Beneath a Darkening Moon (12 page)

Part of her was hoping he’d say the forest. The saner part was praying that he didn’t.

His gaze met hers, blue eyes cold. Yet a shimmer of excitement ran through her. Because those eyes, for all their glacial indifference, spoke to the wildness within her.

They would go to the forest. And that wildness would be released.

“Take me,” he said, “to the clearing where you heard the car.”

Her pulse rate soared and sweat broke out across her palms. He could smell her desire as much as she could smell his, so there was no point in feigning disinterest. And what he was
really
saying was that it was up to her to break their agreement. Her choice; her decision. But once she did, it was all bets off.

God, she’d barely been in his presence for half a day, and already she was breaking down. Where was her strength of will when she really needed it?

Trying to regain control, she simply nodded and climbed into the car. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed, issuing orders to Trista as Savannah drove out of town and up Red Mountain Road. She turned into the side road, but stopped a short way in.

“The snow hasn’t melted up here yet,” she said, when he looked at her. “And we haven’t got chains on.”

He nodded, and they both climbed out. She breathed deeply, letting the scented but cold mountain air fill her lungs, hoping it would wash the heat and the smell of this man from her lungs and kin.

But it didn’t.

Even with the car between them, her senses were filled with his presence. She wasn’t going to survive the entire day without touching him, or begging him to touch her.

She glanced at the sky, silently swearing at a moon that was currently shining its cold light on another side of the world. Then, shoving her hands into her pockets, she began the long climb up the road. After a few minutes he joined her, walking so close that the warmth of his body caressed hers, yet not close enough that their arms were brushing.

And suddenly, she was aching for the simple pleasures they’d once shared—like walking up a mountain hand in hand. She could still remember the gentle way he’d twined his fingers through hers, the way he’d gripped tight, holding her upright as she’d slipped.

She blinked away the sudden sting of tears. Damn it, she had to stop doing this. The past was gone. She needed to get over it—and over
him
.

Yet she very much suspected that in order to do
either
of those, she had to sit down and confront him. Ten years ago, she’d run rather than take him to task for his actions.
That
had been her biggest mistake. The years had not eased the pain or her feelings for him, because there’d been no true end between them.

Now, she needed that ending to put it all behind her.

Yet even now, the thought of
really
challenging him over what he’d done scared the hell out of her. Because as long as she
didn’t
go there, some small part of her could still believe that—despite his words, despite the fact that she was just a means to an end—some small part of him really
had
cared.

And the mere fact that she still clung to that hope spoke of how much she needed to exorcise those feelings if she was ever to get on with her life.

Once they reached the parking area at the top of the road, she led him across to the spot from which the car had taken off. He squatted, studying the ground, carefully moving leaves about with a pen he’d drawn from his pocket.

“Looks like it could have been a truck rather than a car,” he said, after a few minutes.

She frowned. “You found a track?”

His quick look suggested she should have found it, too, and that annoyed her. It wasn’t as if she’d had the benefit of daylight.

She squatted beside him and did her best to ignore his rich, enticing aroma. “Where?”

He outlined what was little more than a wide smudge in the mud.

“No wonder I didn’t spot it last night,” she muttered, then tilted her head as she studied the vague impression. There was something odd about it. “They didn’t have chains on.”

“No, otherwise the imprints would have been deeper.” He glanced at her, his navy eyes cool. Dangerous. The gaze of a cop rather than a lover. “Why?”

She frowned. “Well, this road isn’t surfaced and, because it’s so steep, getting up here without chains would have been pretty much impossible.”

“The perp could have had a four-wheel drive.”

“Even a four-wheel drive can have trouble on a steep, slushy road.”

“Your point being?”

His curt tone had her fingers clenching. She flexed
them, but it didn’t do much to ease the annoyance. “The very fact that this impression is so faint suggests that the driver not only didn’t have chains, but he didn’t, in fact, drive up here yesterday. The ground that was under the truck is drier, which is why he didn’t leave much of an impression when he first sped off.”

He ran his pen over the ground beside the faint impression. “It does seem firmer.” He glanced at her. “A good observation, ranger.”

His voice was patronizing, as if he hadn’t expected something like that. Her inner bitch rose to the surface, but she somehow managed to quell the instinct to snarl at him. “Meaning,” she said, her voice surprisingly even, “that our quarry was probably here before the snow had fallen.”

“It also suggests you might have heard him moving positions rather than trying to sneak up on us.”

She rose and walked around the tire impression, then down the hill a ways. The air was noticeably colder this far from Cade, but at least she could take a breath free from the enticing spice of his presence. “It also means we should be able to find more tracks. If he didn’t have chains, he would have had little control going back down that road.”

“If he’d hit something, we would have seen it.”

“But the road is straight. What if he managed a controlled slide most of the way down and just sideswiped the trees at the bottom?” She certainly hadn’t noticed any sign of damage, but she hadn’t been looking for something like that.

Which was just more proof that Cade’s presence was rattling her more than it should.

“With that sort of impact, he’d still be down there.”

“Depends on how bad the slide was, how fast he was going, and how quickly he was able to recover once he hit the main road. But even a small bump might have left paint.”

He nodded. “Go check. I’ll get Anton up here with some plaster.”

She resisted the urge to salute and continued down the hill. The road dropped sharply away from the viewing point, and soon she was alone. The wind moved through the pines lining the road, making them sway and whisper. Yet, beyond that, the day seemed hushed. Intense.

