Chapter 4
Becca stared at her reflection in the mirror, desperately trying to think things through.
Sadly, it wasn’t her strong suit. She was great in a crisis.
If you needed someone to remain calm and react with precision during a disaster, then she was your girl.
The more panic there was around her, the better she did.
Except this time, she was the only one panicking. She was trapped in a town full of lunatics and hadn’t a clue how to maneuver her way out.
But were they really lunatics? Part of her laughed at the question.
Werewolves and were-bears were the stuff of bad horror movies.
The most obvious answer was that the town was a victim of some chemical spill and the people were suffering from a mass hallucination.
That made it all the more important for her to escape as soon as possible before she too succumbed to the vapors or got infected from the water or whatever.
Two things kept her from hightailing it out of Camp Max. First, she couldn’t figure out how to escape. Not with the whole town invested in keeping her here. And second, there was something her sister had said about Theo’s father.
The kindest thing she could say about her sister was that Nancy was troubled.
Their father’s abandonment hit her sister the hardest, and Nancy had found escape in the nearest bar.
She hadn’t even been thirteen, but she and her friends had found a way to get what they wanted, and from there it was a downward spiral.
Not all at once. There were better years and worse years.
Nancy managed to get through high school and even hold a job for a while.
But alcoholics dotted their family tree, and she eventually lost the battle against her addiction.
She conceived Theo in one of those bad times but then made a valiant effort to get clean for the baby.
Becca had helped all she could, but money had been beyond tight.
They had squeezed every last dime to get by, which is when Becca had pushed hard for Theo’s father to help out.
Nancy had refused. She’d said the man was an animal.
Not ugly or violent. Just a freaking animal most of the time, becoming human only when it suited him.
Only she hadn’t said animal. Her exact words were “grizzly bear.” Becca had dismissed it as an alcohol-induced nightmare.
Until now.
It couldn’t be true, and yet, everyone seemed so committed to the delusion, her own sister included.
Fortunately, no one appeared violent except for the whole kidnapping thing.
Which meant Becca was somewhat safe for the moment.
Her best plan was to keep her eyes and ears open for an opportunity to escape.
Until then, she just had to pretend to go along.
She’d keep everyone calm—herself included—until she could get the hell out of Gladwin.
That decided, she washed her face, brushed out her hair, and did her best to look like she was completely cowed. Next step: search the bedroom for any weapons. She’d barely gotten started poking through the desk when Mr. Max knocked on the door.
“Tonya’s here,” he said through the wood.
“Coming!” she called as she pushed a drawer of files closed.
There were names there—neat little folders of people that included lineage, medical history, and lists of incidents.
Many ended with phrases like “shot in the heart” or “lost challenge.” She had no idea what that meant, but she sure as hell didn’t want to see a folder with her name on it. Or worse, one with Theo’s name.
But she didn’t have time to think about that as she straightened her clothes—dressy jeans and a now-wrinkled blouse—and headed out the door.
Mr. Max was waiting for her, a big hulking presence by the door.
He didn’t move as she stepped out, unless she counted the way his nostrils flared and his hands twitched in her direction.
And she had to pass within a half inch of his body as she stepped into the main room of a very large house.
But beyond the way his scent seemed to invade her senses at his nearness, everything else seemed eerily normal.
He didn’t speak as he gestured for her to cross to the center of the main living room.
The decor was male hunting cabin, complete with an extra-large refrigerator-freezer and a big-screen TV.
No deer heads hung on the wood-paneled walls, thank God, but she saw a couple very old quilts on the overstuffed couch and one of the three huge recliners.
There in the middle stood two women. The first was a police detective, her uniform crisp and her posture excruciatingly correct except for the way her head tilted slightly to the side whenever she looked at Mr. Max.
Given that she was stunningly beautiful, Becca guessed that the stiffness was her only way to keep things professional in a male-dominated field.
She’d been talking to a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties with dark hair going gray.
The older woman wore Crocs on her feet and a loosely tied dress that looked more like a sack with flowers printed on it. On odd pair of women, to be sure.
