Sadie Hart (9 page)

The place was private. Secluded.

And the place Claire Rawson had died.

A mailbox sat at the end of a winding
driveway, and Caine turned the car down it, heading for the small,
one-story house at the end. A wire fence separated the yard from
the road. Beyond it, though, looking out into the field, he could
see the yellow Enforcement tape. His hands flexed over the
wheel.

The Hunter had killed Claire Rawson here, in
Holly’s back yard. That was how she’d been there. The thought left
him cold. Grabbing the dead duck and note from the back seat, he
headed for the door, and barely had time to knock when an old woman
answered. Her white hair was in frizzled curls around her face.
“Hello there.”

Wrong house.

He glanced towards the yard, a familiar
pounding in his heart. Then he inhaled and the scent of Holly
Lawrence—the wiry fur of her dog-half, the apple scent of her
shampoo—hit him. It filled the house in front of him.

“I’m looking for Holly Lawrence.”

The woman smiled. “Cecily Lawrence, Holly’s
grandmother.” She winked at him. “She’s out back. Star can take you
to her.”

The woman whistled, and a large Lassie-style
dog came barreling up to the door, tail wagging. She greeted him by
shoving her pointed nose into his hand, and then raced down the
front steps and headed around the side of the house. “Star,” the
woman called out. “You’re forgetting someone.”

And, as if the damned dog spoke English, she
stopped. Caine blinked. He didn’t get the scent of human from her.
Just dog. Ordinary dog. The sable collie had a white blaze that ran
from her nose all the way up between her ears, spilling in a
waterfall down the back of her neck to fill out the white ruff that
circled her neck and covered her chest. Star cocked her head, tail
wagging so hard her hips joined in, and she waited.

Damn. He had wolves who could turn into
people who didn’t listen even half as well.

“Well, thank you.” He bowed his head at the
woman holding the door. “Caine Morgan.”

He went to hold out his hand, remembered the
duck and blood stained paper, and cringed. Cecily just smiled at
him and shook her head. “We can shake on it another time. Go on.
They’re expecting you.”

They’re? The last thing he wanted to deal
with was the whole pack. Squaring his shoulders, he headed down the
steps after the dog. She waited until he was at her side before
continuing around the house. Pausing every few steps to glance back
at him, her slender muzzle open in a very doggie grin. Definitely
Lassie-esque, he thought. In that way, too, she reminded him of her
owner. Not in looks. Holly changed into an Irish wolfhound, all
grizzled, wiry gray fur and long, lean body. Her dog half, if
standing on her hind legs, would stand taller than most men.
Nothing like the short, pudgy woman he knew.

But the collie looked like a carbon copy of
the one he’d seen on TV throughout most of his childhood, though
maybe a little smaller. But it was the idea. What Lassie
symbolized—loyalty, courage, selflessness, and the need to
protect—was who Holly was. Lassie would have been damned before
she’d leave Timmy down a well. Holly was turning herself inside out
to catch a killer and hating herself when she didn’t succeed.

“You’re a good girl,” he told the collie,
laughing as the dog turned to swipe a wet tongue over his knuckles.
“Where can I hire one of you to train my pack?”

They turned the corner together, and he saw
the deck built off the back of the house, Holly’s car parked
alongside a silver truck. She stood on the porch, leaning against
the rail, her face turned into the wind, watching him as he came
around the side of her house with her dog at his side. She lifted
her beer and took a sip. Hell, he could use one of those.

Then a man appeared on the deck behind her.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, he waited, head held high, gaze wary.
Watchful. And damn the wind, but it was in their favor, not
Caine’s. His gaze slid to Holly, but she didn’t seem scared, and
for a woman who’d seen the Hunter...

He blew out a harsh breath. Her head cocked
as he approached, confusion flashing over her face as he held out
the dead bird. Star barked from his side and bounded for the deck,
barreling up the stairs and straight for the man behind Holly, her
whole body wiggling. Caine watched the other man kneel, holding out
his hands, and the collie squirmed right into his arms.

“He said it was a gift?” Holly asked as he
held out the duck. Caine glanced between her and the man behind
her. His nose twitched again, finally close enough to catch the
other man’s scent. Dog. The same musky, wiry scent that Ollie had
just under her skin. Hound, then. But the whole pack wasn’t here.
Just this one.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or
pissed.

