Hunter's Need (32 page)

They followed her inside and this time, Beverly led them into the kitchen, gesturing to a long, narrow bar. “Have a seat. I’ve got water, soft drinks or coffee if you’d like some.”

Duke asked for some water, but Ana declined. She suspected if she took so much as a single drink just then, she’d puke it back up. Her stomach was a mess. A tension headache had settled right at the base of her skull.

After giving Duke a bottle of water, Beverly said, “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. I think I’m going to need it.”

Now a glass of wine, Ana might have gone for that, except she was the cheapest drunk in the world and even though the wine might steady her nerves, it would also loosen her tongue—and probably her control.

The last thing Beverly needed was for Ana to blurt out something without thinking it through first. And the last thing Ana needed was shaky shielding. So no alcohol.

Ana and Duke waited in silence as Beverly poured herself a glass of wine and then settled on a stool across from them. “My daughter took her little girl on a last-minute vacation. After they found Paul . . . well, you know how some reporters are. They can be such vultures, always looking for a story. They tracked my Jeannette down at her work and started pestering her for an interview, took some pictures of her and little Marie when she came to drop her off. So she decided to take a week or so off.

“As much as I want my family gone until this dies down, I miss them . . . ” Beverly swirled the wine in her glass, staring down into the deep red liquid, but somehow, Ana suspected the older woman wasn’t interested in the quality of the wine. “Little Marie, she keeps me hopping. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the distraction of picking up toys and answering her ten thousand questions until Monday rolled around and they weren’t here.”

Ana hated small talk. But if she could put Beverly a little more at ease, it might help. She thought. She hoped. Forcing a smile, she reached out and tapped her finger against one of the framed pictures that adorned the countertop. “Is this your granddaughter?”

The older woman smiled. “Yes. That’s my Marie.”

“She looks a lot like you,” Ana murmured. And like her great-aunt. It was in the shape of her eyes, the set of her mouth. When the little girl grew up, she was going to be a knockout.

“Some. But she actually looks more like her namesake than her grandmother. I’ve got pictures from when my sister was that age—the similarity is startling.”

“Does your daughter look like your sister?” She reached for another picture, eyeing the young woman who held little Marie.

“No.” Beverly sipped her wine. “She looks like her father.”

Ana frowned, seeing little similarity between the willowy woman in the picture and Beverly’s husband. Both were tall and slender, but that was it. “I’d say she looks more like you than Kyle.”

“Kyle’s her stepfather.” Beverly smiled and lifted her wineglass. “Jeannette’s father and I didn’t marry. He was up here for just a summer. Once it was over, he left—he never knew I was pregnant, and I never bothered trying to track him down to tell him. It was . . . well, I guess a summer fling, and as much as I enjoyed my time with him, I didn’t want to spend my life with him. He wasn’t exactly what I’d call father or husband material. Of course, back then, I wasn’t really parent material, either. Having Jeannette changed a lot of things for me. And I’m glad I never tried to locate her father after he left. I ended up married to a wonderful man who loved Jeannette like he was her own. And he got me through a very hard time in my life.”

“Of course, he still has to hold me together. It’s not over. I’m starting to wonder if it will ever be
over
. Every time somebody disappears, I think,
Is it the same one? The one that killed Marie?
This last time was the worst—finding out that Paul had died, it was almost as bad as the summer Marie disappeared.” She sat her wineglass down and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About Paul. About Marie. About that summer.”

“I can’t imagine how hard this is,” Ana said quietly. Her heart went out to the other woman and she wished there was something she could do. But the only way she could help was to help Duke find the man who did this, to keep him from hurting anybody else.

“I can’t even describe it.” Beverly reached for her wine and took another, longer sip. Followed by two more.

