Sadie Hart (2 page)

And while a normal bullet hurt like hell,
Ollie could work through this.

“Run.”

She gritted her teeth against the pain.

He wanted her to run. She couldn’t give him
that. Another gun shot rang out and the ground spit dirt in her
face as it swallowed the bullet. Another shot, and she jerked as it
hit the ground again, this time to her other side. “Run, run,
run.”

Ollie forced a smile to her face. She
breathed out a slow breath. He could only kill her if she ran. “I
told you. I know you.”

Black boots appeared out of the shadows in
front of her, and she could hear him breathing heavily, feel him
staring down at the back of her head. She refused to look up.

“It’s not fun for you if I don’t run.”

His knees bent as he reached down to drag her
to her feet. To beat her. She didn’t give him the chance. Ollie
launched up and into him, ramming into his midsection hard enough
to send him toppling backwards. Her hands scrabbled for the gun,
wrenching it out of his hands as she stumbled. She whirled,
catching herself before she fell, gripping the Glock firmly as she
lifted it to aim.

A black wolf split the night shrubs and was
gone.

One shot rang out, followed by the hollow
thud of a bullet biting into the trunk of a tree.

Gone. A cold vise clamped her heart as Ollie
stood there alone in the dark, Rosalie’s still-warm body somewhere
nearby, the only company left in the forest. It would be a long
hike back to the nearest road, but at least she could show them the
body. Give a description to a sketch artist. Have another chance to
catch the bastard.

Exhausted, Ollie headed for the clearing in
front of her and found the gold and black body of Rosalie sprawled
out over the forest floor. Once magnificent, the tiger lay there
broken and bloody. Ollie stared down, grief filling her as she
thought of Rosalie and the fourteen other victims. She should have
had him. Should have saved Rosalie Myers from becoming number
fifteen. She should have done more. Instead, he was free to kill
again.

To hunt again.

Chapter Two

Ollie watched the
towering man looming in front of her partner, a scowl etched on his
craggy face. His arms were braced over his chest. Aloof. From his
military cropped hair to the taut muscles that made him look
bigger, more imposing. Worried. Then again, the Sanctuary Falls
alpha had a damn good reason to be worried. He was missing a wolf,
and with less than a week until the full moon, there was a good
chance that whoever the woman was, she was in a rundown shack in
the middle of the woods somewhere waiting to die.

“You’re a lion. Not a Hound.”

Sawyer flinched at that, and Ollie shook her
head. The woman needed to stop flinching. Being the first
lion-shifter allowed through the Shifter Town Enforcement Academy,
becoming the first non-canine Hound, was one hell of an
achievement. And definitely nothing to be ashamed of.

“I’m both, sir. Sawyer Reyes.”

Sawyer shakily held out her badge and Ollie
wanted to strangle her. Don’t cower, don’t shake. Confidence. The
woman needed to learn to wear it like a cloak. No. Screw that. A
second skin.

Caine Morgan curled back his lips in a snarl,
the wolf not at all impressed, and Ollie headed over to intervene.
It was Sawyer’s first month out of the academy. She’d learn, and if
the woman was half what Lennox had talked her up to be, she’d make
a damn fine Hound when she found her spine. It took strength and
courage to survive a killer. It was, after all, why their boss had
made them partners.

Ollie neatly stepped up behind the Sanctuary
Falls alpha. “Mr. Morgan?”

He turned, dark brown eyes almost black as
they narrowed on her. His goatee was neatly trimmed, but black
stubble was beginning to win out, giving him a rugged appearance
that went perfectly with that scowl. She could see why Sawyer had
flinched. The man had a glare on him that could have melted steel.
Or made any sane, sensible person cower.

Instead, Ollie stiffed her spine and met him
head on, holding out her hand. “Holly Lawrence, Shifter Town
Enforcement.”

He gave one long, slow blink and she knew the
moment her name went from casual recognition to something more
solid. The Holly Lawrence. The one who’d survived. She felt the
familiar anger curl in her gut. It hadn’t been like that, but she
didn’t correct him. If anything, it lessened the scowl on his face.
Made the hard edge to him feel a lot less like a knife to the
throat. He still didn’t seem friendly.

“When was your wolf last seen?”

