Bite Deep (10 page)

No reaction. Jericho almost laughed, amused. This cop had her shit pulled tight. She had an agenda and nothing was going to steer her off course. He tried not to smile at the thought of trying to tease and bring a smile to those lips of hers. ‘Give me your name, constable, and I might cooperate.'

She gave him a look that said she knew he was playing with her. Jericho was acutely aware she was sizing him up, watching his every reaction and filing it away. ‘Lydia.'

‘Lydia Gault.' The name rolled in his mouth, fitting nicely. ‘Tell me, Lydia, What questions can I help you with?'

‘I want to ask you a couple of questions about a dead cow found on Samuel Tanner's farm.' She pulled a plastic bag from her back pocket and he recognised a part of his ruined patch. Face neutral, he cursed inside his head. He didn't need any complications right now with the law. He'd always had an understanding with Bowden, as did the Rehabilitator before him. The law kept away from Breed business. But looking at the remains of the patch, he realised that had made him careless. Buying some time, he took a long drink from his beer. ‘I still haven't heard a question, Constable Gault.'

She ignored his playful tone. ‘This was found near the cow. Looks like a patch from your club. I was wondering if you knew how it got there.'

Jericho thought hard. He took another drink, trying to think why Bowden had sent the new cop here. Was it a dare? A shakedown? Had his deal with Bowden fallen through? He knew the murder would put pressure on the sergeant, but was it enough to break their agreement? Lydia didn't look the naive sort and she'd come into the bar ready to tussle. Even though he could smell the acrid undertone of fear on her, she held herself steady. She'd stepped into a lion's den before, he was sure of that.

‘How are you finding life in Camden?' He changed the subject, getting the distinct impression this was an independent line of enquiry, since neither Bowden, nor that moron, Novak, was here with her.

‘Answer the question, please,' she said.

He stared at her, trying to get a reading on how far she thought she could take this, and under his gaze twin spots of colour bloomed on her pale cheeks. But there was something about the set of her chin that suggested she wasn't going to back off easily. The beast in him stirred, impatient for something from her, but he wasn't sure what. He shut the feeling down quickly. The beast was never allowed to call the shots, never allowed to direct his action. That path was dangerous.

‘I don't know anything about it,' he said, placing his beer on top of the fridge. ‘Maybe it was a wild animal. Or some kids, joking around.'

‘Some joke, considering the cow was killed the same night a woman was shot and killed at Pembly Forest.' She leaned forward, a skeptical glint in her eyes. ‘You sure some of your boys didn't have a few drinks and go hunting?'

‘I don't make a habit of going around killing cows,' Jericho drawled. ‘Or women.'

‘Excuse me if I don't make the assumption you and your crew are a bunch of angels.'

Jericho felt his anger stir, and he quickly locked it down. Sexual stimulation and anger were a deadly combination. The last thing he needed was to go all nasty on the new constable. He caught another whiff of her soft scent and his arousal spiked, igniting an unexpected wave of lust and anger.

* * *

Lydia didn't like the way Jericho had gotten quiet, his large body frozen in a way that didn't seem natural. His eyes fixed tight on her and she blinked, wondering if it was a trick of light that his pupils had grown large, ringed with white. She swallowed, throat suddenly dry. The room felt too small, the air too thick to suck in. She bit her bottom lip nervously, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, narrowing. She tucked the blood-soaked patch back into her pocket.

‘Has the victim been officially identified yet?' he asked, voice low.

‘Her name was Anna Lewis and she was a resident at Crystal Waters.'

He nodded with a guarded look, and she sensed her news hadn't exactly taken him by surprise. ‘Did you know her?' she asked.

‘No. But I'm a friend of the manager of the centre, Karla Malthus. She asked for my help. Said that Anna had gone missing a couple of days ago. Said she'd done it before for attention, a day here and there. But this time was different and she'd been gone longer.'

Lydia felt her eyebrows rise on their own accord. A hippie asking a biker to help find a missing woman? She sensed a lie when he'd claimed he and the Malthus woman were friends, but it seemed like an old, well-presented line.

