The big stumbling block was the reluctance of John Denby, the sheriff, to admit this could be the Chupacabra. As if just mentioning the beast would bring it to life right in their midst, but denying it could make it go away. The sheriff was torn between looking for some crazed killer and calling in the local game warden. Jonah was well aware he couldn’t just hang around here indefinitely without drawing unwanted questions. He’d have to go to Plan B, which at the moment he didn’t have.
He had just decided to order some breakfast when he saw Denby walk in with one of his deputies. The day after he’d landed in Eagle Pass, Jonah had introduced himself to the sheriff as a writer following stories about the Chupacabra and asking about the killings. Denby hadn’t been very receptive and had given him only what he’d passed along to the media.
Now the man looked around, waved and smiled at a few people, but when he spotted Jonah he and the other man headed straight for the table.
“Morning, Sheriff.” Jonah nodded at him.
“Morning.” He pointed to the man standing beside him. “Meet Enoch Brazile, one of my deputies. Okay if we join you here?”
“Sure.” He studied Denby. “Something special on your mind?”
The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat opposite Jonah. Enoch Brazile took the chair next to him. No one said anything until the waitress had brought two more coffee mugs and served all around. Denby took his time stirring sweetener into his coffee, seemingly fixated on the contents of the mug. Brazile looked as if he’d like to make himself invisible, quite a trick for a man at least six-five and built like a pickup truck.
Denby took a slow sip of his coffee and set the mug down carefully on the table.
“I’m still not near convinced that the dead hunters and the deer aren’t the work of one of the feral hogs that run loose out there.”
“You know the killer’s not human,” Jonah said, watching the man carefully.
Denby nodded. “A human would have left some kind of tracks. Also, I don’t see how anyone could have gotten into that preserve without the owner knowing about it. He has men who patrol the area constantly while the hunters are out there, making sure everyone’s okay.”
“How long had it been since the last time anyone checked on those hunters?”
Denby made a face. “About three hours. The hunters go out while it’s still dark to set up and the workers give them that much time before they start checking on them. Don’t want to scare off the deer. But it’s still unlikely a human could have scaled that ten-foot, steel fence and gotten out without leaving some kind of track behind.” He took off his hat, rubbed his forehead and put the hat back on. “So. You say you’ve been chasing this thing called the Chupacabra for some time.”
Jonah nodded. Had his cover sprung a hole and leaked? No, not possible. Craig Stafford never made mistakes. He waited to see what was really on the sheriff’s mind.
“You asked if we’d had any other incidents like that around here recently and I told you no,” Denby said.
“Yes, you did.” Jonah kept his face blank.
“Well, Enoch here reminded me that about six months ago two of his neighbor’s dogs were killed the same way.” He shifted his eyes to the deputy, then back to his coffee. “At the time we chalked it up to coyotes. Despite what you might think,” he added defensively, “we do have coyotes around here and they do kill small animals.”
“I don’t disagree with you, Sheriff. But the Chupacabra kills in a specific way. Puncture wounds in the neck, blood drained from the body and often the body ripped open and the entrails lying outside the body cavity.”
He had to school himself to keep his voice uninflected. Every time he revisited this description it called up the image of Jenna lying on her backyard lawn, savagely destroyed. He didn’t think the pain of that would ever go away.
“I hate to admit this to a civilian,” Denby said in a tight voice, “but I’m at a loss here. We’ve checked and rechecked the scene where the hunters were found. Took a zillion photos. It looks like a coyote kill but no paw prints around the bodies.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “No prints at all except the hunters and the deer. And the bodies were destroyed the same way the dogs were. And no prints.”
“We thought with the dogs it was because we hadn’t had rain in a long time,” Enoch broke in, “and the ground was too hard for impressions. But like the sheriff said, it was the same with the latest kills.”
Both men looked as if they’d swallowed vinegar. As a former lawman himself, Jonah knew how difficult it was to admit to a civilian you could been mistaken and that person might have something to contribute.
“That’s been pretty much the situation with all the cases I’ve researched,” Jonah told him in an even voice. Excitement bubbled up deep inside him and he clamped a lid on it. They’d been right. This was definitely a kill by the devil beast. All the signs pointed to it.
“Well,” Denby went on, “Enoch was talking to his neighbor last night and now we’re wondering if it might not have been that damn Chupacabra after all.” He shifted in his seat. “Anyway, we were wondering—Enoch and me, that is—if you might like to talk to his neighbor. If you’ve been writing articles about it you might be able to give us some more insight.”
“Yeah.” Enoch finally entered the conversation, his tone slightly defensive. “Sorry we gave you such a hard time the other day.”
Jonah just tipped his head politely. He’d been too many years in the FBI not to know how lawmen felt about nosy civilians, and he had no intention of telling these people about his background. That would completely defeat his purpose. When billionaire Craig Stafford formed Night Seekers, pulling people from every aspect of law enforcement—public, private, state, federal—one of the caveats for each of them was to bury their past. The eight men and women, who each brought different skills to the team, moved forward as private citizens, hunting for the kill. The eradication of the devil beast.