“After twenty years, you’d think I’d be a bit more used to it. Or that it wouldn’t sneak up on me so easily, catch me by surprise and leave me this close to tears. Poor Kyle, he’s been at his wit’s end ever since I heard about Paul. He tries to keep me from thinking about it, and then when I can’t help but think about it and I get upset, he’s trying to comfort me and I think he blames himself for not doing a better job.” She shook her head and murmured, “I never thought anything could be as hard as that summer. Never. But this is close. Very close.”

“Is your husband here?” Ana asked. “I know you didn’t want him knowing that you and I had talked.”

“Kyle’s in his office. He works at home, has his own consulting business. Of course, he hasn’t been able to get a great deal done over the past few days, since he’s had his hands full with me. I’m trying not to let it show, but he can always tell.” Her voice went cool and angry. “He’s got high blood pressure, had a mild heart attack a few years ago. He doesn’t need this stress right now. God, does anybody ever need something like this in their life?”

Guilt sank in Ana’s gut like a stone. No matter how this all played out, Ana didn’t see much chance of doing anything to ease Beverly’s pain. The only thing that would do it would be the knowledge that her sister’s killer had been stopped. But that would mean letting her know what they were doing, it would mean finding some kind of proof, and somehow getting that proof into the right hands so mortal justice could deal with him.

Her instincts told her that this was going to end with the bastard dead. Dead people weren’t questioned about murders or put on trial. So the answers Beverly needed may never come.

“Why don’t you go ahead and explain why you’re here,” Beverly said. “More questions about Paul?”

“Not exactly.” Ana licked her lips and shifted on the seat, glancing at Duke.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the unopened bottle of water, focusing on it like he expected it to take flight or something. Something about that absolute focus had her instincts humming, but right now, she had to figure out how to get the information she needed from Beverly.

Focusing back on the older woman, she braced her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. She’d mentally rehearsed how to do this back at home but now, none of the questions she’d put together made sense. God, how was she supposed to explain she’d seen her sister’s killer and that she needed help trying to figure out who he was?

Beverly continued to watch her and seconds stretched out.

“Ana, what’s this about?”

“Do you believe in psychic ability, Beverly?”

It wasn’t a question she’d planned to ask. It wasn’t a question she’d wanted to ask. But it slipped out of her, almost of its own volition and now that it was hanging in the air between them, there wasn’t a damn thing Ana could do to jerk it back.

Beverly blinked. “Ah . . . psychic ability?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” She lifted her glass to her lips but put it down without drinking. “You mean like those
Ask your psychic friend
scams?”

“No. As in real ability. As in . . . ”

Duke reached over and laid a hand on her thigh, squeezing. She ignored the warning, just as she ignored his intent stare. With him touching her, some of his thoughts still managed to filter inside her thick shields.

Harsh. Demanding. Intense.
Look at me!
She could all but feel the command. But she didn’t dare. She couldn’t really back out of this now unless she wanted to alienate Beverly and that wasn’t about to happen.

“Psychic ability as in I think I’ve seen the man who killed your sister. But I don’t know who he is. And I don’t know if I can find him without some help.”

The emotions flickering across Beverly’s face ranged from grief and disappointment to outrage and disgust. A muscle twitched in her cheek and fury flashed in her eyes as she glared at them.

“Why do you people have to do this to us? God, this is my fault. I don’t know why in the hell I thought you were better than the scum that keep after us.”

Ana’s belly went tight and blood rushed to her cheeks. “Beverly, please, listen to me. This isn’t a sham and I’m not trying to do anything but help—”

Duke’s hand came up, closing over her elbow. He squeezed tight. She shot him a pleading look—she didn’t know if she wanted him to back her up, back off on whatever he was trying to project her way or just give her a few more minutes.

The look she saw on his face killed any thoughts of backing up or backing off. He stared at Beverly like she’d gone and sprouted a second head—a second head with a mouth full of daggerlike teeth.

Fuck.
Something was wrong, she realized, staring at him. No wonder he’d been so damned quiet. No wonder he’d been projecting his thoughts so loud.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Beverly rising from her stool. “I want you to leave now, Ana. Leave, take him with you and don’t come back.” She pointed an arm toward the door and continued to glare at them.

