Sadie Hart (22 page)

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled
them over. Hands still twisted in the sheets, she pulled them with
her, drawing another delighted laugh from him. One-handed he
reached over and untangled her fingers.

He pulled her hands to his chest. “Hang on to
me now, and don’t let go.”

The way her smile deepened coiled tight
around his heart. There was a promise there, a surety, a cocky
confidence that said she’d already understood everything, felt and
smelled and tasted it as they’d shattered in each other’s arms.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured against his lips. “I won’t.”

And this time, she kissed him, clinging to
his shoulders, one leg wrapped around his hips, with Caine still
lodged deep inside her. By the time they started again, she still
hadn’t let go, and when sleep finally dragged them both under, her
arms were wrapped around his neck, her legs around his hips.

Caine held her just as close.

Chapter Seventeen

Danielle Carson stared up at him, her body shaking. Tied
spread-eagled over the bed, she looked so helpless. So perfect.
Another tear slipped down her cheek, and her jaw trembled so much
her teeth chattered. Dean reached out and ran a hand up her calf,
loving the instant wildfire of fear in her eyes. No longer just a
spark, but a blazing bonfire as she looked up at him.

“Please don’t.”

He ignored her. This was part of the fun.
Breaking them. Watching as they splintered open and screamed with
fear. His finger trailed up her thigh, and she clamped her eyes
shut, refusing to look. He hit her once. A slap of his hand against
her cheek, and she cried out. His wolf-heightened senses heard her
daughter whimper in the other room, and he knew the woman heard it
too. Kids didn’t interest him. Unlike women—grown women—they were
too easy.

He’d had to break this one. Showing her pain,
showing her what he could do. Before, raping his victims had just
been a good way to pass the time. An outlet for the sexual energy
locked up inside him. Made it so he didn’t have to pay for whores
or tolerate living with someone else. Fuck that.

Now, though, it was a way to make them fear
him more. Make them so desperate to run that when he let them go in
the woods they tore off. His heart pumped at the thought of this
one running away, trying to drag her little girl with her. He
wondered, would she desert the child if she was afraid he’d catch
her?

“Please,” she begged, and Dean ignored her.
Begging had never worked with him.

He raped her again, brutally. Made her scream
even louder this time, in spite of her resistance as she still
tried to protect her little girl crying in the other room.

When he was done he pulled out, wiping
himself off on her shirt, and he tossed it at her. She flinched,
trying to pull away, another cry wrenching out of her. He zipped up
his jeans and stepped back, watching as she shivered and trembled.
So scared. He licked his lips.

He almost didn’t want to wait.

Almost.

But the last one had messed up his schedule
enough. No. His hands toyed with her pussy, his heart picking up
speed at the way she screamed out, begging for him to let her go.
Like she had anything he wanted. It was almost laughable. This
woman had nothing to bargain with. Nothing.

Dean leaned down and whispered in her ear as
he squeezed over her mound. “When I let you go, you run, little
bitch. You’ll only get one shot before I catch you. If I catch your
daughter, she just dies. If I catch you both, you’ll watch as I
rape her before I kill you both.”

A ragged whimper slid out of her, and he
could actually see when a part of her retreated deep inside, like a
light snuffing out in her eyes. Dean puzzled over that as he
continued to stroke her. Not enough. Not scared enough yet. “Or
maybe I won’t kill her. I’ll let you see what I’m going to do to
her for the rest of her life. Then I’ll let you die, and I’ll keep
her. Right here. Just like I have you.”

There.

Suffering, dragging defeat bore down on her
as he watched the knowledge sink in. Watched as she desperately
tried to think of options. He’d already explained the woods. How
her only shot at getting away was running. He’d described how it
would be if she tried to carry her daughter, how much slower she’d
be.

Now, he just watched as all those
conversations flashed in her eyes, and the woman that was Danielle
Carson was extinguished. The empty shell of her body still
breathed, and when he let her go, it would be blind terror that
drove her to run. Survival instinct. The same instinct that would
have a wolf chew off its own leg when caught in a trap, desperate
to survive, to get free.

