Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  "You sure?" Nick studied the map.

  "I've allowed a one-percent margin for error." "What's that translate into? Thirty feet in any given

  direction?"

  "If that much."

  Charlie had wasted no time putting Nick's idea to use. In the past three days, there had been a total of seventeen complaints made to the Phoenix Police Department about obnoxious smells, the source of which remained a mystery. Taking it one step further, Charlie cross-referenced the locations with those of general disturbance complaints and came up with eleven matches.

  Cross-referencing those with the lost-pet notices Gillian had tracked down, Charlie narrowed their search for the remaining female creatures to two city blocks about a mile apart.

  "This is even more interesting." Charlie drew two additional circles on the map. "These represent the cemetery and the HansonBuilding." Next, he drew straight lines between all the circles. The results were a distorted star. "Now compare it to this."

  He laid a clear plastic transparency, one with considerably more circles and lines, over the map.

  "These circles represent the locations of Radlum's sanctuary twenty-five years ago and the hiding places of the two female creatures Jonathan eliminated, as well as your apartment and Gillian's condo."

  "Nice work," Nick said, seeing how closely the two sections of downtown Phoenix corresponded.

  "I'm not done." Charlie placed a blown-up copy of the map from Gillian's book next to their map. The boundaries of both were in nearly perfect alignment.

  Nick experienced a jolt, his gut instinct telling him they were on target. "I think we've just found our females."

  "Only if they haven't moved."

  He tapped one of the prospective hiding places with his finger. "Isn't this where Iglisia de San Pedro is?"

  "Yeah. And behind the church is a row of old houses. Both were originally built in the thirties."

  "I remember." Nick hadn't set foot inside Iglisia de San Pedro in the last twenty-five years but he could still see the richly adorned altar with its life-size crucifix clearly in his mind. "That neighborhood is one of the few left that hasn't been renovated." Pushing old memories aside, he tapped the other circle. "This is the PhoenixExhibitionCenter."

  "I understand the management is very upset. They're hosting a big art show this weekend, and they're afraid the horrendous smell coming from the back of the building will drive customers away."

  Nick pictured the ExhibitionCenter in his head. "The place is huge. And not easy to get into. We're going to have our work cut out for us there."

  "On the plus side," Charlie commented, "so will Cadamus."

  "True."

  It was still a mystery how the females wound up so far apart, considering the eggs were laid together in a subterranean nest. Their best guess was that during the first year the creatures spent in a larvae state, they traveled, crawling along the ground or burrowing beneath it. About the size and shape of a rolled-up blanket, they could, even in a well-populated metropolis, remain undetected.

  Separating also made sense from a survival standpoint. Should one of the female creatures be detected or damaged during their lengthy metamorphoses, there would still be two left.

  On the downside, they weren't easy for the alpha male to find.

  "What was the date of the last complaint?" Nick asked Charlie.

  "Yesterday. I'll check again for any new complaints." He got up out of his chair and stretched. "Tomorrow. I'm beat and you look ready to drop at any second." He gathered his wallet and few personal possessions from the desk.

  Nick's spare bedroom had been converted into a makeshift communication center, complete with two computers, three monitors, a printer/scanner/fax machine, satellite TV, police scanner, and a few other pieces of high-tech equipment Nick didn't understand and thought Charlie might have obtained through questionable means.

  They could have passed for a covert government operation if not for the lack of weapons. Nick didn't bother with any save the ritual dagger, which he carried with him at all times concealed beneath his clothing.

  He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty, and he still hadn't heard from Gillian.

  She'd been gone all afternoon and evening, since he'd left her office. He knew because he'd sat on the steps of the building across from hers and waited until she left, fifteen minutes behind him. Then he drove by her condo building and when he didn't see her car parked in her assigned space, assumed she'd gone to Florence Prison.

