by Kari Cole
“What the fu—”
“And Grandmother was right!” Izzy slammed her hand against the coffee table, splitting it down the middle. Horrified, she hid her hands behind her back.
Freddie leapt to his feet. “Izzy—”
“Look! Look what I did,” she said, backing away from him. “What we could have done to you at any time.”
Freddie shook his head. “No. You never would’ve hurt me.”
“Bullshit!” she shouted. “Don’t you get it? One mistake, one slip of our strength, and you or someone else would have gone to the ER—or worse. We put you all at risk. For all those years.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she shook her head emphatically. “No, Fred. You don’t understand. Bess killed someone the night she died. She changed and murdered someone. That’s why she did it!”
All the anger and fight drained from her body as her brother gaped in horror.
Izzy slumped onto the couch. “That’s why she killed herself.”
“How the hell do you know that? You were in Iraq. Mom couldn’t even get ahold of you until the day after we found Bess.”
“She told me,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
Christ, she was tired. Izzy scrubbed her hands over her face. “We video-chatted whenever we could. Remember?” Bess said it made her feel as if Izzy wasn’t so far away. Not that she ever forgave Izzy for joining the Army and leaving her behind. “That night, she called me.” It had been a hot, sunny Sunday morning for Izzy.
“Oh God. Who?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know.” Bess hadn’t even said the poor guy’s name.
Freddie stared at her. “Iz,” he said, his voice quiet and careful. “Have you considered maybe it was a lie? Or a delusion of some sort? You know how she was. I mean, I know we all thought she’d been doing better, but obviously we were wrong. If she was so far gone that she’d do that to herself, who knows what was going on in her head?”
A bitter smile twisted Izzy’s lips. “Oh, how I wish you were right about that.”
“Iz—”
“She showed me, Freddie. Okay? She panned the fucking camera and showed me what she’d done.”
Images from her sister’s last video chat played in her head like a horror film reel. Short blond hair. Jeans and dark T-shirt turned black with blood. Jesus, there’d been a lot of blood.
“Wh-what?” Freddie wobbled and sank down onto the floor. “What?” After a minute, “Where?”
“Her apartment.”
Freddie was shaking his head.
Izzy felt blunt and numb, like waking from anesthesia. Surprising how she could still form words through wooden lips. But she’d started this train wreck and now she had to ride it to the end. “She said she’d make sure no one would find him. How, I don’t know. Because the next minute, Bess picked up a revolver and put it to her temple.”
“Oh, Christ!” Freddie scrambled up and ran to the kitchen sink.
Even over the sounds of his retching, Izzy could still hear the echo of that gunshot, and the horrible thud of her sister’s lifeless body hitting the floor.
Chapter Seven
The flashing lights of emergency vehicles and squawk of police radios marred the beautiful setting of Turtle Point. Carved into the stony shore of Black Robe Lake, the remote inlet offered spectacular views of the Cabinet Mountains’ peaks silhouetted against an inky field of stars. Lying at the end of a curving dirt trail, hidden from view of the main road by a quarter mile of thick forest, it was a popular make-out spot for the high school crowd.
Not tonight.
Getting out of his pickup, the first thing Luke noticed was the smell. He sneezed violently and scrubbed the end of his itching nose.
“Jesus, what’s that?” Dean said, holding his hand over his face.
“Citronella.”
They both flinched as the sheriff, Vaughn Ellis, emerged from the woods, wearing a breathing mask that made him look like an extra from Star Wars. Neither had sensed the other male’s approach at all. Hell, Luke couldn’t smell anything over the oily lemon scent filling the air.
Though they were close in age, Luke didn’t know the sheriff very well. After Ellis’s father died when he was a child, he and his mother, an eagle shifter, moved to Arizona to be with her people. But Luke did remember the talk and bizarre rumors that inevitably sprouted up when Ellis returned to Black Robe each summer. Impossible stories that said the giant golden eagle riding the thermals over the mountains wasn’t really Ellis’s mother but the young werewolf himself.
