Wolf at the Door (13 page)

Blowing out a breath, she answered it.
“Charles.”

A woman screamed over the line and Timber’s
body leapt, knotting as all that raw terror spilled through the
phone. “You know the rules, love. How many more will die because
you won’t do what you’re told?”

A slick, wet sound filled her ear, and Timber
bit down on the back of her hand as she heard the woman’s gurgled
coughs, sputtering, and then silence.

“You’re mine, love, mine. So get that dog out
of your house.” The line went dead.

Timber sucked in one breath after another,
but all she could hear were the screams, the wet, bloody sound of a
knife gutting some stranger, and then the silence. God, how many
times had she heard that, been forced to watch that?

No, no, no. She wasn’t going there again.

Charles would kill and keep on killing, no
matter what she did—whether she was with him or running from him.
She didn’t matter. Not like he told himself she did.

Her teeth dug into the back of her hand hard
enough she could taste the blood, but she would not scream. Would
not cry. He’d broken her once, left her shattered. It was time to
be strong now. Stronger than Charles could imagine.

A fist banged against her front door and
Timber lowered her bloody hand to the table, the knife still
gripped tightly in her fist. Tossing the phone aside, she picked up
the second blade and went to the door. Timber recognized the Hound,
who kept hammering on her door, his eyes wild with fury, anger.

Then Brandt was there beside him, reaching
for him.

The other man swung out and Brandt ducked.
“Jesus, Ace, stand down.”

“He killed her. That son of a bitch, he
killed her.” The other Hound, Ace, waved wildly in the direction of
the patrol car.
Oh, no
. Timber swayed slightly, the angry
Hound’s accusations swamping her. “I fucking went out on patrol,
came back, and Laci’s dead.”

Timber leaned her head against the front
door. She recognized the expression that flashed across Brandt’s
face, had seen it so many times before. They’d lost one of their
own.

“Shit,” Brandt whispered, his voice suddenly
hollow.

Ace made a broken, angry sound. “I heard her
screaming, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“I thought it was Timber.” A hand touched her
door handle, tried to twist, and Timber stared at it, waiting for
Brandt to realize she’d locked the door.

“That little—”

“Don’t.” Brandt cut the other Hound of with a
snarl. “You will do your job. Timber is as much a victim in this as
your partner.”

Through the peephole she could see Ace’s
nostrils flare. “You only say that because you were fucking
her.”

“Enough.” Brandt jerked his hand out in the
direction of the car. “Secure the scene and call in the pack. I
need to make sure Timber is safe and that we haven’t lost two
people tonight.”

The handle twisted again.

“
She
isn’t one of ours,” Ace said,
grief and anger contorting his voice, but still saying what Timber
had expected to hear.

How many more will die because you won’t
do what you’re asked?
Charles’s taunt echoed through her, but
then Brandt’s voice outside her door cut off the self-doubt and
guilt.

“No. You’re right. Timber Kearney isn’t a
Hound. But she’s ours to protect. That’s our job. She didn’t ask
for this.” Brandt shoved closer, pressing into his space until he
was right in Ace’s face. “Are you going to do your job, or do I
need to do it for you?”

“Fuck,” Ace muttered but he turned and headed
for the car. She watched Brandt stare after him, turning only when
he saw the other Hound pull out his phone and make the call.

“Timber,” Brandt called out. His knock
rattled her front door. She stared at it.

Where was the line between fighting and
hiding? Charles would keep killing with or without her, she knew
that, but would fewer people die if she had a gun and—

“Timber,” Brandt said, this time his voice
soft. “You’re right there, I can hear you breathing. Open the
door.”

She wavered. Charles wanted Brandt gone, that
much was clear. He’d killed a Hound to make sure she got the
message. More than that, though, as much as she didn’t want to
believe the man who’d just held her minutes before would turn his
back on her...pack was pack. And he’d just lost one of his because
of her.

It was a lot to ask of him, to keep
protecting her if his own kept going under fire. And they
would.

“You should go,” she whispered.