Caine held out the note for her next. “He
left this with it.”

The other Hound stepped closer, and Caine
stiffened, eyes darting to him. He hadn’t smelled the man on her
before, but today, layered over the scent of their brief hug
earlier, was the smell of this new guy. It set his teeth on edge.
Why the fuck hadn’t she just said she had a boyfriend?

The man’s eyes narrowed on his, but he held
out a hand. “Brandt.”

Caine fought down a growl and took Brandt’s
hand, grip firm. “Caine.”

Brandt let him go and turned to Holly,
momentarily ignoring the collie still pushing her long, tapered
nose up at his elbow, begging for more. Obviously he was a familiar
face here. The dog had welcomed him, but she hadn’t even shown half
the amount of enthusiasm for him. “Let me see, Ol.”

This time Caine had to look away to hide the
flicker in his jaw as he swallowed the urge to snarl. He didn’t
screw around with women who were already taken. He sure as hell
wouldn’t have come on to her at the morgue.

Ollie shook her head. “You’re not officially
on the case, Brandt.”

But the man took the paper anyway, and Caine
did snarl that time.

In answer, Brandt smiled. “Give me ten. I’ll
call Lennox and get myself all official.”

He leaned in to kiss Holly on the temple.
“Why don’t you fetch the wolf a beer?”

“Because if I leave you two on the porch I’m
afraid I’ll come back to find one of you dead.” She crossed her
arms and looked between them. Brandt opened his mouth to respond,
but the teasing light that had been in his eyes a second ago died
when he read the note.

“Fuck. Ol.” A haggard sigh slipped from him
and Brandt reached up to rub his hand down his face. Exactly like
Holly did when stress overwhelmed her. Brandt read the note aloud,
anger coursing through his voice, making it a rough baritone.
Furious. “Tell her I said hi? Give our Hound a gift?”

“I told you, it’s personal now.”

“Personal enough,” Caine said, voice a low
whisper, but just loud enough to interrupt them, “that he killed
Claire here. That’s how you were there. When she died.”

A grimace tightened her face, pain filling
her eyes, when Brandt laid a hand on her shoulder. He stepped
between them, and Caine found himself pulled taut, stiff with the
need to growl. Shift. Let the wolf have his say in this little
pissing contest they had going on.

He didn’t like acting like a dick if he could
help it, but he also didn’t like being cut out of the loop. Having
no control. And that was exactly where he stood. Claire Rawson, his
wolf, had died, and he still didn’t know the whole story. But this
guy did? Fuck that.

“You’re the Sanctuary Falls alpha,
right?”

“For a man who’s not on this case, you know
an awful lot about it.” The question was there without him having
to ask it. A quiet demand he expected people to answer. He didn’t
normally have to beg for information. Brandt just smiled.

“He’s my brother,” Holly said, the censure
evident in her voice as she looked between them. “And the Colorado
STE alpha.”

“Intimidation tactics don’t work.” Brandt
caught his gaze and held it. “You’re thirsty, right?”

Caine thought of having to go home; he still
had to tell the Rawsons their daughter was dead. Had funeral
arrangements to make. A pack to console. “I’d kill for a beer right
about now. If you don’t mind.”

He added the last to Holly. She tilted her
head in a slight nod, a bit of tension draining out of her
shoulders, the exhaustion leaking through. He’d yet to go sleep,
and, judging by the bags under her eyes, she hadn’t seen her pillow
yet either.

“Fine. Just don’t kill each other.” Holly
glared at her brother, but left them on the porch. Caine lifted his
eyebrows in question, silently waiting. Brandt had gotten what he
wanted, now Caine wanted to see what he’d do with it.

“Ol’s an adult, so I won’t snap your ass for
groping her this morning. I figure she could shoot you if you went
too far.” Caine didn’t argue that. The Hound was more than capable
of taking care of herself. Physically. He thought back to the
haunted edge to her eyes, the guilt...emotionally, maybe not so
much.

He shrugged. “You send her in the house just
to say that?”

