Under Her Skin (9 page)

Nathan stilled. "Now, or ever?"

"Now. I hear Aunt Letty coming up the stairs."

He groaned against her neck. Emma laughed, but it was cut short when he rolled her over, fastened his lips to hers.

Oh, God, he tasted so good. Smelled so good.
Felt
so good. She pushed her fingers into his hair, opened her mouth to the slick heat of his tongue. His hips pushed between her thighs and he rocked forward once, twice; her breath caught on each movement, her body aching for completion.

But it wouldn't be now. With a growl that sounded as feral as hers, Nathan lifted himself away, and pushed off the bed. He stood in his khaki uniform pants and shirt, his hair disheveled, his breathing ragged and heavy. Not even a werewolf and he had to fight himself as hard as she did.

Warmth swept through her, curved her lips. "Sheriff Studly." She turned onto her side, propped herself up on her elbow. "That does have a better ring to it than Deputy Studly."

A teasing nickname she'd given him her first summer here, when they'd met and had an instant, strong connection with each other. But at sixteen, she had been too young for anything except a platonic relationship with a man just out of college. No wonder they'd fallen into the 'we're just friends' rut; both of them, afraid to change and risk the friendship they'd formed that first year. And both of them, longing for that change.

And they'd both gotten change in a big way.

Nathan dragged a hand over his face, finally looking away from her. "You knew to call me that last night. Letty told you about the election?"

"I kept up on the news here."

"Well, what they didn't mention was that most people voted me in on name recognition. They saw 'Forrester' and checked the ballot, forgetting that my dad was heading off to Arizona to retire, so they were actually getting Junior." His smile became wry. "The past eighteen months haven't been such a fine addition to his legacy, have they?"

Emma sat up. "What does that mean?"

"It means there are four women dead, and their murderer is still out there."

"So your dad just retired at the right time." She cocked her head, studying him. There was more than just anger and frustration in him, there was shame, too. "So is this why you weren't burning up the highway to Seattle?"

He stared back at her. "You tilted your head just like that this morning. Gave me the same damn look." When she didn't answer, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "All right. So I wanted to have something to offer you first."

If he'd just walked through her door that would have been enough. But she'd stayed away because she'd had her own demons to fight—demons that he'd easily accepted—and so she couldn't just tell him that his demons didn't matter.

She slipped off the bed, rose to her toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "So we find him."

"We?"

"Yes, we. And don't argue," she said when he looked ready to, "because I bit him. That means, right now, he's probably fighting himself. And the urges to do what he craves, what he enjoys—which is apparently raping and killing—will be hard to resist."

Nathan watched her, his expression dark. "He'd already been waiting less time between attacks."

"So it'll get worse. And then
worse
, because he'll be stronger, faster. And he'll have new ways of going after the women. And new ways of getting away."

"So what do you propose we do?"

Emma tapped her finger against her nose. "Sniff him out. I know what he smells like, and this is a small town. I can cover a lot of ground in a night."

"I bet." He paused, considering her. "How much did you cover this morning?"

She grinned. "Only the houses south of Walnut Street ."

Of course, he didn't let her go alone. His Blazer moved slowly down the darkened streets, and from the driver's seat, Nathan watched her flit between the houses, sniffing walkways and doors. Her appearance was raising hell with the dogs in town, more than one running along a backyard fence, barking its head off. He'd have a bevy of noise complaints to deal with tomorrow.

He put in a call to Osborne, who he'd talked into staying at the house with a promise of a home-cooked stew. The deputy reported that Letty had already gone to bed and that he was working through his third bowl.

Nathan would probably be rolling him out of there come morning.

He watched Emma trot down a side street, staying in the shadows. Now and then she'd lift her nose, smelling the air before shaking her head and continuing on. Nathan sighed, took a swig of coffee. They'd likely be out here for hours. And even if Emma identified the bastard, bringing him in could be tricky. No judge would issue a warrant based on a wolf's sense of smell. With luck, the print from the thumb would do it. But if not, Nathan would have to work backwards, find a solid link in the evidence that could have led him to the murderer's front door.

He frowned. Bringing a
werewolf
in was going to be tricky, regardless.

It was just past two when Emma returned to the Blazer, her breath billowing in the freezing air. Nathan leaned over, opened the passenger door. She leapt onto the bench seat, and lay down with a heavy sigh.

"Done for the night?" That sense of unreality hit him again. Knowing this wolf was Emma was one thing; talking to her in this shape was another.

She looked up at him, turned onto her side. The whine that escaped her sent chills down his spine. Her jaw cracked and bulged.

Oh, Jesus. He cut the Blazer's headlights and pulled off to the deserted roadside. He slid toward her on the seat, but didn't touch her for fear that his hands would add to the pain of the transformation. The change took less than a minute but felt like forever; an eternity filled with her whimpers, the groans of her flesh, and his murmurs that he prayed were helping, soothing. Finally she lay naked on the seat, her short hair and skin glistening with sweat.

"It's not so bad," she panted. "Once the pain starts, you just ride with it."

Speechless, Nathan shook his head. He reached into the back seat for a blanket, tucked it around her shoulders.

"Thanks." She gratefully accepted the coffee he offered, raised it to her lips with shaking hands. "I just need another second."

She wasn't exaggerating; by the time she'd swallowed the lukewarm drink, her shivers had stopped. She stared unblinkingly out the front windshield, her fingers tapping against the mug. "I get a whiff here and there, but it wasn't concentrated anywhere. I think he must move around the town. Maybe he does repairs, or some kind of work on call."