“Last night. And you’re damn well aware it’s
four days to the full moon.”

She was. She knew the phases of the moon
better than anyone. She’d lived and breathed this case during the
academy and after. Ollie had worked her ass off to get her brother
to transfer her up from the Colorado Enforcement office to here, to
work with Lennox, but more importantly to work in the state the
Hunter liked to call home.

Caine stepped closer, menacing, but she
didn’t back down. One snarling wolf wasn’t all that much different
from the next. She met his gaze calmly. Something in him eased as
her eyes met his, and the fight seemed to drain out of him a
notch.

“Her name is Claire Rawson,” he said. “She’s
twenty-one; she went out drinking last night with a bunch of
buddies to celebrate her birthday. She went to the bathroom alone
and never came back.”

He jerked his head towards the pair of women
standing in the Shifter Town Enforcement lobby. “I brought them
along in case you needed to speak with them personally.”

Caine held out a picture next. It was of a
spunky-looking brunette with a low-cut blouse, overdone makeup, and
a warm smile that said she laughed easily. Ollie had to fight the
burn of tears at the back of her eyes. If she didn’t find the
Hunter, this would be the face of the woman they found dead in five
days.

The Hunter had taken a break after she’d
gotten the best of him in those woods eight months ago. For six
months he hadn’t hunted, but for the past two he’d come back. Two
more bodies. Both werewolves.

“He’s got a thing for wolves.”

“No,” Holly corrected, glancing up at him
from the picture in her hands. “He has a thing for shifters. Wolves
are just his current fare.”

Caine stiffened at that, his hands clenching
into fists at his sides, but Ollie didn’t say any more. The Hunter
had killed more wolves than any other type of shifter, but he
didn’t have a preference. The animal they shifted into didn’t
matter. The Hunter needed a woman, early twenties to mid-thirties.
Athletic. Strong. Someone who’d be a challenge. But wolf-shifters
were just more plentiful than any other in Idaho, and since he was
working under the tight schedule of the moon, the Hunter couldn’t
afford to be picky.

“Have a seat in the lobby, Mr. Morgan. I’ll
question your wolves in just a second.”

She watched him go, back straight, his
stiff-legged gait still reading of tightly wrapped anger. Sawyer
let an irritated hiss whistle out between her teeth. “Ass,” she
muttered.

“He wouldn’t have gotten away with it if you
hadn’t cowered.”

Ollie turned to give the lioness the argument
she’d been building in her head, but Sawyer had the grace to wince.
“I know. It’s still automatic. I expect everyone to discredit me,
so I let them.”

“So stop.”

“Working on it.” She lifted one slender
shoulder in a shrug. “Guess I’ll start with one of the wolves he
brought along. I take one, you take the other?”

“Yeah.”

But it wouldn’t change anything. Ollie stared
at the pair now standing next to their brooding alpha. Talking to
them wouldn’t do a damn thing to help find their friend. They had
bags under their eyes, and even here in the next room, with a door
closed between them, she could smell booze and vomit on their
breaths. They’d be lucky to remember how much they’d had to drink
last night, let alone who’d been in the bar with them.

He knows how to pick his prey, she reminded
herself. Weak.

***

Caine Morgan watched the woman interviewing
Lacy Montague, the young wolf looking absolutely miserable under
the icy gray-blue gaze of the Hound questioning her. Holly
Lawrence. The one person to have seen the Hunter and lived to tell
about it. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who’d survived a
serial killer. Hell, she didn’t much look like anything. She was
pudgy in the gut, short with wide hips, and had wiry black hair
that frizzed out of a messy bun. Her face was angular, hawkish.

He’d always pictured the survivor to be
more...well...everything.

But there was a ruthless edge to her eyes he
hadn’t expected. Metallic almost, and she didn’t back down an inch
when pressured. That, at least, was something that fit the picture.
Fit the image of a woman who could stand up against a killer and
walk away.

Lacy started to rise, her knees clearly shaky
with fatigue, and Caine watched the wolfhound toss the legal pad of
paper up onto her desk and lean back, head tilted towards the
ceiling. She knew. Claire Rawson was as good as dead. Neither wolf
had remembered anything beyond Claire needing to use the bathroom,
and he wasn’t even sure they actually remembered that. He’d had to
drag the words out of them, bit by bit, and he couldn’t remember if
he’d accidentally led them into that train of thought, or if they’d
actually remembered what happened.

