Bite Deep (16 page)

‘Why? Is there someone out there who might hurt me?' She sucked in a large breath, trying to settle her rising nausea. ‘Someone with a gun loaded with silver bullets?'

‘No.' Jericho's teeth gleamed in the darkness as he grinned. ‘Something with sharp teeth and claws that likes to disembowel stray cows.'

She opened her mouth to snap back a reply, but her nausea surged back and she stumbled away, fell to her knees and vomited.

Chapter 14

The weekend couldn't come quick enough for Lydia, who spent most of Friday with a thumping headache and a slow burning sense of shame at throwing up in front of Jericho. By the time she arrived home from work, she was ready for a weekend of serious relaxing. She took a long shower, dragged on sweatpants and popped the cork on a spicy shiraz, citing the philosophy of hair of the dog to help her headache.

Pouring herself a big glass, she leaned against her kitchen counter and took a leisurely sip. She tried to keep her mind off her night with Jericho, tried to think about the gardening she needed to do, the groceries she needed to get. Then there was pulling down the old bed and breakfast sign on the front lawn. Just thinking about it all made her feel exhausted.

She took another sip, feeling her headache begin to fade.

A lasagna Greta had left in her fridge was now cooking in the oven, sending out a rich, creamy aroma. She went to take another sip of wine, surprised to find she'd finished the glass, and quickly poured herself another. She should have stayed on the mainland. She could see that clearly now. But the thought of returning to her old life, the one she had made for herself, left her with a chill. She couldn't go back to that.

She looked around the open-spaced lounge and kitchen, with its rustic wood fire and white flagstone flooring, and took another sip of wine. She would resign. Pack her bags and leave. To where, she wasn't sure. She had no family, no real friends, other than those she'd left on the force. But she wouldn't go back and beg for her old job. The memory of her attack was still a jagged wound, waking her in night sweats, fear clinging to her like a second skin.

She tried to slow down her thoughts. Find something rational within the tangle of her mind. Maybe in the morning it wouldn't look so bad. Daylight had a way of doing that. It was night that brought out the monsters.

A knock made her jump, then the back door squeaked and Greta entered from outside. The elderly woman held her back straight and her steel-grey hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a cool pale blue and her hands looked strong enough to yank your ear down to her level, should such a desire take her fancy.

‘How are you?' She made a beeline for the oven, pulling the lasagna out. ‘Did you want me to get Dominic to bring your mother's boxes over? See what's inside?'

‘Sure,' Lydia said, remembering Greta had told her about some packing boxes stored in the cottage attic with her mother's name on them. She didn't really want to see what was inside them, but found it difficult to say no to the elderly woman. She still felt flustered around the German couple, not comfortable with how they behaved as if this were their home still. Apparently January was the designated time of leaving, which couldn't come around fast enough, as far as Lydia was concerned.

The phone rang, and Greta glanced at the portable on the kitchen bench. ‘You want me to get that? You look exhausted.'

‘No, thanks.' Lydia snatched the phone up. ‘Yes?'

‘Constable Gault?'

‘Yes?' She tried to place the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but her thoughts were too sluggish to place.

‘Ah … this is Jamie McCormick.'

She frowned, struggling to recall where she'd heard the name before. There was an uncomfortable cough on the other end, then, ‘We talked at the … crime scene? I volunteer for the fire service?'

‘Right, right.' Lydia picked up her wine and took a sip. The fresh fireman. ‘How did you get this number?'

‘Ah … this is the line for the Camden Bed and Breakfast.'

‘I see.' Lydia made a mental note to change the number as soon as possible. That was, if she decided to stay. ‘What can I help you with?'

Cutlery clanged as Greta laid out a place setting at the kitchen table. Lydia turned away, trying to ignore the old woman's curious glances.

‘I was … ah … wondering if I could buy you a steak dinner tomorrow night at the Camden Grill? My treat.' His words came out in a rush.

Lydia put down her wine, biting back a sigh. ‘I don't know.'

‘Just a welcome to the town,' he quickly added. ‘It's where they cook the best steaks in town.' He paused, then repeated, ‘My treat.'

