find you hanging in the woods," he told her. "I ain't gonna be able to sleep until I know you're safe."

She tilted his face up, brushing his cheek softly with her thumb and studying him in the firelight. "Stay with me tonight."

Echoes of chatter and music from the skate park drifted in the air like an old carnival, but he was alone on a dark island outside time and space.

"I...can't." After all the time they had spent together, it sounded cold and final.

He had believed that, given time, affection and attraction might evolve into love and when it did, he would be ready to move on. Yet, the moment of truth was now, and he knew he'd been a fool. The scars he carried in his heart would forever stand between them.

"It's not because of you..."

Maybe she saw the truth in his face. Instead of drawing away, she smiled knowingly and traced his lower lip. "I cannot fix what is broken...but I can make you forget."

He swallowed, finding it hard to locate any words to string together as he stared up at her. Did he want to forget? Though unrequited, his love for Daisy had at least been pure and innocent. What would he find at the other end of this tunnel?

"Your ghosts are angry with me for asking," she murmured. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

Against his better judgement, he did so. Without sight, his other senses heightened. He could feel the warmth of her body, the depth of the night around them, and the chill of winter at his back. Her hand still cupped his face and he realized belatedly that it would not take very much convincing for him to change his mind, and when she bent over and whispered in his ear, the rush of hormones that flooded his body had nothing to do with rational thought.

"We are all broken, Enos," she breathed, "you owe me a kiss goodbye."

Her lips brushed his slowly in warning...a shot over the bow, giving him a chance to escape. Then again, lingeringly, as the static of the lake and the crackling of the fire pounded in his brain, and then her mouth was on his, and he fell into her world.

Full dark had come, and the ice was crowded now. Someone had set up a boombox from which rock music blared over the sounds of laughter and chatter. The kids playing pick-up hockey had dwindled as more families and couples had shown up for casual skating, and they along with Daisy and Joy (who had been forbidden to skate while pregnant) had retired to the far end where the park committee was handing out cups of steaming cherry cider. Pete, who had come by to pick up his nephew, tossed another log into the barrel fire as Joy ribbed him about Daisy being a better shot with a handgun.

Daisy cupped her cider and watched as a little girl on double bladed training skates clung to her parents' hands as they guided her slowly around the rink. The atmosphere of the night felt like a warm, cozy blanket. She couldn't remember ever being more content, and tears pricked her eyes just to be a part of it.

"Is it always like this?" she asked Joy, waving around them.

"Every Saturday," she answered. "Older people who don't skate'll sometimes bring down cookies or muffins. After gun season starts, the DNR brings over a big cast iron cauldron and makes venison chili if people donate enough deer meat."

She pictured Joy's other half with an apron in the kitchen. "Bruce doesn't strike me as a cook."

Joy grinned. "I'm pretty sure the main ingredients in venison chili are sweat and testosterone."

"Gross," she laughed.

"Don't listen to her," warned Pete. "Last year, she brought these cookies that were so hard, we used 'em as pucks until they started gouging holes in the ice."

"Didn't I just work your shift for you all last week?"

Pete threw his hands up placatingly. "Best cookies I've ever eaten!"

Daisy laughed at their teasing. The Sheriff's Department was like one big family. Rodney had stopped by, in uniform since he was working the night shift this weekend, and she'd seen Rick talking with a group of guys earlier. In fact, everyone had been out and about - with one glaring exception.

"Where's Enos?" she asked Joy. "I thought he was taking the weekend off."

Joy shrugged. "He said he had some detective work to do. Who knows. I tried to get him to come." Beside her, Rilla yawned and leaned against her leg. Joy knelt down and zipped her little sister's coat. "You ready to go?" Rilla nodded.

"Nope!" shouted Ruby. "Can Julie's mom bring me home?"

"Haha. No. Let's go. Help Daisy carry her stuff since you've got so much energy."

The disgruntled six year old stomped off towards the bench where the bag and skates sat, and Daisy turned to Joy. "Hey, thanks for bringing me."

"You betcha," Joy told her, as they followed Ruby. "We come almost every evening unless it's too warm for ice. The kids have plans to teach you to play hockey, so you'll get sick of them dragging you here by the time Christmas comes around."

"I don't know, it's been a lot of fun. I'll sure miss all of y'all when I go back to Georgia."

