CRY WOLF was published in 2011 by Carina Press. I was visiting New York City for the first time ever, and my niece and I were waiting on the NBC Studios Tour to begin when my phone alerted me that I had a missed call and voice message — it was Angela James delivering the news Carina Press wanted to publish my quirky little story about a skeptical, burnt-out reporter investigating werewolf sightings in a small South Carolina town. As odd as it sounds, the entire story is inspired by a real urban legend, not in South Carolina but Wisconsin, known as The Beast of Bray Road. I saw a documentary about the Wisconsin Werewolf back many, many years ago and kept trying to think of a way to incorporate it into a story. I love romance, so one thing led to another and CRY WOLF was born.
Back Cover Copy:Andrea Lockhart's job as a reporter for cheesy tabloid The Naked Truth isn't exactly where she thought her journalism career would end up. She's determined to make the best of it, but when her editor sends her to Woodbine, South Carolina, to investigate a werewolf sighting, Andrea decides the ridiculous assignment will be her last. Until she meets Sean Hunter.
The last time she saw Sean, he had just beat her out for the position of editor of their college newspaper, and told her she'd never make it as a reporter. Given his grand ambitions, she's shocked to find him editing the Woodbine Weekly. Once they start competing for leads on the werewolf, Andrea becomes determined to break the story first—she can't let Sean beat her again.
As they each get closer to finding the source of the rumors, the only thing more surprising than the truth are the feelings Sean is able to stir in her, feelings she thought she had left behind...
Excerpt:
How in the hell do I get myself into situations like this?
Andrea Lockhart screamed and tried one more time to summon
help. Not an easy thing to do while swinging from a rope, upside down, in the
middle of nowhere.
Like some stupid pendulum on a clock. Ugh!
“Hello?” she yelled and immediately gasped for breath. She
closed her eyes and struggled to subdue the panic attack that was clawing its
way past her lungs toward her brain. Her heart had been trying to pound its way
out of her chest for a while now. This wasn’t helping.
Easy, Lockhart.
You’ve been in tighter spots than this and survived. Just ease the hell off
from thinking about it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Everything is
going to be fine.
Opening her eyes, Andrea listened for a response as she
reached toward the ground for something—anything—to steady herself with,
but all she heard was the distant call of some birds deep in the forest. She had
been traipsing through these woods, looking for footprints or other evidence to
support the article she was writing, when she’d heard a loud snap, felt her
legs jerked out from under her, and found herself looking at the world upside
down.
Some idiot had snagged her in the type of trap she’d thought
was only used in bad B movies.
Yep, I’m so
putting in my résumé at Starbucks if I can ever get myself down from here.
Her jacket swung around her face and heightened that panicked
feeling of claustrophobia. Pushing it aside, only to have it fall back in the
way, Andrea couldn’t hold back a desperate laugh at the absurdity of her
dilemma. She’d witnessed and survived gang shootouts in South Chicago, gone
toe-to-toe with corrupt police officials and barely escaped riots in France and
the post–Katrina looting in New Orleans. But she’d never been strung up like
this before. Oh yeah. This was definitely a new one.
A ring tone for “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” shattered
the silence, and Andrea sighed long and hard, as she considered the rectangular
object just out of her reach. Too late, she realized her mistake. Her breath
tore out of her chest in a hacking cough that drowned out the familiar melody.
Her heart was still beating overtime. The whooshing sound of
its frantic throbbing threatened to make her deaf to everything else.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Her only salvation, it seemed, lay just out of reach.
Once she’d gotten over the shock of what had happened, she
had grappled with and lost her grip on her cell phone. Now it taunted her, half
buried under a mound of leaves, alternately buzzing and pelting out the tune.
It was as if the stupid thing was laughing at her.
She was sure it was Brandon calling. Oh yeah. I would
really love to give him a piece of my mind right now.
If only.
Best she could tell, she was more alone in these woods than
a nerd on prom night. The sun had lowered in the sky, peeking through the trees
like an unwanted observer. Andrea glanced at her watch. Had she really been
hanging here for half an hour already? It seemed so much longer.
When did it get dark around here? Maybe another hour or two?
Not good.
Come on. You’ve been in tighter spots than this, Lockhart.
Think.
Andrea tried to lift her arms and grab the rope clamping both
her ankles together from the tree limb above. If she could just—
The sound of a stick breaking nearby caught her attention.
She dropped her arms, felt the blood rush to her head again, making her dizzy as
her body swayed like crazy.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Over here!
Please! Is somebody there?”
Nothing.
Dammit.
Andrea screamed in desperation. Her
labored breathing sent her swaying again, and the swell of hot tears coated her
eyes. She was going to die here. Alone. Helpless. And only God knows where.
Her friends, her family, her
enemies…this would be how they last remembered her.
Hanging from a tree limb like a
damned piece of meat.
Something in her line of vision
moved. Something dark and big and—
A low, ominous growl echoed
around her, rumbling in her ears.
An animal?
Oh
God.
Andrea willed her body to stop
moving as she fought to bring her breathing under control. What kind of animal
was it? What kinds of animals were native to this part of South Carolina? Bears?
Wolves?
Werewolves
A ridiculous thought, but there
it was. Wouldn’t it be something if she actually found the evidence she was
searching for, right before it tore her to shreds and ate her for dinner?
Don’t
be ridiculous, Lockhart. Werewolves do not exist!
Maybe it was just a dog. A
harmless dog lost in the woods.
Or
a rabid dog looking for its next victim.
Her ears strained for sounds of
movement again, but all she could hear were the damned birds chirping back and
forth. Had she seen something, or was her mind starting to play tricks on her?
***
Angela Campbell is the author of the psychic detectives series from Harper Impulse. Learn more about her and her books at www.AngelaCampbellOnline.com.
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