Page 8 of A Dash of Wolf

“Thank goodness you shaved your legs, Adeline!” Emory called out behind them. “Do you think he’ll strip search you?”

Adeline laughed. “If I’m lucky!”

Chief Wolfe groaned. “You realize this is serious, right?”

Adeline winked at the handsome werewolf. “Nothing is ever too serious for me, Chief.”

“Color me surprised.”

Adeline looked over her shoulder and tried to jump up to see over the giant of a man. “Keys are in the Beetle, Emory!”

Chief Wolfe opened the back door of his Tahoe and gently pushed her inside. “Make sure your friend takes the cat with her.”

“I said I’m sticking with the girl,” Princess Muffin Top said from the front passenger seat.

“What the—” Chief Wolfe’s head whipped around. “How did she get in here?”

Adeline laughed as she slid across the back seat, Herman still attached to her forearm and cooing softly. “Welcome to Moonlight Bay, Chief Wolfe.”

4

“Looks like the protesters have taken up outside, Chief.” Officer Casswell stood at the station’s large picture window, coffee in hand. “Want me to go outside and shoo them away?”

Mason heard the amusement in her voice but chose to ignore it. He had more important things to worry about than his new employees laughing at him. Like the redheaded witch currently rolling her fingertip across an ink pad like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Which, based on her file, she probably had.

“Will you be fingerprinting Herman as well, Chief?” Adeline asked as she pressed her thumb onto the white card. “Or I guess I should say tentacle printing. Is that a thing?” She leaned in closer, and once again he caught it...the scent of sugar and vanilla. “And is this really necessary? I’m sure my fingerprints are already on file.” She cocked her head and grinned up at him. “Chief Dawson finally just stopped fingerprinting me. It’s not like I’m trying to hide my identity.”

Mason forced himself not to close his eyes and count to ten. Again. The woman was exasperating. She’d chatted nonstop the entire drive back to the station from the back seat...about the squish-squids, about the marsh, about the building Ivan was going to erect out at the marsh, about whether or not werewolves felt compelled to howl at the moon. And don’t even get him started on the cat. The feline was even worse, if such a thing was possible. The things that came out of its mouth were enough to make a sailor blush.

“What about me, Chief Scrumptious?” Princess Muffin Top called from inside the jail cell across the room where she’d voluntarily taken up residence on the cot as though she owned the place. “You want my paw prints on paper? Maybe hang them up on your wall and drool over how curvy and big they are?” She licked her paw. “Do you werewolves go in for that kind of thing?”

“Does she ever stop?” Mason muttered.

Adeline laughed. “Nope.”

“I agree with your stand, Adeline,” Beulah said from behind her desk, taking a sip of hot tea. “The squish-squids must be protected. I don’t know what the council is thinking letting Ivan build on that site.” Beulah waved a hand in the air. “Even if it is supposed to be a small structure. It’s still not right.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his receptionist that they don’t take sides in disputes like this, but he knew it would probably fall on deaf ears.

The front door opened, and the sound of the protesters flooded inside. “Let Adeline go! Let Adeline go!” They’d been marching up and down the sidewalk for almost twenty minutes, their signs bobbing in the air while Adeline’s dark-haired friend yelled through her bullhorn about how Mason was being unfair to Adeline and to the defenseless squid attached to her forearm. At least the reporter-photographer lady hadn’t come back after she’d gotten her shots of him loading Adeline into the back of his Tahoe. He had no doubt it would be splashed across the front page the next time the paper came out.

“Excuse me, Chief,” a warbly voice said from the doorway. “But could I please use your restroom? At ninety-seven, my bladder isn’t what it used to be.”

Mason stared at the tiny, ancient witch clutching a protest sign that read “TENTACLES ARE NOT A CRIME!” He opened his mouth, closed it, then gestured toward the hallway.

“Hey, Mrs. Abernathy.” Officer Dixon appeared and offered the elderly witch his arm. “Grab hold, and I’ll show you where to go.”

Mason watched them shuffle away and shook his head. One day in, and it was already clear he had zero control over anything. His officers were amused. His secretary was taking sides. And a ninety-seven-year-old witch was using his station as a rest stop. He turned back to Adeline. “How did you manage to railroad the senior citizens into your protest?”

Adeline smiled up at him, and he found he couldn’t look away from those green eyes. Bright and warm and entirely too amused for a woman in a police station with ink on her fingers and a squid on her arm. He looked away. Bad girls had never been his thing. Not that she was bad, exactly. She was just...a lot to process.

“They love helping me with my protests,” she said. “Gets them out of the care center and lets them get in their exercise at the same time.”

“I see Old Man Stanton out there,” Beulah said, standing up from her desk and slathering a fresh coat of lipstick across her lips. “Excuse me while I go say hello.” She adjusted her boobs, patted her gray hair, and headed for the front door. “Be right back, Chief.”

Mason watched her go, unsure if he should call her back or just accept that his authority meant absolutely nothing in this town.