That same instinct that might force a mother
to abandon her child.

Dean laughed as he headed for the door. God,
what he would have given to make the wretched bitch that had been
his mother look like that. She’d never have touched him again.

Not like all those nights his mother had
wandered into his room, raving about how she needed someone now
that his father was gone. Dean curled his lips back at the
memories. His mother’s hands groping him, her lips— He shuddered.
Killing her had been the best thing he’d ever done.

A low, fat moon had glared at him through his
bedroom window that night, giving him plenty of light to see. He’d
known she’d come. She always came for him back then. She hadn’t
expected the gun, though. At seventeen he’d dreamed of hitting her,
beating her. Making her too scared to come after him. But the wolf
in him was never strong enough.

The animal had always cowered after one flash
of her teeth, leaving him helpless to fight her. Dean curled a hand
into a fist and slammed it into the wall, but not even pain helped
him wrench free of the memories. The first time he’d hit her as a
man she’d shifted and attacked him.

That had been the last time he’d trusted the
wolf to do anything for him. Oh, he liked the animal well enough.
But not to keep him safe, not to kill. No, his father had taught
him how to do that. With a gun. And when Dean had found his
father’s old gun safe...

A smile curved his lips as the memories
turned to one he enjoyed. Watching Irene Winters stumble into his
room smelling of booze. Her wolf-gold eyes bright as she climbed
onto his bed, grinning. He loved picturing her face when she felt
the cold press of a gun against her chin.

She’d known then. He’d had enough, and not
even the big, bad bitch inside her could save her.

She hadn’t even had time to shift before he
shot her. Just a flash of fear in her eyes and bang! Power filled
him with the memory, the sense of triumph, but Dean smothered it.
Lips pursed, he glanced back into the small room. His mother had
been scared, a brief flash of fear before he’d pulled the trigger,
but nothing like terror in the woman he left lying on his bed. A
shame. He’d have liked to kill her again. But Holly, the one who’d
had gotten away, the one who thought she fucking knew him?

She’d be close enough.

***

Ollie tossed her pen onto her desk and leaned
back in her chair, automatically counting the ceiling tiles above
her head. Tomorrow two people would die, and she still had nothing.
The pack had been slaving over every angle. They’d pored through
every lead they could find. She’d spent the last few days rifling
through abuse charges from twenty to thirty years ago. Sometimes
killers really were made by cruel parents.

Nothing.

They’d gotten saliva and DNA off of Lydia
Marks’ body, run it through the system and nada, zilch, nothing.
Again. So much for him making a mistake. Ollie started to sit
forward and go back to work when strong hands found her shoulders.
The rich scent of wolf touched her nose and she relaxed. “Who
dragged you in?”

“A very big kitty-cat. Two of them, actually.
They’re hovering over your boss at the moment.”

Ollie turned to see Lennox pointing her
lovers to an empty set of desks with even more files on them.
Looked like she was putting everyone to work. Ollie tilted her head
back. “You here to help?”

Caine eyed the stacks of papers and folders.
“How helpful has it been so far?”

“Not at all. But we might get lucky.”

His teeth ground together for a second and he
shook his head. “I have a different idea. If you trust me.”

That surprised her. Trust him? “I think you
know the answer to that.”

A smile touched his lips, intimate possession
heating his darkened eyes, and Ollie fought a shiver. One finger
slid up her neck, a barest hint of a touch, and the shudder won.
“It’s one thing for you to trust me with you; it’s another for you
to trust me with this case. With someone else’s life.”

True. It was a huge difference. Her life
didn’t even come close to mattering as much saving Danielle Carson
and her daughter. But there was no one she trusted more than Caine.
Her hands slid over his. “I trust you.”

“Then let’s go.” She blinked, her lips
parting to argue when he leaned down and kissed her.

When he broke away he met her gaze head on.
“No, I’m not telling you where. If I do, you’ll start to over think
everything. Head out to the car, and I’ll clear it with your
boss.”

