Bite Deep (18 page)

‘Yes.' Coulter dunked his teabag a few times, watching the steam rise. ‘She separated from my brother shortly after you were born.'

‘I don't understand.' Lydia frowned. ‘Your brother?'

Coulter let the teabag go, hands shifting to rest flat on the table. ‘Your father, Damian Coulter, was my brother.'

Shock rippled through Lydia. She quickly squashed it, her inner skeptic rising to the challenge. ‘And do you have proof of this? Or do you really expect me to take you at your word?'

‘I suspect that would be a rather large ask, but I have no reason to lie.' Coulter reached into his jacket, pulled out a wallet and passed it to her. ‘Look inside.'

Lydia flipped it open, eyes falling on a photo of two men and a woman smiling happily for the camera. One of the men had dark hair and solemn eyes, while the other she easily recognised as a much younger Coulter. The woman between them she knew very well. Her mother's relaxed smile beamed up at her, a fragment of the past, and Lydia swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat.

‘Damian and I both worked for the same organisation. Our work bought us here, where your mother was doing some contract work for our company.' He paused, then asked, ‘Did she ever tell you about what she did?'

‘Not really,' Lydia admitted. ‘I know she wrote reports about the local wildlife. I've found some of her old work here.'

Coulter's eyes widened a fraction. ‘How very interesting.'

‘Why did she leave?'

‘I'm not sure. I always assumed it was to pursue other interests.' Coulter blew on his tea, not meeting her eyes. ‘I believe the company we both worked for was under the impression all her files had been collected up. Do you think I could take a look at them, make sure there's nothing that belongs to the company?'

‘I might look first, I think.' Lydia decided that while Coulter didn't mean her any harm, there was something odd about him. His claim to be a long-lost relative, the brother of a father she had never known, had shaken her.

‘What is Damian Coulter doing now?' His name felt strange in her mouth, the name of an abstract idea she had long ago stopped trying to imagine. Would she have been a different person, with a father in her life? If her mother hadn't refused to give her any idea of who he was, or what he did? And why had he never tried to contact her?

Coulter took a tentative sip of his tea and tried to hide a grimace. ‘My brother died many years ago from heart failure.' He placed the mug down and gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘My understanding is he did write letters, but I suspect your mother didn't pass them on.'

‘Why would she do that?' Lydia couldn't have stopped the question from blurting out if she tried. She was suddenly so hungry for a connection, new or old, to her childhood.

Coulter gave her a sad smile. ‘I'm afraid I don't know the full story. Both your mother and my brother were intensely private people. My understanding is they discovered some differences they couldn't get past.'

Lydia didn't know what to say, a thousand questions filling her mind. Before she could voice even one, Coulter pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and placed it down on the table. ‘This has my number. I'm in town a few more days. Call me after you've looked at them. My organisation would be happy to pay if the files are of value.'

Lydia heard something that sounded like excitement in his voice and her curiosity doubled. ‘What organisation do you work for, Mr Coulter?'

‘The Gatehouse Group.' The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Just a group of crotchety lawyers, concerning themselves with conservation issues. But, I might add, they are always on the lookout for potential recruits for the company.'

‘Recruits?'

‘Yes.' Coulter made an expansive gesture. ‘For there are many different pillars within the organisation. For example, your father was a kind of scout, responding to sightings of particular … rare species.'

Lydia rubbed the mark on her hand, thinking. With these hints of the past being dangled in front of her, she was suddenly very curious to examine her mother's old files a little more closely. After all, there might be something about her father in them.

‘Is that a bite mark?' Coulter asked, and she realised he was staring at her hand. She frowned, hearing a sudden stiffness in his voice.

‘No.' The lie was automatic and she dropped her hand. ‘I mean, it's nothing.'

Coulter rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if he was shaken by something. ‘Looks like a bite. When did it happen?'

‘Nearly a week ago,' Lydia said. ‘It's fine though.'

‘I see.' He dropped his hand, face grave. ‘Did you get checked out? Animals can carry diseases, after all. Are you experiencing any unusual symptoms?'

‘I'm fine,' Lydia assured him, uncomfortable with his attention. After all, potential relative or not, he was still essentially a stranger.

