Missing Ch. 31-40

"You're a Mantled Luna, of course Luna is going to find you another," I complained.

Adrienne laughed. "Do you think Luna doesn't care about you because you are 'only' a two-time Werewolf Games Tracker champion, a Pack Warrior, instructor, Detective Sergeant, and friend?" I didn't reply. "Coming here can be a fresh start for you, Bonnie. Embrace the challenge and find another reason to get up in the morning. Vengeance isn't enough."

"Vengeance is what I need right now, Luna."

"No, lunch and a bed is what you need right now." I snorted in agreement. "Bonnie, I need to ask you a favor."

"Anything," I replied.

"Your loss is still fresh, and those thoughts of ending your life won't go away anytime soon. Promise me that when they come, you'll talk to someone. Talk to your Pack mates, your parents, your Alphas, or call me. Any time of day or night, Bonnie. I know what you are going through, and I know how difficult it can be. Don't retreat into madness. You deserve a better end than a termination order." That was what the Council sent out when a werewolf descended into madness; a death sentence to be carried out by the nearest Packs or the Council Enforcers sent to clean up the mess.

We didn't talk more about it as we drove, and Adrienne shifted into telling me about the area she was moving to. It wasn't long before we turned into a long driveway, and Adrienne parked her SUV in the garage of a big home. She opened the door and shouted "LEO!" before jumping into his arms. A young girl was hugging her leg, and I heard her introducing her son and daughter as I opened the back of the big SUV.

"Let me get those, Alpha Leo wants to meet you," a young mated man said. "And so does Sharkbait."

Ch. 35

Bonnie Woods' POV

Miesville Pack, Minnesota

I'd made it through the introductions and managed to avoid most of the unloading, as the Pack members descended like locusts on the U-Haul. All of Luna Adrienne's things were moved inside within minutes, though unpacking would take her a while. Lunch was a boisterous affair, with Pack members and guests welcoming their Luna back permanently.

They were a friendly bunch, all of them taking time to welcome me to Minnesota and the Miesville Pack. Luna Adrienne had brought me in before we left Maine so I could defend her better. I was tired of sitting, so after polishing off a couple of pulled pork sandwiches and chips, I sought out Beta Anita Winters in the kitchen. "Beta Anita, can you have someone show me the territory?" It was an essential part of a protective detail to know the land and where threats might come in.

"I can, but you'll have to go on a snowmobile," she replied. "Leo's land isn't that big, only four hundred acres. With all the humans and roads around, we can't do patrols in our fur in the daytime. Our last patrol left at noon, and they are halfway to Miesville by now. We patrol not just our land boundary but the former Welch Pack lands and people's homes. It's going to take decades to buy out the land in between to make one contiguous territory." I looked at the clock; it was ten minutes after.

"That's all right. I am most interested in Leo's land."

"Let me check with someone." She linked someone, and soon Sharkbait arrived with her mother, Olivia. "You know how to handle a snowmobile, right?"

I snorted. "I'm used to more snow than this, but I've ridden for decades."

"Leo said you can take his snowmobile, and Sharkbait here will show you the territory." I looked down at the almost five-year-old girl, who was bouncing with excitement, and my eyebrow raised in questioning. Anita caught my hesitancy. "She's not big enough to go alone, but she rides with the patrols every chance she gets. You can use some extra gear in the garage; Vicki can show it to you. Take as much time as you want."

I looked down at Sharkbait and nodded; I'd rather have her riding on the seat with me instead of following another. I'd had enough of breathing exhaust fumes for a while. "Ready to go?"

"YEAH!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me past the people standing around and out the door to the garage. Ten minutes later, I was driving Leo's snowmobile out of the garage as young Vicki helped me steer the big Polaris towards the yard.

The perimeter check didn't take long, as Leo had cleared enough room for a truck to run alongside the fence marking the perimeter. The sled practically steered itself through the well-work path. The path for wolf-form patrols was closer to the trees, a narrow path that would hide the number of paws traversing it. As we approached the house, Sharkbait turned those eyes to me through the Plexiglas of her helmet. "Can we go to the long trail? We can go FAST! PLEASE??"

I asked Olivia over the link, and she agreed as long as we didn't go farther west than Highway 52. I was pretty sure this wasn't the first time she'd talked someone into a speed run by her Mom's reaction. "Where do we go?"