Too intense.

She continued on down the hill and eventually found what she was looking for—tree damage. She couldn’t see any paint, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any—she cut the thought short as the breeze stirred around her. Mixed within the scents of balsam and pine and the oncoming storm came two other aromas.

Ginseng and sandalwood.

Jontee’s scent.

The small hairs on the back of her neck rose. Jontee was dead, so he couldn’t be out there now, following her. Watching her.

But someone definitely was.

A
S SOON AS
Vannah left, Cade felt the wrongness. He glanced up and scanned the trees, half-wondering if it was nothing more than missing her presence, the warmth of her body so close to his—missing her exotic scent teasing his nostrils, fueling the fires already raging in his body.

They were going to have to do something about this moon fever. Neither of them could afford to get distracted when there was a madman running around. But to ease the fever, they had to make love, and that could be just as dangerous.

She knew that as much as he did. He’d seen it in her green eyes when he’d all but dared her to break the promises they’d made last night.

Which wasn’t the sanest thing he’d ever done, but he hadn’t exactly been in a calm, rational frame of mind at the time. Where in hell did she get off accusing him of mind-rape? He’d been well trained in probing a suspect’s mind. He had been so damn good at it that even the men who’d trained him hadn’t been aware of him rummaging through their thoughts.

He
hadn’t
raped her mind, though he most certainly
had
read it.

And in doing so, he’d caught his killer. He’d pulled not only details about the cavern and the path that led up to it, but brutal flashes of bloodshed and gore. Whether they had come from Jontee’s mind, as she’d claimed, or whether she’d somehow witnessed them, he couldn’t say—though he
did
truly believe she’d never been involved. She hadn’t even been present at the commune when they’d first started.

Something flickered through the trees to his left. A fragment of green darker than the pines that swayed and dipped in the gathering wind. He frowned. It wasn’t a tree or bush set deep in the forest, because the movements were too furtive, too human.

Anticipation shot through him. Could it be their watcher from last night?

It was certainly a possibility—though surely the person who’d watched them yesterday would be a little more circumspect.

He watched the green patch for a moment longer, then shifted shape and padded after it. The hush of the pine-filled forest enclosed him, and the dappled light and deeper shadows provided good cover for his dark brown coat. He pricked up his ears, listening to the soft steps ahead as he nosed the air, tasting the scents riding the breeze. The man smelled of stale cigarettes—an easy scent to follow in the crisp mountain air.

He increased his pace, loping quietly through the undergrowth, drawing ever closer to the stranger. The man didn’t appear to notice his approach. He was too busy following the soft sound of steps from up ahead.

Vannah
, Cade thought suddenly. The man was following Vannah.

A red wave of anger surged through him. And without even thinking about what he was doing, he charged out of the shadows and straight at the stranger.

The man swung around at the last moment, his squawk of surprise becoming a grunt of pain as Cade plowed into him from the side. As the man hit the ground, Cade shifted shape, grabbing the stranger by the throat and pinning him down. The growl that rumbled up from his chest was all wild wolf. For several seconds, he knelt there, teeth bared and breathing fast as he fought the territorial need to rip open the stranger’s neck. To protect what was his.

“Wait,” the man gasped, blue eyes wide and frightened. “I meant no—”

Cade tightened his grip on the man’s throat, cutting off the rest of his words. “Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”

Then he relaxed his fingers a little, and the stranger gasped. “Alf Reeson, reporter from the
Ripple Creek Gazette
. Who the hell are you?”

A reporter? That was the last thing they needed, if it was true. “Cade Jones, IIS. Where are your credentials?”

“Top pocket.”

Cade reached in and pulled out a worn leather wallet. Inside, he found a smoke-stained press card and photo. Though press cards were easily faked, he suspected this one was the real deal, because it was grimy, faded with age and smoke, and dog-eared in
a way only time could achieve. He flipped the wallet closed and put it back. “Why are you here?”

“I heard there were some problems at Ranger Grant’s place this morning. Someone left a threatening note.” The small man shrugged—a movement that looked awkward with Cade still gripping his neck. “Thought I might find a story if I followed her.”

And he had—or at least, he’d caught the whiff of a story, if the gleam in the reporter’s blue eyes was anything to go by. The Ripple Creek rangers might have kept the murders out of the news, but by attacking Reeson the way he had, Cade had all but blown the case wide open. And though he doubted he could save the situation, he certainly had to try. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the hysteria that had plagued the public ten years ago.

“The so-called threatening note was a prank left by a kid,” he said, removing his fingers from the reporter’s neck and reaching into his pocket for his badge. “However, given the fact that Ranger Grant is assisting with my investigation, sneaking around after her is not a smart move.”

Cade rose, and the reporter eyed the badge as he sat up and rubbed his neck. Even in the hazy light of the forest, it was easy to see the red finger marks ringing Reeson’s neck. Still, Cade knew, it could have been so much worse.

Where had that fury come from? He’d never blown up like that before. Never.

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was following.” Reeson paused. “So tell me, what are you and the ranger investigating?”

“Nothing I can talk about at the moment.”

Reeson’s grin was all reporter. “Is that on the record?”

“No. And if you quote me on it, I’ll give someone else the exclusive when there is something to report.”

Reeson raised a graying eyebrow. “Is that a promise, Agent Jones?”

“Yes.”

The reporter grinned again and rose, brushing the leaves and pine needles from his clothes. “Expect to see me waiting at the ranger station for my exclusive, then.”