Lydia almost burst out laughing. He sounded like he was a teenager who'd just worked up enough courage to ask his first girl out.

‘Alright,' she said.

‘That's okay, I understand.'

‘Jamie.'

‘Yeah?'

‘I said alright.'

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, as if he were having a hard time processing her answer.

‘See you tomorrow?' she said gently. ‘Just for a steak.'

‘Okay. Okay.' Jamie cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to pick you up?'

‘No thanks, I'll make my own way. See you around seven?'

‘Ah … okay, okay.'

She hung up, and caught the tail end of Greta smiling before she ducked her head in the fridge.

‘Who was that?' she asked, voice muffled.

‘Just a distraction,' Lydia said absently.

‘Oh?'

‘It was nothing,' Lydia added firmly, trying to make the message clear. Her business was her business.

Greta emerged with a crisp green salad. ‘I made this to go with the lasagna. I'll let you help yourself.' Her eyes dropped to the wine in Lydia's hands. ‘Unless, of course, you are skipping dinner and just drinking all night.'

‘I wouldn't have heated the food up if I wasn't going to eat it.' Lydia tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She didn't need to be looked after. Guilt chased her irritation and she reminded herself the elderly woman
had
been kind enough to make her dinner.

Greta frowned and pointed at the red mark on Lydia's hand. ‘What happened there?'

‘It's nothing.' Lydia shifted, hiding her hand and took another sip of her wine. ‘Caught it in the car door. Just a silly accident.'

The stout woman hesitated, looking like she wanted to give Lydia a lecture on looking after herself. But then uncertainty entered her face and she just shrugged. ‘I'm off to the farmers markets early tomorrow. You leave me a note on my car windscreen if you want anything.'

‘Thanks.' Lydia offered up a weary smile, because it was all she could do.

Greta nodded briskly. ‘You know, distractions that we engage in are almost always pleasant. Good for the blood, you know.' With that, she left the kitchen, shutting the door behind her.

Putting down her wine, Lydia glanced around the room for her shawl, then remembered she'd left it outside on the veranda where she'd sat watching dusk settle. She walked to the front door and unlocked it. Outside, the night was cold and she saw her shawl sitting on the rocking chair in one corner of the veranda. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she paused by the door to stare out into the dark forest. The night sounds were calming, but the deep shadows caused her heart to beat a little faster. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling heartily sick and tired of being afraid.

A twig snapped nearby. Her eyes flipped open and she reached inside to switch on the outside lights. A prickly sensation crawled up her spine as childhood fears whispered in her ear. She shoved them aside ruthlessly. She was a thirty-five-year-old woman, for crying out loud. She didn't jump at shadows.

* * *

Jericho stood deep in shadow, watching Lydia stare out into the night. He'd had the best intentions to have a quiet night in and had it planned out: a cold beer, a dog-eared Lawrence Block novel and some Johnny Cash. But he couldn't settle, couldn't focus on the book and the beer tasted flat. The conflict with his crew simmered in his blood and he wondered if they had been right. His instinct was that Lydia was safe, that she'd never betray him, but he wondered if his crew were right and he'd been blinded by her somehow. He just knew he wanted her more than anything and couldn't shake the memory of her on the back of his bike, her arms around him, body pressed hard against his. His jaw clenched.
Christ
, but he wanted her, and with that desire surging hot in his veins, a peaceful night in his cabin wasn't an option. Instead, he decided to ride, though the fresh air had done nothing to cleanse him, and he found himself drawn right back to her.

His eyes passed over Lydia's form, lit by the porch light as she stared intently into the shadows, searching for the source of noise. He knew she'd heard something. He'd heard it too. A rustle in the woods, the snap of twig and the scent of men. His hackles rose and a soft growl escaped his throat. He kept his position, not wanting to frighten or alert the prowlers. Maybe she was expecting someone. He'd look rather stupid coming to the rescue only to find he'd assaulted invited guests. He ignored the wistful thought that maybe it was Greta's husband, Dominic, out for a night walk. Jericho had enjoyed the occasional chess game with the old man, listening to the stories of his life when he served as a Jesuit priest. But Greta had put her foot down and Dominic reluctantly had bought their little evenings to an end. Jericho had understood. After all, one of Greta's own kin had been caught in the crossfire of the Hunter and Breed war, many years ago. It was little wonder she hated his kind so much.