Sharkbait guided me along the driveway and north towards Miesville until we crossed the snowmobile trail heading west to Hampton. The trail crossed farm fields, allowing us to open up the throttle and speed along at more than fifty miles an hour. All too soon, we had to turn around and return. After Sharkbait peeled off her snowmobile suit, she thanked me for bringing her. "Too bad it's Wednesday," she told me. "You missed my meat baby last night."

"Meat baby?"

She nodded. "Tuesday nights at Wiederholts for their Prime Rib. It's over a pound, and it's the BEST."

"Oh, does Mom share some of hers with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Mom gives me some after I eat mine."

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "You're too little to eat half a slice, much less a whole slab of beef."

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

She'd finished hanging her equipment to dry and stood there with her hands on her hips. "Bet you I can!"

The door opened, and Olivia came in. "Don't EVER bet with Sharkbait when it comes to food," she said. "Ever since she got her wolf, she's been eating like a teenager." Sharkbait hugged her leg and smiled up at her. "Go clean up for dinner," she told her daughter. After she ran off, she turned back to me. "Did she behave?"

"Other than continually begging to go faster?" We both chuckled at that. "It was fun, but I need to let my wolf out."

"I'll run the perimeter with you after dinner. My wolf loves to run."

I knew some of her stories, but I learned more as we sat at dinner together. Her life now was nothing like it was before Christmas. She discovered Vicki's sperm donor was Alpha Leo's brother, survived a bite that changed her into a werewolf, found her mate, and they all lived together above the garage at Leo's home now. "How are you even functioning right now," I asked?

"I've had lots of help," she replied. "I feel like we belong here, and I love being a Miesville Wolf. Every day is a new adventure."

That was my problem, I thought to myself. "Excuse me," I told everyone as I got up. "Link me when you are ready to run."

I made my way down to my basement guest room, just off Leo's man cave. I stripped off my clothes and fell onto the bed, closing my eyes and taking stock of my life. I no longer had Sharkbait's innocence. Twenty-five years in law enforcement took its toll; too many automobile crashes, overdoses, domestic assaults, and dead people. I didn't have Olivia's exuberance for life. No, I went to bed every night hoping I wouldn't wake up and woke every morning disappointed I wasn't with my mate.

Was this going to be it? Was the rest of my life going to be a repetitive existence? Was there even a chance at happiness?

My wolf was no help; she was barely functioning still. The mate bond is stronger between the two wolves than the two humans, so the loss hits harder. I'd asked Adrienne about it on the trip; it took years for her wolf to get back to 'normal.' Alpha Leo had it even worse; kicked out of his Pack, he somehow survived five years on his own before meeting Adrienne again. "And even then, he needed a push before he recognized me as his second chance."

I'd been alone for three months, and I couldn't see how I'd make it three years.

"Let's get wolfy," Olivia sent to me.

I shifted into my wolf and jumped off the bed, slapping the lever door handle with a paw. Olivia's grey-and-white wolf was waiting in the hall, her tail wagging as she sniffed me. My red-coated wolf was taller and thinner than hers, but at least she looked to have some speed. We pushed out the doggy door to the backyard and started our circuit.

The first one we coasted as she pointed out landmarks and the neighbors. The second we ran, and the third she raced. She gave her best effort, but I left her in the dust. "It's not fair," Olivia said as she panted to keep up. "You're like a greyhound."

"Trackers can run for days," I told her. "Go back inside; I'm going to keep going until I'm tired."

"Showoff." My wolf smirked as I ran full speed for the first turn. I ran my wolf hard for another two hours, exhausting her so I could sleep straight through the night.

Hope was in short supply.

I only had a few months left in law enforcement. I had to take advantage of that time. I needed the blood of my mate's killers on my teeth.

After they were dead, I'd think about living.

Ch. 36

Bonnie Woods' POV

Minneapolis FBI Field Office, Brooklyn Center, Minnesota

Monday, February 3^rd, 2020

"In my entire career with the Bureau, this is a new one for me," Special-Agent-In-Charge Beverly Costello told me. "You've got no assignment, no jurisdiction in this state, and my office isn't to acknowledge your presence here. You can see my hesitation?"