‘Does Bowden have a suspect yet?' Jericho asked.

‘The senior sergeant is still investigating.'

‘And you're not involved?'

‘I'm helping where I can,' Lydia replied briskly. She tapped a finger against her bottom lip, then gave him what she hoped was a relaxed smile. ‘Okay, how's this. Maybe some of your crew had some drinks. Accidently killed this cow, decided to mess it up for a joke.' Questioning 101. Get the suspect to admit to a lesser crime, to then lever them to the more serious one.

Jericho lowered his eyelids a little, a smile playing on his lips. ‘Camden might not have much a nightlife, but we do have better ways of getting our kicks.'

‘It's easy enough for things to spiral out of control.'

‘My crew don't let things get out of control,' he said shortly.

‘Could they have done this and not told you?'

‘My crew don't do anything without my permission.'

‘Then you knew they were at the Tanner farm?' Lydia shot back, aimed at tripping him up. But he was unhurried.

‘We see old Tanner, from time to time,' he said vaguely. ‘Sometimes to help him in the picking season if the backpackers are light on and the jobs aren't being filled. You see, we've been in Camden for a long time. This is our home and we have a very loyal community spirit. Maybe you should ask Bowden to bring you up to date.'

‘Maybe I will,' she snapped, defensive, because she was starting to feel very stupid. What had she really expected from this little interrogation? Did she really expect the president of a nasty biker club to confess to anything to her?

‘Good,' Jericho said. He shifted closer as he changed the subject. ‘You never told me how you're finding Camden.'

Lydia felt the warmth of his body wash over her and she had to make a conscious effort not to back up. Jericho leaned forward, coming closer, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. There was heat in his look as well, with his eyelids lowering suggestively. She realised with a jolt he was hitting on her. Her spine stiffened with anger. As if she'd give him the rope to hang her career with. She'd done that already with one man, thank you very much.

‘I suppose it doesn't matter what story you tell me,' she snapped. ‘I'll be getting the blood report back soon.'

Jericho's smile fell, eyes widening. There, she thought with satisfaction, there it was. Worry. What she'd told him was a stupid lie, but it was worth it, just to see him rattled. To suggest his crew didn't operate above the law.

‘I don't see how you'd draw a connection between Anna's death and what happened at the Tanner farm.' He absently rubbed the palm of one hand and she spied angry red blisters on his hands.

She gave a small shrug. ‘Maybe the killer was warming up.'

‘You've got the wrong idea.' Before she could react, one of his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her against his warm body. ‘And you're hurting my feelings by suggesting such terrible things about my crew, Lydia.'

‘That's Constable Gault, thank you.' She tried to pull back, but he moved with her, until her back hit the wall. She lowered her hands to her belt. ‘Get off me.'

Humour danced in his eyes and as she stared into their golden depths, she wondered if she had imagined the change in appearance earlier. She was on edge, after all. His face loomed closer still and she smelled a whiff of cigar smoke on his breath.

‘What if I don't want to get off you?' he asked in a soft voice. ‘What if I want to do what I fucking want?'

His hands tightened, then slipped further down, massaging as he went. She smiled at him. Waited until he grinned back. Slipped her handcuffs from her belt, and with a sharp movement, snapped a bracelet around his wrist.

‘Then I'll fucking arrest you for disorderly conduct.'

* * *

The cop's warm, soft body and tantalising scent made Jericho slow to react to being handcuffed. He heard the snap of handcuffs and felt the cold metal around his wrists before he even saw her pull the cuffs from her belt. She was fast, the little minx.

There was a second snap as she cuffed his other wrist in front of him, and the brush of her breasts against his chest sent a hot shot of wicked desire through him. He felt himself go rock hard. Her scent was so strong now, it almost overwhelmed him. Blackberries. It was more like blackberries. With a splash of spring rain through sunshine. It shackled his beast, drugged him with its sweetness. The handcuffs weren't helping things.

