Blue Moon 2
Blacke and Blue
A serial killer called the Butcher of Bangor is terrorizing Maine. When the killing hits too close to home, Blue Moon sheriff Ian McDade is forced to bring in FBI Special Agent Trisha Blacke. Sparks fly high as she locks horns with the tall, intimidating Ian. Shockingly, she finds herself also burning with desire for his golden-eyed brother, Ger.
Ian, Trisha, and Ger come together in an intense, volatile affair, stealing passion between life and death. She needs Ian’s hard, hot brand of passion as much as Ger’s powerful, protective lovemaking. Through the haze of pleasure, she begins to suspect that Ian and Ger know more about the killings than they are letting on. Pieces of the puzzle start falling into place, one by deadly one.
Sheriff Ian McDade is protecting something…or someone, and the killer’s profile points directly at Ger. Can she stay alive long enough to catch the killer and save her heart from being broken forever?
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Vampires/Werewolves
Length: 78,150 words
BLACKE AND BLUE
Blue Moon 2
Fiona Blackthorne
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
BLACKE AND BLUE
Copyright © 2014 by Fiona Blackthorne
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-530-9
First E-book Publication: March 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
For Britt Behm. Wet noodle lasher extraordinaire, best sardonic cheerleader ever, story yoga guru, and one of the fiercest, most loyal, most loving people I know.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author
BLACKE AND BLUE
Blue Moon 2
FIONA BLACKTHORNE
Copyright © 2014
Chapter 1
The dense, dark pines sped by in a blur as Special Agent Trisha Blacke drove down State Road 73 in this godforsaken backwater of Maine.
“Turn left in five hundred feet,” announced the calm female voice on the GPS.
From there, it was fifteen miles to Elkville, Maine. That meant it was about twenty-five minutes until checking in at a cruddy motel, and thirty-seven minutes total until she logged into work.
Work this time was particularly gruesome. Seven bodies, all dumped along Interstate 95 around Bangor, had left investigators stumped. The Bangor Daily News hadn’t been at a loss, though, quickly dubbing this new dark celebrity, “The Butcher of Bangor.”
It was undeniable that the epithet fit. So far, seven bodies had been discovered, the flesh neatly sliced from the bones. It was as if they had literally been butchered. That had been one set of autopsy photos she hadn’t particularly enjoyed.
Not that she had ever enjoyed looking at the sad, terrible evidence of man’s true evil. She had managed to keep the cool, clinical distance necessary to be clear and analytical. There had even been a certain relish in staring down the grisly scenes and feeling the fight rise in her. She thrived on the fight, pitting her merciless analytical skills against the cunning and hubris of a killer.
Though, all of that was wearing thin now. Too many runaways and prostitutes dumped in the ditch, and too many men with brutal pasts thrashing about in a brutal present left no room for thought of the future.
She sighed as she pulled into the parking lot of the dingy motel. The sight of the worn siding, peeling doors, and polyester curtains in the windows did nothing to lift her spirits. The sight of the Buckner County sheriff’s cruiser parked in front of the motel office didn’t help either.
“Throwing down early,” she mumbled to herself, steeling herself to face the probably hostile cop. It was all part of the huge wall of resistance the Buckner County sheriff’s office had put up against getting any help from the FBI. They had only backed down when the governor’s office had stepped in and demanded cooperation.
A cheap bell tinkled overhead as Trisha pushed open the door.
“Welcome to Ocean Meadows Motel,” piped an elderly Vietnamese woman behind the Formica counter.
“Thanks,” Trisha said. “I’ve got a reservation. Trisha Blacke?”
“Make that Special Agent Blacke,
” a voice said from the back office. It was a deep, masculine voice than rang with authority.
Trisha’s nerves tingled to life, instinctively ready to fight.
The owner of the voice came through the door, and Trisha fought hard not to show any reaction. If she hadn’t had years of training keeping a poker face, her jaw would have been on the floor because the most crazily handsome man she had ever seen stood before her.