"I can, Ma'am. It's not something I was looking for, but my bosses decided it was the best way to get me out of the way. The Iron Horsemen kidnapped me. After I escaped, they tried to kill me. If we can get physical evidence to corroborate my testimony, their leadership will be in wheelchairs before they get out of prison. The Iron Horsemen don't have any chapters west of Indiana. We don't believe the other biker gangs involved in the DEA investigation, like the Hell's Angels and Outlaws, are an issue even though they have Midwest chapters."

She leaned back in her desk chair, her corner office having a view of downtown Minneapolis in the distance. She was on the top floor of the three-building FBI complex located about ten miles northwest of downtown. "It's highly irregular. Washington wants me to give you an office, plus computer access to FBI and DEA files, all while using your maiden name?"

"The Maine FBI office wanted me to hide somewhere far away, like being on witness protection. I insisted on continuing the investigations into my kidnapping and the killing of my husband. My assignment to your office was the compromise," I said evenly. "The name change is just another cutout from the truth. I'm widowed, and my Sheriff suggested I go back to my maiden name for this job. Look, I'm not here to cause you trouble. As you said, I have no jurisdiction here. I'm not allowed to work in the field. All I need is a place with a computer and some wall space I can use."

She tapped a pen on the desk. "You'll be working background."

"Yes. Our working theory is that the Jalisco Cartel- New Generation is taking over the drug trade in the Northeast from the biker gangs. The DEA is finding more of these portable superlabs capable of producing large quantities of quality methamphetamine and other drugs. The Cartel is sophisticated, and the cooks aren't bikers in the woods now. They recruit and equip people with advanced Chemistry degrees and train them well. With their skills and equipment, they make not just the drugs but the precursor chemicals needed. They avoid our import controls and sales restrictions this way."

She nodded. "Like controlling allergy pills containing pseudoephedrine."

"Exactly. It's Breaking Bad on steroids. They produce locally and supply locally, completely bypassing border enforcement and cutting down on their supply lines to reduce the risk of interception. They killed my husband so they could get their chemist back."

She looked at me, then down to the folder on her desk. I waited as she read through it again before signing it at the bottom. "You're on a short leash, Detective Sergeant. You brief me daily, in person, on your progress. You do nothing outside of your computer and your telephone. If you cause me ANY grief, you're out on your ass. Do we have an understanding?"

"We do, ma'am. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Give this to Agent Nunez. He will help you with your badging, computer access, and office. I'm putting you on the floor with his division; they are used to high turnover and probably won't notice you are there for a week. They really should have sent you to the Drug Enforcement Agency if you were going to research the Cartels."

"The DEA didn't want me interfering with their investigation," I said.

"And they are right, and that's why you're funneling any information through me. If you need anything from the DEA or other agencies, put it in an email to me. That way, information requests aren't coming directly from you, and I can use backchannels where appropriate. Set up five minutes late in the day with my secretary and make it a recurring appointment. You can set your work hours as you wish since I'm not paying you and you aren't working for my people. If you need a day off, send me an email. As for Agent Nunez, he is to be treated like a mushroom when it comes to what you are doing here."

"Keep him in the dark and feed him a line of shit?"

"Exactly. Nunez is qualified to get you coffee and office supplies. Anything dealing with the investigation is shared only with me. Dismissed."

I took the folder from her and exited her office. Special Agent Barry Nunez was waiting for me outside. "I get to stay," I said with a thin smile as I handed him the folder.

"Well, Detective Sergeant McDonald, welcome to the frozen hell of the Minneapolis Field Office," he said. Barry was a rookie, only a month out of the FBI Academy. As we went through the administrative process of getting me set up here, I learned his story. His parents were Cuban refugees that came on the Mariel Boatlift. He'd grown up in Little Miami and went to the University of Miami on a track scholarship before getting his law degree. Naturally, he'd asked for his first assignment to be the Miami, Atlanta, New Orleans, or Houston Field Office.

The FBI sent him to Minneapolis and had him doing background checks for security clearances. For now, that meant doing the paperwork and preparing packages for more senior agents to take to their interviews. Showing me around the office was a pleasant distraction for him, even if I was the same age as his mother. By the time lunch rolled around, I had a badge for the office, a computer I could use, and a cubicle in the boonies of the building.

