Free Wren and the Werebear by Aubrey Rose Page B

everything to be back to normal. But the phone rang once more and then went to voicemail. She listened to his voice message—thank you for calling senator Olivier Reardon—and then hung up, feeling deflated.
    "Hey!"
    Wren looked up to see Shawn poking his head out the door.
    "Hey," Wren said, letting her hand fall away from the pay phone. "What's up?"
    "The ranger was looking for you," the teenager said.
    "Oh?" Wren swallowed. She hoped that her blush wasn't visible. "Why?"
    "We're having a dance night over at the hotel tonight. He was gonna ask you if you wanted to come."
    "Dance night?"
    "Yeah. Kind of lame, but whatever."
    "What kind of dancing?"
    "You like to dance?" The teenager raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "It's swing dancing. My dad teaches the beginner lesson."
    "Really? I wouldn't have pegged him for a dancer," Wren said, trying to picture the gruff hotel owner out on the dance floor.
    "My mom used to dance a lot," Shawn said, leaning against the gas station door.
    "Used to?"
    "She died when I was little," the teenager said. He cast his eyes across the street toward the hotel, and for a brief moment Wren saw his face change, grow old, more mature. Then he turned back and his face slipped behind the casual mask of a teenager. She could tell he didn't want to make a big deal of it, so she didn't. "Anyway. Dance tonight. If the ranger asks—"
    "—you told me about it," Wren said, nodding. "I'll be there. Thanks!"
    She headed to the small restaurant next to the hotel, where she ordered a patty melt on rye and sat in the back corner. After the long hike that morning, she was famished, and she quickly devoured the sandwich, washing it down with glass after glass of ice cold water. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious, except maybe the blueberry pie she ordered for dessert.
    Sitting in the back, she rubbed her stomach in satisfaction. Despite the...strange encounter she'd had with the ranger, the first half of her day of tracking had gone surprisingly well. She'd have to go back to the creek when Dawson wasn't anywhere near, so she could figure out exactly where the bear's den was hidden. And the side path on the other half of the loop was another mystery she needed to explore later.
    Wren pulled out the secure cell phone and dialed back the last number.
    "Isabel?" Marty's voice was comfortingly familiar. "How's your long trip?"
    "I'm on the moon," she said, confirming the passcode. "Any news, Marty?"
    "Nope." He sounded disappointed. "Sit tight. No killings on the east coast, and it's been six weeks."
    "I found tracks and a tuft of bear fur along the trail I tracked. I overnighted half of the fur sample to the Los Angeles lab P.O. box."
    "Great. We'll get it analyzed first thing tomorrow. I can't say I'm too hopeful, though. Looks like this one might have disappeared, Wren."
    "We don't know that. He could still be here."
    "I guess. Good thing you're still out there. If anyone has a chance of tracking this bastard down, it's you."
    Wren didn't say what they were both thinking—that Chief was the best tracker, even better than her, and he'd died tracking this creature. Tommy's face flashed again in her mind, his dark features more intimidating than handsome to anyone who didn't know him. She came out of her thoughts to hear Marty's voice trailing off into something she didn't hear.
    "Sorry, what?" she asked.
    "I heard from a little birdy you met the local ranger. Pretty cute, huh?"
    Wren's breath stopped for a moment. No, of course Marty didn't know about what had happened that morning.
    "Is he one of us?" she asked.
    "No."
    "Oh. Okay." For a moment, Wren had hoped that the handsome ranger would be someone she could talk to about her work, about the assignment. She swallowed her disappointment.
    "But he might be able to give you some tips on where the best places are to hide in this forest. What do you think about him, though? Is he a suspect?"
    "No," Wren said, too quickly. "I mean, I don't think so. He seems like