Running with the Werewolf (Darkaway Island #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Daphne

Iperched on the armrest of my garage sale sofa, chewed on a hangnail and wondered if I would die today.

“Pull yourself together, Ms. Dupree.”

Easy for him to say. His boss didn’t want him dead, his co-worker was still alive, and he wasn’t about to lie to federal agents.

Amazing what could happen to a girl in a single afternoon.

Agent Mulder gave me a stern look over his black horn-rimmed glasses, while Agent Scully checked her notes. Not their real names, of course, but given the amount of stress I was under, I couldn’t remember what they’d told me when they showed their badges. This was just easier.

Scully cleared her throat and consulted her notes. “So, you learned the test results for a drug your company is developing weren’t good? And you believe that Mr. Griffin is covering this up?”

I knew it for a fact. Although I wouldn’t call it my company. I’d only been working as a lab tech at Griffin Pharmaceuticals in Atlanta for a few months.

I nodded. “Let’s just say that for men using Staminax, an erection lasting more than four hours would be the least of their concerns.”

Mulder grimaced and took a step back as if he were about to be kicked in the balls. Scully didn’t have the same visceral reaction. She was as stoic and unaffected as…well, the real Agent Scully.

Being a lab technician wasn’t my dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but I liked being around test tubes, raw ingredients, measuring scales…and having a good medical plan.

Problem was, the CEO was this smarmy whiz-kid who treated his female employees as if they were dying to blow him.

A few days ago, he’d called me into his office, promptly hit on me and told me how hot I was.

When he leaned back in his executive leather chair and put his hand on his belt, I noped the heck out of there.

In my haste to leave, I’d inadvertently grabbed a few things I shouldn’t have.

I rubbed my eyes, still watery from the news that Deanne was dead.

She was more than just my supervisor at the lab.

Newly divorced, with a popular beauty channel on YouTube and a fondness for teriyaki, she was my friend too.

Her car had been found at the bottom of a steep ravine, her latest Ulta haul and teriyaki takeout strewn everywhere.

Agent Scully continued. “Let me get this straight. You gave everything you discovered to your supervisor, and she planned to address the issue with Mr. Griffin.”

I opened my mouth to say, No, not everything. There’s a really strange book I accidentally picked up too. But when I tried to tell this to the agents, no sound came out of my mouth.

Okay, that was weird. I tried again.

Still nothing.

The words hung on the tip of my tongue, but I literally could not say them. Shaking my head, I tried to loosen whatever brain fart I was having, but I couldn’t make any sort of sound that resembled the English language. Just a series of uhhhs and ggggs. I sounded like a total nutter.

And then, without warning, I vomited.

Horrified, I ran to the kitchen and rinsed out my mouth. Then I grabbed a towel, some cleaning spray and a carpet scrubby thing. My cat barfs up hairballs on occasion, so fortunately, I kept these items close at hand.

As I cleaned up my mess—thankfully, it was a fairly small amount—I could feel Scully and Mulder staring at me. No doubt trying to decide if this chick was sick, on drugs or just plain weird.

Sick? I felt fine a minute ago.

Drugs? No.

Weird? Debatable.

“Are you okay, Ms. Dupree?” Agent Scully asked, clearly as perplexed by my antics as I was.

Since both agents were still waiting for an answer to Scully’s original question, I knew I had to tell them something.

And since the opposite of no was yes, I blurted that out instead.

And wouldn’t you know it? That worked. My temporary brain-to-mouth blockage was gone, along with the urge to toss my cookies again.

“I’m…uh…just rattled about Deanne, that’s all,” I said with my wobbly, newfound voice. “Yes, I…I gave her everything.”

I hadn’t planned to lie to Scully and Mulder.

I wanted to share what I knew, which included telling them about the ancient-looking book with its strange markings and elaborate metal clasp that I’d found under the manila folders in Pharma-Douche’s office.

How I hadn’t realized I’d grabbed it was beyond me. The thing was fairly heavy.

I shot a wary glance at my messenger bag, still on the floor near the front door. I could’ve sworn I’d handed the book to Deanne along with the files. But when I got home after work last night and dug around for my house keys, there it was, still nestled inside my bag.

“The accident investigators say her brake lines were cut,” Scully said. “Her car crash was a deliberate act.”