“Here.” Ellis held out two masks. “I had some painting respirators brought out from the hardware store.”
As they put them on, Dean asked, “Isn’t citronella the stuff they use in candles to keep mosquitos away?”
Red rimmed Ellis’s gray eyes. “Yeah, and in dog control collars. You know, the dog barks and gets a little puff of this crap as a deterrent.”
“Effective,” Luke said through his wolf’s growl. Having their primary sense waylaid like a common canine was enough to raise both their hackles. He donned the mask, which dulled the overpowering stench but didn’t eliminate it.
“Extremely,” Ellis said. “So let’s talk here before I take you to the body. What do you know about Eric Conroy?”
“I’ve met him several times. Chamber of Commerce stuff, mostly. But I can’t say I know him personally.”
“He wasn’t associated with the pack?”
“No. He and his family are human,” Luke said, his eyes narrowing. “Though I did call him yesterday for some information on a bunch of recent land sales. Why?”
“What’d he tell you?”
“Nothing. He didn’t answer.”
Ellis nodded, and something in his eyes told Luke the sheriff had already known the answer. “So no pack dealings at all then?” Ellis asked.
“What the hell, Vaughn?” Dean growled.
“This is a murder investigation, deputy.”
Even with the masks concealing their expressions and the citronella overriding their scents, the hostility and challenge between Ellis and Dean was clear. Their beasts’ power rippled over Luke, raising the hair on his neck, calling his own wolf to the surface.
Since Ellis had returned to Black Robe a few months ago, he and Dean had maintained a tense but respectful distance. As Beta, Dean ranked higher in the pack than Ellis. But within the sphere of law enforcement, Ellis was king.
In wolf form, they glared and growled at each other. Still, Ellis never did anything that could be construed as an overt challenge to Dean’s position as Beta. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in position at all. During pack runs, when pack hierarchy was normally established, the sheriff kept a tight rein on his beast. He didn’t back down from fights, but he never started them either.
Other wolves weren’t so easygoing. Every run saw him facing down several challengers—each one looking to prove themselves stronger, more dominant. So far, he had prevailed every time. With ease.
Maybe his laissez-faire approach to pack status had come to an end.
“Enough.” Luke stepped between the bristling males. They didn’t have time for this. And he certainly didn’t have the patience. A world-class headache pounded behind his eyes thanks to his wolf’s distress at being in this reeking forest, away from their vulnerable mate. Facing the sheriff, he got right to the point. “To answer your question, Vaughn, no. There is no reason for the pack to want Conroy dead.”
“There’s nothing Conroy could have seen that he shouldn’t have?”
“Everything is legal. Hell, we’re even incorporated. If he’d found out about us, you know we wouldn’t have murdered him. We certainly wouldn’t have and left his body somewhere a couple of humans could stumble upon him.”
The bristling power of the sheriff’s wolf faded away. “All right then. Come on.” He
turned on his heel and stalked back into the woods.
Luke clapped Dean on the arm. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
Dean glared at the spot where Ellis had disappeared into the trees. Then, shaking himself like he was shedding water from his pelt, he nodded.
The crescent moon offered little light, but they had no trouble following Ellis. Despite his muscular, six-two frame, he moved silently through the dense woods. It reminded Luke so much of Ellis’s uncle, Darren, that a pang of loss twisted his stomach. He could have sworn he was following their late Beta were it not for the long, dark braid that reached the middle of Ellis’s back.
“Couple of kids called it in,” Ellis said over his shoulder. “The boy’s a fox shifter from Libby, but even the human girl with him could smell the citronella from the parking area.”
They stopped just outside the glow cast by a ring of battery-powered lanterns set up around a dark lump in the snow. Deputy Sam Vogel, another of Luke’s wolves, hovered over the form on the ground, writing on a clipboard. He greeted them, a haunted look in his irritated eyes. “It’s not a pleasant sight.”