  Nick had been out of line dropping the bombshell about Gillian's father the way he had, but if she were going to play Lois Lane

  to his Superman, she needed to know exactly what was at stake and what she was in for. Who better to tell her than her father, Jonathan's Synsar?

  "You want to crash here?" Nick hitched his chin at the futon couch in the corner buried under a mountain of research books, maps, newspapers, and magazines. "We can dig out a hole for you."

  "No thanks. I prefer to sleep on something more comfortable than a sack of potatoes."

  "Wimp. And you call yourself a Huntsman."

  "Former Huntsman. I passed the torch a long time ago. And into very capable hands, I might add."

  Nick clapped him on the shoulder. "I learned from the best."

  "And you'll do an equally good job training your replacement."

  He hoped so. The next Huntsman had not yet been revealed to him and with each passing day, he wondered if that was because he wouldn't defeat Cadamus.

  Picking up Charlie's map, he examined it again. "I'm going to head out later tonight. Check on the Iglisia de San Pedro and get the lay of the land."

  He could check on Gillian, too. Her condo wasn't far from the church.

  "Why don't you get some sleep instead? Running yourself ragged won't do anyone any good except Cadamus."

  "I'll think about it. Tomorrow is my last day of work, and I do have a full schedule." After that, he'd be fishing in Mexico, or so everyone at the station would think.

  He walked Charlie to the door of his apartment. "Be careful driving home."

  "Aren't I always?" Charlie grabbed his helmet hanging from the coat rack beside the door.

  Two minutes later, Nick heard the roar of Charlie's motorcycle.

  He decided to take a shower, then see if he was still in the mood to go adventuring afterward. The urge to confirm Gillian's safe arrival home hadn't abated, but he was feeling less and less like doing his Huntsman thing.

  Looking at his watch again, he swore. She could have driven to Florence and back twice in the time since visiting hours were over.

  He grabbed his cell phone and punched the speed dial number for her home. After one ring, he hung up. More than likely she was mad at him and wouldn't answer anyway. In which case, a face-to-face meeting would be better than a phone call.

  His shower lasted seven minutes, just long enough for the tiny hot-water heater his landlord refused to replace to run dry. Nick had no sooner turned off the spigots when he heard the whine of a motorcycle on the street outside. The driver-Charlie?-came to a stop beneath his window and revved the engine repeatedly. Sliding one pane open, Nick peered out the window, a rush of adrenaline chasing away his exhaustion.

  Unable to see anything, he slammed the window shut and reached for a towel. He was nearly done drying off when a knock sounded at his door. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he beat a path to the door, hollering, "Hang tight. I'm coming." Whatever had brought Charlie back must be important. Hand on the knob, he swung the door wide.

  And had the face-to-face meeting with Gillian he'd been hoping for.

  Good thing, too, because she looked ready to spit nails.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Where's Charlie?" Nick leaned sideways and looked past Gillian.

  "I don't know," she snapped.

  "Hmm," he mused. "I thought I heard a motorcycle."

  "You live above a sports bar. You must hear motorcycles all night."

&
nbsp; "True."

  Evidently fed up with small talk, she shouldered past him and into his apartment.

  "Come in," he said to her back, and shut the door, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Spitting nails or not, he was glad to see her. And if the price was a verbal lashing, he'd gladly pay it.

  For a while anyway.

  She spun around and gave him a cool once-over. "Get dressed."

  "Are we going someplace?" He moved away from the door.

  "I refuse to argue with you while you're wearing nothing more than a bath towel."

  "Mind telling me what we're arguing about so I know what to wear? A raincoat in case you're going to sling mud. Kevlar vest in case I have to dodge bullets."

  "You knew all along my father was Jonathan's Synsar."

  "Ah." Nick nodded. "Suit of armor."

  "Stop making jokes. This isn't funny."

  "No, it isn't," he said, sobering for her sake. "But if you don't mind, I'll stick with the towel. I get the feeling I'm going to need every available advantage in this argument."

