Monster of the Glades: Subwoofers, #3

By Linda Mooney

Alligator, Bear, Cougar, Deer, Eagle
They found each other by accident. They became a team for life.

When Clint Abrams of Bag It and Tag It Excursions is approached by representatives of JayMax Productions to film scenes in the swamp for a horror movie, he is intrigued. Both by the movie, whose subject hits a little too close to home, and by the tall, freckled redhead, Charlie Dupine.

Clint can’t hide his feelings for Charlie, and the more time he spends with her, the more he knows she is his destiny. His life mate. His everything.

There is something about Clint that Charlie can’t quite explain, and she can’t get him off her mind. She’s not big on relationships but if nothing else, a one-night stand with the guy can’t hurt while she’s at the lodge. He’s causing feelings in her that she’s not sure about.

But when danger rears its head, it’s not all because of the wildlife. Clint will do whatever it takes to save her, but that may mean exposing his secret. Will she run when she learns the truth? Or can she love him just the same? That choice may be taken away when lives are threatened and the FBI becomes involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Mooney
• Release date: Aug 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781941321621

Linda Mooney

Linda loves to write sensuously erotic romance with a fantasy, paranormal, or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel. A wife, mother, grandmother, and retired Kindergarten and music teacher, she lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast where she delves into other worlds filled with daring exploits, adventure, and intense love. She has numerous best sellers, including 10 consecutive #1s. In 2009, she was named Whiskey Creek Press Torrid's Author of the Year, and her book My Strength, My Power, My Love was named the 2009 WCPT Book of the Year. In 2011, her book Lord of Thunder was named the Epic Ebook "Eppie" Award Winner for Best Erotic Sci-Fi Romance. In addition, she write naughty erotic romances under the name of Carolyn Gregg, and horror under the pseudonym of Gail Smith. For more information about Linda Mooney books and titles, and to sign up for her newsletter, please visit her website. http://www.LindaMooney.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

Movie

Art Crawford stomped into the office, making enough noise to wake the dead. Hey, Gator, heads up! Incoming PC.

Clint looked up from the computer and frowned. Before he answered, he glanced out the window over the desk to see an SUV pulling into the parking lot. He frowned. PC was their slang for a potential customer. It also meant the new arrivals didn’t have an appointment, which sometimes happened. People spotting one of their billboards or who picked up a brochure often would stop by just to check things out.

We don’t have any room on the docket, he told the big man. We’re full up.

Art shrugged. I gotta finish getting everything set up on Airboat Two. Pud and Brew are busy. That leaves you to go see what these guys want. He turned to exit when Clint stopped him.

What about Yo?

He’s not back yet from town. Sorry, bud.

Clint watched him go out the side door and uttered a curse word under his breath. They were already booked through the end of the month. Hopefully whoever this was arriving unannounced and unplanned were willing to wait their turn for another three weeks.

Turning off the computer’s monitor, he sauntered out of the office and up the embankment, toward the main lodge. The July heat was oppressive, made more so by the humidity. But unlike his fellow former Marines, Clint thrived in this kind of weather. The only problem he ever had with it was the inclination to laze about under the sun, especially after eating.

In the parking lot, five people emerged from the SUV in question and stood by their vehicle. One man, dark and imposing but wearing a big toothy grin, approached him and stuck out a hand. Clint politely shook it.

Welcome to Bag It and Tag It. My name’s Clint. How can I help you?

His expert eye took in the other four—a swarthy redheaded man, an Amazon woman with long red hair that she wore in a ponytail, a shorter girl with short blonde hair, and a young man with a paunch and acne, and wearing an X-Files baseball cap.

Hiya! Are you the owner?

I’m one of them. What can I do for you?

My name’s Jay Maxwell. I’m president of JayMax Productions. The man turned to introduce those with him. That guy over there is Ferold Jacks. He’s my main star. Behind him is my female co-star, Bertie Fuchs. The woman beside her is my production assistant, Charlie Dupine. And Dibs Roland is my sound man, editor, and all-around jack of all trades.

Clint nodded, keeping the smile pasted on his face. Something about the woman with long red hair—Charlie Dupine—grabbed his attention. Dragging his gaze away from her, he crossed his arms over his chest.

What can I help you with? he repeated.

We’re an independent film company. We make horror movies, and we’re scouting the area for a location to film our next project.

Oddly enough, Clint found himself intrigued. The redheaded Amazon peeled her thin blouse away from her breasts and shook the material to help cool off. Crooking one corner of his mouth, he nodded, then gestured for them to follow.

It’s sweltering out here. Let’s go inside and discuss this further, he invited and led them through the back door into the main lodge. Bypassing the dining room and kitchen, he stopped at one end of the large living area. On the other side of the room, several people were gathered. They were members of the Milchen party, and were waiting for Art to finish gassing up and doing last-minute checks on the airboat before heading out for a tour.

Dibs gave a low whistle. Nice digs you got here, Clint.

Thanks.

Rather than take one of the leather chairs, he chose to stand beside a floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked the front of the lodge, including the docks and swamp. Maxwell and his people settled themselves.

Now, let me get this straight. You’re looking for a place to shoot your movie? Clint reestablished.

We produce horror films, Maxwell clarified. "You may have seen one of them. Night of the Iron Beasts? The Fulton-Abernathy Massacre? Our latest one is The Two-Fingered Pulse."

