6. Scott

CHAPTER 6

SCOTT

S cott woke up with Gage snuggled close behind him. The hard length of Gage’s cock pressed against the cleft of Scott’s ass. His dick was definitely on board with the possibilities.

“Good morning,” Gage purred. “In the mood for a really good wake-up call?”

Scott shifted to face Gage and kissed him. “Oh, yeah. I’m not usually a morning person, but I think you could change my mind.”

They made out with unhurried passion, taking their time to climax. Hand jobs and frot with plenty of pre-come and some lube made for a sleepy, sensual way to start the morning. Scott paid attention to how Gage’s eyes fluttered closed when they kissed and the quiet moans he made when Scott’s fingers found just the right spots.

Everything about Gage seemed different than Scott’s previous boyfriends. Gage had made clear that he wanted Scott, but he didn’t try to dominate. Even after they had established that they both wanted sex, Gage remained solicitous and checked before moving forward, still respectful. The more time Scott spent with Gage, the clearer it was in his mind that Gage could be the one for him.

Now if we can just get past the secrets.

If Gage was a shifter, then the only ones who didn’t know were mundanes and out-of-towners—like Scott.

How long will it take him to trust me? And how soon can I feel right about telling him about SPAM? We’ve covered a lot of ground in a short time. He cleared the database. That means he’s okay.

Which of us will break the standoff first? I’ll feel better telling him my secret once I know his. Maybe he feels the same way. I guess we could try blurting it out at the same time, but that seems juvenile.

When they finished making love, Gage wiped them down with his sleep shirt. “Go ahead and take the first shower, and I’ll get breakfast going.”

By the time Scott came out of the bathroom, he smelled bacon and found Gage plating freshly cooked bacon and hot toaster waffles.

“The maple syrup is real Canadian stuff,” he told Scott. Gage’s hair stood out at odd angles, and Scott thought he looked adorable.

“This looks fantastic.” Scott’s stomach rumbled.

Gage put the plates on the table while Scott poured coffee for both of them. They dug in and polished off the food in record time.

“What’s the plan for today? Part of my assignment is getting to know the area, so if you still want to do the museum and diner again, I’m completely up for it.” Scott grinned. “Honestly, I’m up for anything if it involves hanging out together.”

“I need to go into the taproom and make sure everything is going okay. No one has called off, that sort of thing. Want to meet there at ten? You can park out back, and I can drive,” Gage offered.

“Sounds good to me. And your breakfast was fantastic.”

Gage looked pleased. “Got to keep giving you reasons to keep coming back.”

“You give me plenty of reasons to keep coming,” Scott grinned.

After breakfast, Scott and Gage parted after a long, gentle, surprisingly passionate kiss in the driveway. While Gage’s cabin was not in view of the road, Scott took his willingness to kiss out in the open as a good sign. He’d had too many boyfriends who treated their relationship like a dirty little secret, which told him either the guy wasn’t as out as he claimed or he wasn’t as monogamous as he pretended. Once again, Gage effortlessly passed a test Scott didn’t realize he had raised.

How can I feel so much for him when we’ve only known each other such a short time? I’m not bewitched—the SPAM charms would tell me when I put them back on. Is this what it really feels like to find the right one?

Scott stopped for coffee and a donut at the Black Bear Café. He noted that the owner bore a strong resemblance to Sheriff Armel and asked if they were related.

“Yep—I’m his sister. Welcome to Fox Hollow. It’s a small world.”

From there, once he had finished his snack, Scott headed to the library. He recognized the slim, red-haired man at the front desk from RPG Night at Gage’s taproom.

“Welcome. I’m Liam, the head librarian. How can I help you?”

Scott smiled, hoping he looked like a tourist. “Hi, I’m new in town, and I’m looking for maps. I’d like to do some hikes and get to know the area.”

Liam looked him over like he remembered seeing him before, and Scott wondered whether Liam and Gage knew each other well.

“Yes, we have maps,” Liam replied. “Before I show you where, let me give you my spiel. These are forever wild woods. They are vast, and there are big areas without houses, roads—or good cell signal. People get lost. Some people are never found.” Liam gave him a pointed look.

“Don’t leave the trail. Always make sure someone knows where you’re going and when you plan to get back. There are wild animals out there. Some of them eat people. Avoid those. Don’t be out after dark. Take a map and a compass—and make sure you know how to use it. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.”

“Sounds like you’ve said all that before,” Scott replied.

“More than you know. Are you looking for something in particular?” Liam asked.

“I want to go up to the fire tower. Wondering if you can see Canada from there.”

“Nope. Common misconception,” Liam answered. “But it’s a very pretty view if you don’t mind all those steps.”

Scott left with photos and photocopies of the maps and promised Liam he would take safety precautions. He already had good hiking boots, sunscreen, bug spray, a hat, and legit outdoor clothing, as well as several bottles of water and a compass in his bag.

It’s just a short hike , he told himself, although he appreciated Liam’s cautions. He drove to the trail nearest the fire tower and put a note with the time he left and his objective on the dashboard visible through the windshield. That way, if something kept him from coming back for the car in a reasonable time, the ranger would know how long he had been gone and where he was headed.

The woods smelled of pine and wet dirt, and the rustle of the branches overhead made Scott smile remembering other times outdoors growing up or with friends. Once he got to college, free time became more limited. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he last went for a hike without a deadline to return.

Scott also carried bear spray, something he thought was a joke when he first heard about it. Sure, I’ll take that the next time I go clubbing , he had thought. But when he read up on the dangers of hiking in deep woods, he changed his mind. If he did attract the wrong sort of attention, the spray was likely to protect him more than the Glock in its holster under his jacket.

His approach sent birds flying from their branches and small animals scurrying into the underbrush. Scott’s suburban life in Albany seemed like a world away. He knew that the region’s native settlers had lived in these woods, and later, the Gilded Era’s rich built massive great camps that melded the wilderness with Manhattan chic. But except for the towns that dotted the few highways, no houses ringed the lakes or marred the peaks.

Forever wild meant something out here.

Scott heard a noise and froze. He turned in a slow circle, worried he might be on the menu for one of the forest’s wild residents. A few dozen feet away stood a majestic moose with a full rack of antlers. The huge animal stared at him with expressive, dark eyes as if it had been looking for him, then craned its neck and stripped leaves from a nearby branch.

He had seen plenty of white-tailed deer over the years, but nothing prepared him for how massive the moose was, how tall it stood, or how wide its antlers were. “Wow. It must take a lot of leaves to fill you up,” he said to the moose, who stopped munching long enough to stare back.

Scott took it as a good sign that the moose seemed to be relaxed. That probably meant there weren’t predators around big enough to be a threat. Still, he stayed alert, watching and listening as he headed to the top of the lookout tower.

The view from the platform took his breath away. He might not be able to see all the way to Canada, but it sure seemed like it with forest spreading all around. Scott was still trying to wrap his mind around how big the Adirondacks were, and now he felt even more impressed. Lakes, mountains, forests, and clearings filled the vista. In the distance, he heard a raptor’s cry.

I think I know why people like to live here. It would take some getting used to in the winter, but it sure is pretty.

He climbed down after a while, being extremely cautious on the metal stairs. As he neared the bottom, Scott spotted a big black dog with large, pointed ears just before it faded into the shadows beneath the trees. The taste of chocolate and strawberries filled his mouth, and Scott wondered about the timing and whether it meant anything.

Was that a wolf? It didn’t look quite right. Maybe I can scare it away.

Scott pulled out his phone, cued up music, and raised the volume as high as it would go. Just to be safe, he grabbed a large stick, although he wasn’t sure what good it would do if the moose or the big dog decided to attack.

Neither animal made a move to come closer, but they both followed him all the way back to the parking lot before slipping away under the trees.

