How to Howl at the Moon by Eli Easton Page B

Unless they are very deliberately trying not to.
    Now the truck was parked at the turn-out at the top of Broad Eagle Drive. There was a viewpoint overlooking the downtown part of Mad Creek. One of the men was leaning against the hood of the truck watching the road. The other was standing at edge of the overlook. That man was trying to look casual, arms crossed, but Roman could see there was something he was holding in his right hand, half-hidden by his body.
    It was a pair of black binoculars.
    Roman rolled into the pull-out and turned off his truck. He waited a moment before getting out. He had a wave of insecurity. He wished Sergeant James Patson were there. James would know what to do. Roman had always relied upon his judgment. But James wasn’t there, and Roman had a town to protect. He’d been asked to help by Sheriff Beaufort, and he wanted to help, more than anything.
    He checked that his firearm was safely snapped into its holster at his back, put on his jacket, and stepped out of his car.
    “Nice day.” The man who was leaning against the truck spoke casually as Roman approached. He had a faint Hispanic accent.
    It was true enough, but then it was April, and the days were warming up even if nights were still a little cold. It was almost always nice.
    Roman stopped a few feet from the stranger. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and he wanted, badly, to bark and bare his teeth. There was something about these strangers he didn’t like, something threatening. He swallowed the urge.
    “Where are you from?”
    “L . A. We’re on vacation, eh, Bro?” The man at the truck looked at the other man, who grunted in confirmation. Roman couldn’t see their eyes behind their sunglasses. He wasn’t sure if they were lying. Sometimes he could hear it in the change of a human’s heartbeat or smell it in a fresh wave of sweat, but only if the person cared that they were lying.
    “Where are you staying?” Roman asked, his voice rough.
    The man leaning against the car exchanged a look with his friend. “Man, chill. We’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong. Just enjoyin’ the view.”
    “I didn’t say you were.”
    “And you’re not even a cop.”
    It felt like a slap in the face. You have no authority . But Roman was on the sheriff’s department’s payroll, even if only briefly. “Just making conversation.”
    The two men said nothing.
    Again, Roman felt a surge of self-doubt. If he and James were facing this situation, Roman would be pulling at the leash and making it clear to the men that they weren’t welcome, while James would be holding him back. James would play it tough but cool, letting the threat of Roman stand without forcing the issue. But now Roman had to be himself and James. He had to hold himself back and obey the law. It left him on uncertain ground.
    “Have a nice stay,” Roman said at last. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I’ll be watching you.
    He got back into his car and turned it around, headed slowly back down the hill.
    He would put it in his report. Sheriff Beaufort would tell him what they should do.
     
    *                          *                         *
     
    Lance had stopped even trying to fight his dog. Chance wanted to be with Tim —wanted it full-on with all his dog’s instinctual joy, focus, and anxious sense of duty. So. Lance let him.
    He told himself all of this was short-lived anyway, so he might as well let his dog enjoy it while he could. Nothing like this would ever happen again. And it was interesting to learn more about his dog nature, like how open its heart was, and how much pleasure it got in loving and being loved without any sexual component to it, any awkwardness, or any need to do or say the right thing. His dog was so much better at that than Lance was.
    Once this was over, he had to make more of an effort to get out, be with others, maybe find someone he could at least date. Maybe he could even