Bite Deep (14 page)

‘Do you think he's dangerous?' Lydia asked. ‘I mean, has he ever done anything violent?'

‘Novak?' Elaine shook his head. ‘Don't think so. When I first started, he did a few mean things, trying to shake me, you know? Then he lost interest. I reckon he's just a shithead, like my ex-husband. He goes hunting with his fellow losers every hunting season. Brags about it every year.'

‘He hunts?' Lydia asked slowly.

‘Sure. Then he likes to come into the office and tell everyone about the latest Bambi he's killed, like it was some achievement. I'd like to see him against something bigger than him, you know? Something that could level the playing field and fight back.' Elaine filled their glasses, finishing the bottle of bubbly. ‘Now that would be something to see.'

‘It would,' Lydia sipped her drink, wondering where The Jaw had been at the time of Anna Lewis's death. ‘Is he married?'

Elaine's eyes crossed. ‘God, you don't like him, do you?'

Lydia choked on her mouthful. ‘No. I was just wondering. I see him on the phone all the time.'

‘I know he's separated, but not divorced yet. My understanding is he's dating a few women, who I gather must be insane or blind.'

‘Interesting.' Lydia went to finish her drink, before realising she'd already finished. She put down the glass and stood, suddenly feeling dizzy. ‘Look, I think I might call it a night.'

‘Already? But this song is the best.'

‘I'll see you tomorrow,' Lydia said firmly. ‘Thanks for the night.'

Elaine pulled out her purse. ‘Let me shout you a taxi home, yeah?'

‘No thanks.' Lydia pushed away the offered money and nearly lost her balance. ‘I've got money. And please tell me you're not driving home either. '

‘No chance of that. '

'Good. Now, go buy Mr Peaches a drink.'

‘Okay.' Elaine tucked her money away. ‘Text me when you get home safe? I couldn't live with myself if you got all murdered, your decapitated body discovered in some skanky, lice-infected hotel like the Red Roof Inn.'

‘The Red what? '

‘Creepy hotel on the edge of town.' Elaine's voice went to a theatrical whisper. ‘Haunted with the ghosts of shitty customers past.'

‘Right. Will totally avoid all murderers and skanky hotels. And you text me when you're home as well.' Lydia tried to wink, found it hard and realised she was drunker than she thought. ‘Unless you are otherwise occupied.'

A crafty look stole over Elaine's face. ‘I'll text. And take photos, yeah? Show you tomorrow.'

Lydia walked away laughing, pretty sure the woman wasn't joking. At least one of them was going to get lucky tonight.

* * *

‘You know what your trouble is?' Blades asked.

Jericho watched the trickle of people coming from the hostel, half ignoring his pack brother. Both men rested against the brick wall of a raised garden bed at the front of the hostel, waiting for Reaper to join them. Everyone in the crew felt edgy with the idea of a potential Hunter in town, and their investigations into the murder were going nowhere. Despite Bowden's assertion that he wasn't helping Jericho with the investigation, Jericho kept leaving growling messages, demanding to be kept up to date. Bowden was a lazy law enforcement officer, usually just how Jericho liked them, but now he half wished Bowden had some Lydia's fire and intelligence.

Karla herself had admitted to coming up with no leads after quizzing Anna's friends about her habits. Tonight though, he thought he'd try a different tack with some women from Crystal Waters: the unleashing of Johnny Blades and his charm, something no woman could seem to resist.

‘Are you listening?' Blades demanded. ‘I asked if you know what's wrong with you.'

‘I get the feeling you can't wait to tell me,' Jericho said. His mood was sour from the lack of progress in their hunt. In fact, the only good thing about this week was that Lydia had displayed no signs of being infected. A blessing. And now he just had to try and ignore the urge to see her again, despite the desire that had settled deep in his bones.

‘You're a boy scout.' Blades pushed off the wall to face him. ‘That's your problem. You didn't get rid of the cop when you should have and that made you look like the good guy. You know what the good guy is? Weak as piss.'

‘I've committed my share of misdeeds,' Jericho murmured, thinking of the violence he had done in the army and then as an Enforcer. ‘But I'm flattered you think I'm a boy scout.'

‘That wasn't a compliment,' Blades said dryly. ‘You've spent all week spying on your girlfriend—'

‘She's not my girlfriend.'