Work was a reality Nathan could get a grip on. "We covered most of the town tonight. It might be he's on one of the farms or rural properties outside of town, and just comes in...for whatever it is he does."

"I can start running those properties tomorrow night." Her lips curved. "I'd go during the day, but someone would probably shoot at me."

"It might be over by tomorrow anyway, if the state comes back with a name on that print."

Emma's nod wasn't too convincing. She was thinking, he imagined, exactly what he had been earlier: arresting a werewolf wasn't going to be easy.

She tilted her head back and finished off the coffee, placed the mug carefully in the cup holder. "Did it help—to see me change? Or make it worse?"

He didn't even ask how she'd known he was having trouble reconciling his Emma with the wolf. "Helps. I'm not saying I've got my head around it yet. But it helps."

"The transformation is grotesque."

His gaze ran up her pale, perfectly human legs. "Maybe for a few seconds. What you've got on either end isn't."

Her eyes locked with his. "You were afraid to touch me."

"I didn't know if it would hurt you."

"Oh." Her mouth softened. Her fingers, which had been clutching the blanket at her neck, loosened. "I thought we'd established that it only hurts when you don't."

The slice of skin and the pale curves of her breasts showing between the edges of the blanket undid him. Nathan pulled her toward him; she came eagerly, straddling his lap. Her mouth found his, then moved to his jaw, his neck. Her skin was hot beneath his hands. Her fingers worked frantically down the buttons of his shirt.

He thought about putting a stop to it. Thought that he'd always intended a bed for her, roses and wine—not the front seat of his truck. But thought that he'd never heard anything sweeter than her soft gasps and moans, nothing sexier than her growl when he slid his fingers down her stomach.

Her hips rocked, her back arched, her hands gripping his shoulders. She cried out his name when he pushed inside her. He offered himself to her just as he was, and took her just as she was.

Running a hundred miles couldn't have wrung her out as completely. Emma hadn't moved since she'd collapsed against Nathan's chest, her body limp. Didn't want to move.

But knew she needed to. With a soft groan, she slid from his lap. Nathan smiled, but he looked as shaken as she felt. Emma reached over the back of the seat for the bag she'd stuffed there before they'd left his house, not even trying to suppress the swelling emotion that constricted her chest, her throat. It was a sweet pain, knowing that it came from the wonder of fitting so perfectly with him.

It had been good between them. Better than good. Amazing.

Nathan finished buttoning his shirt, shoved the tails into his trousers. "I'll call Osborne, let him know we're heading back. You think Letty will notice if you sleep in my room?"

"Yes." Emma fished out her panties and jeans. "But she'll get used to the idea."

Actually, Emma would have been surprised if her aunt didn't already think that she and Nathan had been together all those years ago. She listened idly as Nathan spoke with Osborne, to Daisy's faint bark in the background.

Emma hurriedly shoved her jeans back down to her ankles. "Oh, my God. Nathan. Get out to your place. As fast as you can. Tell Osborne to get to Letty's room, and take his gun."

He didn't ask; he swung the Blazer immediately onto the road, repeated her instructions to Osborne.

As she removed her clothes again, she explained. "I can hear Daisy barking. She doesn't do that—she
never
does that. Except the night after I was bitten. She barked like crazy the first night."

Nathan nodded, his lips tight. Despite the two inches of snow that had fallen, a fresh set of tire tracks led down the lane that her aunt shared with the Forresters.

"Oh, shit," Emma whispered, then turned to Nathan. His gaze was fixed on the road. "I'm going to change. I'm faster that way, quieter. He's probably still in human shape."

"And he might have a gun," Nathan said grimly. "So don't you think you're going anywhere yet. Emma! Dammit."

She heard his curse, the slam of his fist against the steering wheel, then the agonizing crack of her joints as she began her change.

Letty's place rose up out of the darkness like a gingerbread house frosted with white icing. Nathan glanced over at Emma, sitting up with her ears pricked forward. "Okay, I agree. You're safer in that form. Harder to argue with, too—which I'm sure you love."

Emma turned her head and grinned at him before facing forward again.

"There's his truck," he said, unsure if Emma's wolf eyesight had picked out the extended cab pickup parked just off the lane. "He drove past the house. Then did he walk back to Letty's or head out on foot to my place?"

Emma gave an uncertain whine. Nathan pulled up behind the truck and drew his weapon. "Stay behind me."

He approached the truck slowly and noted the magnetic sign stuck to the door. Fuller's Plumbing. He pictured its owner, Mark Fuller—tall, sandy-haired, easygoing—and shook his head. Jesus Christ. He'd played ball with Fuller in high school.

In all the years since, he'd never heard a whisper of trouble connected to Fuller. In a small town like Pine Bluffs, word got around. If Fuller had even looked at a woman strangely, had an argument, or made an unwanted advance, Nathan probably would have heard of it. But Fuller had managed to stay squeaky clean.

Footprints led away from the pickup, heading further off the road, into the pine trees. "Do you hear anything from inside the cab?"

Emma shook her head. Nathan checked the truck, found it empty. A bandage, crusted with dried blood, lay crumpled on the passenger's seat.

What had Fuller thought, Nathan wondered, when the bleeding stopped so quickly? When his thumb had begun to heal over? Did he understand what was happening to him?

"This guy has the right smell?"

In answer, Emma put her nose to the ground, began following the foot prints. They lead to his place, Nathan realized, jogging beside her. Fuller must have parked here rather than risk anyone at Nathan's house seeing the truck's headlights or hearing the engine.

Nathan dialed Osborne's cell, and was putting his phone to his ear when the gunshots cracked through the night. He broke into a run. Emma streaked ahead.