And when Becca crossed into the center space, the detective’s cool gaze assessed her in every way. It was all Becca could do to keep from smoothing down her hair.
“Good evening, Miss Weitz,” the woman said. “I hope you’re feeling recovered.”
“From my kidnapping, you mean?” So much for pretending to go along.
The detective’s lips twitched. “Yes. From that.”
“I’d like to be taken home, if you please.”
“I could do that, ma’am,” she answered. “But that would be one less pair of friendly eyes looking for your nephew.”
The older woman spoke up, her tone tart. “She still doesn’t believe.” Her gaze landed heavily on Becca. “Don’t pick stupidity over the evidence of your own eyes.”
“She hasn’t seen anything yet,” Mr. Max said, his voice all but booming from above her shoulder.
He was standing much too close, but there wasn’t room for Becca to move away.
Meanwhile, the other women looked surprised, and he raised his hands in a frustrated gesture.
“And when was I supposed to do that? When she was unconscious?”
The detective sighed. “We’re not getting anywhere until she believes. So go on,” she said with her brows arched at Mr. Max. “Show her.”
Mr. Max crossed his arms and glowered. “I’ve got my turn at the second checkpoint in just a few hours. I’m not shifting. It’d cost me too much, and I won’t put those boys at risk.”
Tonya folded her arms. “I’m not stripping for you.”
“Shut up, children,” the older woman interrupted, her tone the sound of a mother at the end of her patience. Then she turned to Becca. “I’m Marty Dawson, Justin’s mom. He’s a few years older than Theo, but I think they know each other.”
Becca didn’t know. Theo talked more about his school friends than the ones at camp. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said as she reached out to shake the woman’s hand. But she ended up with her fingers hanging there in midair as the woman untied the sash around her dress.
“I’ve been through this before. Got two older kids who went through their First Change a few years back. It’s nerve-racking, and my Sarah came back with her legs torn to shreds from some fence. She’s fine now, but it doesn’t stop a mom from worrying.”
How to respond to that? “Of course you worry.”
“And you think we’re all cracked.” Marty kicked off her big Crocs.
“I wore this just because sometimes I get protective when my kids are running wild. No sense in ripping my clothes.” She looked at Becca.
“Pay attention. I’m only doing this once.
” Then she looked back at Mr. Max. And she waited.
He just stared at her, clearly confused.
“Marty?”
“You know I have to be angry. Say something to get my dander up.”
“Uh… I don’t know anything.”
The detective snorted. “Tell her about the dog when you were twelve.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was ten.”
“And old enough to know better, I expect,” said Marty. “Come on. Out with it. What did you do to that dog?”
Mr. Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a man about to confess something terrible. “You know those tarts you made that kept going missing? That was me. I let the dog in and staged the scene so he’d take the blame.”
“You let me cage that poor defenseless animal? Just so you could stuff yourself with my tarts!” She took an angry step forward. “Those were for Sarah’s birthday party! Those are damned hard to make and— Grrrroar!”
Becca was watching Marty, her amusement kicking in at seeing big, bad Max put on the defensive by a middle-aged woman. But then the change happened.
She noticed the face first, though Marty’s shoulders had grown disproportionately large as she advanced on Mr. Max.
Then suddenly there was dark brown hair with white tips and a long muzzle.
Her arms were raised as she pointed a finger at him, but it wasn’t a finger.
It was a huge paw with a claw extended toward Mr. Max.
The sacklike dress pulled tight across her torso, now doubled in size, and hair—fur—sprouted everywhere.
She was a freaking bear, standing there in a dress while roaring at Mr. Max.
It happened so quickly, and yet every split second seemed imprinted on Becca’s memory.
Becca stumbled over her own feet, her entire body feeling cold as she scrambled backward.
The detective was there, holding on to her with an incredibly strong grip, keeping her from falling but also keeping her from running.
Meanwhile, Mr. Max stood his ground, wincing as the bear kept roaring right in his face.
And most frightening of all? The big man no longer looked so big.
And then the bear turned to stare at her.
“Oh, shit…,” murmured Becca.
“Stay strong,” said the detective. “They respect strength.”