all fours. But the snow was thick and soft under her pads,
forcing her to bound rather than run, and the fear swelled.
She was running out of time. And so was Savannah.
She surged through the main gates and down into the
trees. The snow here was lighter, allowing her to pick up
speed. But the wind tore at her coat, and it felt like the ice
in the air was invading every pore. She was so cold it hurt
to move. Not even the thick winter coat of a wolf provided
much protection against the force of a storm like this.
She couldn’t yet see the lights of Ripple Creek, and
normally they would have been visible by now. The
fierceness of the storm was whiting everything out. She
leapt the stream and raced on, her heart slamming against
her rib cage and her tongue lolling as she battled for breath.
The minute she came out of the protection of the trees,
the wind hurled her sideways. She tumbled downhill,
gathering momentum until she smashed into a tree. She
yelped, and pain rose in a red tide through her body.
Neva?
The tremulous voice cut through the pain, blanketing
her mind, and joy swept through her. Sav, I’m coming.
She scrambled to her feet and, ignoring the ache in
her ribs, ran on. The smell of wood smoke and humanity
stung the freezing air. She was close to Ripple Creek, even
if she couldn’t yet see it.
There’s someone here.
Oh God. Who?
Confusion swirled through the link between them.
Savannah was holding on to consciousness by the
slenderest of margins, and if she slipped away, she’d die,
of that Neva was certain.
I don’t...Her voice faded away.
Savannah!
Here. But her reply was soft. Distant.
Neva raced down Main Street, suddenly glad for the
storm. At least she didn’t have to worry about traffic. What
do you smell? Tell me.
Age. Death. Antiseptic.
Sav didn’t realize she was in the hospital, obviously.
Look beyond that.
Sour milk.
Sour milk? What on earth did that mean? Give me
more, Savannah. You’re a wolf and a ranger. Use your
skills, damn it.
The link was silent for a long moment. Neva raced left
onto South King Street and saw the warm glow of lights
through the icy whiteness. She wasn’t that far away now.
I remember that smell. It belonged to the wolf who
attacked me.
Fear flashed though her, spreading like fire through
her body, lending her feet greater speed. He’s in the hospital
with you?
Not in the room. Sav hesitated. But close.
Can you see him?
No. Can’t see anything. Bandages.
Neva felt like cursing. The severity of the wounds on
her sister’s face had forced many painstaking hours of
microsurgery, and most of Savannah’s face and neck had
been bandaged.
Listen, then. What do you hear?
Footsteps. Coming closer.
She was never going to get there in time. Feel for the
buzzer, Savannah. Call the nurse.
It might be the nurse.
Not if she smells the same as the wolf who attacked
you. None of the nurses in the hospital smell like sour milk.
Neva changed shape as she raced through the
hospital’s main entrance. An almost overwhelming tide of
emotion hit her—not Savannah’s, not hers, just the misery
and pain of countless hospital patients, past and present,
lingering in the air. She slammed up her shields, but the
emotive swirl still seeped past, making her ache. And her
parents wondered why she refused to come to the hospital
much.
She continued on towards the stairs, knowing she
couldn’t afford to wait for the elevator. Not when the killer
was in the hospital and going after Savannah. Nurses
shouted after her, telling her to slow down, telling her
visiting hours weren’t for another two hours. She ignored
them and took the stairs two at a time.
She crashed through the door to the third floor corridor
and raced down the hall. There were nurses running ahead
of her, and fear surged. Both hers and Savannah’s.
Surely the murderer couldn’t have gotten to her sister.
Sav was still listed as critical, and no one but immediate
family was supposed to be allowed in the room. Down the
far end of the hall the exit door slowly closed. Was it the
killer retreating or someone else?
The nurses are here. He’s not. Savannah’s mind voice
was stronger. He’s left. Don’t give chase.
Like hell she wouldn’t. She was not only going to go
after him, but she was going to kill the bastard. Going to
grab his mind and fry his brain with emotion.
No! Savannah’s horror stung her mind.
He has to be stopped, Neva said grimly.
He has to face the weight of the courts, not be killed.
Neva snorted. Yeah, right. With good behavior he’d be
out in ten or less. That’s not enough punishment for what
he’s done.
I’m a ranger, Neva. I can’t condone vigilante behavior,
and I certainly can’t let you do this.
I made promises to the moon—
I don’t care. You can’t do this. I won’t let you.