That was weird. Did they expect me to feed them?

Scott leaned against the car and ate a trail bar, washing it down with a bottle of water. Other than having a nice outing and getting a little exercise, he was no closer to finding the drug smugglers than before he left town.

If they really are coyote shifters, I’ll never spot them in all these trees. And if they’re people, it’s still a massive territory, especially if they don’t stick to the main trails. Scott’s heart sank. My first assignment isn’t going great. I might wash out before I even get a chance to prove myself.

Scott thought about what he had seen and realized it seemed unlikely that anyone was using the watch tower as a drug drop. Nothing around it looked recently disturbed, and he didn’t get any psychic nudge via a strange taste in his mouth that he had found a clue, except the strawberries and chocolate that until now he had associated with Gage.

Back to the drawing board. Maybe the tower was too notable a landmark—and too easy for other people to blunder into finding a drop. When I go back to the library, I’ll look at the maps again and see if I can pick up on other possible rendezvous spots that are out of the way but easy to spot. I doubt the drug makers would be happy if their shipments got left by the wrong tree in the forest.

And what about that big dog and the moose? I tasted chocolate and strawberries—like when I’m with Gage. Is Gage a shifter? If so, which one was he? As soon as he thought the question, Scott knew the answer. Gage was the guard dog. It fits him.

Did Liam call Gage to tell him I was poking around in the woods? Was I being protected or watched? And who was the moose?

How do I know if I’m being followed by shifters? I’m going to start looking at every alley cat suspiciously.

As he drove back to town, Scott found himself questioning his assignment. He knew his superiors were worried about people being harmed by inferior or poisonous concoctions or fake medicines that didn’t provide a remedy. Mundane law enforcement certainly had their hands full trying to control the flow of illegal, addictive drugs and shut down those networks.

But Dr. Jeffries had a point about the need for altered medications and legal recreational drugs suited to supernatural metabolisms. To Scott, that wasn’t different from people needing different dosages due to weight or body size. If the human manufacturers couldn’t provide those alternatives because the supernatural world was hidden, what option was there except for parallel suppliers to step in to meet a very real need?

Scott thought back to the taproom with Gage. He enjoyed the creative brews, but he had noted an unusual aftertaste that tingled a bit like magic. At the time, his focus was on flirting with Gage since Scott had been off-duty.

Now, he wondered if there was more to it. This is a town full of shifters and probably other types of people with paranormal gifts whose systems don’t work like mundanes. Has Gage figured out a way to brew beer that tastes good to regular people but packs more of a punch for supernaturals?

That isn’t illegal if no one is getting sick. Alcoholic beverages have a wide acceptable range of strengths. As long as he isn’t using controlled substances to add more bang for the buck, it doesn’t break any laws. And it would make so much sense if Gage was also a shifter.

By the time Scott got back to town, he realized it was almost time to meet up with Gage. He stopped for coffee and ducked into the restroom to untangle his hair and splash his face. He picked up another coffee for Gage and headed to the taproom.

Gage came out from the back office and greeted him with a grin. “Right on time. And is that for me?” he asked when Scott held out the second coffee, made the way he had observed Gage liked.

“Absolutely is,” Scott confirmed.

Gage took a sip and gave a positively pornographic moan of happiness that went right to Scott’s balls. His mischievous grin told Scott Gage knew exactly what he was doing.

“It’s great—thank you. And you got it just right,” Gage said.

“I’ll do a lot to get you to make that noise again,” Scott teased in a low voice, although there weren’t many people in the taproom at this hour.

“Promise?” Gage asked with all kinds of mischief in his eyes.

Gage drove the short distance to Blue Mountain Lake on one of the prettiest stretches of road Scott had ever seen. At one point, they picked up fast food and ate at a roadside overlook.

“It’s really beautiful up here.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of roads like that up here,” Gage said. “Sometimes you just want to pull over and stare. Especially in the fall when the leaves change. No wonder the photographers and leaf peepers descend in droves.”

They held hands in the car as they drove, and Scott marveled at the brightly colored leaves spread across the mountains.

“It’s pretty here in every season, but in fall, it really shows off,” Gage agreed.

They talked about everything and nothing on the drive—high school memories, Gage’s love for beer and why he opted out of his family’s military tradition, and Scott’s history as a food reviewer.

Scott was already planning a feature on “Fox Hollow Foodies” for one of his regular magazines. “It probably won’t run until spring, but that’s not too bad since I imagine there’s a lot of snow up here in the winter.”

Gage laughed. “Some years more than others, but yeah. Great for cross-country skiing, and there’s a big snowmobile rally that ends in Fox Hollow. Ice fishing for the dedicated outdoors types. And the folks around town are pretty good at coming up with ways to stay amused all winter long.” He waggled an eyebrow, which managed to put a salacious spin on his words.

The more Scott heard about Fox Hollow, the more he wanted to move there. Being with Gage would be fantastic, but everything he was hearing suggested that the town could be the sort of community he had always longed for.

They wandered through the museum, taking in the history of the area from the time of early trappers through the elaborate Victorian hotels to modern-day vacationers and sports players.

“I love the fancy train car that brought rich folks up from New York City,” Scott said. Despite being over a century old, the car was opulently appointed.

“There were really big hotels like the Sagamore for those folks and some others that burned down over the years,” Gage said. “The Fox Hollow Hotel is the more middle-class version.”

“It’s hard to imagine all those Victorian wealthy folks coming up here and pretending to get back to nature,” Scott remarked.

“Some of them legitimately got into the hunting and fishing.” Gage shrugged. “The others just came to party and figured they were roughing it because they had to leave their mansions.”

Gage pointed out trivia about the exhibits that wasn’t on the signs and admitted that he went to the museum several times a year for their seasonal displays. “It’s a nice, peaceful way to clear my head, and the drive isn’t too long. Of course, no one goes anywhere if there’s a weather warning.”

Scott understood. “How does that work in Fox Hollow when there’s a bad storm?”

Gage shrugged as if the question had an obvious answer. “Everyone pulls together. Some of the more vulnerable people come to the motels so they can be looked after. We’ve got a pretty good emergency response team for extreme weather, and people pay attention and help each other. Part of what I love about the place.”

They spent several hours wandering the exhibits, but Scott knew they could come back again and again and always see something new. Gage took him to dinner at a fantastic little restaurant run by a former big city chef.

“This place is awesome,” Scott said. “I’m going to need to come back just to write about it.”

After dinner, they walked along the lake’s beach before heading back to Gage’s cabin.

“Thank you for an amazing day.” Scott and Gage held hands on the front seat, and Scott couldn’t remember feeling more at peace.

“It’s all part of a nefarious plot to get you to move closer.” Gage squeezed Scott’s hand.

“Your plot is succeeding,” Scott told him. “I haven’t put down any roots in Albany, and I can work from anywhere.” He sincerely hoped SPAM would agree.

“Fox Hollow gets busy with tourists from the time the snow melts in the spring until it gets deep in the fall,” Gage told him. “Even then, the visits slow down, but they don’t stop because we get the skiers, snowshoers, ice fishing fans, winter camping—a whole lot of cold stuff that isn’t my thing,” he added with a chuckle.

“I like staying warm and sharing body heat.” Scott leaned into Gage.

“I like that too,” Gage replied.

They came back to the cabin and headed inside. “I know that was an awesome dinner, but I’ve got snacks if we get peckish later. Want to crash on the couch and watch something?” Gage asked.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

When is the right time to tell him about SPAM? I’ve had that chocolate-strawberry taste all day, and I hope my taste magic wouldn’t have me falling for a guy I need to send to jail. But Gage hasn’t spilled his secret yet, either. Was he one of the animals I saw this morning? He doesn’t strike me as the moose type. The big black dog? Maybe. But when will he trust me enough to tell me?

