He was a stranger, a beard covering his cheeks and chin, now matted with snow, his pale brown eyes life less. Cameron took a deep breath, relieved it wasn't Owen or David. "Not either of my partners."
"So are you certain you've never met Miss O'Malley before?" Officer Adams asked, slanting a glance at Whitson, while a couple of investigators were searching for clues in the snow farther away.
Cameron ignored the question as he leaned over to get a whiff of the dead guy, although he thought Adams's inquiry odd. Like he really wasn't as interested in him identifying the body as he was prying into Cameron's relationship with Faith.
He considered the dead man further. He was too frozen to decay, but he smelled like a wolf. Which didn't make any sense. For one, why could Cameron smell such a thing, unless it was because of being bitten himself and the close encounter had given him a new awareness? And why would he know that it was a wolf smell and not some other? But he didn't smell exactly like the one he'd had the run-in with either. Something different about him, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.
"See anything?" Adams asked, drawing closer.
"No, I just… nothing. He's not either of my partners, so if you're done with me, I'll head back to the lodge."
"Which wolf bit you?" Adams asked, the question so out of the blue, Cameron stared at him blankly.
Then he gathered his wits and responded. "He was one of Lila's wolves. An Arctic white wolf."
Adams shook his head. "Size? Male? Female? Shorter hair, longer? Full coat? Raggedy? You're a former police officer. What made him different from the others?"
Cameron was used to analyzing people's looks and behaviors, but wolves? "How would I know? He was big. Maybe bigger than the others but they weren't around at the time so I could compare them. He had a thick coat that made him appear as though he was older, more mature, if that's what you mean. Not a juvenile. Otherwise, they all looked the same to me. No different markings. All pure white. But if you must know, I was concentrating on his bared teeth, not checking if he had balls, when he lunged."
Officer Whitson bit back a chuckle, while Adams gave his partner an annoyed look. "Did the wolf… was he attempting to kill you? Or did he just bite you and then run off?"
"I didn't ask, but the way he lunged at me, I'd say he went for the throat—for a kill—but I blocked his teeth with my arm. If Faith hadn't clobbered him in the hip with a snow shovel, he might have eventually given up on my arm and gone for the jugular again. So yeah, I think he intended to kill me, not just play with me."
His eyes wide, Whitson cleared his throat. "What did the wolf do when Faith hit him?"
Cameron glowered at the officer, not liking that he still seemed interested in Faith. "After Miss O'Malley struck him, he looked surprised. I expected him to growl at her, but instead I'd swear he smiled."
Whitson shared a look with Adams, who closed up his notebook.
Although Cameron figured he wouldn't get a response that would satisfy him, he asked anyway. "So now are you going to put an All Points Bulletin out on the wolf and its owner?"
"It's just your word that the wolf intended to harm you. You might have made a move that to him meant you intended to hurt Faith," Whitson said, "and he was protecting her. Or he might have thought something you did meant you wanted to play with him. Kintail's wolves are good-natured and wouldn't hurt a soul, unless provoked. Did you provoke him, Mr. MacPherson?"
Cameron clenched his teeth, unwilling to get into a pissing match with Whitson. He knew the officer didn't like that he had any kind of relationship with Faith and so was bound to be antagonistic toward him. On the other hand, Adams was looking at the dead body as if he was uninterested in the conversation. But it was only a ploy. Cameron knew that whatever he said Adams was considering as important to any investigation.
"If a dog bites someone, no matter its motive, it's considered vicious, unable to live safely amongst humans. Even if one was provoked, the charges against the animal would be taken seriously. We're talking feral wolf here. Not some centuries-tamed family pet. It wouldn't matter if they'd been raised as a second- or third-generation house pet either. They're wild animals. Period."
Adams finally spoke up. "We'll talk to Kintail about it. But if you don't even know which wolf it was, we couldn't very well put down his whole pack, now could we?"
"Whole pack? How many damn wolves has he got?"
"At least two make a pack," Adams clarified. But he didn't enlighten Cameron any further about numbers.
"How many does he have?" Cameron insisted, figuring from Adams's response, the police officers knew.
Adams's gaze pinned Cameron with warning. "You'd have to ask him. But he's touchy about his wolves. So I'd ask real nice if I were you. You're not from around here. He brings a lot of business into the area, so we take care of our own, if you get my meaning."
"If you mean you can get away with murder if you have enough money and connections, I completely understand. Works that way where I'm from also. Universal policy." Without evidence that he'd been bitten, just Faith's word, Cameron figured he didn't have much of a leg to stand on anyway though. "But next time, I won't just play with the wolf."
For the first time, Adams offered a slight smile, on the sinister side. "Your business. Just be sure to stick around in case we need to question you further."
"I'll be here, and if I find my friends and get ready to return home, I'll let you know." Cameron gave Whitson the same icy hard stare, then returned to his snowmobile and headed back to the lodge.
He patted the gun under his coat. He didn't like shooting animals, any kind. He'd never been a hunter, just of the predatory human variety. So killing a wolf didn't appeal. But he'd shoot it, if the wolf attacked again, just to make sure it didn't harm anyone else, whether Kintail liked it or not.
As he reached the resort, he saw Charles Roux putting a snow shovel up at a shed and veered his snowmobile in his direction.
The man turned to look at him. A few gray strands running through his dark hair braided behind his back. His round face, darker skin, and dark eyes looked Native American, and since Cameron had heard many of the tribes felt some kinship to the animals of the wild, he wondered about Charles's take on Kintail's wolves.
"The word is you're looking for Kintail." Charles's gaze quickly shifted to Cameron's bloodied and torn parka sleeve. "You were attacked?"
"By one of Kintail's wolves. Although they were with Lila. Two of my partners went on a hunt with Back Country Tours. They haven't returned and I haven't gotten word from them. So yeah, I'm looking to speak with Kintail. I haven't had any luck with Lila."
Approaching snowmobiles garnered their attention. Adams and Whitson headed their way.
Charles responded to Cameron's concern. "Communications in these parts are pretty sketchy."
"I understand, but I have to make sure that they're all right." Which brought to mind another concern. Faith. "Can you tell me anything about one of your guests? Hilson Snowdon? When he got here?"
Charles looked back at the police officers who were nearly there. "Officer Adams, Whitson," he said in greeting.
"Tell your sister we'll be back when she's made some more of that chocolate cream pie of hers," Adams said, tilting forward on the snowmobile.
Charles gave them a stiff nod. "Will do."
The officers gave Cameron another hard look. Adams said to Cameron, "We'll keep in touch." Then he and Whitson drove down the road in the direction of the trailhead.
"So what do you know about Hilson Snowdon?" Cameron asked Charles again.
"You can talk to him when he's around. He might be at his cabin now, or off on another excursion. Folks come here to get away. I don't ask their business. Does Miss O'Malley still want to see Trevor Hodges?"