‘And I'll bet anything you haven't even fucked her. I can tell, because you spent all week looking like you've been sucking lemons.'

Jericho caught Reaper's scent behind them and turned. ‘Did you see them inside?' he asked as his sergeant-in-arms emerged from the shadows.

Reaper joined them. ‘Yeah. Looks like they're coming out soon enough. And Blades is right. You look stressed.'

‘See?' Blades folded his arms, looking smug. ‘Now, what needs to happen, is we get rid of the cop, get rid of this jerk who flew into town, then get you laid with a good-time girl. You need a good regular fuck to keep the system regular and clean. The cock is like any other muscle. If you don't use it, it will wither and drop off.'

Reaper rubbed his chin. ‘That doesn't sound right to me.'

‘You are full of shit, Blades.' Jericho tried to take Blades' ribbing in good humour, but it was hitting a little close to the bone. Of course he wanted a good fuck, and the memory of Lydia's sweet scent was impossible to shake.

‘Why don't you come to the party tonight?' Blades asked him. ‘Reaper and I are going straight after here. I got a whole bunch of sweet things coming along. If one catches your eye, she's all yours.'

‘Maybe.' He only occasionally attended the wild parties, where the booze flowed and sex was as easy as a crook of the finger to anyone with tits. The times he'd gone were mostly to keep an eye on his brothers and make sure everyone was safe. After all, it was easy to ignore red flags after you'd had a bottle of whiskey and a blow job.

‘Well, it's happening if you change your mind,' Blades said, then straightened when a group of laughing women exited the hostel. Jericho grabbed an arm, stopping him.

‘You got your mind on the job?' he asked. ‘Because if I see you stepping over the line with one of Karla's girls, she'll make you sorry.'

‘Relax, boy scout.' Blades shoved Jericho's hand away. ‘I've got my head screwed on straight. I'm not sure the same can be said for you.'

Jericho watched as Blades sauntered over to the women, calling out a hello. The women recognised him and called out enthusiastic greetings. Soon Blades was chatting to them as they walked, easily slipping in a few questions between compliments and condolences about Anna.

Jericho knew if anyone could get a woman to spill her secrets, a pretty face like Johnny Blades could get the job done.

‘You stick with Blades,' Jericho told Reaper. ‘I'm going inside to flash Anna's photo around and see what I can find.'

Reaper nodded and Jericho entered into the hostel, wincing at the noise of the live band. He tried to block it out, palming the small photo of Anna he'd gotten from an internal database on all resident Breed in Camden. He turned a corner and someone bounced off his chest.

‘For crying out loud.' Lydia yelled, then blinked up at him with blurry eyes.

‘Jericho?'

Hunger stirred inside of him at the sound of his name on her lips. All week he'd driven to her home to watch her from the shadows of the forest. While he told himself it was to just check if she were showing any telltale symptoms, he knew it was something more than that. He'd felt a connection with Lydia that night she'd dragged him out of the bar in cuffs and he'd revisited the memory of her clicking those steel bands around his wrists a few times late at night in the solitude of his small cabin. He silently cursed Blades and all his talk about getting laid, because if there was one thing he knew for certain, he wanted to be inside the lovely Constable Gault, her red curls spilt over his pillow as she looked up at him.

‘What are you doing here?' She pulled a face. ‘Don't tell me you like this band.'

‘This isn't music.' He pulled her aside as a crowd pushed past them, positioning himself closer to her. ‘Whatever it is, it's not my style.'

‘Of course not.' She grinned at him and the smell of sweet wine met his nose. ‘I'll bet you like quiet music, right? Something soulful with a shot of aged whiskey.'

He inched closer, trying to keep his eyes from her bitten hand. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because I see you.' She flapped her good hand around. ‘You think you're this big, bad biker dude, but I see you.'

‘Yeah?' He shifted subtly closer. ‘What do you see?'

She tilted her chin to meet his gaze. ‘That you're lonely. And tired.'

He stared into her eyes, seeing they were unfocused a little and knew the right thing to do was to step aside and let her go. But instead, he heard him ask how she was getting home.

‘Taxi,' she answered promptly. ‘Then bed. This place has bored the pants off me.'