Her brain clicked through the stats. Caucasian male. 6’3”. 210 lbs. Highly developed musculature. Estimated age 35-42. Light brown hair. Hazel eyes. Three-inch scar on left cheek. Strong hands with well-groomed nails. Uniform perfectly pressed. Shoes polished. Devastating smile.
It was that rich, knowing smile that caused a completely unprofessional flutter in her stomach. She managed to maintain her coolly appraising expression without any betrayal of body language—no intake of breath, no glance down and to the left, no twitch of nostrils or shifting of weight.
Still, it had been a long time since a man had looked at her like that, and at a lonely, career-oriented forty-two, she found herself momentarily back at a hopeful eighteen.
Swallowing all of that back, Trisha extended her hand to the officer.
“Clearly you know who I am,” she said. “So, you are?”
“Sheriff Ian McDade,” the man replied, grasping her hand in a warm, hard grip.
“How do you do? Do you usually lie in wait for visiting agents?”
“We’ve never needed agents before. I don’t think we need them now.” Ian’s expression closed and grew cold, and Trisha felt back on familiar ground.
“If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that, I’d be retired by now.”
“No…no, I don’t think you would. You like your job.”
“Everyone’s a profiler.” She chuckled sarcastically. “I would be on an island with a tall, cold drink with an umbrella in it. You can trust me on that.”
“You want your room?” the old woman behind the counter interrupted, holding up a key and shaking it.
“Yes, thank you,” Trisha said, handing over her credit card and driver’s license.
“I’ll allow you to get settled, and then you will follow me to the station,” Ian said haughtily, shrugging on his coat. “It’s easy to get lost out here.”
“Excellent passive aggressive attempt at asserting dominance, Sheriff,” Trisha said with a smile that she usually reserved for the kill moment in the interrogation. “But, I have to check in with work and will meet you later. I believe our appointment was already set for four. Oh, and I have a GPS, so I can find the station just fine.”
“Whoa there, Agent Blacke. Call off the dogs. I was just trying to be helpful.”
“And I was born yesterday,” she shot back, taking the key and turning to leave.
She paused outside the office door to search for her car key, and she heard the elderly Vietnamese woman say, “She busted your balls, McDade.”
“Not just yet,” came the reply, sounding as if it had been spoken between clenched teeth.
Trisha smiled beatifically and went to her car to get her luggage.
* * * *
Ian McDade gulped down an aspirin and grimaced at the bitter taste on his tongue.
It was just about as bitter as his feelings toward the fucking FBI agent who was going to nose around and potentially ruin everything.
How the hell was he going to keep secret the fact that Blue Moon, Maine was a town full of werewolves? True, the last dump site had been in Elkville, but if you did even the most basic triangulation, you would see that the killer’s home base was Blue Moon. That brought up more problems in and of itself, but the main thing at this point was to get this goddamn FBI woman out of here.
Life was hard enough, trying to keep a crazy secret like the fact that his brother was born a werewolf, along with three-quarters of the male population of Blue Moon. Then add a ball-eating career woman with red hair, blue eyes, and full lips that should have been for kissing instead of kissing off, and everything was going haywire.
“Sheriff.” Deputy Luke Travers popped his head through the door of Ian’s office. “Agent Blacke is here.”
Ian glanced at his watch. It read 4:03 p.m., and he couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t run three minutes late just to play head games with him.
“Tell her I’ll be right there,” he replied.
Five minutes later, Ian ushered Trisha into the conference room that had been set aside for her use.
“Hope you’ll be comfortable here, Agent Blacke,” he said. “Even though it’s a bit rustic compared to what you’re used to.”
“You get used to a lot of things in this job,” she replied, the faintest hint of sarcasm flavoring her slightly raw, whiskey voice.
Ian had to hand it to her. She played a good game. Then again, he realized that twenty years of making a place for herself in what was still a man’s world had probably made her harder and tougher than most men. Better at the job, too.