As a shifter, like several of the other Night Seekers, he was able to hunt at night as the wolf. But so far that had proved fruitless. He’d lost the scent and hadn’t been able to pick it up again.
He shook himself mentally and dragged his mind back to the conversation. John Denby was looking at him as if he expected an answer to something.
“Yes. I’d like to talk to the man. If you can arrange it, that would be great.”
Denby took another swallow of his coffee. “I…um…wouldn’t mind showing you the photos of the bodies. If you’re still interested.”
Yes! At last!
“Thanks, Sheriff. That would be a big help.”
“And if you have any information you’d like to share, we’d appreciate it.” Denby shifted uncomfortably. “You know, from some of your research. I know you writers do a lot of digging around.”
Aha! So that was it. They had no answers and were hoping he could give them some. Denby looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. He hadn’t impressed Jonah as the type to ask anyone for anything. This was his territory and he was going to run things whatever way made him comfortable. Obviously giving credence to the Chupacabra was not high on his list. A sort of “deny it and it goes away” philosophy.
But the gossip in town had been escalating. Jonah picked up the rising undercurrent every day in the café so he was sure Denby was getting unwanted pressure.
He studied the sheriff, curious about his remark. “You think I could have found something you didn’t?”
“You said you’d been digging up information on other so-called cases. Maybe there’s something there that could be helpful to us.” He frowned. “Unless you have some reason for not sharing it with us.”
Jonah smiled. He could feed them just enough to keep them interested and on track, but the rest he’d keep to himself. “No problem.” he agreed.
“How about if we do this right now?” Enoch asked. “My neighbor’s home and said he’d talk to you and I don’t want to take a chance he’ll change his mind.”
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br /> “Then let’s get to it.” Breakfast could wait.
Jonah picked his Stetson up from the chair and clamped it on his head, dropped some bills on the table for his coffee and followed the two men toward the door. He was about to step out onto the sidewalk when he nearly bumped into a customer coming in.
“Sorry,” he murmured, then looked up to see who it was he’d nearly mowed down.
Her! The cabin woman!
Shit!
He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get out of the way. In daylight she was even more ravishing. Sunlight picked up the reddish glints in the rich black color of her hair. Today it was plaited in a braid and hung down her back, tiny wisps escaping and framing her face. And what a face! High cheekbones stood out in flawless skin, and eyes so brown they were almost black looked out from thick fringes of lashes.
When her eyes met his, an arrow of heat shot through him with the force of a thunderbolt, and he stepped back as if physically bombarded. What the hell? For a long moment they were frozen in place, eyes locked, some invisible essence passing between them.
“Grey?” Denby’s voice broke into his consciousness. “You coming?”
Jonah let out a slow breath, and touched the brim of his. “Sorry. I need to pay more attention to where I’m going.”
“Me, too.”
The soft sound of her voice reminded him of water siding over smooth stones. He had to concentrate to keep his cock from pushing against his jeans and giving him an embarrassing hard-on in public. Something was going on here and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what. He had a mission. That was his focal point. Not this woman. When he tracked the area around her cabin again he’d do well to remember that.
Then she was past him into the restaurant and he was out on the sidewalk with the two men.
“You can leave your truck at my office and then ride with me and Enoch,” Denby said. “Or follow us. Suit yourself.”
Jonah glanced at the sheriff’s SUV. A barrier of mesh was fastened between the front and back seats, protection for when he transported prisoners.
“Thanks, but I’ll follow.”
A ghost of a grin traced itself over Denby’s lips before he and Enoch Brazile got into their vehicle. Jonah started up his truck, pulled up behind them and followed them down Main Street through town.
The county car pulled up eventually at the end of a street near the edge of town. Jonah parked behind them, noting the neatly kept houses and the wide yard. Not expensive real estate but very well kept. And probably trouble-free with Deputy Brazile in residence.
He climbed out of his truck, followed the two lawmen through the gate in the cyclone fence and up onto the front porch. The man who answered the door was middle-aged and thin, but still muscular with leathery skin. And his blue eyes were still as sharp as any Jonah had ever seen. Good. This wouldn’t be someone given to evading questions or brushing them off.
“Larry Forman.” His eyes darted nervously from face to face but he shook hands with everyone and gave Enoch a half-smile. Then he looked at Jonah. “The writer, are you? I guess y’all want to come in and talk to me.”
He led the way into a small, well-kept living room. After some foot shuffling John Denby took one of the armchairs. Jonah surreptitiously slid one hand into his jeans pocket to turn on his miniature recorder before sitting down on the couch. Enoch Brazile stood near the door. Guarding his neighbor’s welfare, Jonah figured.
“Can I get anyone some coffee?” Forman fidgeted, looking as if he suddenly wished he hadn’t agreed to this.
“No, thanks, Larry.” Denby’s smile was more strained than reassuring. “Why don’t you just sit down and give us the short version of what happened here.”
Forman shrugged and sat on the edge of the other armchair. He wet his lips and looked at Jonah.
