Bite Deep (26 page)

Entering the hotel office, Lydia recognised Morgan Wilcox behind the counter, thumbing through a magazine. A CB radio sat beside her monitor, crackling with snatches of ghostly conversation now and then.

‘Officer Gault.' Morgan put the magazine down, eyes running over Jericho briefly. She reached under the desk for a small silver flask and took a quick swig. ‘What a lovely surprise. Day off today? If you're looking for something to do, I believe Darlene's Chocolate House is having a spring sale.'

‘Thanks.' Lydia plastered on her nicest smile, dredging up the woman's surname from her memory. ‘And how are you, Ms Wilcox?'

Her face twisted as she put the flask away. ‘I'd be much better if my bunions didn't ache so darn much. And I've also got this lump on my hip. Throbs every time the weather gets all stormy and I can feel there's one coming, let me tell you.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that.' Lydia stepped up to the desk and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. ‘We were wondering if you might be able to help us.'

Morgan's pencilled eyebrows rose. She looked pointedly behind Lydia at Jericho. ‘Oh? You're here … together?'

‘In a manner of speaking.' Lydia shifted to bring Morgan's attention back to her. ‘It's about a guest you have here. We need to speak to him.'

Morgan lowered her voice. ‘Something to do with the murder case?'

Lydia tapped her nose and said nothing, not wanting to send wild rumours through the community, though she wasn't sure she could stop the old woman if she wanted to; Morgan seemed like a flamethrower in a dry grass field. ‘The man we're looking for might have signed in under an assumed name late last night? Jack Smith?'

‘No one booked in last night,' Morgan said with a small shake of her head.

‘Oh.' Lydia paused, disappointed her hunch hadn't worked out. This was the one place she was sure Coulter might have come and now she had no clue where he could be.

‘Of course, there was this one guy,' Morgan said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin. ‘He booked in a week ago, but hasn't been using his room. I thought that was kind of odd. Then, this morning, I see a Do Not Disturb sign up on his door.'

Hope leapt in Lydia's chest. ‘You don't say. Any chance you could tell us his room number? We'd like to have a quick chat with him.'

‘I'm not sure I should be telling you that, honey.' Morgan's lips pursed. ‘After all, here at the Red Roof Inn, we operate by a strict code of conduct. We respect our clients' privacy, you know.'

‘I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important,' Lydia paused, then added, ‘He could be dangerous.'

Morgan's eyes widened a fraction. ‘You don't say. How dangerous?'

‘Dangerous enough.' Jericho said. ‘Why else do you think the good officer asked me along to help her?'

Morgan squinted up at Jericho. ‘That is a most interesting question. Mr Jericho, isn't it? Or should I call you something else?'

‘Ms Wilcox … Morgan, will you help us?' Lydia wasn't sure what they'd do if she declined and held her breath, hoping Jericho wasn't going to start growling threats.

Morgan sniffed, then reached down under the counter and bought up a key with a worn leather tag. ‘If it's something that's going to help with finding that poor girl's killer, then I'm happy to help. Privacy laws be damned. He's in room 2B.'

Lydia reached out, fingers curling around the key. She hesitated when Morgan didn't let go at first.

‘What's your plan?' the woman asked. ‘If he's as dangerous as you say, you can't just go and knock on their door.'

‘She has me,' Jericho said, sounding pained at having to point the fact out.

Morgan grunted, like maybe she wasn't so sure he'd be much help. Lydia gave the keys a gentle tug, pulling it from her grasp. ‘We just want to talk to him.'

Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It's about time to clean the rooms anyway. He's had a Do Not Disturb sign up since morning, but we could pretend it fell off.' She disappeared through a small doorway, reappearing with a mop and bucket. ‘I'll knock on the door and get him to open it.'

When she came around the counter, Lydia blocked her path, holding her hands out. ‘This man is dangerous. Please, let us handle this.'

Morgan sniffed, reluctantly relinquished the cleaning products. ‘I could be your backup, you know. I took this self-defence course they had at the community hall last year. Been itching to use my moves on someone since. I used to be a real hell-raiser in my time. Literally. But not many muggings these parts.'

‘I do know how to handle myself,' Jericho said, exasperated.