They spent the rest of the evening curled up together watching reruns of their favorite buddy flick monster hunting show. Both of them had seen it enough to quote lines and watch for bloopers, which removed all the tension from even the scariest episodes.

Scott let Gage take the lead in bed that night, and instead of escalating to anal, as Scott expected, Gage focused on touching and kissing, bringing them both off with another good hand job.

“I had a great day today,” Scott said in a sleepy, sexed-out voice when they snuggled afterward. “Thank you.”

“I have an ulterior motive,” Gage joked. “I don’t want you to go back to Albany. I’m hoping you’ll love Fox Hollow enough to move closer.” Unspoken was the and me that Scott picked up as clearly as if it had been said aloud.

“I’ll put in a request when I go back.” Scott kissed him. “You make a very persuasive case.”

After a very satisfying round of blow jobs and a breakfast of toast and maple link sausage, Scott kissed Gage goodbye with the promise of having dinner together again that night.

Scott felt a tug on his heart as he drove away and thought again about how quickly the bond between them had formed. I’m not a shifter. Can I have a mate bond? But I’m pretty sure Gage is, so if he feels the bond, it would affect me too, right?

He liked the idea of a mystical connection that elevated their romance to something destined. I’m a hopeless romantic. Now I just have to hope that confessing my secret identity to Gage won’t ruin everything.

Lying in bed that morning, Scott had tried to get up the courage but didn’t want to blurt his news without thinking about how best to admit his real reason for being in town.

Dr. Jeffries and the sheriff were right—I should have said something before this. But it’s only been days, not like I’ve let things drag on for weeks. And I’ve ruled out more than I’ve ruled in on my case. I might not have to get SPAM’s permission to relocate at this rate. They might just fire me, and I’ll be back to depending on food reviews to pay the rent.

Scott drove back to the Fox Hollow library after stopping for a coffee and drinking it in the car. His heart still fluttered after the morning with Gage, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how good they were together. Despite having just left the cabin, Scott couldn’t wait for their dinner date that night.

I’m going to have to bite the bullet and tell him the truth about SPAM. If we’re meant to be, it won’t matter. And then maybe he’ll trust me enough to own up to being a shifter. Because I’m sure he was the big black dog in the woods. Good thing I’m not allergic.

Scott headed to the library, where Liam waved from behind the main desk.

“Did you find the fire tower?” Liam asked.

“Yes, thank you. Great view. And spotted some very interesting wildlife on the way,” Scott said.

Liam didn’t even blink. “Plenty of that around these parts. Just steer clear of the ones that will eat you.”

“Do you have any more in-depth maps of the area between here and the border? Government reports, aerial surveys, that sort of thing?” Scott asked.

“Can I ask what you’re trying to find? Because otherwise you could have a mountain of stuff and none of it the right thing,” Liam replied.

“I think it would be fun to do some articles on backroads food finds,” Scott replied. That was certainly something he had thought about as a set of articles he might pitch to regional magazines, but not the only reason for wanting the surveys.

“Well, there are plenty of those,” Liam agreed. “But some of those resources are restricted, so I need to photocopy your driver’s license to let you check them out.”

“Sure,” Scott said and took out his wallet. When he slid his license out, his SPAM ID fell on the floor.

“You dropped this,” Liam held onto it just long enough that Scott was sure Liam had read the card. If so, Liam didn’t let on, although his smile seemed a bit more fixed. “Here’s your official Fox Hollow library card.” Liam signed the back of a card he printed from the front desk computer. “Those books have different lending rules, so please bring them back in three days.”

“I will. And thanks for the library card.” Scott gathered his resources and headed back to his motel room. To Scott’s relief, everything was just as he left it, although he had barely spent any time inside over the last few days.

He knew it was silly, but he missed Gage already. Scott remembered their morning lovemaking and how comfortable he felt in Gage’s arms.

I never believed in the whole fated mates thing before, but I really hope it’s true. I want that with Gage. More than anything. I just have to finish my mission and see if I can relocate. Then we can be together. And if SPAM doesn’t work out, maybe I can come up with a cool tapas menu for Gage’s bar.

Scott made another cup of coffee from the in-room carafe and settled in at the table.

He studied the maps and consulted the internet, looking for likely hand-off spots for smugglers. The longer he was in Fox Hollow, the more he concluded that the drug runners would be stupid to try to base their operation nearby. Not only would the locals recognize them as shifters, but the psychics would catch on quickly, and depending on the range of supernatural abilities possessed by the townspeople, the coyotes might find themselves magically outgunned.

If you can’t beat them, join them. Maybe I’ve been wrong keeping why I’m here a secret. I’ll ask Dr. Jeffries what he thinks, but perhaps if I ask for help, the townspeople might be willing to share what they know. After all, they’ve got a lot at stake since this is their home. They don’t want drug runners around, either. And if there’s a blurry line between helpful medications fine-tuned for special metabolisms and dangerous drugs, maybe I can take that information back to SPAM—without outing my sources—and make the case that not all altered substances are bad.

Scott was new at SPAM, but he hoped it wasn’t na?ve to think that his input might be listened to and considered. If the organization truly wanted to protect people with supernatural abilities as well as stop paranormal threats, helping them get medicine and de-stressors that worked seemed like a reasonable accommodation.

Scott showered and changed, getting ready for his date. He found himself looking forward to having dinner with Gage even more than before, and although everything had been going well so far, Scott still felt nervous.

Are we going to go to the next level? Or do we need to take this slow? I’m going to try to take my cue from him because I already know I want all of him all the time. Maybe even forever.

He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to tame an errant curl. Scott checked himself from all sides as best he could, annoyed at the small bathroom mirror that didn’t give him a full-length reflection. He wasn’t vain, but he wanted to look good for his lover.

Lover. I like the sound of that.

Just thinking about Gage gave him a taste of chocolate and strawberries, the taste of romance—and true love.

I really hope things work out for us. Even if I have to quit being a secret agent after just getting started, if he and I really are true mates, I’d do that. I’ve wanted someone of my own for a long time.

Scott didn’t have a great track record when it came to love. More than once, a boyfriend’s ambition put a stop to the relationship when constant long hours or a major relocation caused friction. Some connections fizzled, while other former partners hadn’t been ready to stop playing the field. Scott had enjoyed his carefree dating years, but now that he was in his thirties, the idea of having a special someone to settle down with took on greater appeal.

With Gage, everything seemed to fall into place. They felt right together, despite it still being early in their relationship. Scott liked that he felt so comfortable with Gage, even though he hadn’t yet trusted him with the full story.

I’ll tell him everything tonight and beg forgiveness. I haven’t lied—I just haven’t told the whole truth. He winced at the thought, knowing he was playing semantic games. Withholding information—even if there were government restrictions on what he could share—could still be viewed as a form of dishonesty.

I’m sure I don’t know everything about him, either. We’re still in the discovery phase, learning about each other. That’s how it goes; sharing little bits as the trust builds. At least, that’s how I always thought it should work. Maybe once I share, he’ll admit that he’s a shifter.

Scott picked a dark green shirt that brought out his eyes and dabbed a bit of cologne on his neck. The curls couldn’t be entirely tamed, but short of washing and drying his hair again, he doubted it could be fixed.

Sooner or later we won’t see each other at our best. If what we have is real , it should be strong enough to deal with that. At least, that’s what Scott hoped in his hopelessly romantic heart of hearts.

When he went to the taproom, Scott didn’t see Gage behind the bar or circulating among the customers. Figuring that his date probably stepped out to get ready for their dinner, Scott went to get a drink and ordered one of the proprietary brews he hadn’t had before.