Clint slowly shook his head. Sorry. I’m more of a mystery and suspense kind of guy.

"Pulse won the grand prize at the South by Southwest Film Fest last year, the young chubby kid spoke up. It got picked up by Hard Marked Productions for major distribution."

Anyway, Maxwell continued. We’re looking for a swamp location with alligators. We look to spend no more than seven to ten days shooting. We were recommended this place by Aldene Bender, from the Texas Film Commission.

Clint felt some of the tension drain from his body. If they’d gone through the TFC, they had to be legit, and not some filmmaker wannabes. On top of that, a category win from SXSW was considered by most in the industry as a major coup. He scratched the back of his neck. A seven to ten-day shooting schedule, huh?

We know it sounds like a short amount of time, the Amazon redhead commented. We’ll be doing the majority of the shoot at a tank in Austin.

Clint tried not to stare at the woman’s freckled face. Charlie Dupine. Her name was firmly embedded in his mind. What kind of filming do you plan to do while you’re here? he asked.

Mostly location shots, Maxwell explained. And hopefully get quite a few sequences of alligators.

His ears practically perked up. Alligators?

The blonde, Bertie, dug into her giant suitcase of a handbag and withdrew a bound document. She handed it Maxwell, who lifted it up to Clint. He took it and gazed at the title on the cover.

Monster of the Glades

You’re doing a horror movie about monsters here in the swamps?

"Not a monster. An alligator monster," Maxwell emphasized.

Clint snorted. Excuse me if I sound unimpressed, but I’d swear there are already a bunch of alligator horror movies already out there.

Not like this one, Charlie argued. She gave him a dimpled smile that went straight from his eyes down to his nether parts. Quickly, he dropped his eyes to the script and thumbed through it, but his mind was already reeling from the possibility.

He riffled through the pages, not really reading it, when he suddenly caught sight of a phrase that left him cold.

Bandeau morphs into his alligator form.

He threw Maxwell a piercing look. A guy changes into an alligator?

A weregator. Pretty original, don’t you think? The man beamed, obviously proud of his idea.

Where did you get the idea for a…weregator? The absurd term nearly made him laugh.       Maxwell shrugged. "I was trying to come up with something that would terrify campers. I didn’t want to use any kind of swamp man creature. That’s been lamed to death. And you’re right, rogue gators are passé. Then I got to thinking, what if it’s a guy who is human by day and an alligator by night, kinda like a werewolf? He threw up his hands. And voila! Weregator."

A warning bell began to go off in the back of Clint’s brain, but his curiosity had yet to be satisfied. It was a part of his genetic makeup he couldn’t ignore. So, let me get this straight. You want to do some location shots here, and get some film coverage of alligators. Surely it’s going to take you longer than ten days to shoot the movie.

We anticipate altogether for this to be a twenty-one-day shoot, with an additional five-day grace period in the event of bad weather or other unforeseen events that might cause a delay, Bertie informed him.

Maxwell waved a hand in the woman’s direction. Bertie’s also one my producers.

The blonde woman continued. After we’re done here, we’ll be doing principal photography on a sound stage in Austin. We’d like to have it fully completed, edited, and ready to ship by the first of next year.

So, Mr. Clint, what’s the verdict? Maxwell concluded. Think your schedule can mesh with ours?

Just call me Clint. First off, I need to ask you a few questions. Like, how many people are we looking at accommodating for this venture?

Nine altogether, Charlie responded. The other four of our party will be acting, as well as helping with costumes, continuity, and the like. Jay and I are also the cameramen.

When you’re a small crew, you double up on jobs, Dibs added. Clint watched as the man pulled a package of Oreos from his pants pocket and proceeded to eat them.

He sighed. Nine people for ten days won’t be a problem, but what about equipment? Will we have to provide you with anything additional?

All we need from you, Clint, is a place to stay, a few meals, and transportation around the swamp. We’ll handle all our own equipment ourselves. You won’t have to worry about it, Charlie told him. Her voice was low and well-modulated. Its vibrations sang through his blood like a tonic, forcing Clint to drop his arms and clasp his wrists with his hands in front of his crotch. It wouldn’t be good for the clientele to notice the boner he was getting.

Are there any more questions? Bertie reminded him.

Yeah. When are you wanting to do this?

It’ll take us a few days to get our stuff together. What dates do you have available? Charlie inquired.

Thankfully, striding over to the computer meant turning his back on the group and the woman who was making him uncomfortable. Pulling up the calendar, he checked dates and who would be available. He inwardly groaned when he realized what happenstance had in store for him.

We have a block of days open at the end of the month, he told them. What he didn’t confess was that he would be their guide. The others were already booked. He eyed the number of rooms. How many rooms will you be needing? All rooms have two double beds. He straightened and turned to look at them, then realized at the last minute the tenting of his pants would present itself in profile. He quickly adjusted his stance.

Maxwell consulted the others in hushed tones before giving him a number. We can double up, right? Then we’ll need four.

Clint marked four rooms and confirmed the dates. Grabbing a pen and notepad, he did a quick calculation of what everything would cost. Circling the total, he ripped the paper from the pad and walked over to hand it to Maxwell. The man stared at it for a moment, pursed his lips, and handed the price to Bertie. Can do?

The woman barely glanced at it. Yep. It’ll keep us under budget.

Well, Clint, looks like we got a deal.