Morgan sniffed. ‘Well, you don't scare
me
. All growl and no bite.'

‘Fine.' Jericho blew out a long breath. ‘How about I call you the moment I need backup. Which will be fucking never.'

‘What he means to say,' Lydia said quickly, noting Morgan's frown, ‘is we really need someone to keep an eye on the lobby, in case he gets past us.'

‘I suppose I could manage that,' Morgan sniffed.

Lydia hid her smile as she headed for the door, carrying the mop and bucket. ‘We'll be back soon.'

‘Do you really need the prop?' Jericho asked as they left the office. ‘I could just kick down the door.'

‘I'm sure you could.' Lydia came to a stop outside a door with the brass number 2B. ‘But why don't you just let me take care of this.'

Positioning the mop so it obscured her face, she rapped a knuckle politely against the door.

‘Housekeeping,' she called out cheerfully.

‘You really think he'll fall for that?' Jericho whispered, flattening himself to the side.

There was a long pause and her heart sank. Maybe Coulter had already left and, with him, any chance she had of finding Anna's killer. Then a lock clicked and the door opened. From behind the mop, she could make out Coulter shirtless, wearing just jeans and a belt, a towel draped around his shoulders. He gestured to the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from his doorknob.

‘Can't you read?' he demanded.

‘Guess not.' Lydia took the mop and rammed it into his stomach. Coulter doubled over with a grunt and Lydia shoved him back, pulling her gun as she entered the room. Coulter straightened, rubbing his stomach, surprise turning to disgust.

‘That was a little rude,' he said, rubbing a hand over his stomach. He eyed the gun in her hand. ‘I'm afraid I still don't believe you're going to shoot me.'

‘Maybe, maybe not.' She felt it when Jericho stepped into the room behind her, the back of her neck prickling. ‘But I'm pretty sure he could.'

Coulter's look of disgust deepened. ‘I don't think much of the company you're keeping.'

‘Shut up,' Jericho said.

The small hotel room had enough room for a bed and table, but little else. Lydia noticed her mother's box of files beside the table and grinned. The first victory.

‘Sit.' She indicated the kitchen table and Coulter obeyed. Her foot hit something and she looked down, seeing archive boxes stacked with photos. Keeping her eye on Coulter, she knelt to get a better look, seeing most of the photos were of women. A hastily scribbled note sat to one side, and she scanned it. Its meaning wasn't clear, but she recognised key words.
Breed, witches, cleansing.

She stood, holding one photo, this one of Anna Lewis, alive and well and laughing over coffee with friends at a café. The surveillance shots were sharp and focused tightly on her face, suggesting a fixation on her as the subject. Jericho saw the one she was looking at and took it from her, holding it out to Coulter.

‘Who is he?' he asked. ‘The one who took this photo.'

‘Who are you talking about?' Coulter arched a grey eyebrow.

‘You know exactly who he means,' Lydia said quietly. ‘The one who killed her.' She bent and retrieved the note, waving it at him. ‘I'm betting he's the one who wrote this gibberish about cleansing. Who is he?'

‘I don't know who you mean.' Coulter's top lip curled. ‘But I might point out the woman was Breed. Hardly what you'd call a great loss.'

Lydia felt Jericho stiffen beside her. ‘How about you try saying that with my fist rammed down your throat?'

Coulter's eyes dropped to the gun in Lydia's hand and, as if his gaze caused it, the bite mark on her hand began to burn, an ache running down her arm.

‘We're not leaving until we've got a name,' she told him. ‘And I'll be taking my mother's files back as well.'

Coulter's gaze lifted to meet hers. ‘I thought you understood the files belonged to Gatehouse.'

‘I understand
you
think they do,' Lydia said. ‘Which means nothing to me. They belonged to my mother, that means they're mine.'

‘He's not going to give us a name,' Jericho murmured to her. ‘Not unless you let me shoot him.'

Coulter ignored him, attention on Lydia. ‘How are you feeling? Any unusual pains or headaches? Have you taken what I gave you?'

‘I'm not infected,' Lydia said between clenched teeth. ‘You were wrong. I'm not condemned.'