She was reading him his rights, but he was having a hard time concentrating on the words. The beast in him was quiet, listening intently as she talked, voice stiff with anger. The handcuffs were tight and he wondered how she thought she was getting him out of here. He could make out the pulse in her neck, drumming away double-time. She was scared, and the smell of it curled around her natural scent like a fine incense, overlaid with a steely note of determination. This was a woman who would not allow fear to control her. Of course, allowing anger to lead her by the nose was another matter entirely. He sensed a rage within her, vibrating just beneath the surface. That's why she'd come here, putting herself at risk. Something dark had driven her to act recklessly.

‘I don't think you thought this through,' he said.

‘And I think you're hiding something,' she said. ‘A night in jail might help shake the cobwebs from your memory.'

Her hand grasped his upper arm, trying to push him towards the door. He knew she could never force him to move. But what if she left and came back with Bowden? What if it was Bowden who had sent her in the first place? He had a good arrangement with the senior sergeant and didn't want to jeopardise it. Best course of action? Play along. For now.

‘I understand,' he murmured.

She put her free hand on the butt of her Glock. ‘Am I going to have trouble with your boys out there?'

‘You might have to explain things to them,' Jericho said. ‘Not often a cop shows up here and arrests someone. And this is the first time I'll be frog-marched through those front doors.'

‘Let's make some history then.' She tried to shove him towards the door again. Jericho stared down at her, impassive, and she glared right back with her piercing violet eyes. With that look, something shifted inside him: desire sliding to a roaring lust, chased closely by a shot of raw need. With effort, he relaxed his body, let her propel him towards the door. Back in the bar, he got Turk's eye first. ‘I'm going to the station with the lovely constable. Keep a handle on things until I get back.'

‘What the fuck?' Reaper leaped up, chair falling back with a clatter.

‘Are you handcuffed?' Blades lay a card down on the table. ‘You lucky man.'

‘You sure you're alright, boss?' Turk kept his seat, looking amused.

‘I'll be back soon enough,' Jericho drawled. ‘Count on it.'

Chapter 9

The car ride back to the station was silent. Lydia was determined not to let Jericho's silence bother her. She knew his type. Dark and brooding. Able to crook his finger and women came running. He was a handsome bastard and the scars on his face only served to enhance his dangerous appeal. She found herself almost asking about them, but shut the question down quickly, settling for glancing at him in the rear-view mirror, seeing him stare blankly out the window. The third time she looked up, his eyes met hers. She turned quickly back to the road, not wanting him to know she was curious about him. What she'd seen at Dusty Roads didn't have the feel of a motorcycle club. For starters, where were the women? There wasn't a trace of a hard-nosed Old Lady or two. Then there was the fact the men had an ex-military air, like a bunch of mercenaries who'd come to Camden to open a bar and retire. But an organised MC gang with all the trimmings? Something didn't fit. She wanted to ask Jericho questions about the club, but held her tongue, knowing now wasn't the time.

She pulled up at the station, seeing its windows dark and the outside night-light burning bright. Seemed The Jaw had finally gone home to the dubious sanctuary of his wife or girlfriend. Pulling an air of confidence tight around her, she got out and opened the passenger door. The night air had a frigid bite in it and she shivered. ‘Let's go.'

Jericho raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘Does Bowden know you're bringing me in?'

She leaned her head into the car. ‘He will soon enough. Now move it, tough guy. I don't want to have to drag you in and mess up your pretty hair.'

His eyes dropped and it took Lydia a moment to figure out he was eye-level to her breasts and her very hard nipples. She backed up without thinking, but refused to cross her arms like an embarrassed teenager. She was pretty sure hers weren't the first pair of breasts he'd copped a look at. His eyes shifted away and a muscle worked in his jaw.

‘You gonna move?' she asked in a cold voice.

His breath blew out in a loud gust. Then he shrugged his shoulders and ducked his head, stepping out of the car. Escorting him to the front of the station, she palmed her keys and unlocked the door. The clock on the wall told her it was late and her stomach growled, reminding her it was well past dinnertime.

The darkness inside the station was cool and the only noise was the ticking of the station clock, counting down the night. She clicked on the reception lights, then guided Jericho to the back office, unlocking his cuffs outside the station's single cell.