Book Six in Mercy Thompson series
Car mechanic Mercy Thompson has always known there was something different about her, and not just the way she can make a VW engine sit up and beg. Mercy is a shapeshifter, a talent she inherited from her long-gone father. She’s never known any others of her kind. Until now.
An evil is stirring in the depths of the Columbia River—one that her father’s people may know something about. And to have any hope of surviving, Mercy and her mate, the Alpha werewolf Adam, will need their help
Keep reading for the Chaper One excerpt from author's site...
Chapter One Excerpt
As found on author's website
From The Dalles ChronicleTwo Local Men Still Missing
Thomas Kerrington (62) and his son Christopher Kerrington (40) are still missing, though the boat that they were fishing in has been recovered. The boat was found abandoned two miles downstream of John Day Dam yesterday. The men set out on a morning fishing expedition Monday morning but never returned. Sherman Co. marine deputy Max Whitehead says, “This has been an unusually bad year for boating fatalities on the Columbia. We’re stepping up patrols and urging boaters to take their safety very seriously.” Searchers are scouring the river, but after four days, hopes are low for a safe recovery of the two men.
From The Hood River News
This week’s fish counts are drastically down at both John Day and The Dalles Dams. Allen Robb of the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife says, “We are concerned that there was some sort of toxic dump in the river somewhere between the dams. There is a significant reduction in the numbers of fish and our operators are telling us that this is especially true of our larger fish such as the adult Coho salmon.” Although extensive testing is under way, no sign of poison has been found in the river nor has there been an unusually high number of dead fish. “The fish are spooked,” says local fishing guide Jon Turner Bowman.
Under the glare of streetlights, I could see that the grass of Stefan’s front lawn was dried by the high summer heat to yellow. It had been mowed, but only with an eye to trimming the length of the grass, not to making it aesthetically pleasing. From the debris of dead grass in the yard, the lawn had been left to grow long enough that the city might have demanded it be mowed. The grass that remained was dry enough that whoever had cut it wouldn’t have to do it again unless someone started watering.
I pulled the Rabbit up to the curb and parked. The last time I’d seen Stefan’s house, it had fit right into his ritzy neighborhood. The yard’s neglect hadn’t spread to the house’s exterior yet, but I worried about the people inside.
Stefan was resilient, smart, and . . . just Stefan—able to talk Pokémon in ASL with deaf boys, defeat nasty villains while locked up in a cage, then drive off in his VW bus to fight bad guys another day. He was like Superman, but with fangs and oddly impaired morals.
I got out of my car and walked up the sidewalk toward the front porch. In the driveway, Scooby-Doo looked out at me eagerly through a layer of dust on the windows of Stefan’s usually meticulously tended bus. I had gotten the big stuffed dog for Stefan to go with the Mystery Machine paint job.
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