foot to the other. How long does it take to open a damn
window?
Though he didn’t look around, his amusement spun
through her. I spent time in jail for being drunk, not
breaking and entering. Don’t expect any speed records
here.
She sighed impatiently and looked around. They were
standing in the small alley that ran the length of the block
behind the row of shops. Around them were Dumpsters
loaded to overflowing, and the powerful smell hung on
the crisp air. Behind them was a row of houses, and the
warm glow peeking past blinds indicated most of the
occupants were home. They had to be quiet, and they had
to be careful.
She wished she was home. In bed. With Duncan.
Her gaze drifted past the snow-capped rooflines to the
snow-filled sky. The moon was lost to the night, but she
didn’t need to see it to know it was rising high. The power
of it thrummed through her veins. Made her ache to be
touched, to be loved.
By one man, not many.
She bit her lip and wished she could reach out to
Savannah and discuss the confusion of her feelings. But
she couldn’t, not when they were about to break into
Betise’s salon. Sister or not, Savannah would send her
deputies around to stop them.
There was a soft click, and Duncan sighed in relief.
I’m glad I was never forced to be a thief. It’s too damned
difficult.
He opened the window, then cupped his hands. She
stepped into them and grabbed the sill, pulling herself
through and landing on the floor on the other side in an
ungainly heap.
You okay?
Yep. She picked herself up and stepped to one side,
dusting off her jeans as she did so.
Duncan quickly joined her. Looks like we’re in the back
storeroom.
We are. She walked out the door and headed across
to the chair she’d sat in earlier. The cup is gone.
Thought it might be. He shrugged and began opening
drawers.
She watched him for a minute, her hands on her hips,
then said, What are you looking for?
Don’t know. But I’m sure she’s up to something. I’m
just not sure if it’s connected to the attacks. Searching
through her stuff can’t hurt.
It could if any of the rangers happened past. She
glanced around for a second then headed over to the
reception desk and sat down. The computer was off and
turning it on was too much of a risk, especially if they had
to get out in a hurry. The last thing they wanted was to
leave a brightly-shining calling card in the form of a
glowing computer screen. She opened the drawers and
shuffled through them. There wasn’t much to find, beyond
the usual stationary items and a couple of masks in the
last drawer. She leaned back in the chair, staring at shelves
lined with hair products. Faces stared back at her. Plastic
faces. “Wigs,” she said into the silence.
Duncan looked up. “What?”
“Wigs. On the shelf.” She rose and walked over.
“So?”
She plucked the black one free and rubbed the hair
between her fingertips. “Savannah said they’d found black
hair on several of the victims. Why couldn’t the killer have
been wearing a wig?”
“Are the wigs made of real hair?” He stopped beside
her and felt the wig, his fingers brushing hers and sending
little shocks of electricity up her arm.
“They feel like it.”
“Perhaps you should pluck a few hairs and get your
sister to compare them.”
She glanced at him. “Betise doesn’t own the only salon
in town.”
“No. And if the killer is wearing a wig, he’s probably
got one of his own. I doubt he’d be using one of these. But
we’ve got nothing to lose by taking the chance.”
She plucked a couple of hairs, then carefully replaced
the wig and went into the back to find a plastic bag while
Duncan continued his search through the rest of the
drawers.
“Nothing,” he said after a few moments.
“That’s not really surprising,” she replied, walking back
into the main room. “If she is up to something, she wouldn’t
be stupid enough to leave evidence of it lying around here
with people coming in and out all day.”
“No.” He sat on the edge of the desk and flicked through
the appointment book. “Looks like the victims were
customers of hers.”
She frowned. “No, they weren’t.”
He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Their names
are in the book. The last victim saw her two days before
she died.”
She looked over his shoulder. The name was there in
black and white. “She told me she didn’t know any of
them.”
“Then she lied. I wonder why?”
“Maybe she didn’t want the hassle of dealing with the
rangers.”
“Maybe.” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across
her lips, his eyes bright with the same hunger that stirred
her blood. “I think we’d better head on to her place and do
a little more investigating.”
It was last thing she wanted to do, especially when
his taste still lingered so enticingly on her mouth. Her
wolf was definitely off the leash, and she suspected there
was no going back to the way things had been before she’d
foolishly walked into the mansion thinking she could
control both the moon and her own responses. In the space
of a couple of days, just about everything had changed,
and she wasn’t sure whether to be happy about that or
not.