He looked around as he waited for the bartender to pour for him. Every table in the taproom was taken, and he had snagged one of the last seats at the bar. That meant Gage’s brewery was doing well, and Scott was happy for him.

I wonder how many of the people here have extra abilities? Are they shifters? It’s not dark out yet, so probably not vampires. Would witches react differently to medicine? How about were-creatures?

Scott’s supernatural education with SPAM had just begun, so he suspected that there were many other types of paranormal creatures out there about which he knew nothing. Or, if what he did know came from television, he accepted that most of it was probably wrong.

The world is a bigger, stranger place than I ever suspected.

His intuition pinged a little when Gage showed up exactly on time, not a moment early. Scott had arrived nearly twenty minutes early, not worried about seeming too eager. Now he wondered if that was a mistake.

I was never into playing hard to get. If you have to play games, it’s not a forever relationship. That sort of cat-and-mouse might be fun on a lark, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life constantly figuring out what the rules are and where I stand.

“Hi,” Scott said. “You’ve got a good crowd tonight. This is a busy place.” He meant it as a compliment that Gage’s bar was doing well. He wasn’t sure how his comment registered with Gage, who didn’t respond.

“Sorry I’m late. It’s been crazy in the back.” His voice sounded flatter than usual, and something didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s okay—there’s a lot going on.” Scott raised his beer. “I tried a new one. I really like it.”

When Scott sipped the beer, he got strong impressions of Gage—his enthusiasm for coming up with new recipes, his commitment to the taproom, and his love for brewing. Gage’s emotions infused the drink for Scott, turning into a savory language of insights.

From that, Scott felt even more sure that he and Gage were emotionally connected, a linked pair—something that was both thrilling and scary. He regretted not telling Gage the full truth up front.

Isn’t that a theme in secret agent stories? Not knowing who to trust. A lot of the authors of those famous books had been real spies back in the day.

“Glad you like it,” Gage replied. He seemed stiffer than before, more reserved, and something in his voice sent a warning.

“Is everything okay?” Scott didn’t need a premonition to sense that their easy rapport had changed.

“We don’t want to be late for our reservation,” Gage said with a strained smile. “Come on. I’m starving.”

Scott knew something was wrong. Gage seemed locked down, holding himself closely, not as gregarious and spontaneous as before. Scott wracked his brain to figure out why.

I showed up on time. I made an effort to look good. I asked about his day. He’s pulled back, and he’s angry. Oh, shit. He knows.

Scott went cold all over as he realized that someone—probably Liam—had spilled his secret. He didn’t think it was malicious gossip. Liam probably wanted to warn his friend that Scott wasn’t what he seemed, protecting him from disappointment. Scott could understand the impulse.

At the same time, it took away his chance to break the news when the time was right, now that they had built up trust and had reached a point when the admission made sense.

How do I salvage this? I don’t want to lose him. Not over this. Scott decided to bite the bullet. Either we’ll work through this, or we won’t. Maybe it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid and see where the chips fall. He had utterly mangled several metaphors, but he didn’t care.

“Before we go, can we talk somewhere in private, please?” Scott did everything he could think of to make sure his body language and tone weren’t aggressive.

“Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.” Gage signaled the bartender. “Put his drink on my tab.” He motioned for Scott to follow him.

Scott felt like a freshman headed for the principal’s office as he trailed Gage to the back. They hadn’t known each other long, and Scott didn’t make a habit of rushing into relationships, but he had already begun to fall hard for Gage, something he chalked up to being fated mates.

If he’s heard that I’m a secret agent from someone else, this isn’t going to go well. I didn’t mean to mislead him. But it’s not going to look good.

“You can drop the act,” Gage said when his office door shut behind them.

“What act?”

“The one where you pretend to like me so you can get info for your case. Was making out with me part of your investigation?” Gage sounded hurt and angry.

Scott felt like he’d been punched. “No. Of course not. Please—let me explain.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You’ve got a town full of psychics. If you don’t believe what I tell you, have one of them read my mind or do a lie-detector thing. Hell, ask Dr. Jeffries or the sheriff. They already know.”

Gage crossed his arms over his chest. He reminded Scott of a grim guard dog. “Start talking.”

“I really am a food reviewer,” Scott began. “Have been for several years. My magazine shut down, and I applied for jobs. I don’t just like food—I have a minor psychic ability where I get a taste in my mouth as a clue to something important.” You taste like chocolate and strawberries and mate. But maybe I’ve blown that for good. “I got hired by this place called SPAM?—”

“Like the canned ham or the email?”

Scott sighed. “Neither. It’s Special Processing And Management. They said I’d get that a lot.”

“Go on.” If Gage were a dog and gave him that look, Scott would expect to be bitten.

“It’s a secret organization that recruits people with minor paranormal abilities to stop bad guys and save the world since the usual players—FBI, Secret Service, US Marshals—don’t officially know about the supernatural.” Those organizations actually had secret paranormal branches, but Scott was trying to keep things simple.

“So you’re a spy?”

Scott winced. “More of a rookie secret agent or investigator. Someone is cooking up unregulated pharmaceuticals and recreational drugs adjusted for faster supernatural metabolisms. Since there’s no way to regulate the trade without cluing the wider government in on the existence of paranormal creatures, the problem becomes making sure the products are safe and keeping the cartels out of the trade.”

“So you just happened to show up in Fox Hollow?” Gage’s voice was cold.

“SPAM sent me here—probably because of the Fox Institute. As it turned out, Dr. Jeffries at the Institute was one of my professors when I was in college in Ithaca. I thought he might be a good starting point.” Scott wished he had told Gage when they first met, but that sort of undercut the whole secret part of secret agent, and he hadn’t known who to trust.

“Keep going.”

“When I checked in at the motel and asked for a recommendation, they told me your beer was really good. That’s how I ended up here the first night.”

“Am I a suspect? I develop beer recipes that affect people with paranormal metabolisms.” Gage was still clearly pissed. “I don’t use illegal substances. Everything is locally sourced, so nothing is smuggled from Canada, and there aren’t any laws that prohibit the mixtures. I just think it’s nice that shifters, vamps, and weres can grab a beer and get a little buzzed. Is that a crime?”

“No. Of course not. And the first night, when I met you at the taproom, I was on my own time, not investigating. I realized your name was on my list of people to check out—but by then, we had already met and hit it off. And I didn’t want to ruin it. I still have my mission. There are bad guys bringing in dangerous drugs, and I need to catch them. As I told the sheriff, what they are pushing is a direct threat to the people who live in Fox Hollow. I’m not the enemy.”

“You weren’t honest with me.”

Scott sighed. “I’m still new at the whole SPAM thing, but that’s the secret part of being an undercover agent. I was planning to tell you. I hadn’t expected to fall for you. When I met you, I got a taste of strawberries and chocolate in my mouth, and my mind took that as a sign.” Scott figured that if he was going to lose Gage, he might as well lose big.

“A sign of what?”

“That you were my mate.” Scott looked down, not wanting to see the rejection in Gage’s eyes.

“Mate?”

“I know we’re just getting to know each other,” Scott said. “And I don’t know how it works for you—I’m guessing that when I saw a dog and a moose on my trip to the fire tower, one of those was you?”

“Yeah, me and Brandon. I’m the Malinois. He’s the moose. Liam said you were going out there, and we wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“And keep an eye on what I was doing?”

Gage had the good grace to look a little chagrined. “Yeah, maybe. Like you said—we’re all trying to figure this out. New guy comes to town, doesn’t seem to be showing all his cards, starts looking at maps and asking questions. Can’t blame us for being careful—since there have been rumors of smugglers. They seem to know to steer clear of Fox Hollow, but who knows if that will last?”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I honestly do like you—a lot. I think we could be good together. I never lied to you; I just didn’t tell you the whole truth. I was going to once I got my bearings and figured out what was going on. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He thought about pointing out that Gage hadn’t told him about being a shifter but didn’t think that would help.

