Page 60 of Feral

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WILLOW

The local sheriffand his deputy arrived first. I was still a little lightheaded from the gunshot, or maybe from discovering I was a shifter, but years of protocol pushed to the forefront.

“Agent Johnson?”

“Yes, sir.”

After I’d shifted back, I’d called Vaughn and tried to convince him to send backup, so we could catch whoever showed up with the empty trailer for the cows and drugs, but he wouldn’t have it—especially after he heard I’d already been shot at. He’d notified the sheriff to get there immediately, and the sheriff had arrived with lights flashing, which probably meant whoever was responsible for driving the drugs across the border would keep right on driving past.

I kept my hand over the wound at my side as I reached out to shake his hand. Boyd and Audrey had brought me a change of clothes, which I’d stained a little with blood from my wound to make it look like a bullet just grazed me.

“I’m Sheriff Duncan.” He stared at Markle’s fallen body in the dirt, repulsion showing on his face. “Is that your perp?”

“Yes. Jett Markle, owner of this ranch.” I pointed to the crates of drugs. “We had a shootout after I found his supply.” I attempted a wry grin. “Good thing I’m a better shot than he was.”

He looked at my side. “You were hit? Do we need to get you to the hospital?”

“No, it’s a flesh wound. The neighbor, Dr. Ames, already patched me up.” I nodded at Audrey, who had remained to make sure no one tried to get a look at my rapidly healing bullet hole. She’d covered it with a bandage and was prepared to attest to the fact that I had merely been grazed by a bullet and didn’t need to go into the hospital tonight.

She stood near Boyd’s pickup with Rob and Boyd, who refused to leave us unprotected.

“Evening Sheriff Duncan,” Rob lifted a hand in greeting.

The sheriff nodded at Rob and Boyd. “Evening, gentlemen.”

“Did my boss tell you there was a possibility of his friends showing up?” I asked.

The sheriff touched the gun at his side. “He told me. I’ve got back up on the way. If they come, we’ll get them.”

Yeah, I wasn’t so sure about that.

The op hadn’t gone as planned. I’d wanted Markle behind bars, so we could use him to get Murrieta. After what happened, I was happy he was dead. His intentions for me didn’t make me feel bad in the slightest.

We had the drugs, knew how they arrived at the ranch and how they left and got to Canada.

With Markle dead, there was no information on getting to Murrieta. Vaughn planned to send a guy to the next planned drug pickup at the closed rest area, but it wasn’t going to be Murrieta himself. Only another cog in his huge drug wheel.

I’d pretty much blown the case. We were back to square one because Murietta wouldn’t give a shit that Markle was dead. He’d been a mere pawn. He’d have another one by tonight to rebuild the drug path to Canada.

The shipments were stopped for now but wouldn’t be for long.

I’d failed, and I had no doubt I was out of a job. For once in my life, I didn’t care.

Everything I’d thought about myself had been wrong. My name really wasn’t Willow Johnson. I’d always known that. Tonight was the first time there was a real clue to who I was. TowhatI was.

I was a shifter.

A shifter!

And that mattered so much more than this stupid case I’d been fixated on for the past year.

“The DEA will be here in the morning, so if your men could just keep watch, it would be much appreciated. I’d like to get back and clean up and get a couple hours sleep before I have to meet them here to search the place and take care of all the procedures and paperwork.”

“You’re staying at the Shefield place?”

“That’s right,” I said.