She stepped away, allowing him to brush past. They
climbed out the window then Duncan slid his knife along
the edge, knocking the catch back into place again.
“What about our footprints?” she asked, staring at
the deep imprints they were leaving in the snow.
He grabbed the snow-laden lid off the nearby trash
can and dumped the snow onto the telltale prints near
the window. Then he kicked the bin over, scattering the
rubbish around the door, covering the rest of them. “Let’s
get back to the—”
He stopped. Across the night came the sound of car
engine drawing close. Neva met his gaze. “You don’t
think...?”
“We can’t take the chance that it’s not. Shift shape
and jump the fence.”
She did, barely clearing it, her belly scraping across
the rough top edges. Leaping from a standstill had never
been one of her fortes. She was too small to get any great
height. She landed lightly and padded along the fence line
until she found a gap in the wood. Lights speared the
darkness, twin beams of brightness that lit the alley and
highlighted the rubbish hiding their prints. A red car
cruised into sight, stopping close to the salon’s back door.
Betise climbed out, cursing softly and kicking away a soda
<
br /> bottle as she headed for the entrance.
Duncan stopped beside Neva, his silver coat blending
with snow. I’m surprised she’s not already at the mansion.
The dance has been going for a good two hours.
Maybe she’s not going to the dance.
Betise is an addict. I doubt she can stop.
She looked at him. He was as powerful in wolf form as
he was in human, and his eyes glowed like black glass.
Are you an addict?
Once, he admitted. But no more.
Why?
He shrugged. I grew tired of the chase. Tired of much-
used flesh.
That’s not a very nice thing to say.
His amusement spun around her. But true.
So you chased me because I was new to the dance?
Yes.
So I could have stood there fully clothed, and you still
would have come after me?
Yes.
Damn. Wish I’d known that.
I’m glad you didn’t. It’s not often I get to enjoy the sight
of a nubile nymph playing in the fountain.
And it’s not a sight you’re likely to see again. That
water was freezing. She glanced toward the salon as Betise
came back out. She appeared to be carrying something
small, but from this angle, Neva couldn’t see what it was.
I can’t see it, either.
She glanced at him. It could be the masks I saw in the
drawer.
Maybe, he commented. But it might be worth following
her, just to see what she’s up to.
What about searching her house?
We can’t risk going there until we know she’s going to
be gone for a while.
She’s likely to notice a car tailing her.
But not a pair of wolves. In this snow, she can’t go
very fast, so we should be able to keep up.
Maybe you can, she grumbled. I’ve got shorter legs,
remember.
He grinned, and in wolf form, it was a fearsome sight.
Legs I wouldn’t mind wrapped around me right now.
That conjures some weird damn images when we’re
in wolf form.
I don’t care what form you’re in. You’re beautiful either
way.
She studied him a little warily. Okay, what are you
after? You’re being entirely too nice all of a sudden.
His amusement spun through her mind, as warm as
sunshine. I’m a wolf and the moon is rising—what do you
think I want?
You can get that without being nice.
He gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. Maybe you’re
just seeing the real me.
Yeah, right. If the man was basically nice, he wouldn’t
have the reputation he had.
People change, Neva. My reputation was earned a long
time ago. His mental tones were flat, but the air burned
with the flash of his anger.
But you’ve more than lived up to it with me, haven’t
you?
He didn’t say anything, and the swirl of his emotions
died. Had he been in human form, she very much
suspected the shutters in his eyes would be up again.
Betise started her car and cruised off slowly. Duncan
stepped back several paces. Keep close.
He leapt the fence, clearing it easily. She followed,
scraping her belly a second time. She’d be bruised in the
morning for sure. They loped after the car, keeping it in
sight easily enough. Duncan had been right—Betise wasn’t
able to drive very fast with all the snow coating the road.
The car headed east along Main Street until they’d
reached the outer limits of Ripple Creek, then it turned
south into Mayflower Street. It was a back road, rough
and narrow, and the wash of warm light from the
streetlights behind them quickly gave way to darkness.
Houses were few and far between out here, and the silence
was almost eerie. A shiver rippled across her skin. Anyone
coming out to this wild and lonely section of town at this
time of night was surely up to no good.
From up ahead, mingling with the purr of the engine,
came the bubbling rush of Hunter’s River, the biggest of
the two rivers that flowed though Ripple Creek. This road
crossed it then took a long loop back to Main Street. Where
in hell was Betise going? And why?