Holly Lawrence pinched the bridge of her
nose, her shoulders rising and falling in a sigh before she rose,
heading straight towards him. No sign of the weariness, the defeat.
She’d stuffed it away, leaving nothing but strength and confidence
on her face. The rest was hidden under a steely-eyed mask as she
approached. They’d start looking. Send a pack out to look at the
bar, bloodhounds to see if anyone could pick up the trail. He knew
it.

Didn’t mean he had to like it when her pretty
little lips opened to tell him as much. “You’ll do everything you
can,” he mocked. “Won’t save her anyway.”

He shoved up out of the small metal chair,
and she frowned at him. “Would you like to suggest something
better, Mr. Morgan? We’re doing the best we can.”

“And he’s still killing. Seventeen now. Or
are we eighteen? Do we count you as a victim even though you got
away?”

She flinched at that, the first sign of
weakness she’d shown him face-to-face as a haunted edge slipped
into her gaze. “Mr. Morgan—”

“Caine,” he bit out on a snarl.

“Caine. We’re going to do everything we can
to find Claire. I’m going to do everything I can.”

What she didn’t say, and he wanted her to,
was that sometimes everything wasn’t enough. Sometimes the bad guys
still won. It was a knowledge that lived in her eyes, he realized.
A blatant truth that stared back out at him now.

She extended him a card, a number written
neatly on the back. “My card. If you get any more information, let
me know. If you can’t reach me here, I’ve also given you my cell
phone number.”

He reached to take it, just as her fingers
tightened on the paper. “I want to find this son of a bitch
too.”

The fight leaked out of him as he stared down
at her, her wounded gunmetal eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” he said
softly. “I know.”

He took her card and gazed down at it,
leaving words best left unspoken hanging in the air as he walked
away. Wanting wasn’t always good enough.

Chapter Three

He’d called
three times over the past two days. Nothing. No leads, no tips, not
even a fucking goose chase. Shifter Town Enforcement Hounds were
left sitting behind their desks while a member of his pack was
being prepped to die. Caine lashed out at the man in front of him.
Trey’s lean body whipped out range before the punch could hit home.
His breathing came fast, heavy, a sign of a good workout, and Caine
lunged again just to make his friend sweat.

This time when Trey pulled back he stumbled,
and the punch knocked him squarely in the gut, hard enough that it
clicked his teeth shut as he strained to catch his balance. Trey
caught himself before he fell and danced backwards, careful to slip
out of range, and this time Caine let him. Trey flashed teeth in a
hint of a snarl. “Way to hit a wolf when he’s down.”

Caine laughed, the strain of the past few
days easing a notch. “You weren’t down. Yet.”

“Fair enough.” Trey shoved one hand through
the mass of tight black curls on his head, weariness edging into
his eyes. “You call?”

“Same news. They haven’t found anything.” His
jaw tightened. For some stupid, girly reason, he’d thought having
Holly Lawrence on the case would make a difference. That the one
who’d gotten away would be the one who could save Claire. That
somehow, having her involved in the case would save him from having
to tell Claire’s parents, her friends, the pack that he’d failed.
“I shouldn’t have let them go out that night.”

“Don’t start that bullshit again.” Trey
leaned down to swipe his t-shirt off the ground, shaking it out
with a sharp snap. “She’d just turned twenty-one. Kids like to go
out and get wasted the first night they can. There were a thousand
girls out that night.”

“She just got the shit end of the stick?”

“Yeah.” Trey yanked the shirt on over his
head, then leaned down to swipe up Caine’s as well. “No one could
have known.” He pinned his alpha a glare. “Not even you.”

“She didn’t deserve it.” He sighed. Hell.
None of them had. People didn’t deserve to die just so some
whack-job could get his rocks off. He snatched his shirt from Trey
and headed back towards his house. For the most part, he liked the
pack nearby. There were a few members that chose to live out on
their own, branching out into the surrounding city, but the vast
majority lived right here in Sanctuary Falls. They owned a whole
street, mostly acres of forest between the houses, but it kept the
pack within reach.