Hunter's Need

by Shiloh Walker

  She smashed the plans even as they formed.

  “No. I don’t want to wait.” Ana shook her head and fought the urge to nibble on her fingernails, squirm around in her seat or fidget with her hair. She was restless. The memory of those eyes kept nudging at her and she had a headache from figuratively pounding her head against the wall as she tried to figure out where she’d seen him before.

  They pulled out of the drive just as a familiar motorcycle pulled up. Ana absently waved at Carter as he turned into the drive. He slowed the bike but Duke turned out of the drive like he hadn’t noticed. She glanced at him and rolled her eyes. The carefully blank look on his face somehow managed to speak very loudly.

  “You really don’t like that guy, do you?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t really know the guy, so I couldn’t really say one way or the other, could I?”

  “Now, Duke . . . that was actually very diplomatic. Especially for you.”

  “Diplomacy isn’t my style.”

  No. It really wasn’t. Still Ana had a feeling there was something that Duke wasn’t telling her. She didn’t have time to focus on that, though. Before she stepped inside Beverly’s house again, she needed to bolster up her shields. She wasn’t taking a chance of having any of the woman’s grief filter through into her head again.

  She needed to keep focused and it wasn’t possible to focus with random thoughts dancing through her head or a storm of grief that threatened to blow her over.

  Reaching out, she flicked on the radio and tuned it to a classical station. Duke rolled his eyes and started to change the channel. She slapped his hand. “Leave it alone.”

  “Hey, I’m the one renting the car.”

  Ana crossed her arms over her chest. “Too bad. I need to focus, want to layer on some extra shields. The last time I saw this lady, all the grief she had inside her hit me hard.” Ignoring his scowl, she turned the radio up louder and leaned her head back against the padded headrest. It wasn’t dark and quiet, but the classical music helped her block out everything else. It would have to work.

  THANKS to road work and the summer traffic, it took close to thirty minutes to get to Beverly’s. Ana used the time to reinforce her shields as solidly as she could. By the time she climbed out of the car, she was wrapped in a psychic cocoon so pervasive, so complete, she felt like she’d lost one of her senses.

  She hated going around shielded like this—left her feeling too vulnerable. She wouldn’t be playing unintentional voyeur, and she definitely wouldn’t be giving off any psychic vibes, but it meant she couldn’t pick them up, either. She was used to feeling . . . something.

  Duke climbed out of the car and waited for her, staring up at the house with an unreadable expression. “You said you’ve been here before?” he asked, his voice tight.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Not for long.”

  “Anything weird?”

  “Weird? No. Just a woman who’s still grieving for her sister, but that’s not what I’d call weird.” She glanced at him, and again, that preoccupied look on his face had her wondering what was going on. “Are you okay?”

  He rolled his shoulders, rotated his head from side to side. “No. I dunno. Edgy. I’ve just felt a little off today, I guess. You feel anything?”

  “I don’t feel anything,” she said. “I might as well be walking around wearing Bubble Wrap, I’ve got so much shielding up.”

  Duke eyed the house, wondering if this was really worth the waste of time after all. He had other things he wanted to focus on—other people, namely Hoskins. Although it had seemed a good idea back at Ana’s, now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to spend any time on this if it wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

  Somehow, he doubted it would. His instincts were screaming, but they’d been doing that ever since Ana had told him she thought she’d seen the killer somewhere.

  He didn’t like this Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys shit anymore. Well, he hadn’t ever liked it, but he was now in a state of serious hate. He wanted Ana out of there. Narrowing his eyes, he slid a look toward Ana and made a decision. She was leaving Alaska for a little while. It would take some doing, and she’d be madder than hell, but if he made some calls, exaggerated a bit while he explained he had his hands full and worrying about her wasn’t helping, he could make it work. He thought.

  But even as he made that decision, Ana was heading up the walkway. Toward the house.

  Safe behind her shields, Ana rang the doorbell and waited. When Beverly opened the door, Ana didn’t need to rely on her gift to let her know what the other woman was thinking—it was written all over her face—Should have looked before I opened the damned door.

  Something kept her from closing the door on them, though. Ana didn’t know if it was morbid curiosity or courtesy, but she was betting on courtesy.

  “I should have known I wouldn’t get lucky enough for it to be done with you, especially after Paul died,” Beverly said. She glanced at Duke, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Who is this?”

  “He’s a friend,” Ana said.

  “A friend.” She made no attempt to hide her skepticism. “I’ve had a good five people show up on my doorstep since Paul died, trying to get me to talk about what happened the summer that Marie died. Even though I don’t know anything. Apparently some people think it might be therapeutic or give me some kind of closure to talk about my sister disappearing and speculating on some asinine newscast for five or ten minutes about how her disappearance has destroyed my family.”

  Beverly crossed her arms over her chest and glared at them. “If you’re here thinking along similar lines, save us all the trouble and just leave. I’m not interested in being interviewed or reliving any of that time. Nor am I interested in speculating on how Paul managed to evade the authorities for so long.”

  “You and I both know Paul didn’t hurt Marie,” Ana said quietly.

  Averting her gaze, Beverly said nothing.

