Otherworld Nights (29 page)

“I’m decent,” Clay said. “And even if I wasn’t, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Right. I just thought Elena might be—”

“She’s not.”

Reese stuck his head in. “Ah. She made you Change back while she keeps her fur coat. Smart.”

“Sadistic,” Clay said.

He took his clothing and finally let me get up. I went out and waited. A minute later, Clay followed.

I told them to leave my clothing and go on to the cabin. Actually, “told them” is a bit of an exaggeration. Giving orders in wolf form is a test of any Alpha’s communication abilities. I suppose we could learn some more sophisticated form, but if I ever suggested we develop a code, I’d be laughed out of the Pack. Like wolves, werewolves have gotten by just fine without speech for millennia.

My Change back wasn’t faster, but when I finished, it was too damned cold to lie down and give myself time to recover. I yanked on my clothes and headed out.

The guys were at the cabin. Clay understood that waiting was a given. While Jeremy rarely joined us in the field, I wanted in on everything.

Clay waited for my signal, then threw his shoulder against the door. The door flew clear off its hinges, and he charged inside. We followed, flanking his rear.

I
nside, we found a mattress on the floor, and Mark Eaton on the mattress, sound asleep. Clay grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him into the air. Only then did he wake, all four limbs shooting out.

“Wh-what—?”

He stopped. He went still. He twisted to look back at Clay and his nostrils flared.

“You’re—”

Clay threw him onto the mattress. He scrambled up, blinking madly, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“You—I—” More blinking as he swallowed. He made a face. Drugged. So he wasn’t hiding here willingly. Eaton must have decided drugs were safer than ropes. Or more humane.

“Do you know who we are?” I asked.

He jumped at the sound of my voice. I stepped forward. He stared at me. Openly gawked. Not an uncommon reaction. From werewolves, that is. I would be the first female of his species Mark had ever seen. More importantly, the first he’d ever smelled. Apparently there’s some scent I give off, some combination of pheromones that makes the guys—or at least their bodies—say “hot damn.”

Most handle it badly. We’re talking about men accustomed to letting their bodies take charge and their brains trail behind. Some settle for flirting. Some attempt displays of male braggadocio rarely seen outside bars in New Jersey. Some launch straight into
caveman “jump me” mode, only to learn that, while I may be female, I’m still a werewolf.

Smart ones act like Reese had when he first met me—after that first shock of physical reaction, he couldn’t put enough distance between us. The other night, when Eaton stopped by, he’d made damn sure he stayed back and didn’t look my way, not with Clay standing right there. Again, smart.

The feeling would pass as they got used to me. It was only those first encounters that were troublesome.

So when Mark Eaton gaped at me, I thought we were going to have a problem. But he only gawked, the way you might if you saw a zebra strolling in downtown Toronto.

“She asked a question,” Clay said. “You’ll answer her. Now.”

“Right. I know who you are and what you’re doing here. You’re investigating the death of Dillon Mitchell, and my brother has convinced you I did it.”

“Convinced us?”

Mark waved at the shack. “He knows that by holding me here, he’s convincing you that either I’ve bolted or he’s hiding me from you. He’s pulling his submissive routine, isn’t he?”

We said nothing.

“I’m sure he is. Acting all nervous. Going out of his way to persuade you it wasn’t me, while nailing the holes in my coffin with …”

He blinked more, as if still struggling to focus.

“Are you saying your brother killed Dillon Mitchell?” I asked.

“No, Doug isn’t a man-eater. I don’t know how that boy died, but it wasn’t Doug. Not unless Dillon knew something and Doug killed him for that. I don’t think he’d eat him, but—” A lip curl of distaste. “I guess he might, if he was trying to cover it up. That might be it. Doug kills Dillon, trying to make it look natural. Except that it brings you guys running, so he has another reason to lock me up.”

“
Another
reason?”

“He wants—” His head shot up. He looked from me to Clay to Reese. “If you guys are here, where are your kids?”

“What?”

“Your kids. Your little girl. Who’s looking after her?”

“Why?”