  "I'm a psychologist, Nick. You have nothing on me when it comes to playing games."

  He could think of a few things he had on her, but those were more along the lines of bedroom games, not head games.

  Unfortunately, the scowl she aimed at him discouraged all notions of sex. Okay, not all, but most. Nick couldn't be in the same room as Gillian without imagining her naked, her legs spread wide, and him plunging

  "Why didn't you tell me my father was Jonathan's Synsar?"

  Adjusting the towel more securely around his waist, he headed toward the kitchen. "Some cappuccino?"

  "No, thanks." She dogged his heels. "Do you have something stronger?"

  "Beer? Wine? A stiff drink?"

  "Yes."

  He hadn't expected that. "Rocks or straight up?"

  "Rocks." She leaned her back against the counter and observed his every move without the slightest hint of sexual interest.

  So much for strutting around half naked.

  Opening a cupboard above the stove, he removed a bottle of Chivas Regal that Celeste had given him in the holiday gift exchange last year. Three years working together, and she had no clue he was a Bud man.

  He twisted the top off the unopened bottle and filled two tumblers, then added several cubes to each drink until the dark golden liquid reached the brim.

  Passing one of the drinks to Gillian, he said, "Cheers," and, raising his glass, took a swallow. The scotch whiskey went down nice and smooth, except for the slight burn at the end. "Not bad."

  Gillian knocked back half her drink in one gulp.

  "Wow. I'm impressed." Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Where'd you learn to handle hard liquor?"

  "Faculty cocktail parties." She set her glass down on the counter and fixed him with an unwavering stare. "I wasn't going to come here tonight."

  "I'm glad you did. I was worried about you."

  "I went to Florence." The alcohol hadn't mellowed her by any means. Her tone was as edgy as her movements.

  "So I gather. Did you find the answers you were looking for?"

  "Some. And came away with a whole set of new questions."

  Drink in hand, she strode into the living room and made herself comfortable on his couch. Maybe the alcohol had affected her after all, for she toed off her shoes and nudged them under the coffee table.

  Too bad she was still pissed at him because she made a delectable picture, sitting there with her skirt hiked up above her knees, her feet bare, and her long legs tucked up beside her on the couch.

  "Comfy?" He sat down next to her, adjusting his towel. She appeared less bothered by his lack of clothing. Too bad. It had been fun while it lasted.

  "Don't get any ideas," she snapped. "It's been a long day, and I'm tired."

  So was he. But not so tired his body didn't react to her proximity.

  "Why didn't you tell me about my father?" she repeated her earlier question.

  "It wasn't my place. And truth be told, I probably wouldn't have said anything if the female creature hadn't attacked you last night."

  "Is this some kind of family curse? Am I the latest in a long line of Synsars?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  "So why me?"

  "I think the Ancients pick someone who can be the most help to the Huntsman. Someone with strength or skill or knowledge. Whatever's needed. That individual is led to the Huntsman years before the alpha male appears."

  "You and I just met last week."

  "You met me last week. I've known you for twentyfive years."

  She appeared to consider that, so he gave her something else to mull over. "You probably think your research into the creatures stemmed from your mother's death and wanting to free your father from prison. What if, in fact, you were guided into researching them in order to help me?"

  She made a face. "You really buy into all of this mystical, magical, each-of-us-has-a-destiny-to-fulfill stuff."

  "Hell, yes, I do. Haven't you seen enough to believe it, too?"

  Rather than answer him, she polished off her drink and placed the empty tumbler on the coffee table. "What would you have done if my father hadn't told me about his relationship with Jonathan today?"

  "Honestly, I'm not sure."

  "Would you have told me?"

  "Would you have wanted me to?"

  "Yes."

  "Let me get this straight." Nick set his drink down on the coffee table next to Gillian's. "You wanted to learn about your father being Jonathan's Synsar, would have wanted me to tell you about him even if he hadn't, and yet you're mad at me. Me, the one who suggested you see your father in the first place. Am I the only one who doesn't see the logic in this?"