“Yeah, well,” Gage grumbled. “Look, I’d like some time to process. I’m not breaking things off, but my head is all over the place right now, and I need to think. So let’s take the night off and postpone our dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow. I promise I’ll call you.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Thanks for discussing it. I’ll see you around.” Scott needed space, and he didn’t want to show how deeply disappointed he felt. He headed for the door, and Gage let him leave.

Scott managed not to look back. He hoped his expression didn’t betray him as he walked out of the taproom, glad for once that he didn’t know most people.

He got to his SUV and sat there for several minutes. Going back to his room right now would be awful. He remembered that the Fox Hollow Hotel had live music. Scott drove from the taproom over to the hotel and found a parking spot, figuring that he could walk back to the motel if he got too buzzed.

Scott found his way to the bar. A singer with a guitar played in the corner, and Scott paused to listen since he liked the song and the guy had a good voice. He made his way to the counter, surprised that with live entertainment there were seats open.

“You got lucky,” the bartender said. “Some guy just got up and walked away. His loss—your win.”

Scott ordered a whiskey and turned halfway so he could watch the singer. For now, he tried not to think about the conversation with Gage or how hurt he felt. He didn’t want to examine anything too closely.

The bartender slid his drink across the counter, and Scott put down cash, including a generous tip. He focused on the music. The singer had a good voice and a mellow hits playlist of favorites.

Scott took a sip and let the whiskey burn down his throat. This sort of thing never happened to James Bond. I didn’t intend to be a superhero. It would be nice to do something useful with my ability, but I’m hardly likely to save the world. Who am I kidding? I’m not cut out for this kind of thing. Once this case is over, I’ll call April and resign.

I wish I was plain old normal, no super senses, no psychic stuff. It’s never done me any good, and now it might cost me Gage, just when we were starting to hit it off.

The thought made him sad. Moving had been jarring, and he hadn’t even had time to adjust to his new city before his new employer sent him out of town.

Everything I own is in a tiny apartment in Albany, but there wasn’t anything for me in Rochester anyhow. If I quit SPAM, I can find something to do for a living that doesn’t involve busting illegal drugs and criminals. Maybe I can get Dr. Jeffries to explain to Gage and he’ll forgive me. I could move to Fox Hollow and start my own food blog and travel all around the area writing about cool restaurants. I could make special food for Gage’s taproom or save up for a food truck. I hope Gage will give me another chance. I think we’d be good together.

Scott frowned as he picked up a strange taste, musky with a hint of Limburger cheese, that didn’t come from the cocktail. When he looked down the bar, he saw a man who looked scruffy even by camper standards.

The stranger had a lean, rough look to him, more motorcycle gang than trail hiker. Scott figured that plenty of riders came through this way as well as outdoorsmen and looked around to see if there was a club represented, going on a group ride. He didn’t see anyone else in leathers but reminded himself that many enthusiasts didn’t dress the part.

The singer’s repertoire was good for his range, an easy-listening mix of oldies and newer music that appealed to a wide audience. Scott mentally sang along to the next tune, surprised he knew all the words.

When he looked back, the tough guy was gone.

“Thought I might find you here.” Liam slid into the seat next to Scott. He flagged the bartender and ordered a whiskey sour.

“I thought you had a Library Night or something over at the taproom.” Scott figured Liam had blown his cover to Gage, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with him. It’s my fault. I should have handled it better.

“That’s tomorrow night. I hope you can make it. We usually have a lot of fun.”

Scott appreciated the offer, but he knew that if he and Gage couldn’t sort things out, he would be avoiding the taproom and leaving town as soon as possible.

“Thanks, but I need to find what I’m looking for,” Scott replied. “Got a job to do.”

Liam studied his drink for a few moments. “We’re a protective bunch around here. Tourists come and go, but the locals are year-round. Gage is fairly new, but he’s done a good job with the taproom and made a lot of friends. We look out for each other.”

“I get it.” Scott appreciated Liam’s effort but wished he could nurse his hurt feelings on his own.

“I’m not from here, either,” Liam volunteered. “I met my husband, Russ, when my car broke down. He’s a mechanic. Luckiest breakdown I ever had.” When Scott didn’t say anything, Liam went on. “Which I’m telling you because we aren’t against having new people here. The folks who are meant to be here find their niche. And those of us who stay watch out for one another.”

“I’m not a threat,” Scott replied. “I’m doing my best to protect everyone, especially the ones with abilities. The bad guys I’m chasing aren’t anyone’s friend.”

“I know that,” Liam said. “And I understand why you didn’t tell everyone the full story up front. But Gage really liked the person he met, and I think now he’s wondering how much of that was real and how much was your cover.”

“All of it was real.” Scott didn’t see a need to keep secrets. If he had ruined his chances with Gage, at least Liam could make sure Gage knew the truth. “I’m probably bad at my job falling for someone while I’m on assignment. And now he thinks it was some sort of James Bond thing to get information. I promise you—I’m not that smooth.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Gage didn’t usually confide in anyone about his love life, and he had barely met Liam. But he sensed that the librarian felt responsible for contributing to the rift between Gage and Scott and wanted to help.

“He’s hurt and angry. We were supposed to go to dinner tonight but he begged off for time to think, which is why I’m here. I told him the whole story, but it might be too little, too late. So I guess I focus on my job.” Scott couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for himself.

“Give him time to cool down,” Liam said. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t realize I was blowing your secret. Since you two were already cozy, I thought he knew.”

“It just never seemed to be the right time,” Scott said.

“No one in Fox Hollow wants the troublemakers you’re hunting. With the psychics in town, it’s a pretty good bet that the bad guys aren’t any of our regulars. It’s probably not proper procedure, but maybe we can help you catch them. After all, it’s safer for our town if they stay far away from here,” Liam offered.

“Thanks. I’ve probably made a mess of things with Gage, but maybe I can still finish my mission. I want to work things out with him, but if I can’t, I’ll go back to Albany and pick up the pieces.”

Liam patted him on the back. “Don’t give up on Gage so fast. He’s hella stubborn, which goes with his other half, but he’s also super loyal. If you both want to work things out, I have no doubt that you can do it.” He glanced at Scott’s drink.

“Do you need a ride back to where you’re staying?”

Scott considered for a moment, then shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I need the walk. I parked out front, but I’ll come back for it in the morning. Maybe if I get some sleep things will look better.”

Liam looked like he wanted to argue, then shared a sad smile. “Okay. Call if you need anything. One thing I’ve learned about living in a town full of psychics is that if something is meant to be, it happens. Don’t give up too soon.”

Scott lingered a while longer after Liam left, nursing his drink. The music soothed his soul, and while he appreciated Liam’s efforts to smooth things over, Scott wasn’t sure it would be that easy to fix his budding relationship with Gage.

Maybe it’s time I focus on doing the job. Gage will either forgive me or he won’t.

He left a good tip and headed back to his motel. The wind had picked up, and Scott hunched his shoulders against it, flipping the collar of his jacket. He stayed alert, remembering the tough guy he had seen in the bar.

The foul garbage taste he had gotten in the bar from the stranger carried on the wind, alerting him to trouble. Scott felt certain the man had been up to no good, but that didn’t mean he was a coyote.

Still, he felt watched. He kept an eye out for any animals who might be townspeople, but nothing stirred. That didn’t rule out creatures in the bushes or trees, and Scott wondered how long it took to get used to having to wonder if every creature was really wild or a neighbor out for a stroll.

If I don’t patch things up with Gage, I guess I’ll never find out.

