Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  He would stop, too, she instinctively knew it. Just as she knew he wouldn't hurt her, not intentionally, despite his earlier warning about breaking her heart. He cared for her, and she cared for him. They shared a connection that went beyond lust, beyond the creatures. Gillian didn't understand it and didn't need to. Even dyed-in-the-wool psychologists could accept that some things just were.

  "Don't stop," she breathed. Not yet. Not for another four or five hours.

  He obliged and picked up where he left off. Nudging aside the opening of her shirt, he pressed his lips to the base of her throat. Her nipples peaked in readiness when he reached for the buttons on her shirt, fumbling in his haste to unfasten them.

  "Nick, I want-"

  Before she could complete her sentence, the front door flew open.

  Gillian gasped and involuntarily twisted, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on a cabinet. Nick stepped back, putting himself between her and his visitor, the expression on his face one of resignation.

  "Hello, Charlie," he said.

  Charlie? She peeked over his shoulder into the living room to see a very old, very distinguished-looking Native American gentleman enter Nick's apartment.

  "Hello, Nick." He smiled pleasantly and inclined his head in Gillian's direction as he hobbled toward them. "Dr. Sayers. It's an honor to finally meet you.

  I'm a big fan of your book."

  Gillian covered her eyes with her hand and muttered an unladylike, "Oh, shit."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nick gave Gillian credit. She handled herself with aplomb in what had to be an incredibly embarrassing situation.

  "Gillian," he said after lifting her off the counter, "this is Charlie Blackwater."

  Thank goodness the old geezer didn't try to shake her hand. Physical contact with a person who'd just walked in on you twenty seconds away from baring your breasts would test anyone's limits.

  "Blackwater?" She smoothed the front of her hastily rebuttoned shirt. "You're related to Nick?"

  "My father," Nick answered before Charlie could elaborate. Telling Gillian about the creatures was one thing. About himself, another. The Huntsmen were a surreptitious lot and with good reason. Anonymity was the key to their success.

  "Really?" Gillian's eyes widened an infinitesimal amount.

  Someone else mightn't have noticed. Nick did. He noticed everything about her, most of which was seared into his memory.

  "Foster father," Charlie corrected, the many wrinkles lining his face shifting when he smiled. "I'm no blood relation to this rascal, for which I'm grateful."

  "That makes two of us," Nick joked in return.

  All three moved into the living room. Charlie made himself comfortable on the couch, his bones creaking as he lowered himself onto the cushions.

  "I took him in and raised him after Radium killed his family," he said with a grunt.

  Gillian spun on Nick. "You didn't tell me Radium killed your family.",,.

  "I didn't get around to it."

  "I noticed the not getting around to it part when I came in," Charlie commented from the couch.

  "I'm truly sorry, Nick. How ... who ... ?"

  "Both my parents and my baby sister."

  "Oh, God."

  The sorrow in her voice evoked emotions in him he thought long buried if not dead. "Thank you. But it was years ago."

  And he'd exact his revenge. Soon. Or die trying.

  "It seems we have yet something else in common."

  Nick nodded, feeling the commonality on a level that surprised him. He'd always suspected Gillian was special, he just hadn't figured on her becoming special to him. "I should probably take you back to your car."

  Something had happened, something bad, else Charlie would be home in bed. Which meant Nick had a full night's work ahead of him and didn't need any distractions.

  "Yes," Gillian agreed, retrieving her purse from the end table where she'd left it earlier. "I still have papers to grade."

  "I saw the interview on the news tonight," Charlie said, stalling Gillian's departure. "Well done."

  "I forgot to thank you for the excellent editing job," she told Nick. "I was expecting the interview to be awful. Celeste can be a little intimidating."

  "A wolf in sheep's clothing if ever there was one," Charlie concurred.

  "You're welcome," Nick said as he took Gillian's elbow and guided her toward the door, eager to escape before Charlie got his hooks in her any deeper.

