Beneath a Darkening Moon (4 page)

“I think we have a nut on our hands.”

He raised an eyebrow. Was she deliberately avoiding any reference to the past murders, or was she simply intent on giving him the usual “this is my town and don’t you forget it” crap that he generally received from rangers of small reservations like Ripple Creek? He suspected it was the latter, and that disappointed him. He’d expected more from her.

Though why, he had no idea. After all, she’d given him very little in the way of help the first time they’d met.

“And you don’t see any similarities to past murders?”

She met his gaze again. “That’s not for me to judge, is it? Not with the IIS here.”

In other words, she wasn’t admitting anything. Not to him, anyway. Which was no surprise, really. They’d done it the hard way the first time, and probably would again.

She stopped the truck beside another, in a clearing that could have come straight off a postcard, and climbed out. He quickly followed suit, breathing deeply of the crisp air. If there was anything he missed about reservation life, it was the purity of the air and the utter quiet of clearings like this.

But then, it was hardly practical for an IIS officer
to live on one of the reservations he might have to investigate. Plus, he’d grown used to city life—and as places to live went, Denver wasn’t all that bad. At least there were glorious mountains within easy driving distance.

“This way,” she said, and disappeared down a small path until all he could see was the occasional flash of sunlight gleaming off her golden hair.

Not that he needed to see her to follow her. Her scent was as unusual as she was—a tantalizing mix of a warm summer breeze combined with the rich headiness of exotic flowers and fruits. Even here in the mountains, with the crispness of the air and the scent of pine and snow heavy in his nostrils, her aroma was a teasing, sensual seduction.

And he had better get control of both his senses and his memories. He was here to catch a killer—nothing more, nothing less. Whether or not he and the chief ranger had a past was irrelevant, even if he still bore a scar across his shoulder blade that was the direct result of said ranger’s duplicity.

As they came out of the tree line, a hint of blood touched the cold air. The rich, metallic smell made his pulse quicken in anticipation—something that always happened at the beginning of a hunt, even after all his years as an IIS agent. He ignored the sensation and swept his gaze across the barren, snow-speckled landscape. Ten years ago, the killer had carefully avoided the obvious paths, concentrating his movements across barren stone or through water—an easy enough task given that the murders always happened in the one spot, underground. Given that
this
killer seemed to be imitating the past, he very much
suspected similar caution would be employed. Only here, the murder wasn’t underground, and the surrounds weren’t as rocky, so there was a good chance that they might find a print.

If the rangers hadn’t walked all over the area, that was.

Which wasn’t being entirely fair. He glanced at Vannah’s stiff back, his gaze drawn to the gentle bob of her golden ponytail, and then down the curves of her back and rump, so lovingly displayed by the close-fitting, pale green ranger’s uniform.

He’d seen sloppy work done on many of the reservations, but Ripple Creek didn’t appear to be one of them. Her initial report to the IIS had been one of the best he’d seen—even if he hadn’t known it was hers when he’d read it—but that didn’t mean she and her team had the ability to deal with something like this.

She led him through the rocks and stopped when she reached a large egg-shaped stone. He stopped beside her, his nostrils filling with her rich scent as his gaze swept the scene before them. It was exactly the same as the seven he’d seen ten years ago.

Two men worked near the feet of the victim. The older of the two—and the man he presumed was the reservation’s acting coroner—was on his hands and knees between the victim’s legs, intently scrutinizing the gaping hole that had once contained the victim’s penis and scrotum. A much younger man stood ready with a camera and an eager expression.

A third ranger squatted at the top of the stone circle, but looked up as Cade came to a halt. The flicker of animosity in his gray eyes was brief but nonetheless
there. He placed a flag in the soil, rose, then carefully made his way toward them.

“We’ve found several footprints, both human and wolf. I’ve flagged them all.” He came to a halt beside Vannah and crossed his arms.

Presenting a united front against the invader, Cade thought, and barely restrained a bitter smile. How many times did he have to face such shows of unity before people began to realize he was actually working for them, not against them?

“Ronan, this is Senior Agent Cade Jones, from the IIS.”

The russet-haired ranger held out his hand. His grip was neither aggressive nor passive, just the grip of a man very comfortable in what he was and what he was doing.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” the ranger said.

Like hell it was. “Please, call me Cade. I don’t believe there should be any formalities between fellow law enforcement officers.” Not as long as they understood
he
was in charge. He waved a hand toward the victim. “How far have you progressed?”

“We’ve taken photos of the victim and surroundings. We’ve also done an initial check for marks, but we haven’t moved the victim as yet. I’ve ordered an ambulance to take the body to the state medical examiner.”

Cade nodded. “I’ll have someone waiting there. Did you find anything different from the first murder?”

“Not so far.”

“What is the coroner looking at?”

“Marks in the soil,” the coroner said, without looking up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was
lapping up the blood as this fellow bled to death. Saw it with the first murder, too.”

If true, this
was
a departure from the previous murders, and it would help cement his theory that this was a copycat. He moved closer to the body. Vannah and the other ranger followed—a fact he knew only because her scent remained as strong as it had been when he’d stood beside her.

He squatted on the outside of the stone circle. This close, the aroma of blood and death was overwhelming.

“Where?” he said.

The coroner quickly pointed to several marks in the soil. He was right—it did look like lap marks. He glanced up at the kid with the camera. “Have you taken photos?”