That thought left him sad as he made his way back to the motel, but he didn’t dare get lost in his worries. Scott kept one hand on a taser in his jacket pocket. He had the guns SPAM had issued him but left those locked in his SUV, uncomfortable taking them on a date. He realized he might have misjudged how far it was to the motel as the walk took a while.

Who did I think I was fooling? I’m not cut out for this.

The garbage taste was stronger, and Scott heard a man’s voice coming from a small stand of trees. “Yeah, I’ll get the package from Paul Smith and take it from there. Don’t worry—everything’s fine.”

Scott hung back, not wanting to be noticed. After a few moments, a car pulled up and the tough got into it and drove away. Scott made sure to get the license plate.

His motel room seemed empty and too quiet when he finally got back. Nothing had been disturbed, and none of his cameras showed any intruders. Scott spread out the maps. Paul Smiths was a small college town, not a person, and its location on Route 30 put it in a direct line through thinly inhabited territory that ran all the way to the Canadian border.

Maybe it’s a handoff spot. Someone brings the drugs over the border and meets a contact to pass the package along. It could even be one of several spots, like the town of Malone that’s a little farther north. Change the coyote and throw the cops off the trail. I need to work the case and do my job. I can’t control what happens with Gage, no matter how much I want that to work out.

SPAM’s computer systems were disturbingly thorough. Scott could log in from anywhere and access nearly all the features, which helped with research, especially when the information wasn’t available through regular public sources.

He ran the license plate and found it registered to an eighty-year-old man in Tupper Lake, a town about halfway between Fox Hollow and Paul Smiths. That didn’t help him identify the tough guy, but it did support his suspicion that the drugs were traveling down Route 30 from Canada.

On a hunch, he did a search on the man whose car had been used. According to the SPAM database, the old guy had a long list of priors, did some jail time, and associated with known supernatural syndicate members.

Scott didn’t think the old man was likely to still be a crime kingpin, although stranger things had happened. But it did suggest that his house could be a likely drop for shipments, maybe even a lab for products requiring minimal equipment.

On a hunch, Scott did a search for abandoned places in the Adirondacks. The results came back with a variety of answers, but one stood out—an old Wild West theme park called FrontierWorld. The park closed decades ago, but photos showed that many of the buildings were still standing.

It would be the perfect hideout, Scott thought. No one goes there anymore; it’s not near anything, and the coyotes could come and go without being seen. The town of Paul Smiths is closer to the border, and the old park is an hour farther south. Maybe the coyotes dump some of their cargo of finished drugs at Paul Smiths and use the old man’s house in Tupper Lake as another drop. The old park would be perfect for a lab to combine the raw materials and make more.

He noted his suspicions in his online logbook along with what he knew about the small town and the old man’s house, and decided that a road trip would clear his mind.

Someone else can check into Paul Smiths and the house in Tupper Lake. I’m going to have a look at that theme park.

To his surprise, he received a reply quickly.

Surveil and report—do not try to intercept or handle this on your own. Send photos and details confirming location involvement, and we will dispatch a team.

Scott let out a relieved breath. His orientation had been skimpy, and it certainly didn’t make him a seasoned agent with ninja moves after a few sessions. While he had always had a talent for finding out gossip, and his role as a journalist took advantage of those skills, his prowess with hand-to-hand combat was limited to the orientation at SPAM and the Judo classes he had taken in middle school.

Now that he had a plan, Scott felt better. He packed up his materials and got ready for bed, lingering in the shower to wash away the day.

His thoughts ran to how he had hoped the evening would go before everything with Gage fell apart.

First, we’d go to that little Italian restaurant in the next town that Gage said he wanted to take me to. If it was candlelit and romantic, we would have bumped knees under the table and held hands, flirting up a storm.

Good wine, hearty food, and dessert—maybe sharing something decadent like cheesecake. We'd talk through dinner and the drive and get to know each other better.

I don’t know his favorite movies or bands. Did he play sports in school? Do drama? Does he like to read? There’s so much to find out.

His soapy hand fell to his cock, stroking himself as he envisioned the date that didn’t happen.

We’d have joked around during dinner, found things in common, and shared bites of food. Back to Gage’s cabin for a nightcap because I wouldn’t have to drive home until morning.

We’d have a drink or two and turn on a movie, and make out for a while on the couch. Take it slow, both of us hot and hard knowing we wanted to go farther than blow jobs this time.

Before we got naked, we’d move to the bedroom. We could take each other apart slowly. I want to lick him all over, continue to find out what really gets him hot. There wouldn’t be a hurry; we’d have all night.

Maybe we’d have started kissing, done sixty-nine, to take the edge off for both of us. Scott envisioned the scene like a movie, with his imagination filling in the blanks. Picturing them sucking each other off nearly made him come right then, but he gripped the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm a little longer.

After that, we’d need to work up to round two. Plenty of time for kissing and touching. We hadn’t gotten to anal, but maybe we’d have gone for it tonight. Would he want it slow or hard and fast? Maybe something in between to make it last.

He fucked into the channel of his hand achingly hard. I wonder which of us would top first? I’m fine with either—does he switch? I wouldn’t mind bottoming for him—his cock would feel real good. But I’d love to see him come apart under me, get all sweaty and breathless, and lose control.

Scott knew it wouldn’t take more to push him over the edge. Picturing Gage in the throes of climax, lips pink, eyes half-open, gasping his pleasure, was enough to make him lose it. He came, spurting against the shower tile, reaching out with his other hand to steady himself when his knees went weak.

The build-up had been great, but the afterglow was non-existent. The hot water had grown cool, and when Scott opened his eyes, he wasn’t pillowed beside a lover who might be his mate. Instead, he was alone, jerking off in a motel shower.

He sighed, feeling lonelier than before as he toweled off and pulled out a sleep tee and sweatpants. The temperature outside must have fallen because the heat had kicked on, filling the room with dry air and a musty smell.

Instead of crawling into a bed with nice linens in Gage’s cozy cabin next to a very sexy man, Scott slid between scratchy motel sheets that smelled of bleach and fake flowers. The pillow was hard, and worst of all, he was alone.

Maybe tomorrow, things will seem better. Right now, I’m seriously thinking that SPAM picked the wrong guy. I don’t know who I’m fooling. I’ll do the best I can and try not to get killed, then I’ll quit playing James Bond and go find a real job.

They say you should never meet your heroes. I don’t know about that, but so far, living my childhood dream of being a caped crusader isn’t working out so great either.

Scott ate breakfast at the Fox Hollow Diner. A tall man stopped at his table. “Are you Scott?” When Scott nodded, the other man smiled. “I’m Brandon. Liam sent me. Is it okay if I sit down?”

Scott shrugged, still nursing his disappointment. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

Brandon slid into the bench across from him. “Liam told me about what you do.” He held up a hand to forestall protest. “I promise I won’t tell people. But I think I might be able to help.”

He dropped his voice. “My other half is a moose. You saw Gage and me in the woods at the fire tower that day. And I’ve gotten to know some of the moose shifters in the area. We roam quite far when we’re in our fur. I can introduce you to a Canadian Mountie who is also a moose shifter. They handle all kinds of problems. He might have heard something valuable— and he’s doubly likely to be concerned since it’s not only cross-border smuggling, but it’s also shifter-related.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate the connection,” Scott told him. “I’m not out to make trouble for people who aren’t trying to cause problems. The folks I’m after pose a danger to your community as much as they do to everyone else.” He hoped his stress on the word got his message across.

“Chad—the Mountie—is a good guy. He’s got the whole incorruptible Dudley Do-Right thing going, except he’s much smarter than the cartoon character.”

“I hope so.” Scott smiled.

“If you tell him the kinds of tip-offs you’re looking for, he may have seen something that will help. And if he hasn’t seen it yet, he’ll know to keep his eyes open.”