He tensed as the noise of approaching people came closer, smelling alcohol and gun grease. Whoever was coming, they were armed and drunk.

Reminded of Bowden's theory about a hunting accident killing Anna, he wondered for a moment if perhaps the sergeant had been right all along.

Lydia disappeared inside the house, closing the door behind her and his eyes narrowed. Whoever was out here, he would take care of them. After, all he was in the mood for a fight. He slipped towards the direction of the noise, veering to the left to flank the approaching men. The forest around him was cloaked in a silky darkness, illuminated in patches by the half moon overhead. His feet moved swift and silent and he could smell the sweet earthiness of rotten leaves and sap around him. His predator instinct kicked into high gear as he sensed another Breed near, a second later he recognised the scent and his shoulders relaxed an inch.

‘Brother.' Reaper stepped from the gloom, his voice barely louder than the rustle of the wind.

‘What are you doing here?' Jericho murmured.

‘Thought I'd keep you company while you stand in the dark and make goo-goo eyes at your Hunter girlfriend,' Reaper said.

‘She's not my girlfriend.' Jericho's teeth ground. ‘And she's not a damned Hunter.'

‘Whatever.'

‘I mean it.' He paused, then asked, ‘Are you boys are spying on me now?'

Reaper shrugged. ‘Everyone thought they were doing the right thing, you know. Maybe some of what they say is right. Maybe you're not thinking too straight about this woman. But no one is gonna touch her, we've all agreed on that. We're just going to watch your back for a while, till this Hunter thing blows over.' He paused. ‘And it sounds like you've got extra company tonight.'

Jericho turned back to watch the shadows around Lydia's house. ‘Do you recognise their scents at all?'

Reaper's shoulders lifted, as if the matter were inconsequential. ‘Human men with guns. They're close though.' His eyes gleamed in the dark. ‘Perhaps hunters who like to shoot unarmed women in the back with silver.'

A noise nearby made both men tense and ease back into the shadows of the small grove they were in. Jericho's blood pumped hard and his top lip twitched, a soft growl building in his throat. As he watched, a figure emerged. A man in a dark combat outfit, carrying a hunter's rifle. He was soon joined by two others and they crept towards the house. They moved quietly enough, but it was obvious they were distracted by their prey, not paying enough attention to the woods around them. After all, as far as they were concerned, they were the only predators here to be feared.

Jericho slid forward, breath steady as the beast inside him smiled wicked. It pushed against its restraints, desiring grelease for some bloodletting. Beside him, Reaper wrapped around the knife holstered against his left leg.

The lead man lifted a foot to the first porch step and Jericho readied himself to spring forward when the front door jerked open. Lydia stepped out, shotgun aimed at the group of hunters.

‘Hands up.' Her voice cracked through the air and Jericho could see her braced to pull the trigger. ‘Right now.'

‘I'm starting to see what you like about her,' Reaper murmured.

Jericho watched Lydia control the situation, the hunters freezing in place, staring at her dumbly.

‘I told you to put your hands up.' Lydia was shouting now, but didn't make the mistake of moving forward to put herself within reach of the men. Jericho had had enough. He was seconds away from launching himself forward when a car roared into view, headlights illuminating all.

Chapter 15

Karla bent to kiss her daughter goodnight on the forehead, brushing back the wild curls from her small face. Even after six years, she was still amazed how full her heart could feel for someone so tiny.

Alice murmured in her sleep and Karla straightened with a smile, quickly walking out and heading downstairs in the massive ranch house that acted as headquarters for the women at Crystal Waters. Though there was plenty of room in the main house, some women preferred the small residential cabins at the back of the sprawling property. The cabins offered privacy, but certainly didn't have the luxury Karla had secured for the main house. When she'd first come here, she'd despaired at what she'd found: shambling rows of temporary accommodation and only the most basic of facilities. She'd nearly wept at how far she'd fallen: from a popular socialite to a Rehabilitator, banished to a tiny island halfway across the world.