Right now, you can’t stop me.
If you want to do something, follow his trail. But nothing
else. Promise me.
Neva hesitated under the weight of her sister’s fury.
Promise not to kill him! Sav all but yelled.
Neva winced and sighed. While she still so desperately
wanted to avenge what had been done to Savannah, she
also knew her sister was right.
All right. I promise. She slid to a stop outside her sister’s
room. There were two nurses inside, and Savannah was
waving her hand weakly at them and trying to get up.
Are you all right? Neva asked.
Yes.
Then lie down and lie still.
Damn it, you can’t do this—
Sister, you have no idea what I can and can’t do.
Believe me. Up until a few days ago, even she hadn’t been
aware of the extremes she’d go to in order to protect those
she loved.
Savannah’s sigh was a warm breeze through Neva’s
mind. Just make sure you don’t get too close.
Neva’s smile was grim. She didn’t have to get close to
use her empathic abilities. All she had to do was find him.
And she’d keep her promises—both of them. The killer
would experience the pain he’d inflicted on Savannah and
the others, but she wouldn’t kill him.
And part of her was extremely glad of that fact.
She continued on and pushed open the exit door.
Footsteps rattled down the steps below her, and the smell
of sour milk stung the air. She leaned over the railing,
briefly catching sight of a lone figure with black hair
wearing a white coat—the sort of coat doctors wore. Then
the door below opened, and he was gone. She raced down
the stairs and flung open the lobby
door.
No white-coated male to be seen anywhere. She sniffed
the air and followed the scent toward the exit. The doors
swished open, and the chill of the storm swept in. She
shivered and headed out, even though there was no hope
of finding a scent in this sort of weather. She did find the
coat in the trash can near the entrance and saw a trail of
footsteps leading away. She followed for a little while, but
they were quickly obliterated by the storm.
Cursing, shivering, she headed back to the hospital
to talk to her sister.
***
Duncan leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes
as the words on the computer screen began to blur. He’d
only been sitting here for a couple of hours, but he’d had
little more than an hour’s sleep in the last twenty four,
and probably three or four in the last forty-eight. He had
to be getting old. Once upon a time he could have gone
four or five days on that amount of sleep.
The phone beside the computer rang. He swiveled the
chair and rested his feet on the edge of the desk as he
picked up the receiver.
“Duncan Sinclair,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“Lance here. Got those search results you wanted.”
Lance Wilton was a computer geek he’d met while
whiling the days away in jail. Lance was a hacker beyond
compare, but he’d liked to drink just a little too much
and had very few qualms about driving when drunk. He’d
ended up almost killing someone and, in the end, had
landed in prison for five years.
“That was quick work.”
“Hey, you saved my life by getting me this dream of a
job. It’s the least I can do.”
Duncan smiled. Lance’s dream job was developing
software for Tye’s small but profitable company. Being
stuck in front of a computer screen for long hours was
not a job he would have considered a dream, but he’d
always been a wolf who preferred work that gave him the
freedom to roam.
“Did you come up with any connection among the four
victims?”
“Other than the fact they all lived in Ripple Creek and
were regular attendees of the dance, no.”
“What about Levon Grant? Anything interesting on
him?”
“He’s squeaky clean. No police record, never even had
a parking ticket. School records show he was a middle
range student who didn’t live up to the potential he
showed. He apparently hated sports, but loved debating.
Never did drugs or alcohol, but was an outspoken advocate
in saving oneself for marriage.”
The word boring came to mind, but then, most of the
wolves from the golden tribe tended to be. It was only the
current generation who were starting to break the leash
of control and at least enjoying life—and the dance. Though
some, like Neva, were doing so more reluctantly than
others.
“What about Nancy Grant?”
“Ah, now there’s a totally different proposition.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. Holier-than-thou Nancy
had a past? “Why?”
“Nancy was born and raised on the Bitterroot
Reservation over in Idaho. She was an A-grade student
until she got in with the wrong crowd, and as a sixteen-
year-old was part of a pack that raided the Sinclair
stronghold over there and burned it to the ground.”
Though he’d been too young to remember it happening,
he could recall reading about it in later years. Thirteen
people had died that night, and many more were injured.
“Was she charged?”
“No. Word is her father slipped a lot of cash to the
right people, and a blind eye was turned. She was sent to
relatives in Ripple Creek, and that’s how she met Levon.”
“Anything since then?”
“Quiet as a mouse.”