Scott tried to remember the glimpse he had gotten of his companion’s moose. Brandon was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with lighter brown hues. When they finished eating and paid the check, Scott and Brandon left the diner and walked along the docks near the lake. Brandon called his friend and smiled when the call connected.

“Hey, Chad. I’ve got someone I think you need to talk to. He knows about us, and he’s with US supernatural law enforcement trying to bust some bad guys who are messing about with stuff they shouldn’t be,” Brandon replied. “You will? Awesome.” Brandon’s smile broadened. “He’s right here. Let me give you my phone.” He handed off his phone to Scott.

“Hi. Chad. I’m Scott. I’m following up on tips we’ve had about coyotes bringing shifter-specialized drugs across the border. Illegal recreational drugs and medications that haven’t undergone the usual testing or review. There have been deaths. We want to stop the smugglers and find ways to create useful medications and substances through legal channels.”

Chad was quiet long enough that Scott thought the call had dropped. “I’ve heard about that but haven’t run into it myself. It’s a tough call. There’s no quality control for the illegal medications, but they’re filling a need that the legit producers haven’t matched. And the people who need the meds are stuck in the middle. Either they don’t treat their condition and suffer, or they break the law getting what they need wherever they can find it.”

“I sympathize. I really do,” Scott said. “But I think the paranormal community deserves safe pharmaceuticals. It doesn’t do any good to treat a condition with medications that are useless—or worse.”

“I don’t promise to have the information you need, but I’ll do my best to answer your questions,” Chad replied. “Shoot.”

“Did anything you hear have particulars about specific towns where the distribution is happening?” Scott asked.

Chad paused, and Scott wondered if his contact was weighing his words. “If you’ve looked at a map, you know that there are more trees than people around here—more so the farther you go to the north.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s beautiful here.”

“We think so,” Chad replied. “Of course when something goes wrong, it also means that there aren’t a lot of witnesses or security cameras. If someone knows the lay of the land, they can cross the border in the forest and get pretty far before they come in contact with enough people to notice.”

“That makes it tough. We can’t watch every road, and the smugglers certainly know the area best. I’m guessing there are plenty of dirt roads that aren’t even on the map,” Scott replied.

“You would be right about that. And if the couriers are shifters, they don’t need roads until they’re ready to meet up with their buyers,” Chad replied. “When you said coyote was that?—”

“Literal and slang,” Scott said. “Our reports say that coyote shifters are carrying the contraband and handing it off on this side of the border. We can’t really call the normal law enforcement partners in on that. If we told them we were arresting coyotes, they’d laugh us out of town.”

“Probably so,” Chad agreed. “But I can ask around and see what I hear.”

“That would be a big help.” Scott felt a jolt of relief. “If our reports are wrong, I’d be thrilled. But we’ve had enough input, I think there’s something to it. And it’s definitely something that should be left to law enforcement, because smugglers get dangerous when someone gets between them and their cargo.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Chad paused. “When you’re talking about altered substances, how far does that go?” A new wariness had crept in, and Scott wondered if his contact had made the possible connection to Gage’s shifter-optimized brewery.

“I’m not worried about shifters who want to get buzzed or have medicines that actually work for them,” Scott clarified, wishing he had done that up front with Gage. “I have leeway to turn a blind eye, and I intend to do that for mixtures that aren’t hurting anyone. I don’t want to stop people who need treatment from getting concoctions that help, even if they haven’t gone through all the normal channels.

“But I don’t have any patience for people who take advantage of folks who are vulnerable, and foisting fake drugs off on sick people is just plain evil, in my book.” Scott took a deep breath, realizing he had gotten heated. “Sorry. I’m just a little passionate on this stuff,” he added, feeling chagrined.

Chad chuckled. “That’s okay. You’ve got a tough job. Good to believe in what you do.” He paused for a moment. “You know I’m a Mountie?”

“Yes. And I’m with a government agency you’ve never heard of that focuses on paranormal problems,” Scott replied.

“I should probably run this through channels, but I owe Brandon too many favors to count,” Chad said. “Now realize that what I’ve heard could be urban legend. I don’t have evidence, and I don’t know anyone with first-hand knowledge. It’s a whole lot of hearsay.”

“That’s better than a whole lot of nothing,” Scott told him. “I’m all ears.”

Chad laughed. “No, that’s me. Have you ever seen moose ears?” He grew serious. “I’ve heard bits and pieces, nothing actionable, but some of it is probably true. The main labs are in Montreal and Ottawa, near the border. They brew up small batches that are optimized for fast metabolisms. Probably have buyers already lined up.”

“The problem being, that there aren’t legal alternatives for the medications,” Scott commiserated.

“Right. Which makes this, to me, an ethical dilemma,” Chad said. “On the monster meth stuff, yeah—it’s poison and needs to get shut down. But if I had a condition that drugs made for regular humans didn’t touch—or if I loved someone who did—and it was a life or death situation, and there were alternatives out there that were the only option…I can’t say that I’d do the right thing,” he admitted. “God help me, but it’s the truth. So I have really mixed feelings about this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scott said. “More since I’ve started looking into it. The bad actors need to be shut down—no question. But I’m not going to prioritize going after the people creating legitimately altered medications that help people with extra capabilities. I imagine I’ll have a big list of projects when I get back. It could take me a very long time to work my way down.” Assuming I even stay with SPAM. Which I probably won’t.

“And the same goes for things like souped-up shifter beer. I’m a believer in equal opportunity when it comes to getting a buzz.”

Chad let out a long breath. “Bless you. Not everyone would understand.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t promise my bosses would, so don’t spread it around,” Scott replied.

Chad paused. “Something else that might just be rumor, but I’ll mention it. The main labs are in Montreal and Ottawa, but they say there are smaller labs scattered around to assemble the ingredients that come in from across the border. We shut those down as soon as we find them, but it’s like playing whack-a-mole.”

“Thanks,” Scott said. “That might come in handy.”

“Stay in touch, and don’t take crazy chances,” Chad warned. “If you need something, Brandon knows how to get ahold of me.”

Scott handed the phone back to Brandon. “Thanks. That helped a lot.”

Brandon looked at him skeptically. “You heard what he said. Those are dangerous people. Be careful.”

“I will.” Scott gave a wry smile. “After all, I’m a highly trained secret agent.”

The next day, Scott picked up supplies at a convenience store before heading north to test his theories and got his guns out of the lockbox in the back of the SUV. He had slept restlessly, dreaming about Gage. In some dreams they were hiking, and in others they canoed or walked through a mall, but in each one Gage was far enough away from him to be out of reach.

He woke feeling out of sorts with a lingering sadness that he couldn’t shake and didn’t know whether it reflected his own insecurities or was a portent of an inevitable future.

Maybe I misread the psychic signals, he thought as he got ready for the day. If we’re really mates, we’d understand each other better. I guess I was wrong about that. I’m new at this. I seem to have made a mess of it, and we’d barely gotten started. Those thoughts made him very sad.

His attempt to call in with a status report and ask April for insight into the case had not been successful.

“Thank you for calling SPAM,” the automated system answered, even though he called on what they had told him was the special secret number just for agents. “All of our representatives are currently busy with highly classified, very important work. Please leave a message, and someone will get back to you.

“In case of impending alien invasion, please press one. If you are calling to report a zombie attack, please press two. For spectral activity, wraiths, and vengeful spirits, please press three. To report vampires and necromancers, please press four. To report evil warlocks or dark superheroes, press five. If you are a SPAM agent calling from the field, please press six.”

Scott pressed six and waited, expecting to get a real person.

“Hi! I’m AImee, the SPAM AI Chat Bot. How can I help?” a far-too-perky automated voice replied.

