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green and awkward as Reed was. Nothing like the bold and unflinching woman who’d just turned down his offer of dinner without so much as batting an eyelash. She’d been terribly shy, even clumsy. He remembered how she’d always held her head down as she walked and how she’d had a tendency to trip, fall or bump into anything that had the misfortune to be in her path. Not to mention, Andi Lockhart had been a serious-minded reporter wannabe, destined for the copy desks of the Washington Post or Time Magazine . The idea of her working for a tab was just too outrageous to imagine. No way could it have been her.
    Then Sean remembered her eyes, as green as emeralds and a little bit cold toward him. Andi’s eyes had been a striking shade of green as well, and yeah, she sure had every reason to dislike him.
    Okay, so it could have been her.
    In fact, the more he thought about it…something about her had been awfully familiar.
    “Well I’ll be damned.” If it was Andi Lockhart—and the whisper of recognition told him it was—she’d sure blossomed. He’d always known she had the potential to be both a great reporter and a beautiful woman. All she’d needed was a push in the right direction. Maybe what he’d said to her the last time they’d been in a room together actually made that difference.
    The memory of that encounter almost made him flinch. He hadn’t handled it well. He’d been trying to be cruel to be kind, but she’d looked at him as if he’d kicked her in the gut.
    “Hey, Sean, I got Mr. Thomas on the phone. He wants to know if you’re gonna make it out to his farm today for the pumpkin or not.”
    Sean grimaced. “Do me a favor, kid. Handle that one for me. Something has come up that I need to take care of.”
    Reed shrugged.
    Sean tucked Andrea Lockhart’s business card into his pocket. Pumpkins be damned. He had a much better subject to investigate this afternoon.

Chapter Three
    Andrea glanced at the man sitting across from her. “You actually keep records on this…werewolf?”
    “Yep.” The animal control officer cocked a grin and slid a manila file folder with bold, black writing on it across the desk. The Werewolf Files.
    Charles Browder snickered and leaned back in his chair. His voice was heavy with a Southern drawl. “Go on, take a peek if ya want. I doubt there’s anything in there of any real use, but some of it’s plenty interestin’ to read. Probably twenty or more incident reports this year alone.”
    She took advantage of his generosity and picked up the folder and its contents. No matter how much she wanted this to be a non-story so she could get out of town tonight, few officials were as accommodating as Mr. Browder. It was at least an hour past his quitting time, but he’d stayed to meet with her instead of rescheduling their appointment. She’d be both rude and a fool not to at least look at the reports he’d compiled.
    Andrea despised deliberate rudeness, and she was no fool, despite what those familiar with the publication she wrote for these days might think.
    Damn Sean.
    Working at the Naked Truth didn’t embarrass her. So why did running into Sean suddenly make her self-conscious about it? Okay, she admitted, working for a tabloid sometimes bothered her. She’d been an award-winning reporter at a large newspaper on the fast track to management. A life time ago. Before the accident. Before Lisa died. Everyone had said it wasn’t Andrea’s fault, that she shouldn’t feel responsible.
    Yeah, right. Even now, four years later, Andrea lived with the guilt of her friend’s death. Living with that guilt—living with what had happened, period—had changed Andrea in so many ways.
    So, writing for a tabloid wasn’t that bad in the scheme of things. After everything she’d been through, Andrea was simply glad to have a job reporting anything.
    “There have to be more than fifty reports of sightings in this folder.” She lifted her eyes from the bulging file to look