Coulter watched her a moment, face unreadable. Then he stood suddenly. ‘I think it is time for me to leave. These old bones get tired so early in the night now.' He inclined his head politely. ‘My thanks for the tea.'

‘And thank you for helping me earlier,' Lydia replied, wondering where he had been going about the recruit comment. For a moment, she almost thought he was going to offer her a job.

‘Of course. Though it looked like you were doing just fine by yourself,' he said and Lydia followed him to the front door. ‘Please don't forget to contact me once I can collect the files. Or if you'd like to talk about your father.' He hesitated, then added, ‘When I saw you on the porch with the shotgun, you looked just like her.'

‘Who?'

‘Your mother.'

Lydia watched him get back into his car, wondering when her mother, the gentlest person in the world, had held a shotgun.

Chapter 17

Jericho stirred his bowl of steaming porridge, trying to ignore the pull of weariness caused by staying late outside Lydia's home. He'd eavesdropped on most of the conversation between her and the stranger, then he found he couldn't leave for hours after, wanting to be sure she was safe.

Jericho looked up from his porridge to Blades, who sat across from him. ‘I heard a rumour there were pancakes for breakfast.'

From beside him, Turk chuckled as he piled spoonfuls of sugar into his own bowl. ‘You heard wrong, old friend.'

Around them men were filing out of the canteen, the early breakfast hour over, and he could understand why no one wanted to hang around for seconds. The porridge that morning was particularly lumpy and unappealing. And either the brown flecks in it were some fancy seeds, or they had a serious weevil problem. And it needed salt. Or a flamethrower.

‘Heard your girlfriend had a visitor last night.' Blades eyes were fixed on his mug of coffee in front of him. ‘Heard you got a name for our mysterious Jack Smith.'

Jericho sighed and pushed his bowl away, his appetite gone. After getting back from Lydia's, he'd woken Frost, getting him to check Jack Smith's real name. It hadn't taken long to confirm what Jericho had feared: that Thomas Coulter worked for the Gatehouse Group.

‘Frost told you?'

‘He did.' Turk stirred the sugar into his porridge. ‘The question is, were
you
going to tell us about it?'

‘Of course I was. And I admit, it doesn't look good,' Jericho said. ‘But she's no Hunter.'

‘Not yet.' Blades took a sip of his coffee, watching Jericho over the rim of his mug.

‘Not ever,' Jericho said.

‘We're just worried she's clouding your judgement,' Turk said. ‘After all, you didn't take care of her when you bit her.'

‘And she wasn't infected,' Jericho pointed out. ‘It would have been murder.'

Turk ignored this, taking a mouthful of his breakfast and chewing slowly. ‘And now, she's a danger to us all, and you still won't do anything about her.'

‘She won't turn against us.' Jericho tried to keep his voice even. ‘She's not like that.'

‘It sounds like she's got you wrapped around her finger, my brother,' Blades remarked.

Before Jericho could defend himself, his phone chirped. Checking it, he saw it was a text from Frost, informing him Vaughn had been spotted at Crystal Waters and must have arrived in Camden at some point without them knowing.

‘We can discuss this further tonight at the clubhouse.' Jericho got to his feet, deciding he could wait until lunch to eat. ‘Is the coffee any good this morning?'

Blades snorted. ‘Is it ever?'

Deciding to tempt fate, he walked to the coffee table and poured himself a cup. He hoped that Vaughn was going to stay at Crystal Waters. As far as Jericho was concerned, the Enforcer wasn't welcome here. Not with their history. He mentally went over his schedule for the day as he strolled outside the canteen, sipping his burned coffee.

In the distance, a group of men jogged in formation, while another tended to the crops and vegetable garden in the distance, voices a low, distant murmur. He drank his coffee slowly, feeling bone weary. Usually, this was the time of day he liked the most, but today his thoughts were dark and tangled, stuck on replaying the events of last night, seeing Lydia invite Coulter into her home, over and over. After the Hunter had left, he'd called the G1 boys who had been charged with tailing the stranger, growling at them for losing him. Another thirty minutes later, he got the message Coulter had returned to the Emerald Field hotel.

‘Bulldog.'

Jericho turned to see Turk behind him, looking tense as he tucked his phone into a jean pocket. Blades was exiting the canteen, talking animatedly on his own mobile.