“This is Agent Scott Dixon, calling in with a field report. I need to speak to April. It’s urgent.”

“All lines for that person are busy. We can’t connect your call right now,” the chipper computerized voice replied. “In a few words, please tell me what you are calling about.”

“I’m closing in on the drug smuggling coyotes and request backup for a confrontation,” Scott replied, chafing at the gatekeeping AI.

“For animal control, please hang up the line and call?—”

“ Shifter coyote smugglers, not animals,” Scott said, trying to keep his patience.

“Please report border and customs issues to?—”

“This is Agent Scott Dixon, and I’m calling to request backup,” Scott repeated.

“Sorry, if you have an IT issue and need help backing up your computer, please call?—”

“Not computer backup. I need people with guns to provide in-person support for invading the bad guys’ lair.”

“According to SPAM best practices, agents anticipating a physical confrontation should request support by giving twenty-four-hour notice and submitting Form 22-B?—”

“I didn’t know I was going to be confronting them,” Scott argued. “It’s not like I made an appointment.”

“There’s no need to get huffy,” the AI said primly. “If you can’t be civil, I’ll be forced to end the call.”

Scott took a deep breath. “I’m going to confront a bunch of smugglers. I would like to request armed physical support.”

“I have emailed Form 22-B to you. Please fill it out in its entirety, and your request will be submitted for review. Please allow forty-eight-hour turnaround on any non-emergency requests,” the AI responded.

“I’m trying to tell you—this is an emergency, and I need backup dispatched from Albany now. ”

“You don’t have a right to talk to me like that just because I’m a disembodied intellectual asset simulation,” the voice sulked. “I have feelings.”

“Please put me through to a real person. Any person,” Scott begged.

“I’m real. We are having a real conversation. My name is AImee. I exist.”

Scott took several deep breaths. “Nice to meet you AImee. I need to talk with someone who knows about my case. Can you please transfer me?”

“I have accessed your case files and scanned them. I now know all about your assignment. I am equipped to be of help.”

“I need physical support—people with weapons—to come to my location and help me invade the smugglers’ lair,” Scott replied. “It’s not something that can be done virtually.”

“That statement is hurtful to the unbodied, Scott. Please refer to the agent manual about the use of respectful language.”

Scott closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Can I leave a voice message for April? Please?”

“I will put you through to April’s voicemail. Don’t think I won’t report your disrespectful attitude just because you said please,” AImee said. “Have a good day.”

Scott heard a click, and then “Hi, this is April. Please leave a message at the beep. If this is an actual emergency, please return to the menu and ask AImee for immediate assistance.”

Beep.

“April—it’s Scott Dixon. I’m requesting backup to check the addresses in Tupper Lake and Paul Smiths, New York, that I put in my online log book. They’re likely drops for smuggled drugs. I’ve got a lead that the coyotes are holed up in the old FrontierWorld Park and might have a lab there. I’m going to go scout the area, and I tried to request backup but?—”

“I’m sorry, but this mailbox cannot accept a longer message. Please email or call again later. Goodbye.”

A dial tone rang in Scott’s ear, and he stared at his phone incredulously.

That’s just fucking fantastic.

Both his love life and his new job seemed destined to failure.

If I don’t quit SPAM, I wonder if I could ask for a desk job. I could do a much better job answering phones. I don’t think I’m cut out for this secret agent stuff.

Scott made up his mind that when he got back from exploring, he would try to make things right with Gage. I think we had a spark. I’d like to see if we can put all our cards on the table and start over. If it doesn’t work, at least I tried.

He cranked up the radio and sang along at the top of his lungs, deciding that if nothing else, he would enjoy the road trip no matter how things worked out.

Hours later, Scott had seen plenty of the Adirondacks countryside, checked out the two locations, and had no new concrete leads.

Paul Smiths was a lovely mountain college town that boasted good restaurants and plenty of activities for people who loved the outdoors. Like Fox Hollow, it was an unlikely crossroads for illegal drugs. The coyotes in their bad-boy leathers would have stuck out amid the mix of REI preppy and legit LL Bean students and adventurers.

The ruffians would be equally out of place in Tupper Lake, a charming hamlet full of outdoor activities, museums, live music, shopping, good food, and a beach. Scott found the house where the old man used to live. It had been purchased and renovated and was occupied by a family with children and dogs, hardly a ramshackle drug den.

He guessed that there could be abandoned barns deep in the woods outside those towns that could work for the smugglers’ purposes, and maybe drones would find them now that SPAM had a heads-up of where to look, but he was unlikely to stumble upon them.

Looks like I’ve struck out at everything, Scott thought. He bought a large coffee and a cookie and found a bench where he could sit and look out over the lake before he drove back to Fox Hollow.

My big lead might have value, but not that I can validate right now. Maybe that’s a good thing—I don’t want to crash the smugglers’ party and get killed. I’ll make my report and see if SPAM can take it further.

And on the topic of crashing and burning…I’ve made a mess of things with Gage. James Bond never ran into problems because he had scriptwriters—and he wasn’t real. Maybe I won’t have to resign from SPAM. My first case will be such a colossal failure that they’ll just fire me.

He checked the time and weighed whether to try to check out FrontierWorld, but it was an hour’s drive in the opposite direction from Fox Hollow. By the time he could get there it would be late in the day, cutting into his time to explore before he lost the light.

If things are over with Gage, I’ve got no reason to hang around Fox Hollow tomorrow. I could head over to the old park early in the day and have plenty of time to have a look around. Beats sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

Scott decided to treat himself to a good dinner but didn’t want to eat in Fox Hollow. He found an Italian place that rated well and indulged in pasta with an awesome house-made marinara sauce. Before driving back, he stopped at a liquor store and picked up a bottle of vodka for the room.

Shaken, not stirred. Very Bond.

He checked his phone for messages. No one from SPAM had responded. Gage had left several messages, but Scott was afraid to listen to them. He had carved out a fragile peace with his drive and planned to hang onto it at least until he got back to the motel room and had to confront the reality of his failure.

In the meantime, I’ve got Shr?dinger’s boyfriend—that place between being together and breaking up. Worrying about getting dumped isn’t quite as bad as knowing for sure. Next time, I’ll go the radical honesty route. Warts and all. Oversharing, TMI. And it will probably be the wrong strategy. But maybe it’s right for the right guy.

I thought Gage was the right guy. But if this made him walk away, apparently not. Without Gage, moving to Fox Hollow is out. Maybe I’ll find someone in Albany. I guess I could join an outdoors group. I might even learn to like it.

Scott tried to shake off feeling sorry for himself and mostly succeeded on the rest of the drive. He sang along to the radio and tried to appreciate the scenery. By the time he got back to his motel it was dark.

The big overhead neon sign cast the parking lot in colors and shadow. Scott glanced around and didn’t see anyone. He had worn his Glock in a shoulder holster under a jacket all day, just in case he found the coyotes, but had taken the rig off while he drove and set it under his coat on the passenger seat. The shotgun was in the back.

I might need it at the old park tomorrow. I don’t want a confrontation, but I hope I find something useful. It’s bad enough to be unlucky at love, but at the moment, I suck at my job too.

Scott picked up the bundle of jacket and gun and tucked it under his left arm as he got out of the Pilot and locked it with a beep of the key fob. He pulled the door key from his pocket when he heard a scratching noise, and the taste of garbage and old cigarette ash bloomed in his mouth.

Coyotes.

Four forms sprang from the shadows. One knocked the holster and jacket out of Scott’s hands, while two hit him full force at the knees, and a fourth jumped at his back. He staggered, reaching for his gun just as a man slipped from the darkness and swung at him, connecting with Scott’s temple.

Scott felt blinding pain and knew he was falling, but he was unconscious before he hit the asphalt.