"I'm relieved to hear it," Sheriff Tackett replied.
A growl began to build in Bill's chest. All the shouting and tension seemed to be rocketing along toward a violent crescendo, but until Molly heard that wild sound from Bill, she had felt almost powerless to stop it.
No more.
"Stop!" she snapped at Jack.
He turned to look at her, confused.
Molly stepped toward the sheriff, her shotgun aimed at a vague place perhaps two feet to his left. If she had fired then, the only thing she would kill was a potted plant or the file cabinet beneath it.
"Change!" she yelled, voice quavering with nerves.
He's got to be, she thought, almost crying inside. He's got to be one. If he's not . . .
But even as the thoughts skittered through her mind, Molly could see in the sheriff 's eyes that he had no idea what she was talking about. Everything clicked together in her head. Paperwork? Soup for dinner? And he was mystified and infuriated by their intrusion.
"Oh, God, Jack, he's human," she whispered. The barrel of her shotgun drooped toward the floor.
"He can't be," Jack replied. "I mean . . . he let us go. And who else could have moved those bodies? He was right behind us. It doesn't make sense."
Bill grunted loudly and blinked. Then he moved toward the sheriff, who seemed to shrink away from him slightly. Bill sniffed the air near him, and Molly saw him deflate a bit as he stepped back.
"Molly's right," the big man said without glancing at Jack. "There've been Prowlers in here, but with all the flowers, I couldn't separate out the scent right off. But he's human."
"Oh, hell," Jack groaned. Both guns lowered now, he backed up and leaned against the wall. "What've we done?"
Slowly, the sheriff stood up. "Why don't you put the weapons down, all of you, and we can try to make sense of what you're going on about."
He kept his hands in front of him, making sure they all saw that he was in no rush to reach for a weapon. Molly stared at Bill, hoping for some solution from him.
"Sheriff, listen," Jack began, raising both guns again. He aimed them toward the back of the office, but it was clear to all of them that he was ready for a fight.
"We told you our story before. It's the truth. I know you don't believe it, but think for a second. What else makes sense? If we were the people you're looking for, would you even still be alive?"
But Tackett was angry. His nostrils flared and he studied Jack closely. "Put the weapons down, kid. Then we'll talk."
Jack sighed. "Don't be an idiot."
The sheriff actually cracked a smile at that one. "I'm an idiot? Look at the three of you. Illegal possession of firearms. Trespassing. Assault on a police officer.
Give me time, I'll come up with more."
“The Prowlers are real," Molly said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The clock ticked on the wall. Behind her, Molly could hear Jack breathing hard. The sheriff 's chest rumbled, and she thought maybe he really was fighting a cold, as he'd said. The smell of his soup, French onion, filled the room.
“I'm sorry. I just don't believe that," the sheriff said at last. He kept his gaze locked with hers, granting her at least the respect of not looking away. “Frankly, Miss Hatcher, I think you three have seen too many movies. You're all a bit off. Lay the weapons aside now, and I'll be as kind as I can with the charges. But there will be charges."
Molly turned away, heartsick. What were their options now? They could surrender and go to jail, or cuff the guy and become fugitives. Neither was much of a choice. But if they were incarcerated, there would be no one else out there to combat the Prowlers.
Filled with dread and confusion, she walked to Jack and stared at him. “What do we do?"
Jack let his shoulders sag and he stared for a moment at the ground. They were well and truly screwed. What they were doing was difficult enough without having Sheriff Tackett as an enemy. Jack was at a loss. The guns in his hands felt heavy and more than a little silly. With a shake of his head, he lifted his eyes and met Molly's expectant gaze.
After a moment Jack chuckled softly. “This is stupid."
“Won't get an argument from me," Sheriff Tackett declared, an impatient expression on his face.
“What?" Molly asked. “What've you got?"
Jack shrugged. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. “Proof. We've got proof, Molly."
Then he glanced over at Bill, no longer amused. “Show him," Jack said gravely.
Bill twitched and stared at him in astonishment. Jack understood. He knew he was asking something terrible of his friend. One of the fundamental survival instincts of a Prowler insisted that he never reveal his true nature to a human who was not prey. Even Jack and Courtney and Molly only knew because Bill had saved their lives. It was even more important for someone who was attempting to live in the human world, to live, essentially, as a human being.
But Jack could see any no other way out of the situation they were in. They needed Tackett as an ally now.
“We don't have any choice," he said, hoping Bill heard the apology in his voice.
The burly man nodded grimly, took in a long breath, then stepped up to the sheriff; he towered over the man. “Sheriff Tackett, you don't have a weak heart, do you?" Bill looked angry, and he looked mean.
“You threatening me, mister?" the sheriff asked, misreading Bill's intentions.
“Not at all."
The sheriff frowned. Maybe there was something in Bill's voice that unnerved him somewhat. Whatever it was, he took a step backward and studied Bill a bit more closely.
It