‘We got vehicles outside the compound,' Turk said.

Jericho drained his coffee. So, Vaughn had decided to be an asshole and come here without an invitation. Blades joined them outside and a second later, Frost and Reaper strode towards them, coming from the bike shed.

‘Everyone's phones are going off,' Reaper said. ‘All the sentries are on alert.'

‘Vaughn's here. He's demanding access to the compound,' Frost added. ‘I told everyone to hold tight.'

Jericho strode towards the entrance of the compound, crew behind him. He'd known, deep down, a visit would be inevitable.

‘If I give you the signal,' he told Turk, ‘lock the place down.'

‘Right.' Turk gave a crisp nod.

Jericho glanced back at Frost and the pale-haired man turned to jog back towards the clubhouse, where his sniper rifle was stashed. Jericho knew that if things really started going south, Frost would be positioned to start picking people off. They would just have to deal with the fallout later.

The front gate came into view, a van with tinted windows sitting outside the gate. Jericho's teeth clenched tight and he hoped he wouldn't need Frost's deadly skills. But some things had to be done right, and trying to enter this compound without an invite was a flat-out insult.

‘Let's get this over with,' he said, spying Corbin on sentry, arguing with a large man in a leather jacket. As Jericho got closer to the hurricane fencing, one of the van's doors opened and Tony Vaughn stepped out. Though Jericho had been bracing for this meeting, he was caught unawares as memories flooded back, full of hate and regret. Tradition dictated he kneel before the Enforcer, but he couldn't find it in himself to it to bow to the one who had marked him. Vaughn registered this defiance and a cold smile spread across his face as he approached the fence, morning sun glinting off the gold dagger pin he wore on his collar, the symbol of an Enforcer.

‘Ben Jericho,' he said. ‘I see you still don't acknowledge your betters.'

Jericho's eyes flicked over to the guard hut, where Corbin watched with wide eyes. He gave the young man a short nod, letting him know he'd done well so far. Most Breed would automatically defer to a Enforcer's demands, but Corbin had managed to stay loyal to the pack and hold his ground.

More car doors popped as five additional Enforcers stepped out of the vehicles, fanning out. Jericho heard his own crew move behind him in response, Reaper and Turk at his back.

‘Open the gates, Jericho,' Vaughn said. ‘Before you really piss me off.'

Jericho folded his arms. ‘Why don't you tell me why you're here first?'

‘You and I have business together,' Vaughn said. ‘And I'd rather not discuss it out here.'

‘You and I have nothing to discuss,' Jericho said flatly.

Vaughn's eyes flattened, then he nodded towards Jericho's face. ‘You healed well. Guess I missed your eye well enough.'

‘Is that why you've come?' Jericho asked dryly. ‘To rehash old times?'

‘That, and other reasons.' The Enforcer looked behind Jericho, eyes travelling over the compound. ‘I've been listening to the reports over the years from here, on how you have been hailed as a saviour for this place. You've had quite a good run here.'

Jericho glared at the Enforcer. ‘Just say what you've come to say, Vaughn.'

‘Five deaths in a space of three months.' Vaughn took a step back from the fence. ‘The Breed Council has become greatly concerned with the rising mortality rate. They think your attention is slipping.' He lifted a finger and shook it. ‘The King is also disappointed in you. I'm not even counting the murdered female Breed. And a killer who's still out there, I might add. You really can't keep anyone safe, can you?'

‘I will find out who killed her, you can be assured of that.' Jericho smiled, showing all his teeth. ‘You sure that's the reason you're in Camden? When I talked to Karla, she seemed pretty excited you were coming. I hear she's been real lonely here.'

Vaughn's face hardened at the mention of Karla. It was one of the worst-kept secrets in Camden that Vaughn was the father of Alice, Karla's little girl. Jericho had seen the child once or twice when he'd been around at Crystal Waters, checking on the security. She had big green eyes with wild dark hair and fine, porcelain skin. A cute kid, really, and he wondered why Karla hadn't taken Vaughn as a mate. Being unwed and pregnant was quite the scandal in Breed society and it made little sense to Jericho why she would hide the father's identity. After all, Vaughn was full-blood and held a position of power, everything that Karla would want in a mate. It made no sense to him.