“Nah. Sent her in the house to tell you that
if you hurt her, I will hunt you down.” Brandt’s gaze darted back
to the paper in his hand and he cringed. He waved it slightly at
Caine. “But I wouldn’t mind a little help keeping her safe. This
son of a bitch. He’s not playing the same game he was before he
caught her.”

“She’s right about it being personal.”

Brandt made a soft grunt in the back of his
throat. Agreement.

Holly appeared on the deck again, a second
beer in hand, and held it out to him. “He left it in Sanctuary
Falls?”

Caine nodded. “At the edge of my main turf.
Staked to a tree. No one saw him come or go.”

And that sure as hell wouldn’t happen again.
She frowned at it and shook her head, her gaze lifting to meet her
brother’s. Caine could see it now. They had the same dark eyes,
same wave to their hair. The same richly tanned skin. “It doesn’t
make sense,” she mused. “He comes back to the scene of the crime
the next morning, not to a place of no significance.”

“It has significance. He chose his victim
from my pack,” Caine said.

She shook her head. “But not to him. That’s
not how he sees it. He doesn’t play with packs. He picks his
victims individually, hunts them, murders them, and then moves
on.”

“But it’s personal now,” Brandt whispered,
holding out the crumpled, bloody piece of notebook paper. “Claire
and the other two victims since your escape? They’re not the grand
finale.”

The wind rustled over the field, and the
flutter of the crime scene tape caught Caine’s eye, the snap and
crackle of it flapping in the wind. He stood there watching it so
he didn’t have to watch her face crumple, see the insta-guilt that
hit her like a freaking sledgehammer. As if one woman could save
them all. She was my responsibility, too, you know. Caine bit down
on the words and held them back. No.

“Give our Hound a gift,” Brandt repeated.
“Our Hound.”

Caine’s attention jerked back to Brandt. The
wolfhound leaned against the rail, paper still in hand, the duck
discarded on the deck floor. The cool breeze touched Caine’s face,
a soft reminder of death still lingering in the air. A ghost. It
hung there between them as Brandt turned and looked him in the
eye.

“The morgue.” Caine ground his teeth at the
thought. It was the only thing that made sense. The Hunter had seen
them. “It was just a hug.”

Which could have been more, but wasn’t. For
the first time that day, he was thankful he hadn’t kissed her,
though as Holly’s lips twisted into a frown, and he wanted to now.
Brandt lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. The bastard
might not have even been there, we might be reading too much into
it. Ollie’s guilt is enough of a button.”

“But this isn’t how he works.”

“It’s how he’s working now. Killers change.
Triggers hit their hot buttons, stressors max out their brains
and—”

“I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “So—what?
He’s going to use Caine to get to me? If he wants me, why doesn’t
he just come and get me?”

“I don’t know. If we knew that, maybe we
could catch him.” Brandt held the letter out to her. “All we can do
is wait. Wait for the next clue. The next move.”

“For someone else to die.” The hollow way she
said that tore at Caine’s gut. Hope had a sound, a faint breathy
tint to a voice, a joy that made it lighter, happier. Despair had a
sound, too. Darker, filled with melancholy and grief. A macabre
haunt that burrowed itself into words until they echoed with pain.
Caine reached up to catch her arm before he could stop himself.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He shook his head. That
was as far as he was going here, now. Apparently, one hug had given
the killer enough information to think he could use Caine against
her. He wondered when the pair of them would put together exactly
what that meant. His pack. Sanctuary Falls. Unless the Hunter
wanted a sniper-style kill, Caine wasn’t someone he could hurt. But
he couldn’t guarantee that all of his wolves would be able to
withstand torture and resist running.

If the Hunter was watching now, Caine didn’t
want to give him any more excuses. Holly Lawrence, kissable and
vulnerable as she seemed to be, was definitely off limits. Instead
he let her go and turned to walk away.

“Caine.” It came out on a breath, barely
above a whisper but it stopped him in dead in his tracks, jerked
him so effectively to a stop his teeth clicked together.

“It’s not your fault,” he said over his
shoulder. “But I have to go. I gave you your message. You’re not
the only person I have to talk to today.”

He glanced back to the yellow tape, knew the
moment her gaze followed his by the way she stiffened, a slight
gasp slipping out of her. “I could—”