  "You lied to me."

  "I did no such thing."

  "You lied by omission."

  "I respected your father's right to tell you his story himself. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have pushed the issue, especially since it hasn't earned me any brownie points."

  "I'm glad you did," she said, still sounding a whole lot more mad than glad.

  "Then why the hell are you ragging on me? Come on, Doc," he needled when she didn't respond. "You're the expert on what makes people tick. Analyze yourself."

  "I think I've had enough." Gillian rose, remarkably steady for one who had just imbibed a full glass of eighty-proof alcohol, and straightened the front of her skirt.

  Nick stayed seated. "What say I take at stab at it? You're not mad. Not really. Anger is a defense mechanism. What you are is hurt. By your father and by me. If we cared about you, we would have told you the truth from the beginning. How'd I do, Doc?"

  She turned and started for the door. "You suck as a psychologist."

  He grasped her hand and held fast, stopping her in her tracks. "You're also confused. And scared. Scared of the danger involved in helping me, since one of the female creatures did almost kill you, and you're scared that you're not up to handling the responsibility that's been laid on you. I've had twenty-five years to accept my duty, to train for it. You've only had a week."

  "'A day," she said, her voice scratchy.

  "An afternoon."

  "My father says I can walk away. That you'll find someone else."

  "I don't want another Synsar." He tugged on her arm, unbalancing her, and she fell onto his lap. "I want you. I have since that first time I saw you coming out of the police station in the care of a woman officer. It was the day after your mother died. Jonathan took me to the station to see you. He told me you were William's daughter and about what happened to your mother."

  She squirmed to get away, but he was a whole lot stronger and pinned her arms to her sides.

  "There isn't one thing you're feeling right now that I haven't. Times fifty. Times a hundred. You ask yourself, why me? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

  "It's easier for you." She was breathing fast and hard, but some of the fight had gone out of her. "You believe."

  "So do y
ou." He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers, feeling the zing from that brief contact clear to his toes. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have come here tonight. That beautiful, intelligent, analytical mind of yours isn't ready to accept what your heart and soul know is true." He nuzzled her neck, then trailed light kisses along the ridge of her collarbone.

  "That's the biggest bunch of crap I've ever heard."

  She curled her arms around his neck, pulled him to her, and deepened the kiss. No longer resisting-him, at least; her fate was another matter-she arched against him, her low, throaty moans driving him wild.

  Sliding over onto the next cushion, he lifted her off his lap and deposited her on the couch so that she was half lying, half sitting with her back to the corner. Her eyes went wide with anticipation when he reached under her skirt and between her legs.

  "You're mine," he said, his hand fumbling to breech the barrier of her skimpy panties. "The Ancients chose you to be my Synsar." He gave up, ripped the thin fabric aside, and drove his fingers inside her. "But I chose you to be my lover. And you chose me. Don't ever forget that."

  "Yes. Oh, yes."

  She was hot and wet and so ready for him he thought he'd come right then and there.

  "You now know everything there is to know. There's no going back. If you stay with me tonight, you stay for good. Until the end."

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  Their gazes locked, and Nick felt his connection with her grow, solid and sure and unbreakable.

  "Good."

  Shoving her skirt up to her waist, he tugged her panties off, sliding them down the length of her legs and over those sexy bare feet of hers. His mouth went dry at the sight of her nakedness.

  God, she was so beautiful. And his.

  "You were sent to me, Gillian," he said, his hand caressing her belly, her neatly trimmed pubic hair, and the insides of her thighs. "Not because you're an authority on the creatures, or because of your father, or because you have a talent for stumbling on female creatures without trying." She gasped when his fingers probed her feminine folds and stroked her clitoris. "They sent you to me so that I'd have someone to fight for. Someone to live for. Someone to show me what life can be like when this is all over."