“That’s what he’s after. That’s why he locked me up here. So I couldn’t warn you. He saw your little girl and—”

I wheeled on Clay. Before he could speak, I had the keys from his pocket and was running for the door, pushing Reese in front of me, calling for Clay to bring Mark.

Mark didn’t need to finish. I knew exactly what Doug Eaton had seen when he looked at my Kate. The same thing foster fathers and brothers had seen when they looked at me, all those years ago.

Prey.

As much as I wanted to drive, this was one time where the chain of command didn’t apply. When I tried getting into the driver’s seat, Clay picked me up and dumped me on the passenger’s side. He was right. My heart was thumping so hard I could barely breathe.

I called Nick’s cell again. My fingers shook so much that if I’d had to do more than hit Redial, I doubt I’d have managed it. But, like the half-dozen times I’d tried while we were racing to the truck, there was no signal.

In the backseat, Reese was doing the same, trying Noah’s number. Mark sat beside him, silent.

“Still out of range,” Reese said. “But they’re okay. Nick’s with them and he—”

“She knows,” Clay said.

Reese just wanted to reassure me that the twins were safe with Nick, but right now I probably wouldn’t relax if the entire Pack was with them.

I turned to Mark. “Tell us about your brother.”

I hoped to hear something to convince me that I’d misunderstood or he’d misinterpreted. But Mark’s story was exactly what I expected.

Growing up, Douglas Eaton had always been awkward around girls his own age. He’d dated but seemed to be performing a duty. Mark had decided his older brother was gay. He knew their father wouldn’t be able to handle it, so he went along with Eaton’s charade and didn’t push him toward women.

Then came the night, a few months ago, when Mark showed up unexpectedly and found his brother home with little Peyton James.

“He’d lured her into the woods in wolf form,” he said. “He got her lost, then Changed back and ‘rescued’ her. When I got there, he hadn’t done anything yet. He was just … staring at her. I took one look at his face and I knew I’d made a huge mistake about my brother. If I hadn’t shown up that night … Maybe he wouldn’t have done anything. Maybe he was still working up to it. Or maybe he’d been working up to it for years, with other girls, and if I hadn’t come by …”

He went on to explain that he’d persuaded Eaton to relinquish the girl. Except they couldn’t just let her leave. Mark didn’t trust his brother not to do the same thing again. He had to remove temptation. Eaton knew Peyton’s father and knew he wanted custody, so Mark persuaded him to call and say he’d found Peyton wandering the woods and he thought her dad needed to take her before her mother’s neglect led to tragedy.

Things had seemed to improve after that. There’d been no more incidents, and when Mark suggested moving in, Eaton acted happy. He even introduced Mark to Lori Romero.

“Who just happens to have a little girl,” I said.

Mark nodded. “I didn’t know at first. She’s only twenty, so I never suspected that. Then I found out. I broke it off with Lori the night of the party. Doug didn’t like that. We’ve been arguing ever
since. Then we were in town the other day and smelled you. Doug saw your daughter and … and I knew we were in trouble. Big trouble. Maybe he could control himself with human girls. But a werewolf’s daughter?” He shook his head.

Mark had tried to sneak over and warn us. His brother caught him. They fought. An argument turned to blows. Mark ended up with cracked ribs, a possible concussion, and a sprained ankle—we’d had to help him into the truck. He’d woken to find himself drugged and dumped in the cabin. He’d tried to escape yesterday, but only made it a few hundred feet on his injured foot before collapsing. His brother had found him. He’d told him we were on the trail of a man-eater and suspected him. If Mark tried to escape again, Eaton would tell us where to find him.

“Got a signal!” Reese said. “And Noah’s phone’s ringing. It’s … going to voice mail.”

“Leave a message,” I said as I dialed Nick’s phone. It blipped out the first time, but worked the second. It rang. Rang. Rang.

“You’re reached the voice mail of Nick Sorr—”

I hung up and tried again.

I left a message for Nick. There was nothing else to do.