Coulter looked at Jericho. ‘You should have done your duty. You must know who did this to her.' He stopped, then understanding broke across his face. ‘I see. It was you, wasn't it.'

‘I told you, it was an accident,' Lydia snapped. ‘But I haven't reverted. I am fine—'

‘—
you're not fine
.' Coulter thumped a fist against the table. Lydia's hand tightened around her gun, eyes narrowing.

‘What are you talking about?' she asked.

‘The virus may not have presented itself yet, but it will. Hunter genes have been tweaked over the years, to make us more efficient hunters. Our reflexes are faster, responses quicker. We are resilient to the Breed virus, but not entirely immune. There is no telling what the infection might do when combined with Hunter blood. It might sit dormant, until exertion triggers it. Or you might just die in your sleep, all your bones shattered. Either way, it will spread throughout your body and you will die horribly.' He stabbed a finger at Jericho. ‘And you should have done your duty in the very beginning. She was your responsibility.'

‘What duty?' Lydia looked at Jericho. ‘What does he mean?'

‘You would never have survived the change,' Coulter told her. ‘And when this kind of situation arises, it's the local alpha's responsibility to take care of it.'

‘You gave her something though,' Jericho said to Coulter. ‘Something that might help her.'

Coulter pursed his lips. ‘Yes. I did.'

Head whirling, Lydia tried to draw the lines between what both men were saying. Take care of what? A memory clicked. Of the night Jericho bit her and the way he had cradled her neck. The way he stared at her with such a strange look. Coulter's words about duty and responsibility echoed in her mind, along with all the talk about not surviving the change if she were infected. Her feet began to back up when understanding dawned. Suddenly she needed to keep Jericho in her sight.

‘Lydia?' Jericho asked.

‘Keep away from me,' she grated out.

‘She understands now,' Coulter said.

‘Shut up,' Jericho growled at the Hunter, then he turned to her. ‘I would never hurt you, Lydia.'

‘The hell you wouldn't.' She swung the gun to Jericho, suddenly not knowing who the real monster in the room was.

A click sounded, freezing her, and she looked over to see a small six-shooter in Coulter's hand. He lips stretched into a lazy smile. ‘Taped to the underside of the table,' he said, answering the unasked question. He held his hand out for Lydia's weapon and she passed it over stiffly. Coulter eased the weapon from her grip, then stood, pointing the gun at Jericho.

‘Your weapon as well. Toss it.'

Jericho pulled the semi-automatic tucked in the back of his jeans and threw it to the left of Coulter.

‘I don't know how you can live with the fact that you're hiding a murderer,' Lydia said to Coulter.

‘I've lived with much worse,' Coulter said. ‘Your mother didn't understand the greater danger, though I tried so hard to explain it to her. If she'd only believed me, if only she'd seen how dangerous the Breed were …' He trailed off, a cautious look entering his eyes.

Lydia's mouth went dry and she sensed he knew something, a secret about her mother. ‘And when you couldn't persuade my mother about the Breed, what did you do then?' she asked.

Coulter stood, the gun aimed between her and Jericho. ‘Please believe that my sins are for the greater good. For the protection of humanity against those who would do it harm. We are the ones who stand before mankind, protecting it from the beasts that would enslave it. For that, sometimes great sacrifices must be made.'

‘What kind of sacrifices?' Lydia asked quietly. Her mother had been mowed down by a careless driver one night. A driver who had never had been caught.

‘Ones that were necessary, Lydia,' Coulter said.

‘Did you murder my mother?' The question squeezed out of her mouth

Coulter's face went still. ‘No.'

‘I don't believe you,' she whispered.

‘A fact that doesn't matter anymore,' Coulter said. ‘Not in the big picture of things. You're not the only one who's lost someone in this war.'

Lydia's body began to shake, her vision narrowing. This was the man was responsible for tearing her life from her, for taking the one thing she loved so dearly. She was sure of it.

‘Lydia,' Jericho said softly. ‘Don't.'

But she could barely hear him, blood pounding thick in her ears and, with a shriek, she threw herself towards Coulter, hands outstretched. His eyes widen in surprise and the gun flared in his hand, but she didn't stop. She was going to tear him apart, or die trying.