I put my head in my hands. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t gone to Deanne with what I’d discovered about Staminax, she’d still be alive right now, and I wouldn’t have just lied to federal agents.

But I couldn’t just sit around and let Pharma-Douche hide those test results. Men everywhere—well, those wanting longer-lasting erections—would be in a world of hurt.

Mulder frowned, his expression growing sterner. “Which means her accident was no accident.”

Yeah, um, okay. I got that already. Which was part of why I was freaking out right now.

My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, thankful for the distraction.

Although I hoped it wasn’t one of those mega-long bricks of texts that my mother was famous for sending at the most inopportune times—my world has not been the same since she learned how to dictate her texts.

Mom was on a cruise with her friends, so it was likely to be about how irritated she was with Carol’s loud snoring, Marielle’s complaints about her bunions, or how the prime rib at the all-you-can-eat buffet was entirely too fatty.

I looked at the screen, and my heart nearly stopped.

“What is it?” Agents Scully and Mulder said in unison.

I turned my phone around so they could see for themselves. It was a photo from an anonymous sender. A poorly punctuated Wicked Witch meme, to be exact. In large block script it said, I’ll get u my Pretty and yur Little Dog to.”

Since I’m the kind of person who can’t share a meme with a spelling mistake, I found this cringe-worthy on several levels.

I had a cat, however, not a dog. Speaking of which, I could really use a snuggle, but George was more chicken than cat around strangers and was probably hiding under my bed right now.

“Is there somewhere else you can stay?” Scully asked, her voice tinged with concern. “With a friend or a relative, maybe.”

I looked around my sparsely furnished apartment.

The threadbare sofa. The cluttered shelf filled with all my favorite books that I couldn’t bear to part with.

The three boxes of supplies for my online apothecary store that I kept under my cute dining room table, which, by the way, I’d rescued from the side of the road and painted.

I hadn’t been here long, having moved here from Chicago when I was hired at Griffin, so I hadn’t formed a huge attachment to the place yet.

But it was mine. And only mine. After the messy breakup with my fiancé, I wanted nothing around me that used to be “ours.” I’d closed that chapter of my life and didn’t plan to reread it.

In fact, I’d just gotten permission from my landlord to paint the living room from institutional gray to dove gray and had a few samples taped to the wall.

Then my gaze fell on the flimsy front door. It didn’t have a deadbolt or a chain. Just a push-button lock on the handle. Easily kick-in-able.

Mulder’s eyes were monstrously huge behind his glasses as he looked down his nose at me. “This is serious stuff, kid.”

Irritation bubbled inside me. Number one, I was a full-grown woman, thank you very much. And number two, had I said it wasn’t serious?

“Mr. Griffin is a man of means,” he continued, enunciating each word as if he were talking to a child.

“Which means he’s got the means to do some serious harm.

You know, the money to pay bad people to do bad things on his behalf.

Just like he did to your supervisor. You don’t want the same thing to happen to you. Do you, Ms. Dupree?”

I gritted my teeth at his mansplaining, my patience running as thin as nonfat milk.

“For how long?” I asked, expecting them to say for a couple of days at the most. Just until they arrested Mr. Griffin.

Scully shrugged. “Depends. A few weeks maybe—or months. Cases like this are complicated and can take time to put together.”

Months? I jumped to my feet, unable to contain my shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mulder folded his arms. “We’re federal agents, Ms. Dupree. We don’t kid.”

“Isn’t there a safe house or somewhere I can stay until you arrest Pharma D— Mr. Griffin?”

Scully’s expression was apologetic. “Sorry. Government cutbacks.”

I paced around my pint-sized living room.

Staying at my mother’s wasn’t an option.

She lived in a retirement community that didn’t allow underage houseguests for more than a night or two.

My father wasn’t in the picture—I hadn’t seen him in years.

The wound from his desertion still stung, so I didn’t like to think about him much.

As for my brother? I couldn’t exactly couch surf at his place.

He was stationed overseas. My two good girlfriends were out of the question too.

One had a new baby; the other was traveling with her new boyfriend.

Where in the world was I going to go? Sure, I could stay at a hotel for a few days, but with my tight budget, I couldn’t afford weeks or months.

By the time I came up with an idea, I had gotten pretty dizzy. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to do for now.