He made a gruff sound of disagreement. “You
should open the door and have this conversation with
me
.”

She shook her head. No. Timber shoved away
from the door. Turning toward the living room, she left him
standing on her front porch.

“Timber!” Brandt called again, a note of real
fear in his voice this time. She heard the handle jerk again as she
scooped up his duffle bag and shoved what belongings had spilled
out of the top back inside. She pulled the zipper closed and went
back to the door.

She wouldn’t just walk into Charles’s arms.
No, she’d find another way to fight him. But she could yield in
this. He wanted Brandt out of her house. Hell, maybe it’d buy them
all some time. She flipped the lock and opened the door. Brandt
stood there on the front steps, alone this time. His gaze narrowed
on the bag.

“You have to go.” She tossed the bag to the
deck in front of him.

Brandt just shouldered his way inside. His
gaze skimmed over the knife still clutched in her hand, the other
on the table beside the door. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed
her behind him. “Stay behind me.”

Brandt scanned the room and pulled out his
phone. “Tate?”

A man’s voice sounded over the other line,
softer, but with her wolf’s hearing Timber could make it out.
“We’re on our way, Ace called. Martin’s dead?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if Wolfe is here still or
if he’s left.”

“Do you have Kearney?”

Brandt looked back at her. There was
something hard in his eyes when they met hers, but there was a
question in them, too. He lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, but
he didn’t sound confident. “I’m securing the house now.”

He hung up and turned his back to her, but
only to scan the room again before he moved forward. Timber stayed
behind him. Silence stretched and lingered between them. It wasn’t
until they’d cleared the house and were standing in her office, the
distant sirens getting louder, that he turned to look at her
again.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Confusion
had muddled her, but Brandt continued before she could even form a
question. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither is my pack.”

“Your Hound—”

“Ace has his own issues. Issues I’ll deal
with. But he does not speak for me, and he sure as hell doesn’t
speak for the rest of my pack. So you tell me what’s going on. If
it was the conversation you heard between Ace and me or what nearly
happened between us on your couch—”

“He called.” The words burned her throat and
she took a step back, but Brandt followed her. He didn’t give her
an inch of extra space. “He called while he was killing her. I
heard her die. I heard the knife slice through her.”

And in spite of all the guilt and fear that
poured through her, Timber heard her own anger, too. The unbridled
fury, burning hot. Her hand tightened around the knife still in her
grip. She was so sick of this.

“Shit,” Brandt whispered, and his face
softened, but Timber didn’t want soft. She wanted him to be angry
too. Sympathy was worse than having him walk away; sympathy could
break her back down. He was getting too much of her heart too
fast.

She shook her head. “He doesn’t want you here
and he’ll keep going after your pack until you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. He wants
you
alone. My pack members can take care of themselves.”

“You didn’t hear her die.” A shudder jolted
down her spine, and Timber jerked her chin up a notch. “You didn’t
hear her scream as the knife rammed into her, or—”

Brandt was standing in front of her, his
hands gripping her upper arms hard, before she could finish the
sentence.

“Enough.”

Timber sucked in a shaky breath, her voice
fading. Brandt pulled her closer, one hand slipping beneath her
hair to cradle her head to his shoulder, the other one holding her.
Just holding her. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could
stop it. Brandt’s fingers ran through her hair, stroking, soft.

She should have pulled away.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around his
waist and leaned into him. “He sounded...I don’t
know...jealous.”

And the moment she said it, it made it
sense.

You don’t belong to him
, Charles’s
threats from the first call raced through her mind.
He can’t
stay with you every night
.

“He is jealous.” Timber pulled back and
Brandt let her go. He stared down at her while she wiped the tears
from her face. “The first call. He said I don’t belong to you. That
you can’t stay with me every night.”

Those dark eyes of his bored into hers, and
she could see Brandt mulling it over. “And tonight?”

Her jaw tightened. She’d never forget a word
of what he’d said.