I called back home to Sheriff Ty and updated him on my contact information. "The boss isn't happy to be babysitting me, but I'm hoping to get something done here besides running out the time left to my retirement," I told him.

He laughed. "Bonnie, you couldn't stay out of trouble if you tried. Try to stay alive until your retirement, OK? Less paperwork that way."

True. "I'll be on my best behavior. Thanks for pushing for this." There wasn't any other information on the assassination attempt, so I let him get back to work. Detective Plunk's funeral had been on Friday, and as much as I wanted to watch, I couldn't. Sean's funeral was too fresh in my mind.

They had a decent cafeteria, and I took my lunch back to my desk while looking at case files again. I didn't have much to talk to the SAIC about during our 4:45 meeting. As I walked out, I saw traffic was at a crawl on 694 for the evening rush hour. Brooklyn Center was on the opposite side of the Twin Cities from Leo's pack, so it was about an hour if there was no traffic.

I'd rather work out than sit on the freeway. I headed to the underground garage where my loaner Ford Escape sat and grabbed my gym bag. Leo had a big house in the country that became the center of his Pack's life, but it wasn't a Pack House like we had in Maine. There was no big gymnasium or training area, just a small gym in his basement with some free weights and a treadmill. The FBI's gym was big and well-equipped and included a boxing ring and padded sparring areas.

I'd do my cardio at home in wolf form, so I did thirty minutes of free weights before pulling out the sticks. The gym had a full-size padded dummy in one corner that some used instead of a heavy bag to practice punches and kicks. After all, FBI agents didn't carry nightsticks.

The gym was filling up, and a small gallery soon formed around me as I went through my practice routine. Kali was heavy on footwork, and I was constantly in motion as my sticks flew out and struck the dummy at different angles and places. The 'thwack' of the sticks drew more observers, but I didn't stop for almost fifteen minutes. I was covered in sweat and panting from the exertion when I finally finished my exhibition.

A few people applauded, while others asked questions about my fighting style as I did my cool-down stretches. Most agents had some martial arts training plus their FBI hand-to-hand training. Boxing, Krav Maga, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu all had their devotees. One female agent in her mid-thirties looked at my wooden sticks. "Why Kali?"

"Because there are always weapons around you," I replied. "Sticks, swords, knives, pens, scissors, rolled-up magazines, or whatever else is handy. Kali teaches motions useful with blades or clubs." She nodded in agreement. "It emphasizes motion at an angle to the target, as you saw in the drill. You're always trying to get into a position outside his body where you have the advantage. Finally, Kali teaches how to fight multiple opponents."

As we were talking, an older male agent walked towards us. I noticed the sticks in his hand as he approached, and he gave me a formal bow, the weapons held along his right forearm. He was around forty, with grey hair appearing at the temples of his dark-brown crewcut. "Supervisory Special Agent Thomas Pickett. Should we give them a demonstration?"

"Sure," I said. The spectators moved off the mat as we faced each other. Kali taught standard combat drills, and he'd learned the same routine I'd begun twenty-seven years ago. Our bodies danced around each other as our sticks swung out and were blocked, then the counterattack and the block. We did the first run-through at half-speed until we were comfortable with each other. The next set we did at full speed.

He had some skills, plus he had eighty pounds and five inches in height on me. My advantage was in my reflexes and movement. The cracks of our fighting sticks rang through the gym as the blows came faster and faster. When we'd done the routine twice at speed, I stepped back and crossed my sticks across my chest with a bow. "You are pretty good," I told him over the cheering spectators. "Where did you learn?"

"Okinawa, when I was in the Marine Corps," he told me as he tossed me a towel from a stack near the practice area. "I've never seen you here or at the Dojo off Chicago Avenue."

"I'm visiting from Maine," I replied. We sat on a bench next to each other, and I shook his hand. "Detective Sergeant Bonnie McDonald. I'm here on a temporary assignment, but keep my presence here to yourself." I wiped the sweat off my face and stashed my sticks in my gym bag.

"Where did you learn?"

"A dojo in Fayetteville, North Carolina. My late husband was a Green Beret stationed at Fort Bragg. After that, dojos in Maine and Boston. I've been a sensei for the last twenty years."