Did that mean her involvement with the raid had
merely been a one-time prank that had gone horribly
wrong? Or did the anger that had led to the raid still
simmer deep inside? “Did you find any connection between
Nancy and the four murdered women?”
“None. But you’d probably uncover more by talking to
her relatives in that respect.”
Probably. Only he very much doubted whether her
relatives would tell him the time of day right now. Which
left him with Neva—and she certainly wasn’t going to tell
him anything willingly. “Nothing else on either of them?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t already know.”
He hesitated. “You want to check into the Bitterroot
raid a bit more? See if you can get names and perhaps
trace what has happened to those who were charged?” It
was always possible one or two of the others had recently
gathered in Ripple Creek and old prejudices had flared. It
was certainly a link worth exploring.
“Sure. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks for your help, Lance.”
“No prob.”
Duncan hung up, then glanced across at the window
as the glass rattled. The Ripple Creek Special had well
and truly hit. They’d only get the diehards at the dance
tonight, that was for sure.
He looked at the computer screen again, then grimaced
and reluctantly continued his search. He’d spent most of
his time this morning going though the online news.
Something must have triggered the start of these murders
three weeks ago, and if it was at all newsworthy, it would
be mentioned in one of the papers somewhere. A long shot,
but one worth trying. He had very little else to try right
now—at least until his father got those test results back
from the samples Martin had taken from Betise. Talking
to his brothers again had provided nothing new in the
way of clues.
He worked his way through the remainder of last
week’s news reports for last week and was just about to
give up when he caught sight of a small photo that looked
horribly familiar. Something clenched in his gut as he
enlarged the image.
Neva. In a ranger’s uniform.
Impossible. There was no way on this Earth she was a
ranger.
He glanced down at the name under the caption.
Savannah Grant. Neva’s sister—twin sister, if this photo
was anything to go by. And now that he knew, he could
see the slight differences. Neva’s mouth was slightly lusher,
the look in her eyes less analytical, and her hair longer.
He quickly read the accompanying article. Savannah
had been attacked and left in critical condition while
continuing investigations at the scene of the last murder.
Her attacker and the murderer were believed to be one
and the same.
Which meant it was more than possible Neva was here
to find her sister’s attacker, not spy on what he was doing.
And if that were the case, they’d been working on the same
side all along, despite his conclusions to the contrary.
He swore softly and rubbed a hand across his e
yes.
What a goddamn mess. He stared at the photo a few
seconds longer, then thrust up from the chair. It was time
he got some answers, and if she wasn’t forthcoming, he’d
force them out her. She already loathed him, so it didn’t
really matter anymore.
He strode down the silent corridors, unable to believe
no one had bothered mentioning the fact that Neva had a
sister who was a ranger. A sister who was lying critically
ill in the hospital. But then, maybe his father and brothers
had presumed he knew.
Nor could he believe she’d go to such lengths to track
down her sister’s attacker. To come to the dance and give
herself willingly to pleasure when it went against
everything she’d ever believed in was an incredible act of
selflessness. And, in many ways, also incredibly stupid.
The killer had almost overwhelmed her sister—a trained
ranger. What made Neva think she’d fare any better?
But if it was the killer who’d attacked Savannah, then
that surely crossed Nancy Grant’s name off the suspect
list—or would, if they’d actually had a list of suspects.
She might be against the dance, but there was no way
she’d attack her own daughter. Not from what he’d seen
of her, anyway.
Which led him to another question—why did Neva
believe the killer was here at the mansion? What
information had her sister given her?
The wind whistled icily around his ankles as he entered
the old section, and he frowned. It felt like there was a
door open somewhere. These halls were normally cold,
but not this cold. Or windy.
He opened the door to his suite only to be greeted by a
snow storm. He cursed loudly and made his way into the
bedroom, where the storm seemed to be originating. Neva
wasn’t there. And the French doors were wide open. He
swore again and walked out onto the snowbound balcony.
She’d gone, and if the depth of snow inside the bedroom
was any indicator, she’d left at least an hour ago. He swept
his gaze across the swirling whiteness and knew something
bad must have happened for her to leave in a storm like
this. And that something undoubtedly involved her twin.
If she was willing to risk her reputation and her
relationship with her parents to find the man who’d
attacked her sister, this storm certainly wouldn’t provide
much of a challenge.
Arthur, Keri - Beneath a Rising Moon.txt Page 15