Neva lolled out her tongue, trying to catch more air as
she concentrated on running in the tire tracks, where the
going was easier. Loping long distances was all well and
good when you had long legs and were fit, but the longest
distance she’d ever run was between the diner and home
last year when she was late for a date. A date that hadn’t
been worth the effort of getting ready, let alone running.
Which was basically the story of her dating life—at
least until she’d decided to seduce Duncan. And while
they weren’t dating, they were certainly dancing. She had
to wonder how she was ever going to find a man who could
do to her the things Duncan had done to her. A man who
could make her feel the way he’d made her feel.
But what, exactly, did she feel? And did she really
want to acknowledge those feelings, given the fact he was
leaving? Perhaps it was better not to know. Not to examine
too closely. Otherwise she might just end up getting hurt.
The sound of bubbling water got stronger, and the
car’s bright lights picked out the old wooden bridge from
the surrounding darkness. Betise slowed, easing the car
onto the narrow bridge before stopping in the middle.
Stay here, behind the car, Duncan ordered. I’m going
forward a little to see what she’s doing.
Be careful. I don’t like the feel of this.
Neither do I.
He padded forward, his silver coat blending with the
snow, making him difficult to see. A second later there
was a small splash, then the car began to creep forward
again.
She’s thrown something in the water, Neva guessed.
That she has. I’m going in to retrieve it. He hesitated.
You want to keep following her? We can’t afford to lose her
right now.
Will you be all right? The water is freezing.
In wolf form I won’t feel it as much. Go, before we lose
her. Just make sure you keep out of sight.
Like she needed to be told that. Biting back her
annoyance, she loped over the bridge and followed the
tire tracks.
Betise made her way back to Main Street, turned left,
then headed back to the undoubtedly of town. When she
turned right onto Bunting Street, a sick sensation ran
through Neva. She had a horrible suspicion she knew
where Betise was headed.
Her place.
She swore softly, though it came out little more than
a rumble of sound. She leapt the nearest fence, taking a
shortcut across her neighbor’s backyards, and shifted
shape as she ran for her back door.
She thrust it open, kicked off her shoes and shucked
her coat, then slammed the door shut and raced for the
stairs. Lights gleamed through the living room windows
as a car pulled into her dr
iveway. She raced up the stairs,
stripping as she went, throwing her clothes in a heap in
the hallway before racing into the shower. Thrusting on
the taps, she wasted a few precious seconds waiting for
the water to warm up, then jumped in.
A second later the doorbell rang. She got out of the
shower but left the water running, grabbed a towel and
padded down the stairs. “Who is it?” she called, dripping
water everywhere as she tucked the towel around her
breasts.
“Betise.”
The other wolf’s voice sounded slightly surprised, and
a shiver traveled down Neva’s spine. It was almost as if
Betise hadn’t expected her to be home—and that would
only be the case if she’d suspected they’d been following
her.
Neva opened the door. Betise’s gaze slid down Neva’s
body, and her lips twitched as if in amusement. But it
was an amusement at odds with the anger in her silvery-
green eyes.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Betise said, her
voice warm, her eyes cold.
“Well, actually, you are. What can I do for you?”
“Is Duncan here?”
Neva clutched the door handle tightly. “Yes. Upstairs,
having a shower. Why?”
“It’s personal. Perhaps I should wait?”
“I really don’t think—”
“It’s important I speak to him. I’ll wait in the kitchen,
if you like, while you two finish your...showering.” She
hesitated. “Unless, of course, you think my presence here
might disturb your relationship with Duncan.”
Neva wondered what in hell was going on in Betise’s
mind. As much as she’d first believed the older wolf’s
statements about her affair with Duncan, his contempt
and loathing of her went too deep to be anything but true
repulsion. One thing was obvious—whatever these two
had been, they most certainly weren’t soul mates.
“Duncan and I don’t have a relationship, so I have
nothing to fear.” And certainly not from the likes of you.
Which was an extremely bitchy thought, but one that was
certainly true. “But we could be a while showering. Why
don’t I get him to phone you once we finish?”
“This is urgent.” Betise crossed her arms, the anger
and suspicion deeper in her silvery eyes. “Why don’t you
just go upstairs and tell him I’m here? I’m sure he’ll come
Arthur, Keri - Beneath a Rising Moon.txt Page 24