  They'd disagreed from the start on how much to involve her in their activities. Charlie thought she'd make an excellent addition to the team. Nick had insisted on stopping at the interview.

  After tonight, he was more determined than ever to keep her clear of Cadamus and the Huntsmen. The risks were too great and too numerous-to her, to him, to the entirety of humankind. When the creatures were dead and life had returned to normal, he'd finish what he and Gillian had started tonight.

  "How'd it go at the cemetery?" Charlie asked before Nick and Gillian took two steps.

  "Fine." Nick didn't break stride.

  "Did Cadamus show up?"

  He ground his teeth. Damn Charlie's infuriating wiliness. His arthritic joints might be shot to hell but his mind stayed razor sharp.

  "Cadamus was there?" Gillian dug in her heels. "Yes," Nick grumbled.

  "And you didn't tell me?"

  "I didn't see the need for it. You were already scared."

  "Where was he?"

  "In a tree."

  "How far away?"

  "From you? About a hundred feet."

  "Cadamus was a hundred feet away from me and you didn't see the need to tell me?" Gillian's eyes flashed, more with fear than anger. "That's why you hustled me out of there so fast. Isn't it?"

  "Very noble of you," Charlie said with obvious amusement. "Putting her safety ahead of your duty."

  Nick shot Charlie a dirty look before returning his attention to her. "You weren't in danger, not immediate danger anyway." He squeezed her arm. "I wouldn't have let him harm you."

  "Like you could have stopped him."

  Nick didn't mention the ritual dagger stuck in the waistband of his pants. Other weapons had the ability to destroy Cadamus, but only his dagger guaranteed man's future on Earth. "He's not invulnerable. If he were, his species would number more than four."

  "And he'd already fed by then," Charlie added. "He won't be hunting again tonight."

  "Who was it?" Nick demanded, momentarily forgetting his mission to drag Gillian out of there. "And when?" This was the reason for Charlie's unexpected visit.

  "A fifteen-year-old Hispanic boy. Right across the street from the cemetery. His death will probably be attributed to a gang slaying."

  "Cadamus's sanctuary is nearby. He'll stick close to it until he becomes familiar with the city."

  "That's my guess."

  "What are you guys?" Gillian's brows drew together. "Some sort of special forces?"

  "Concerned citizens." Nick propelled her ahead, hoping to reach the door before Charlie butted in. "Do you work for the government?"

  "Actually," Charlie pushed himself to his feet, the effort costing him, "we work for a higher authority." "Higher than the government?"

  "Charlie," Nick cautioned.

  "I want to help," Gillian insisted.

  "Impossible."

  "I know a lot about the creatures."

  "She does," Charlie added.

  "More than what I've put in my books." "Is that so?"

  Gillian recognized an ally when she saw one. Re moving her arm from Nick's grasp, she moved away from the door to stand near Charlie. "I don't know what you two are up to or who you work for, but if it means ridding the world off that monster, count me in."

  "No!" Nick bit out.

  "There are no coincidences," Charlie said, his gentle tone contrasting Nick's angry one. "She was put in your path for a reason."

  "It isn't to help us."

  "The final battle is yours to fight, son, but we've
never operated alone. Not entirely."

  "Final battle?"

  Nick ignored Gillian. "She has a personal agenda." "Don't we all?" Charlie shrugged.

  "She wants to expose the creatures in order to free her father from prison."

  "I see."

  "She thinks she can obtain his parole with proof of the creatures' existence."

  Charlie patted Gillian's arm. "I'm afraid Nick is right. We can't allow you to help us if your goal is to expose the creatures. Their existence must be kept secret at all costs."

  "What if I agree to help and not expose them?" "The answer's still no," Nick said. "Why?"

  "We're not at liberty to explain," he cut in before Charlie could answer.

  "You don't trust me?"

  "I can't trust anyone right now."

  She hid her hurt well but not so well Nick didn't see. He remained immune. He couldn't afford not to. "Dr. Sayers, why would you forsake your purpose in order to help us?" Charlie, the old softie, asked. "Retribution," Gillian said with no emotion whatsoever.