The carrot-haired ranger nodded, his very demeanor one of fierce anticipation. First murder, Cade thought wryly, and wondered if the kid’s exuberance would outlast the case. It certainly hadn’t with
his
first murder.

But then, he’d been a still-wet-behind-the ears recruit into the IIS, not a mere ranger, and those murders were still the worst he’d ever seen. Until now.

“Are you ready to move the body?”

“Yes, sir. Just thought you’d prefer to be a witness.”

At least the officials in this town seemed to be up on recommended procedures. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d arrived at a crime scene only to find the body already bagged and hauled away. And while it was true that he usually couldn’t spot anything more than the coroner would, he liked to be
present when the body was first moved—just for that one time when he
did
spot something. “Thank you.”

The old man nodded and carefully moved to one side of the victim. The kid raised the camera and took a shot. Heaven only knows why, but Cade could hardly berate him when he was trying to do the right thing.

The coroner shifted the victim’s arm. Then he rolled the body over, carefully avoiding the flag that had been placed in the soil not too far away from the corpse’s thigh. And there, on the victim’s back, was another major difference from the original murders.

Because carved into the dead man’s flesh were two words:
Remember Rosehall
.

He remembered, all right. How could he not, when his very first case had been his worst? The thing was, the man behind those original murders was dead. He’d seen the body himself. He’d been at the burial and watched the casket being covered with dirt, just in case.

Most of those who’d been on the team at that time believed their felon had worked solo. He never had, but as a green recruit, his suspicions hardly rated much mention in any of the reports—especially since there was absolutely no evidence to back up his theory.

But these murders were almost exactly the same, and the man who’d committed them had been dead for eight years. Which meant his suspicions
must
have been right. There had to have been an accomplice—there was no other way these murders could mirror the first. The full details had never been released, and the trial itself had been closed to the media—not
that it would have made huge headlines. Wolves murdering other wolves didn’t really rate much of a mention in this human-dominated world.

These
murders, however, would be an entirely different story. Vannah had done a good job so far of keeping the news contained.

Cade sat back on his heels and glanced up at her. “Was there anything carved into the first victim’s flesh?”

She crossed her arms. He couldn’t honestly say whether or not she recognized the importance of the message, because he could read nothing in her expression or her eyes. But she had to understand it. She’d
been
at Rosehall, for God’s sake.

“No. It would have been in the report, otherwise.”

He nodded, then rose and stepped back so that the kid could get clearer shots of the blood that had seeped from the cuts and stained the soil.

From the clearing below came the roar of an engine.

“That’ll be the ambulance,” Ronan said. “You want me to bring them up?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

Ronan’s gaze flicked to Vannah, whose nod was almost imperceptible. No guessing where
his
allegiance lay, or who he’d be taking orders from. Then again, Cade had faced that sort of response many times on the reservations. At least the rangers here were more circumspect than most.

He turned, his gaze searching the area. Half a dozen small flags dotted the ground, indicators of possible evidence that Ronan had found. He began a search of his own, but after an hour or so, he had discovered nothing more than what had already been marked.
Despite his earlier aspersions, Vannah’s people obviously knew their jobs.

He rose and stretched the kinks out of his back. There wasn’t much more he could do here until Trista and Anton showed up with their equipment. The site just needed to be guarded, and any of the rangers were more than capable of that. What he needed was some decent coffee—which seemed to be seriously lacking at the ranger station—and a burger or two.

Though an icy beer wouldn’t go amiss, either. As the sun had risen toward noon, the heat and light reflecting off the nearby snow was fierce. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced down to the tree line where Vannah stood talking to Ronan.

And saw Ronan briefly touch her face.

Anger crashed through him, territorial and instinctive. A growl rumbled up his throat, and before he even realized what he was doing, he’d taken several steps toward them. Then he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. He released it slowly, flexing his fingers as he tried to retain some control.

But he knew, as he stared down at the two of them, that he was in deep, deep trouble.

Because the promise that he and Vannah had made to the moon so long ago—a promise that bound them to each other for the course of one full moon—was obviously still in force. And the sheer ferocity of his response suggested that the moon was not going to let them escape their promises so easily a second time.

S
AVANNAH GLANCED AT
her watch and tried to contain her surge of irritation. Pick me up at five, he’d said. We’ll discuss any developments on the case while you drive me to my hotel.

Well, it was nearly six, evening had fallen—along with the nightly chill—and he was still a no-show. What was she, his chauffeur? It was bad enough that he and his team had basically banned them from the murder site, but to have one of her own men guarding the main path—and the kid at that—was goddamned infuriating.

She blew out a breath and pushed away from the side of the truck. It was getting too cold to stand there any longer and, besides, the nightfall seemed to have woken an odd sort of restlessness in her. It was almost as if the moon stirred heat through her system. Yet, tonight, the moon would rise as a waxing crescent—about as far away from the full moon and its accompanying wildness as you could possibly get.

But still the restlessness stirred, flicking through her veins like a fire about to ignite.

She suspected the cause. Suspected and feared it,
though she certainly hadn’t expected the foolish promise they’d made so long ago to still be in force. But then, the moon never was one to let promises go, and they’d never completed theirs.

However, there was nothing she could do except hope that Cade wasn’t feeling the same way—and that he wouldn’t enforce a completion.