A growl reverberated within Luke’s head. It didn’t matter if Sam was old enough to become a sheriff’s deputy. He was still the gangly juvenile Luke had watched over on pack runs, making sure he didn’t get into too much trouble while the young pup sniffed around after the females. Sam was a kid. He shouldn’t have to look at things like this.
Hell, none of them should.
“Bastards covered the guy in citronella oil,” Ellis growled. “I can’t even smell the body.”
Dean lifted his mask, sniffed, and promptly started gagging. Swearing and sputtering, he raised his flushed face. “Son of a bitch. Nothing.”
“They covered the scent trail,” Luke said.
“Shifter, then. Or a human who knows about us,” Dean said, his voice a choked rasp. “He wanted us nose-blind. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Ellis pointed in the direction of the main road. “They brought the body in through there on foot. Walked out the same way. Not only did they spray this stuff all along that trail, but they dragged something behind them obliterating their footprints.”
Luke swore. Then he swore again when he saw what had been done to the man lying in the snow. A thin man in life, Eric Conroy looked positively scrawny in death. His dark suit was torn at the left shoulder seam, his sedate tie loose and crooked around his badly broken neck.
Dean squatted to take a better look. “Damn. Broke it clean through.”
“It gets worse,” Ellis said, pulling on latex gloves. He hunkered down across from Dean and motioned for Luke to do the same. Clicking on a flashlight, he directed it at Conroy’s slack mouth and tipped down the chin.
Bile rose in Luke’s throat. “What the fuck?”
Someone had cut out Eric Conroy’s tongue.
“Certainly sends a message, doesn’t it?” Ellis said. “Wonder who it’s for?”
Chapter Eight
Caine carefully set his cell phone down on the kitchen table. Despite the wolf snarling in his head, he refused to lose control of his temper—no matter how idiotic the male he’d just spoken to was.
The front door opened down the hall. There was a pause, then hushed voices. A forty-something, blonde human woman in a sparkling navy evening gown looked down the hallway at Caine as she hurried past to the curved stairway. A look of distaste twisted her pretty, yet bland, features. He didn’t react. What did he care if a human found him repugnant? It’d require no effort at all to snap her skinny neck. Someday soon, when she’d outlived her usefulness, he’d probably get to do just that.
Arms crossed over his chest, he waited. Quiet footsteps sounded on the tile floor. “You seem annoyed,” his employer and pack leader, Holt, said as he entered the kitchen. It didn’t matter that their pack didn’t have a defined territory they could mark on any map—there was no one else Caine would call Alpha. He’d kill for many reasons, enjoy it while he did it, but bare his throat to anyone else? Never. It wasn’t a matter of dominance or fear, or even love. He’d never loved anything, except the hunt, in his life. No, with Holt, it was vision. Caine wanted to live in the world Holt was creating. For that, he’d take orders.
Dressed in a tuxedo, Holt strode through the room, loosening his bow tie as he went. He opened a cabinet, retrieved a glass and held it up. “Drink?” When Caine nodded, he got another glass and filled them with Armadale vodka from the freezer. He passed one over, then took a long sip. “Generally speaking, people die when you’re annoyed. So, who are we killing today?”
“It’s Montana.”
Holt sighed. “What is it now?”
“Our associates”—Caine curled his lip at the word—“are concerned the land acquisition transactions won’t hold up to scrutiny.”
A subvocal growl Caine felt more than heard raised the hair on his neck. The evidence of Holt’s temper ended almost immediately. “Why? I thought the developer was in their pocket.”
“He is, but the Alpha there is much more involved and determined than we were led to believe. His Luna is lobbying the state government in Helena so hard, she’s practically a fixture in the legislature’s offices. Apparently, Branson, the developer, is under pressure from the state department of Environmental Quality. He’s getting cold feet.”