  "Ah." Charlie gave Nick a pointed look.

  Nick felt like punching a hole in the nearest wall.

  Gillian had given the one answer he couldn't refute.

  Gillian read the lost-dog notice taped to the No PARKING signpost, the third such notice she'd come across in the past hour. With each vehicle that shot past, the corners of the flimsy paper fluttered in the breeze. It was a miracle the thing hadn't flown off to collect in the gutter along with the rest of the trash.

  Beneath a description of the missing pet was a poorly reproduced photograph. Banjo, a six-monthold beagle mix, had been missing for six days.

  The same number of days since Gillian and Nick had entered into their uneasy partnership.

  He didn't want her working with them, whoever them was. For nearly a week she'd spent each evening with Nick and Charlie, and she still had no idea who employed them or if they were freelancers.

  Nicholaus and Charlie Blackwater, Creature Hunters, Inc.

  And she, the lowly gofer. Lowly being the key word. While she searched for lost-pet notices, Charlie, clearly the brains of the outfit, ran command center, and Nick, the apparent brawn, chased down creatures.

  Gillian opened the portfolio she carried, withdrew an enlarged copy of a city map, and marked her location with a red pen. She'd gone through this same drill with each notice they'd found. Eleven lost pets in all. How many other cats and dogs had become dinner for the female creatures besides these eleven? Strays without a bereft owner sitting by the phone, praying for their return? Gillian shuddered to think.

  Standing in the circle of light cast by a street lamp, she studied the map in her hands. Three pockets of activity had begun to emerge, separated by roughly six city blocks. Potential hiding places for the female creatures?

  Nick had told her they were going after the females first. Half the size of Cadamus and significantly weaker, they would be easier to kill. Also, according to Nick, no female creatures equaled no procreation and no future generations. It might mean a few more deaths in the short run, but in the long run, they could conceivably wipe out the creatures for good.

  Gillian didn't dwell on the extermination aspects of their operation. In spite of her tough talk about retribution, she was squeamish when it came to taking life. Any life, be it human, animal, or monster.

  Replacing her map in the portfolio, she strolled north on Second Street

  . A block away, music blared, drawing hordes of fans to US Airways Arena like ants to a discarded soda can. The entertainer headlining that night's sold-out concert performance wasn't Gillian's favorite, but he could sure pack 'em in.

  No one paid her the slightest heed. Nick had planned it that way, saying he couldn't have arranged a better cover. Police officers on foot and bicycles were too busy controlling traffic and people to notice a lone woman reading lost-pet notices and a lone man prowling back alleys, doing God knows what, and not checking in with her every fifteen minutes like he was supposed to.

  Gillian unclipped her cell phone from her belt and called Charlie at Nick's apartment.

  "Hi," she said when he answered. "It's me."

  "What do you have?"

  "Lost dog. First Street

  and Jefferson."

  "Got it."

  She waited in silence, knowing from the routine they'd established the previous three nights that Charlie was entering data into his computer and running some probability or GPS program. For a guy pushing eighty, he was amazingly talented when it came to sophisticated technology.

  "Where's Nick now?" he asked after a minute or so.

  "Your guess is as good as mine." Worry took the form of annoyance and sharpened her voice. She inhaled slowly to counter the effects. "He hasn't called in almost half an hour."

  "I just talked to him ten minutes ago. He was right around. the corner from you, behind the old HansonBuilding at Jefferson and Central."

  "Great," Gillian grumbled and stared down the street. She'd been walking in the opposite direction and was now three blocks from Nick. Damn him for not checking in.

  Why was it he could check in with Charlie and not her? She immediately chided herself for letting Nick get to her again. It was she, after all, who'd insisted on working with him and Charlie even in the face of Nick's adamant objections. The two of them were a team and she the interloper.

  "I've got to go," she told Charlie.

  "Call me with anything new."

  And she would. Unlike Nick.