Enos stopped just outside his front door, his hand on the handle. Inside, someone was singing that new song about a cowboy that the local Soo station had overplayed. It wasn't the song that stopped him, it was the singer; he'd hoped that Daisy was still down at the park.

Playing house with Daisy had been the worst idea of his life. They had slipped into a rhythm of each others schedules and daily interactions that bound them together in a sort of disjointed relationship. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what coming home would have felt like, had things gone differently between them.

That thought was joined quickly by a wave of guilt over where he had been for the last two hours - which was just plain ridiculous because, if he owed Daisy anything, it certainly wasn't fidelity.

Of course, this Daisy wouldn't know anything about that.

Besides, it was Just. A. Kiss.

Times like these made him miss getting shot at in Los Angeles. At least there, life was simple.

With a sigh, he opened the door and was enveloped by the smell of fresh baked cookies. Daisy, her hair tied up and wearing an apron, was still singing as she took two trays out of the oven, and didn't notice she had an audience as she carefully transferred each sugar cookie onto cooling racks. She sat the empty trays aside, and then yelped in surprise when he knocked softly on the wall.

"Hey!" she laughed. "Sorry, I didn't see you. I signed up to help with cookies for the thing at the courthouse tomorrow evening." Instead of continuing with her work, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a once-over. "Are you feeling alright? You look awful pale."

"I'm just tired." It was only half a lie. "I think I'm gonna take a shower and go to bed."

"You didn't run into a wall again, didja?" Apparently she wasn't done mothering him just yet.

"No. Why?"

She pointed to her mouth. "Your lip's bleeding."

He felt his face heat. "It's cold out, they get chapped."

"There's some Chapstick in one of the drawers in the bathroom," she reminded him. "So...I know it's not my business, but Joy said you were off doing detective work this evening. Learn anything useful?"

"Maybe, I don't know, yet." He was starting to feel like a rat in a maze. "Look, Daisy, no disrespect, but right now I just want to go to bed."

She grinned at him. "Sorry, you go on and clean up. I'm gonna do these dishes and then read a while."

Sleep came easily that night, in the middle of worrying that his damp hair would keep him awake. He taken a shower, then gratefully dropped into bed without strength to do anything more complicated than ask God for a little help and a bigger slice of His patience.

The stars traced through the sky while the first wisps of green played faintly along the far horizon, and the dream which had stayed dormant for almost a month crept into his exhausted mind. The experience it was built on had taken place on a beautiful, perfect day in Southern California, but tonight the street of his dream was dark. Behind him, unseen, a wolf gave a mournful howl as the sing-song rhyme began, and the gun moved in time until it fell on him. The hammer clicked...

He awakened sitting up, and knew he had screamed. The fire a dim red cast in the dark, and to his horror someone was running up the stairway.

No...!

He wanted to yell at her to go away and tell her that he was fine, except that he seemed to be frozen. He gripped the sheet, counting steps, and then she was there, just a silhouette. A shadow in the dark.

"Enos! Are you okay?"

The shadow advanced, and his hands tightened on the covers. Finally, he found his voice.

"Fine," he croaked and cleared his throat. "Just a bad dream. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Was it the same one?"

"The same what?"

"Was it the same bad dream you've had before?"

He wasn't aware she had known about others. How many times had he woken her before tonight? She didn't wait for him to answer, instead she stepped around his night stand and sit down on the edge of his bed while he scooted away from her towards the other side of the full mattress.

"You know," she started, and he sensed some sort of a lesson coming, "Uncle Jesse always said that if we talked about our nightmares, it would scare them away, and they wouldn't come back. You can tell me about it...if you want."

They were his own words from the past, come back to him. Sitting on the porch at the farm under a 'Shine moon. Had she been 8? 10? It didn't matter now. Somewhere in her heart, she had stored another piece of him away.

"Maybe some day," he promised, "but not tonight. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry." Her hand fell on his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze before she got up. "Try to get some sleep."

He lay back down as her footsteps echoed on the metal.

"Daisy?"

She stopped. "Yeah?"

"Save me a cookie."

"Maybe," she chuckled. "If you're nice, maybe I'll make french toast in the morning."

"I'm talking you down to the beach in the morning."

"Why? What's at the beach?"

"You'll see," he yawned.

If she answered him, he wouldn't know, he was asleep before she did.