“How many more are going to have to die
before I do as he asks? That I was his and,” Timber found herself
smiling, not out of joy, but because she’d figured something out.
No matter how small. It was one more piece to the puzzle that was
Charles. “And to get that ‘dog’ out of my house. You.”

“It makes sense. He abducted you the first
time because he decided you were his mate. If he’s still buying
into that mentality—”

“I ran with you the first night. As a wolf
and you as a wolfhound. And he watched. You’ve slept in my house.
He’s as pissed off about your presence as he is by the fact that he
can’t snatch me back. And then tonight, oh shit...”

She started to pull away when Brandt caught
her arm. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not blaming myself for anything he does
anymore. Well, I’m trying not to. It’s a work in progress.” Timber
tried to force a smile, but she heard someone shout downstairs and
was spared the effort of making it look real.

“Brandt?”

“Coming.” He squeezed her arm. “Stay here.
I’ll lock the door on my way out. We don’t know for sure if he’s
gone yet.”

He cupped her jaw and tilted her face up.
Something flashed in his eyes, a hesitation, then he leaned in and
kissed her. Just a light touch of his lips against hers, but the
fear she hadn’t even realized was clutching at her heart eased. He
ran his thumb across her lips. “Stay safe.”

He pulled away and jogged down the stairs,
his kiss a memory against her skin. She stared after him. She
should have regretted tonight, should have felt more guilt than she
did. If Charles had seen them together, there was a good chance
he’d killed Brandt’s Hound because of it, and if he had, all hell
could be about to break loose.

Chapter Thirteen

Brandt
cursed under his breath. The crime scene team had cordoned off the
area. Bright lights cast a ferocious glare, drawing everything out
in Technicolor detail. Martin lay sprawled in the grass, red
splattered out across the green. The bastard had really done a
number on her. Multiple stab wounds to her torso. It hadn’t been a
painless death. She’d felt the knife go in, multiple times, before
death had finally taken her.

Tate made a sympathetic sound beside him.

Laci Martin had been one of theirs. Fuck.

“He stabbed her four times before he slit her
throat and dumped her,” Tate said.

Brandt nodded, but he couldn’t erase the
hollow ache in his gut. The churn of guilt. He forced the emotions
aside and let his training click in. He’d done this job long enough
that his brain could process clearly, even if emotionally he wanted
to rage and stomp around. She’d been a member of his pack, his to
protect, and he’d failed, but feelings like that wouldn’t help
here.

Facts would.

And everything in the scene pointed to one
thing. Charles Wolfe had been angry. Martin’s death had been
brutal, cruel. Wolfe had been pressed for time...otherwise Brandt
hated to think what she might have endured. Staring down at the
stiff body, Brandt knew Timber was right. Wolfe was jealous.

He’d lashed out at something that would hurt
Brandt as well as Timber. He wanted to see if he could force
Shifter Town Enforcement’s hand. Brandt’s jaw tightened as he
ground his teeth, holding back the simmering anger, the sickening
churn of grief.

“He’s never attacked a Hound before,” Tate
said softly, drawing Brandt’s attention to him. “But I might
understand the reasoning behind it now.”

Brandt lifted an eyebrow and waited. He
didn’t trust himself to speak yet.

Wolfe had wanted to force Shifter Town
Enforcement’s hand, but he hadn’t thought it through. Attacking one
of theirs wouldn’t give him an advantage; it just pissed Brandt off
and made him even more strongly motivated to take down the son of a
bitch. Not just that, but it made his pack more determined to nail
the bastard, too.

Brandt wasn’t worried that someone in his
pack would simply hand Timber over, especially not now. Ace had
issues, but this was now an attack against their own. Shifter Town
Enforcement as a whole would be sitting up and taking notice. You
couldn’t viciously murder a Hound and expect to walk away.

Seeing the look in Tate’s eyes let Brandt
know he was spot on. Tate looked as furious as he felt. Then he
held up his phone. “He called her again,” Tate said, tilting his
head at Timber’s house. “We couldn’t get a fix on Wolfe’s location,
but we did record the call.”