  Darting between enthusiastic concert attendees, she headed back the way she'd come. Diners enjoying the various specialty restaurants in the area spilled onto the sidewalk, adding to the confusion.

  Despite her resolution to stay cool, Gillian's frustration with Nick escalated as she neared his last known location.

  One of the more annoying drawbacks to having a PhD in psychology was possessing the ability to pinpoint the real reason for her irritability-which had nothing to do with Nick's lack of responsibility and everything to do with the emotional barriers he'd erected during the last six days.

  He kept their conversations to a minimum, avoided her if possible, and visibly tensed when avoidance was impossible. Not that Gillian was the high-maintenance type who required constant reassurances, but his sudden withdrawal hurt. Even if she did understand it to a degree.

  They'd have been "doing it" if not for Charlie's fortunate arrival, or unfortunate depending on her current mood.

  No, wait.

  "Doing it" was hardly an apt description.

  If his toe-curling, sigh-inducing, I-didn't-know-itcould-be-like-this kisses were any indication, making love with Nick would have been the stuff of pure fantasies.

  Not to mention probable disaster.

  Though she hated to admit it, he'd been right to slam on the brakes, even if his approach was a little abrupt. Too much, too soon, would only complicate things. In the best interest of everyone concerned, they needed to stay focused on Cadamus, eliminating him and the females, and saving lives.

  Mind-boggling sex could come later-if at all.

  Another blast of hot air slammed into Gillian as a delivery van sped by in the hopes of beating a taxi to the next red light. Pushing her disarrayed hair from her face, she glanced up to see the old HansonBuilding half a block away, its twenty stories set against a typically gorgeous orange and pink Phoenix sunset.

  The building had once been headquarters to a savings and loan company that went belly up in the late seventies. A string of tenants came and went, and the building slowly fell to ruin. Five years ago an ingenious developer riding the revitalization wave converted the two bottom floors into a mini-indoor mall that catered to the six-figures-a-year-income crowd. The remaining eighteen stories were turned into condominiums. The top floor consisted of two penthouse apartments, one of which was owned by the reigning forward guard for the Phoenix Suns.

  Gillian tried calling Nick again. No surprise, he didn't answer. Wouldn
't government agents-or whatever he and Charlie were-own more sophisticated communication devises? Bluetooths at least. She hadn't completely given up on trying to convince Nick and Charlie to go to the authorities for assistance. And if she played her cards right, she still might even be able to free her father.

  With renewed purpose, she jogged to make the green light and crossed at the intersection, coming to a stop directly in front of the entrance to the mini mall. Bright shop lights and elaborately decorated store windows with the latest, hottest fashions beckoned her to come inside. She resisted their siren call and instead walked the building's perimeter.

  On the north side she discovered a delivery entrance discretely placed between two palm trees in cement planters. Wide enough for a single vehicle, the entrance appeared to lead to a small underground garage. Gillian debated going down into the garage and searching for Nick.

  Taking her cell phone out yet again, she dialed his apartment.

  "Hi, Charlie, I'm at the HansonBuilding." She wished a bit of the easy camaraderie she enjoyed with Nick's foster father would rub off on her and Nick. "There's no sign of our wandering boy."

  "He's having a look around inside."

  "You've talked to him?"

  "A couple minutes ago."

  "I see."

  She must have let a small note of disappointment creep into her voice for Charlie asked, "Are you okay?"

  "Fine," Gillian said, conveying a cheeriness she didn't feel. If they had any hope of working together, she would have to get past her hurt. For her father's sake if not hers. "Where did you say Nick was?"

  "He visited a few of the shops, pretending to be a representative of the management company, and questioned the staff. Seems they complained at length about a rat problem."

  "Rats?"

  "No one's seen any, but lately they've heard scratching and scurrying behind walls and in the ceilings.

  "Do you think the noise is from one of the females?"

  "Possibly. The HansonBuilding sits dead center of the target zone. Realistically?" He released a loud exhale. "My money's on rats."

  "How can I help?"