Ana was having a hard time taking her eyes off of Duke, even when Beverly raised her voice and said, “I said
leave
.”

Duke growled.

Silence fell. Beverly, pale and startled, backed up a step. Ana reached up, covering the hand that still held her right elbow. She squeezed gently, unsure of what to do or how to handle a pissed-off shapeshifter. Of course, knowing what had set him off might help.

“Duke?”

The hand on her elbow tightened and he lowered his gaze to Ana. His eyes no longer resembled anything human. Ana hissed out between her teeth, staring into the swirling pinwheels of gray and black.

“Duke.” She tried to put as much warning into her voice as she could, but she wasn’t sure if anything could penetrate the fog of rage she sensed rising inside of him.

He spoke, and his voice, thank God, was relatively normal, just a little deeper, a little gruffer than normal. “We’re leaving, Ana. Now.”

Leaving?
She wanted to argue. They couldn’t leave. But Duke wasn’t in any shape to stay. He looked like he was holding on to control with nothing more than will alone, battling back the beast she could see staring back at her from his eyes.

With little choice, she took her purse from the counter and slung it over her shoulder. She paused long enough to look at Beverly. “Regardless of what you think, all we want to do is help.”

Beverly said nothing.

Ana wanted to say more, but Duke was urging her toward the front of the house—hell, screw urging. He was all but pushing her out the door with Beverly trailing along behind them. They were almost to the front door when Beverly’s husband emerged from the depths of the house.

Duke went still. Slowly, he turned to face the other man and Ana turned with him. That heavy, choking sense of doom was back, ringing through her mind like a funeral dirge.

Kyle studied Ana through the lenses of his glasses, blinking in curious, owlish way, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was looking at or where he was.

“Beverly?” Kyle said. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Beverly said, her voice wooden. “They were just leaving.”

Ana looked back at Beverly, then glanced at Kyle. Duke tugged on her arm, hard enough that she stumbled against him. Automatically, she flung out a hand and grabbed the edge of the wood-and-glass étagère that graced the entrance way. Pictures wobbled. One started to fall and she reached out to steady it.

And she found herself staring into
his
eyes.

Him—

Blood roared in her ears. Jerking her arm away from Duke, she grabbed the picture, stared at it. Dazed, she lifted her gaze and stared across the room. Into
his
eyes. Eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses, but they were the same damn eyes.

Screams rose in the depths of her mind, a cacophony that drowned out anything and everything else.

“Duke . . . ”

His only response was a growl. He knew. He’d picked up on it way before she did and that was why he’d been trying to urge her out the door so fast, trying to get her out of harm’s way, probably.

He moved in front of her, placing his body between her and the others. But Ana wasn’t too into that idea. She moved back around him, staring at Kyle with horrified fascination. “You. It was you.”

“Excuse me?” Kyle frowned at her, a puzzled, almost absent sort of frown. “Have we met . . . oh, wait. You’re the student who came by last week, right?”

“She’s not a student,” Beverly said, her voice harsh, shaking. “You two need to leave.”

But Ana couldn’t have left that house just then if her life depended on it. “You killed her,” she whispered. “You’re the one who killed Marie.”

Beverly stared at Ana, stunned and horrified. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

But Kyle was smiling. A humorless twist of his lips that did nothing to soften the ugly void she sensed inside him. “I knew you were going to be a problem,” he muttered, smoothing a hand back across his thinning hair. “Even under all those shields of yours, I thought I felt something odd about you. Trouble. Nothing but trouble.”

The smile he gave her was cold. “Just like that bastard, Paul. Always trying to interfere. Should have taken care of you the first day you came around here.”

Duke edged in front of her one more time and this time, she was too dazed to even notice. Staring at the picture in her hands, she waited for her mind to catch up with what her instincts had already figured out.