Well, then. Ollie glanced back at the papers
that had yielded nothing. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

Slipping out of her chair, she headed toward
the front door and Caine’s car. A few minutes later Caine appeared,
withdrawing a blindfold out of his pocket as he slipped into the
driver’s seat. Ollie cast him a skeptical glance. “This better not
be another way to get me into bed.”

She hadn’t been sleeping since the night
they’d last been together, but she couldn’t afford it right now.
Sleep was a luxury for people who had time. And while she still had
a chance to save the Carsons, she going to give it her all.

“No,” he said softly. “I just don’t want you
to see where we’re going until we’re there.”

The blindfold settled over her eyes, casting
the world around her to black, and he pulled the knot tight at the
base of her skull. “Now relax.”

The engine revved to life and they were
moving. She tried to follow along, guessing streets in her head,
but it was useless. Giving up with a sigh, she sank back into the
seat and waited. The drive didn’t take long, helped along by the
old rock music playing softly on the radio, and she fought the urge
to sneak out her fingers and roll down the window. Just to get a
sniff-peek at where she was going. Her hand twitched, but she held
firm. Caine’s low, deliciously dark chuckle told her he’d spotted
the aborted move.

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“Nah, sweetheart, say it isn’t so.” The
teasing tone to his voice made her smile. He’d parked the car, and
though she officially had no idea where they were, somehow, with
Caine in the seat beside hers, she was willing to wait. Willing to
let him lead.

She blew out a soft breath. “Stop teasing.
Can I take this off now?”

Ollie wiggled her eyebrows and scrunched her
face, but the blindfold held fast. Fabric rustled in the car as
Caine leaned closer, warm breath skittering down her neck and over
her cheek. His lips brushed her temple, and she jolted as every
nerve in her body came alive. Her breath hitched in her chest.

“Nope. I want to try something. We’re going
to leave it on.”

His car door snicked open and he was gone.
Ollie’s senses strained for clues. The pine and woodsy scent of
forest hit her first. Followed by the crunch of Caine’s footsteps
over leaves and twigs as he made his way around the car, opening
her door. His hand wrapped around her elbow as he carefully guided
her out.

Nostrils flaring, Ollie tilted her head back
and breathed in the scent of the forest around her. Not home. There
was a wood-burning stove somewhere distant, its smoke a faint
overlay to the air, but more than that, the place felt different,
and yet familiar. Ollie frowned.

“What’s next?”

“Walk with me. Just take it all in. Let your
senses take over.”

“And you managed to clear this with Lennox?
Hey, I’m taking one of your Hounds on a blindfolded walk through
the woods; it’s almost as good as a moonlit walk on the beach.”

Caine tapped her nose and she startled.

“Behave,” he murmured. “And concentrate.”

Fine. Ollie focused on the forest around her,
sifting through the raucous calls of blue jays and the squawky,
angry shouts of crows. The faint scent of rain hung heavy in the
air, an oncoming storm. Rotting wood touched her nose, thicker now.
Not just the occasional log, and she stiffened, pulling to a halt.
Her heart started to pound as a familiar fear sank into her
bones.

“Caine.”

His hands framed her face, holding her still
as he crowded in closer. The warm strength of his body pressed
against her. “Breathe.”

She did. The first one was shaky, edged with
the need to rip off her blindfold and get a good look at her
surroundings. She didn’t recognize where she was, but she
recognized the scent of a shack in front of her. Metal hinges,
rotted, termite-infested wood.

“You told me you got lucky the night you
stumbled on the Hunter and Rosalie Myers.”

“Lucky being a poor word choice.”

Caine kissed her forehead. Soft. “I want you
to think back to that night. The night you found them. Start from
the beginning. What happened?”

Tension eased out of her in a sigh as she
surrendered to his intent and closed her eyes, despite the
blindfold. Remembering. She’d pulled up off an old service road,
intending to get out, shift, and have a good run. She had searched
every other backwoods area she could think of and had come up with
nothing, and while she’d rigged each place with rudimentary
surveillance, the whole mission had begun to feel like a bust. Yet
another good idea down the drain.