Demon Accords 10: Rogues Read Online Free
Author: John Conroe
did you check me out?” she asked, still looking at the town.
He frowned at her choice of words, but her tone had been completely even. “Bellini said you’re the real deal. How do you know him?” he asked, handing her the license.
“I don’t. Not really. More of an acquaintance, really. He works with Larry Dalton, who I do know,” she said. “So, we going to visit this crime scene or what?”
He paused, uncertain, which was an abnormal state of mind for him. She just looked at him expectantly. “It’s extremely gruesome,” he finally said.
“You left the body out there for two days?” she asked, incredulous.
“No, of course not,” he answered, voice gruff. “But the blood is still everywhere.”
She studied him for a second. “Bellini said you think it might possibly be a werewolf kill. He asked me to come check it out, implying I’m an expert on werewolves. Let’s assume I’ve seen werewolf kills before, as well as were cat and were bear kills. That I’ve seen entire buildings of torn-apart bodies. Then let’s go ahead and figure I’ll be okay with your single body, which isn’t even there anymore.”
“Well I don’t like to assume things, but I’ll make an exception in this case,” he said, his eyes narrowed at her a bit. “Were cat? Were bear? Those are real, too?”
“Yup. Lots of stuff out of myths and legends are real,” she said, hands on hips.
“That’s just great. You’ll be able to tell which we’re dealing with?” he asked.
“Yup,” she said. As well as rough age, sex, and individual health issues, she thought. “Let’s get going. I’ll follow you,” she said, walking around to the driver’s side of her Jeep.
He was silent for a moment, then nodded before disappearing into the substation. A few minutes later, an older Chevy Silverado four-wheel-drive pickup truck with Piscataquis County Sheriff’s Department on the side pulled out from behind the building.
She followed him for twenty-odd miles of rough road: macadam for the first ten, rugged dirt for the last. He turned off the two-lane road onto a single lane and led her another bouncy, suspension-killing three miles. The extra-long driveway opened into a wide space set on the bank of a small river, with a large main log structure and a number of smaller cabins and outbuildings. She noted a small satellite dish installed on the main lodge. Wi-fi might even be possible, she thought.
Various vehicles were parked in a roughly even fashion against the side of a metal Quonset hut structure that appeared to be a combination garage and equipment shed.
Three pickup trucks were parked together: a Toyota Tacoma, a Ford F-150, and a Dodge Ram. Next to the Ram was a Lexus SUV, then a Cadillac Escalade, a black Range Rover, and finally a BMW X5. Parked across the back of all of them was a Chevy Blazer with an attached trailer carrying a fairly new Can-Am ATV. The side of the Blazer was emblazoned with Maine Inland Fisheries and Wildlife – K9 unit .
“Great, a fricking dog,” Lisa muttered to herself as she parked her Jeep next to the sergeant’s truck. A group of men and a dog came around the side of the Quonset hut at the sound of the two vehicles, a few waving to the deputy and all of them studying the out-of-state Jeep.
“Hey Buck. Rob showed up with Brady,” a compact man, in camo pants and a long-sleeve t-shirt with Stihl Country across the front, greeted them, his gravely words directed at the sergeant but his eyes on Lisa.
A tall, lean, sandy-haired young man in a ranger’s uniform nodded at Buck and studied the young woman, a big German Shepard sitting at his side. Two other men in various camouflage clothing trailed behind.
“Hey Rob, Shorty. This is Lisa Renault. She’s a consultant from New York City who comes highly recommended by one of my old Army
He frowned at her choice of words, but her tone had been completely even. “Bellini said you’re the real deal. How do you know him?” he asked, handing her the license.
“I don’t. Not really. More of an acquaintance, really. He works with Larry Dalton, who I do know,” she said. “So, we going to visit this crime scene or what?”
He paused, uncertain, which was an abnormal state of mind for him. She just looked at him expectantly. “It’s extremely gruesome,” he finally said.
“You left the body out there for two days?” she asked, incredulous.
“No, of course not,” he answered, voice gruff. “But the blood is still everywhere.”
She studied him for a second. “Bellini said you think it might possibly be a werewolf kill. He asked me to come check it out, implying I’m an expert on werewolves. Let’s assume I’ve seen werewolf kills before, as well as were cat and were bear kills. That I’ve seen entire buildings of torn-apart bodies. Then let’s go ahead and figure I’ll be okay with your single body, which isn’t even there anymore.”
“Well I don’t like to assume things, but I’ll make an exception in this case,” he said, his eyes narrowed at her a bit. “Were cat? Were bear? Those are real, too?”
“Yup. Lots of stuff out of myths and legends are real,” she said, hands on hips.
“That’s just great. You’ll be able to tell which we’re dealing with?” he asked.
“Yup,” she said. As well as rough age, sex, and individual health issues, she thought. “Let’s get going. I’ll follow you,” she said, walking around to the driver’s side of her Jeep.
He was silent for a moment, then nodded before disappearing into the substation. A few minutes later, an older Chevy Silverado four-wheel-drive pickup truck with Piscataquis County Sheriff’s Department on the side pulled out from behind the building.
She followed him for twenty-odd miles of rough road: macadam for the first ten, rugged dirt for the last. He turned off the two-lane road onto a single lane and led her another bouncy, suspension-killing three miles. The extra-long driveway opened into a wide space set on the bank of a small river, with a large main log structure and a number of smaller cabins and outbuildings. She noted a small satellite dish installed on the main lodge. Wi-fi might even be possible, she thought.
Various vehicles were parked in a roughly even fashion against the side of a metal Quonset hut structure that appeared to be a combination garage and equipment shed.
Three pickup trucks were parked together: a Toyota Tacoma, a Ford F-150, and a Dodge Ram. Next to the Ram was a Lexus SUV, then a Cadillac Escalade, a black Range Rover, and finally a BMW X5. Parked across the back of all of them was a Chevy Blazer with an attached trailer carrying a fairly new Can-Am ATV. The side of the Blazer was emblazoned with Maine Inland Fisheries and Wildlife – K9 unit .
“Great, a fricking dog,” Lisa muttered to herself as she parked her Jeep next to the sergeant’s truck. A group of men and a dog came around the side of the Quonset hut at the sound of the two vehicles, a few waving to the deputy and all of them studying the out-of-state Jeep.
“Hey Buck. Rob showed up with Brady,” a compact man, in camo pants and a long-sleeve t-shirt with Stihl Country across the front, greeted them, his gravely words directed at the sergeant but his eyes on Lisa.
A tall, lean, sandy-haired young man in a ranger’s uniform nodded at Buck and studied the young woman, a big German Shepard sitting at his side. Two other men in various camouflage clothing trailed behind.
“Hey Rob, Shorty. This is Lisa Renault. She’s a consultant from New York City who comes highly recommended by one of my old Army
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