“Then they take care of it. We provided the financing, the government connections, and the bribes. They’re supposed to be able to manage their own damn pack.”
“I expected them to take control of the pack several months ago. They haven’t. When questioned, their answers are”—Caine’s voice sank into a growl—“less than satisfactory. All I get are excuses.”
Holt took another sip of his drink. “I know you wanted to handle this yourself when we began the project, but I was assured our associates would make their Alpha and Beta’s deaths look like an accident. Instead, they were obviously murdered and the idiots’ attempt at covering it up was so clumsy as to be childish. I should have let you handle it. You would have crippled the pack leadership without anyone knowing what had happened to them.”
Caine inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment and drank. The chilled vodka burned as it slid down his throat. “They eliminated the county clerk tonight, a human. They were afraid he’d speak to Wyland. They said they took forensic countermeasures, but—” He spread his hands out to the sides.
“But, you’re not confident it was done right.”
“No.”
Holt ran a hand through his short red hair. He sighed again. “Fine. It’s time for you to take an active role in our Montana problem. I trust you to handle the situation as you see fit. Caine?”
“Sir?”
“We’re at a critical juncture. I know you hate the subterfuge, but we cannot afford for our involvement to be discovered. We’re so close to reaching our goals. Apex must go on, at all costs.”
Chapter Nine
Izzy rubbed her scratchy eyes as she padded into the kitchen of Freddie and Rissa’s house. The only illumination came from the low-burning fire in the fireplace and the faint glow from a light above the stove. It was early, before dawn. Even the winter birds were hushed. But she’d given up trying to sleep. The quiet and dark brought nothing but bad dreams.
Most disturbing? Some of her dreams last night had made her heart pound, but not in fear.
Damn that damn Alpha wolf. What business did he have invading her dreams with his deep voice all low and seductive? Touching her. Making her feel delicate and feminine and—
Damn that damn Alpha wolf!
She opened cabinets until she found a glass.
“Can’t sleep?”
Whirling, she nearly dropped the glass when she found Luke peering at her over the back of the couch. “Jesus,” she said, hand over her jackhammering heart.
The orange
glow of the fire backlit his dark, messy hair and shone on his bare shoulders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He stood and rubbed the back of his neck. Damn, he was big. Over six feet tall, with shoulders that blocked the light from the fireplace. Her heart thumped at the sight of his bare chest. Strongly muscled, it tapered down to a set of abs that actually made her mouth go dry.
What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never swooned over a pretty face and ripped bod before.
Stupid freaking dreams.
Izzy forced her eyes back up to his face. “What are you doing here?”
He walked toward her on bare feet. Christ. He had nothing on but a pair of well-worn, low-slung jeans.
That. Were. Not. Buttoned.
She licked parched lips and really wished she had that glass of water right now.
“Something wrong with the coffee table?” Luke asked, nodding back toward the living room.
A guilty blush heated her face. “Um...”
Luke plucked the glass from her limp fingers, filled it with milk from the refrigerator, and handed it to her.
She backed up until her butt hit the counter. “I wanted water.”
“Milk’s better.”
“For what?”
“You.”
She gave him an unimpressed look that quickly morphed into consternation as he closed the distance between them. If she wanted to get past, she’d have to touch him. On bare skin. Not a good idea. Heat poured off him like a furnace and she had an almost overpowering urge to bask in it like a cat in a ray of sun.
Werewolf, Iz. Bossy, annoying werewolf.
Good reminder. He was infuriating, not cute. No, “cute” was definitely not a word anyone would use to describe Luke Wyland. She opened her mouth to blister his ears with exactly what she thought of his high-handedness when her stomach growled loudly.
“Drink,” he said. He didn’t wait for her to comply or argue, just turned his back and opened the refrigerator again. “Eggs?” he asked from behind the refrigerator door.
“No.” Her stomach growled again and she slapped a hand over it.