Nick wasn’t the best fighter in the Pack. He wasn’t the smartest guy in the Pack. But he was the most loyal. If we asked him to look after our kids, that’s what he’d do and that’s all he’d do until we returned. If Eaton struck, then it wouldn’t matter that Nick wasn’t the strongest Pack member. That would be like saying a second-string major league player wasn’t good at baseball—he was still head and shoulders above any amateur.

The real issue? I was furious with myself. Eaton was a pedophile. I was a sexual-abuse survivor. How the hell hadn’t I figured it out? I’d seen him around Kate. I’d seen him around Lori Romero’s little girl. In both cases, he’d seemed anxious. I’d noticed that, but
somehow it hadn’t pinged my radar. Maybe I had no radar at all, and I’d been fooling myself that I did, and I’d let my daughter slip into the sphere of a predator because of it.

I
was out of the truck as soon as it slowed. Reese was, too, and he beat me to the front door. The first tug told me it was locked, but before I could push him out of the way, he slammed his shoulder into it and the door flew open. Then he stepped aside and let me through.

The house was empty. I ran to the back door and found all the coats and boots missing.

“They’ve gone out for a walk,” I said as Clay brought Mark through.

“You have to find them,” Mark said. “Doug’s been watching the house, waiting for you to take her out so he can lure her off, like he did with the James girl.”

Before he finished, I was out the back door. Reese and I took off at a run, and I made it to the forest’s edge before I realized Clay wasn’t with us. I looked back. He had Mark, arm around him to keep him upright as he limped along.

I knew babysitting a wounded mutt was not what Clay wanted to do right now. He said nothing, though. Sticking to his assignment until I said otherwise.

I glanced at Reese. I could tell him to watch Mark, but that meant one less person hunting.

“Leave him,” I said to Clay.

“No, I can help.” Mark pushed off from Clay’s support. A few faltering steps, then he stumbled.

“Stay there,” I said and we took off.

Mark was right. His brother was in the forest. I picked up his scent on the wind right away.

I’d screwed up. It wasn’t just that I hadn’t recognized what Eaton was. I’d left my children vulnerable in another way—by not telling them what
we
were.

I’d left them unprepared to deal with a werewolf threat. It didn’t need to be a pedophile—any mutt could have targeted them. If they knew that, then we could have taught them—what to expect from a werewolf. Simply telling them to avoid strangers wasn’t enough.

Eaton had lured Peyton James away from her house using his wolf form. Could he do that with Kate? Of course he could. Because, then, he wasn’t a strange man—he was a wolf, a creature that fascinated her, even if she didn’t understand why, and if she saw one, she’d follow, because I hadn’t prepared her to do otherwise.

“Can you smell him?” I asked Clay as we ran along the path from the chalet.

“Eaton?” He lifted his nose to the wind and inhaled. He nodded grimly.

“Reese? Can you?”

He was trying, but finally he said, “No. Sorry. But I can smell Nick, Noah, and the kids on this path. I can follow if you two want to go after—”

“No. Clay?”

“On it.”

He veered northwest. My cell phone rang. As I fumbled it from my pocket, Clay didn’t stop, just looked back, anxiety flashing in his eyes. I waved for him to wait.

“Just got your message,” Nick said in greeting. “Damned jacket’s so thick I didn’t hear it ring. The message was garbled, too. Something about Eaton and Kate?”

“Where are the kids?”

“Right here. We’re playing hide-and-seek.”

“Hide—?” My voice squeaked with panic.

“Um, yes. I can hear them and find them by scent, Elena. Not exactly a fair game, but it’s safe.”

“Right. Sorry. Could you please—?”

“Noah?” he called. “Find the kids.” Then, to me, “We’ll round them up and take them back to the cottage. Trouble, I’m guessing?”

“Eaton’s out here. Possibly in wolf form. He’s after Kate.”

“Kate? Why—?” Only a brief pause. Then he swore. In some things, he catches on faster than anyone else. He understands things better, too, and I didn’t have to say another word. He knew exactly how freaked out I’d be. He signed off with an abrupt promise that he’d find Kate and get her to safety.