“All right, then. Enoch and me were talking yesterday,” he began, “and we finally decided to just tell you what happened and see what you thought. Being as you’ve been researching all this stuff. I mean, after those hunters were killed I got to thinking about my dogs…”
Jonah deliberately pitched his voice low. “Just say it as it comes to you,” he encouraged. “Nothing fancy. I know you’re still upset so take your time.
“I loved those dogs,” he said. “Had ’em since they were pups. They were damn good dogs.”
“I’ll attest to that,” Enoch added. “Never a nuisance or a minute of trouble.”
“Did you always keep them outside?” Jonah asked.
“Inside and out. But always outside at night unless it was freezing. They were good watchers.” A look of pain flashed across his face.
“So what happened that particular night?”
Forman rubbed a hand over his face. “I’d turned out the outside lights and headed off to bed. Must have been, oh, I guess about midnight. It was warm and I’d been just sitting out on the back porch a while.” He looked at the deputy. “Chewing the fat with Enoch.”
The deputy nodded. “It was quiet in the neighborhood. Most everyone around here gets up for work early so during the week it’s lights out by then.”
Jonah just nodded and motioned for Forman to continue.
“So I went inside. There hadn’t been a damn thing stirring outside. Fell asleep pretty quick. Then the dogs’ barking woke me.”
“What time?” Jonah asked. “Do you remember?”
“Yeah. A little after three. I looked out the bedroom window but the barking stopped and I couldn’t see anything. No moon that night.”
The attacks were always in full darkness, Jonah reminded himself.
“Anyway, I got my shotgun out of the closet, opened the back door a little, looked out. Nothing. Couldn’t even see the hounds.” He rubbed his face again. “I cocked the rifle, figuring the sound alone could scare off someone if they was there. Tiptoed out to the porch.” He closed his eyes. “Then I saw the dogs. Jesus, I’ll never forget that sight ’til the day I die.”
“He called me right away,” Enoch Brazile said. “He was so upset he could hardly get the words out. But when I got over here I saw, sure enough, those dogs were dead.”
“Throats punctured, blood drained.” The pain in Forman’s voice was like a sharp razor. “And their guts was yanked out lying beside them. I still have nightmares about it.”
Jonah frowned. “How much time do you think passed from when you first heard the barking and you actually got downstairs?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe ten minutes. It took me a little bit to wake up, then get the shotgun and load it. I don’t keep it ready because this is a pretty safe neighborhood.” He glanced at Brazile. “Especially with Enoch living here and all. Besides, when the barking stopped, I figured it was just some little varmint running through the yard.”
So. Maybe fifteen minutes total. Time to get into the yard, kill the dogs and scram. What kind of creature could appear in a neighborhood like this and kill so quickly, then get away clean?
He looked a Forman. “Would you mind showing me your yard?”
“Sure. No problem. Nothing to see there now, anyway.”
He was right. The backyard was medium size and well kept. No flowers but some natural shrubs that looked as if Forman tended to them regularly. Jonah let his gaze roam over the entire landscape, including the houses on either side and the one whose backyard touched Forman’s. A nice peaceful scene. And no dogs.
“Were you the only one here who kept pets?” Jonah asked.
Forman shook his head. “No, but after this happened the few people on this street who did have them started keeping them in the house.”
Jonah stepped off the porch and prowled the yard, conscious of everyone watching him. Six months after the fact he didn’t even know what he expected to find. Not even a trace of a scent remained.
Damn.
“Mind if I take some pictures?” he asked.
“Help yourself,” Forman told him. “Nothing to see, though.”
�
��Thanks. I promise not to identify the place to the public.”
He pulled a miniature camera from his shirt pocket and snapped a series of shots. He’d have to go back to the cabin in the daylight and do the same thing there, too. If he could lay out all the pictures together maybe he could get some idea of how the creature approached so undetected and got away so quickly.
When he was finished he climbed back onto the porch and shook Forman’s hand. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”
“I didn’t find any animal prints,” Forman blurted out. “Neither did the sheriff. So how the hell does some animal get in here, kill this fast and get away without leaving a trace?”
“That’s something I’d like to know, too,” Jonah told him.
“No one wants to admit it’s that devil beast,” the man said. “Seems as if just saying it makes it real. And making it real scares the shit out of everyone.”
“I understand that. Maybe with my research I can help the police either catch it or kill it. We’ll see.”
Yeah, right. If anyone does the killing it will be me.
“Let’s go on back to my office and put our heads together,” Denby said. “I’m anxious to see what you’ve got.”
Jonah swallowed a comeback. At least now they were willing to share.
But two hours later they didn’t seem to be much farther ahead. Jonah brought in the folder of pictures from his truck that Night Seekers had provided for him, along with descriptions of several crime scenes. In return John Denby gave him copies of the recent crime scene photos and of the reports themselves, including the gruesome autopsy.
“The thing that’s similar in all of them,” Jonah said, looking up from the conference table where they had everything spread out, “is the complete ability of the killer to appear and disappear without a trace. It’s definitely an animal of some sort, because no way could a human do this without leaving something.”
Lust Unleashed (Night Seekers, Book One) Page 3