  “I thought you didn’t believe Paul was guilty.”

  Beverly looked back at Ana, grief darkening her eyes. “I don’t know what to believe now. I never could believe it was Paul—he wouldn’t hurt a fly. But then cops find that girl’s body, and his . . . what else should I believe?”

  “I’d say trust your instincts. What do they say?”

  Beverly took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she looked back at Ana, there was some measure of peace in her dark gaze. “I say, somehow, they’re wrong. But that means he’s still out there, whoever he is. He’s been out there all this time, killing girls that look like my sister. Destroying more lives.”

  She looked from Ana to Duke and then finally back at Ana. “I guess you should just come on inside. Although, honestly, I’m not sure what you think this is going to accomplish.”

  They followed her inside and this time, Beverly led them into the kitchen, gesturing to a long, narrow bar. “Have a seat. I’ve got water, soft drinks or coffee if you’d like some.”

  Duke asked for some water, but Ana declined. She suspected if she took so much as a single drink just then, she’d puke it back up. Her stomach was a mess. A tension headache had settled right at the base of her skull.

  After giving Duke a bottle of water, Beverly said, “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Now a glass of wine, Ana might have gone for that, except she was the cheapest drunk in the world and even though the wine might steady her nerves, it would also loosen her tongue—and probably her control.

  The last thing Beverly needed was for Ana to blurt out something without thinking it through first. And the last thing Ana needed was shaky shielding. So no alcohol.

  Ana and Duke waited in silence as Beverly poured herself a glass of wine and then settled on a stool across from them. “My daughter took her little girl on a last-minute vacation. After they found Paul . . . well, you know how some reporters are. They can be such vultures, always looking for a story. They tracked my Jeannette down at her
work and started pestering her for an interview, took some pictures of her and little Marie when she came to drop her off. So she decided to take a week or so off.

  “As much as I want my family gone until this dies down, I miss them . . . ” Beverly swirled the wine in her glass, staring down into the deep red liquid, but somehow, Ana suspected the older woman wasn’t interested in the quality of the wine. “Little Marie, she keeps me hopping. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the distraction of picking up toys and answering her ten thousand questions until Monday rolled around and they weren’t here.”

  Ana hated small talk. But if she could put Beverly a little more at ease, it might help. She thought. She hoped. Forcing a smile, she reached out and tapped her finger against one of the framed pictures that adorned the countertop. “Is this your granddaughter?”

  The older woman smiled. “Yes. That’s my Marie.”

  “She looks a lot like you,” Ana murmured. And like her great-aunt. It was in the shape of her eyes, the set of her mouth. When the little girl grew up, she was going to be a knockout.

  “Some. But she actually looks more like her namesake than her grandmother. I’ve got pictures from when my sister was that age—the similarity is startling.”

  “Does your daughter look like your sister?” She reached for another picture, eyeing the young woman who held little Marie.

  “No.” Beverly sipped her wine. “She looks like her father.”

  Ana frowned, seeing little similarity between the willowy woman in the picture and Beverly’s husband. Both were tall and slender, but that was it. “I’d say she looks more like you than Kyle.”

  “Kyle’s her stepfather.” Beverly smiled and lifted her wineglass. “Jeannette’s father and I didn’t marry. He was up here for just a summer. Once it was over, he left—he never knew I was pregnant, and I never bothered trying to track him down to tell him. It was . . . well, I guess a summer fling, and as much as I enjoyed my time with him, I didn’t want to spend my life with him. He wasn’t exactly what I’d call father or husband material. Of course, back then, I wasn’t really parent material, either. Having Jeannette changed a lot of things for me. And I’m glad I never tried to locate her father after he left. I ended up married to a wonderful man who loved Jeannette like he was her own. And he got me through a very hard time in my life.”

  “Of course, he still has to hold me together. It’s not over. I’m starting to wonder if it will ever be over. Every time somebody disappears, I think, Is it the same one? The one that killed Marie? This last time was the worst—finding out that Paul had died, it was almost as bad as the summer Marie disappeared.” She sat her wineglass down and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About Paul. About Marie. About that summer.”

  “I can’t imagine how hard this is,” Ana said quietly. Her heart went out to the other woman and she wished there was something she could do. But the only way she could help was to help Duke find the man who did this, to keep him from hurting anybody else.

  “I can’t even describe it.” Beverly reached for her wine and took another, longer sip. Followed by two more.

  “After twenty years, you’d think I’d be a bit more used to it. Or that it wouldn’t sneak up on me so easily, catch me by surprise and leave me this close to tears. Poor Kyle, he’s been at his wit’s end ever since I heard about Paul. He tries to keep me from thinking about it, and then when I can’t help but think about it and I get upset, he’s trying to comfort me and I think he blames himself for not doing a better job.” She shook her head and murmured, “I never thought anything could be as hard as that summer. Never. But this is close. Very close.”

  “Is your husband here?” Ana asked. “I know you didn’t want him knowing that you and I had talked.”