Ian realized that he and Trisha were glaring at each other, and he tried out his patented sweet-talking-the-lady-witness smile to break the tension.
All he got in return, however, was a look of utter contempt.
“Hey, Ian! You there?”
Ian looked away to see his older brother Ger walking through the office. It was a common enough sight for the McDade brother to come around the station, and the deputies and administrative assistants all exchanged greetings with him.
Ger came into the conference room and clapped his brother on the shoulder with a grin. Just then, he noticed Trisha in the room, and his grin faded to an expression of downright amazement.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything,” Ger said. “Ger McDade.”
He held out his hand to Trisha, and Ian was floored to see Trisha look actually rattled by his brother’s unadulterated admiration.
“Trisha Blacke,” she replied, shaking his hand.
Ian felt sandbagged as he watched Ger hold onto Trisha’s hand as she tried to pull it away.
“If my brother is being an asshole,” Ger said, “promise me you’ll let me make it up to you over dinner.”
“Your brother and I have a perfect understanding,” Trisha said archly, sliding a glance at Ian that was like an emotional uppercut.
“Besides,” she added. “I’m not going to dinner or even to bed until I’ve got a handle on this killer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get my stuff from the car.”
Ian watched her leave the room, her trim figure visible to him even under the heavy gray wool coat she wore. He turned to Ger.
“Really?” he demanded. “Her?”
“Definitely her,” Ger said, smiling like he had just been handed a check for a million dollars. “You just can’t see it yet, but she is perfect for us.”
“She’s fucking FBI!”
“I know what I know.”
“Go take a cold shower, Ger. Leave her alone. She’s trouble. Between her and this damn butcher, I’m up to my eyebrows in shit, and I don’t need any from you.”
Ger shrugged and continued to grin. “Anyway, I just came by to let you know Mom is expecting us for dinner tonight.”
“No can do. I explained that to her this morning.”
“You gonna tell her that?”
“Yes! No. Hell.”
“She said seven sharp.”
“Right.”
“See if Trisha wants to come, too.”
“Down, boy. Put that tongue back in your head.”
“Whatever. Mark my words, Ian. Trisha Blacke is the woman we both need.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
Ian scowled at his golden-haired, golden-eyed brother as he grinned and strolled out. He loved his brother deeply, but sometimes the urge to beat the crap out of him was overwhelming. Then again, it was useless to even think about that because Ger’s supernatural strength meant that unless Ger threw the fight, Ian could never win.
Not that Ger was
much of a fighter. He was a gentle giant of a man, with strong hands that bore the scars of a lifetime of boatbuilding and carpentry. As a wolf, Ger was a huge golden animal with intense yellow eyes and big, rough paws, though his gentle nature seemed to permeate through even the most wolfish instincts.
For the millionth time in a lifetime, Ian wondered briefly what he would have been like as a wolf. On the whole, he was glad he wasn’t, even though it made him an oddity in Blue Moon. He was free to leave Blue Moon, day or night, whereas until just recently, no werewolf could leave the town between sundown and sunup. The werewolves of Blue Moon were consecrated to protecting the town against a plague of demons that had raged undiminished for four centuries. That war was over now, and the werewolf men of Blue Moon were cautiously learning to enjoy the freedom to expand their world.
Everything was changing in their world, and in Ian’s world as well. He wasn’t worried about his brother—much. He was worried about his mother, though, and well, that was a whole different can of fucked-up worms. And now he had a serial killer and a federal bloodhound on his hands. It was days like this when he wanted to crawl under the covers and go back to bed until everything was fine again.
“So,” Trisha said, coming back into the room, carrying a worn brown leather tote and a computer case. “Are we done swinging our dicks around to see whose is bigger? Can we actually get to work now on catching this son of a bitch?”
“Any time now, Agent Blacke. Any time now.”
“Excellent.”
Ian rolled his eyes to heaven and said a silent prayer for patience.
Chapter 2
Trisha looked up from the stack of reports she had been studying.
Blacke and Blue Page 1