He touched her arm, thumb stroking gently over the inside of her elbow and liking the idea of her pants falling off. Suddenly, he didn't want her to leave his company and a mad idea sparked in his mind. He told himself it was mainly to keep an eye on her, maybe to show the crew she wasn't a danger to them.

‘Want to have some fun?' he asked.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘What kind of fun?'

‘Something a little wicked,' he said. ‘More fun than here, I guarantee.'

‘I don't know.' She bit her lip, still unsure.

‘I promise to see you home safe.' Jericho put a hand over his heart. ‘Swear to God.'

Lydia gave a small drunken laugh. ‘Do you even believe in God?'

Jericho dropped his hand. ‘Sometimes. When I was in the army, I was a believer.' He shrugged one broad shoulder. ‘But life takes its toll, you know? And it gets hard to have faith.'

Lydia had stopped laughing and watched him with her solemn eyes, his honest answer appearing to have touched her somehow. Jericho decided to seal the deal.

‘And you do kind of owe me, for trying to throw me in jail for no reason.'

‘I had a plenty good reason,' she said crossly. ‘You were being fresh.'

‘Then you mustn't get many dates, if that's how you react when a man flirts with you.'

‘You weren't flirting. You were trying to intimidate me.'

Jericho paused, then nodded. ‘Yes. I was. And I'm sorry about that.'

Obviously not expecting the apology, Lydia heaved a sigh, then gave him a small, mischievous smile. ‘Fine, show me this wicked thing.'

Jericho offered her the crook of his arm. ‘I thought you'd never ask.'

Chapter 13

Lydia hadn't expected the ride on the back of Jericho's bike to feel so freeing. The crisp night air threaded her hair, the breeze on her face a fresh blast, chasing away the cobwebs, heightening her senses. Her heart pounded as Jericho leaned around corners on the bike, his solid body relaxed under her tight grip. For the first time in an age, she felt alive again, exhilarated. The deep growl of the bike's engine vibrated through her bones and the road slipped by underneath at great speed, making her feel like she was flying.

Gradually, the bike slowed and they turned down a gravel driveway, headlights washing over a tin letterbox. They followed the path up a small incline and through a heavily wooded area and in the distance she could hear laughter and loud music. She realised she'd started to tense and tried to relax. A party. She could totally do a party. With a big, scary biker. No sweat. After all, she wasn't a cop right now. Just someone who wanted to shake off the baggage of the past and feel a little free.

A final curve took them up to a cabin with a fire pit in the front yard. People swarmed around the fire, dancing and jostling with each other, a game of tug-of-war nearly beyond the light of the pit.

Jericho parked near a line of other motorbikes and he got off, holding a hand out to help her. She ignored it, suddenly feeling defensive and ended up half stumbling, half falling and nearly landing on her ass again. Jericho grabbed her just in time.

‘You alright?' he asked.

‘Of course,' she sniffed, brushing invisible dirt off her jeans.

‘Come on.' He took her hand and pulled her towards the pit. ‘You want a drink?'

‘Sure,' she said, deciding sobering up at this point would be a bad idea.

‘Plant yourself by the fire, I'll be right back,' he told her.

Lydia clutched his hand, feeling the calluses there. ‘Don't you leave me,' she hissed.

He stared at her a moment, then gave her hand a squeeze. ‘No one will hurt you.'

‘I'm not scared.'

Jericho reached up and flicked her nose. ‘Of course not.'

She watched him saunter off to where a group of men sat in awkward-looking wicker chairs, guarding a wooden barrel full of ice and beer. With a sigh, she turned and approached the fire pit, watching sparks spiralling heavenward into the night sky. It was a beautiful sight and in that moment, the fire felt like a barrier against the surrounding darkness, a safe place where no one would hurt her, just like Jericho said.

Her hand gave a small throb. The mark Jericho had given her was a mottled bruise now, the imprint of his bite light-red marks. She rubbed the sore flesh absently, reminded about how stupidly she'd behaved that night, trying to arrest him. Her judgement was obviously impaired, misplaced along with her commonsense. She had been a fool to think she could pick up the pieces of her life on the force. Her mother's house had always been a talisman for her, representing the happiest period in her life. It was what she had left of her mother, something she always thought she could return to and maybe carve a life out of, if she wanted to. The original plan was for that to happen twenty-five years from now, retiring to country life after a successful career in the force.