  “Kyle’s in his office. He works at home, has his own consulting business. Of course, he hasn’t been able to get a great deal done over the past few days, since he’s had his hands full with me. I’m trying not to let it show, but he can always tell.” Her voice went cool and angry. “He’s got high blood pressure, had a mild heart attack a few years ago. He doesn’t need this stress right now. God, does anybody ever need something like this in their life?”

  Guilt sank in Ana’s gut like a stone. No matter how this all played out, Ana didn’t see much chance of doing anything to ease Beverly’s pain. The only thing that would do it would be the knowledge that her sister’s killer had been stopped. But that would mean letting her know what they were doing, it would mean finding some kind of proof, and somehow getting that proof into the right hands so mortal justice could deal with him.

  Her instincts told her that this was going to end with the bastard dead. Dead people weren’t questioned about murders or put on trial. So the answers Beverly needed may never come.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and explain why you’re here,” Beverly said. “More questions about Paul?”

  “Not exactly.” Ana licked her lips and shifted on the seat, glancing at Duke.

  He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the unopened bottle of water, focusing on it like he expected it to take flight or something. Something about that absolute focus had her instincts humming, but right now, she had to figure out how to get the information she needed from Beverly.

  Focusing back on the older woman, she braced her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. She’d mentally rehearsed how to do this back at home but now, none of the questions she’d put together made sense. God, how was she supposed to explain she’d seen her sister’s killer and that she needed help trying to figure out who he was?

  Beverly continued to watch her and seconds stretched out.

  “Ana, what’s this about?”

  “Do you believe in psychic ability, Beverly?”

  It wasn’t a question she’d planned to ask. It wasn’t a question she’d wanted to ask. But it slipped out of her, almost of its own volition and now that it was hanging in the air between them, there wasn’t a damn thing Ana could do to jerk it back.

  Beverly blinked. “Ah . . . psychic ability?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm.” She lifted her glass to her lips but put it down without drinking. “You mean like those Ask your psychic friend scams?”

  “No. As in real ability. As in . . . ”

  Duke reached over and laid a hand on her thigh, squeezing. She ignored the warning, just as she ignored his intent stare. With him touching her, some of his thoughts still managed to filter inside her thick shields.

  Harsh. Demanding. Intense. Look at me! She could all but feel the command. But she didn’t dare. She couldn’t really back out of this now unless she wanted to alienate Beverly and that wasn’t about to happen.

  “Psychic ability as in I think I’ve seen the man who killed your sister. But I don’t know who he is. And I don’t know if I can find him without some help.”

  The emotions flickering across Beverly’s face ranged from grief and disappointment to outrage and disgust. A muscle twitched in her cheek and fury flashed in her eyes as she glared at them.

  “Why do you people have to do this to us? God, this is my fault. I don’t know why in the hell I thought you were better than the scum that keep after us.”

  Ana’s belly went tight and blood rushed to her cheeks. “Beverly, please, listen to me. This isn’t a sham and I’m not trying to do anything but help—”

  Duke’s hand came up, closing over her elbow. He squeezed tight. She shot him a pleading look—she didn’t know if she wanted him to back her up, back off on whatever he was trying to project her way or just give her a few more minutes.

  The look she saw on his face killed any thoughts of backing up or backing off. He stared at Beverly like she’d gone and sprouted a second head—a second head with a mouth full of daggerlike teeth.

  Fuck. Something was wrong, she realized, staring at him. No wonder he’d been so damned quiet. No wonder he’d been projecting his thoughts so loud.

  From the corner o
f her eye, she saw Beverly rising from her stool. “I want you to leave now, Ana. Leave, take him with you and don’t come back.” She pointed an arm toward the door and continued to glare at them.

  Ana was having a hard time taking her eyes off of Duke, even when Beverly raised her voice and said, “I said leave.”

  Duke growled.

  Silence fell. Beverly, pale and startled, backed up a step. Ana reached up, covering the hand that still held her right elbow. She squeezed gently, unsure of what to do or how to handle a pissed-off shapeshifter. Of course, knowing what had set him off might help.

  “Duke?”

  The hand on her elbow tightened and he lowered his gaze to Ana. His eyes no longer resembled anything human. Ana hissed out between her teeth, staring into the swirling pinwheels of gray and black.

  “Duke.” She tried to put as much warning into her voice as she could, but she wasn’t sure if anything could penetrate the fog of rage she sensed rising inside of him.

  He spoke, and his voice, thank God, was relatively normal, just a little deeper, a little gruffer than normal. “We’re leaving, Ana. Now.”

  Leaving? She wanted to argue. They couldn’t leave. But Duke wasn’t in any shape to stay. He looked like he was holding on to control with nothing more than will alone, battling back the beast she could see staring back at her from his eyes.

  With little choice, she took her purse from the counter and slung it over her shoulder. She paused long enough to look at Beverly. “Regardless of what you think, all we want to do is help.”

  Beverly said nothing.

  Ana wanted to say more, but Duke was urging her toward the front of the house—hell, screw urging. He was all but pushing her out the door with Beverly trailing along behind them. They were almost to the front door when Beverly’s husband emerged from the depths of the house.

  Duke went still. Slowly, he turned to face the other man and Ana turned with him. That heavy, choking sense of doom was back, ringing through her mind like a funeral dirge.