Beneath a Darkening Moon (19 page)

“I was there to do a job. Sharing you was part of that job.”

“But that doesn’t address the question of jealousy.”

“But it’s the only answer that matters.”

“Not to me.”

His gaze searched hers. “Why?”

Because I loved you. Because I need to know if you even really liked me
. She shrugged, feigning a casualness she suddenly didn’t feel. “Because jealousy suggests I was more than just a means to an end.”

He didn’t move, didn’t seem to react in any way. Yet the air between them suddenly crackled with tension. “And why does it matter to you?”

She stared at him for a moment, wondering how any man could be so obtuse. Did he really not know how she’d felt? Had he never really heard
any
of the things she’d said to him? “Because you were more than just another dancer to me.”

His sudden and all-too-brief smile was edged with a wistfulness that made her soul ache. Then he reached out and brushed her cheek, his touch a fire that seemed to burn deep into her flesh. His eyes were filled with an intentness that made her bones feel weaker than water.

“Do you know how I chose you as my target?” he said softly, moving his hand down her neck and across her shoulder.

“No.” Her voice came out breathless. She could
barely even breathe, let alone talk, because every inch of her thrummed with desire. She needed him—and it wasn’t the heady atmosphere of the club or the demands of the moon. It had never been the moon. Not then, and not now. It was the man.

“My boss handed me twelve folders. Inside were photos and information about each of Jontee’s women.” He slid his hand around her waist and tugged her toward him, crushing her close. Heat pooled where their bodies met.

“So you could have chosen any one of them?” She briefly closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the night and the way the air-conditioning brushed her skin with fleeting coolness. Enjoying the caress of his fingers across her spine and the way his body seemed a perfect match for hers, touching all the right places with heated hardness.

“Twelve beautiful women, and I had to choose only one.” His lips were so close that his breath whispered across her lips, making them ache for the touch of his. “But for me, there was only ever one choice.”

Her gaze rose to his again. “Why?”

With his free hand, he caught several strands of the wig’s short black hair, tugging on it lightly. Amusement ran fleetingly across his luscious lips. “Because I loved the look of your hair. And because there was something in your eyes that spoke to the wildness in me.”

“It was just a photo.”

He nodded. “A luscious photo of a nymph on a balcony.”

“So it was lust at first sight?”

He hesitated. “What else could there be?”

What else, indeed? And even though she’d known what his answer would be, his words still scraped old hurts. “Then why agree to the moon ceremony?”

He shrugged. “I wanted you to be mine, and only mine. At least, as much as possible without endangering my mission.”

“And there was nothing more than desire and an alpha’s need to possess behind your decision?”

“There was no time for anything else.”

They’d had two weeks together—which was more than enough time if everything felt right. And it had for her. “And if we’d had the time?”

He shrugged again. “Who knows?”

“Then you would have continued seeing me, if things hadn’t happened the way they did?”

“If you hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth, you mean?”

“If you hadn’t abused my trust the way you did.”

He snorted softly. “I only read your mind. Hardly an abuse of trust.”

She pulled out of his arms. The night felt cooler without his touch. “You really have no idea, do you?”

He reached for her again, but she slapped his hand away. He sighed, a sound filled with annoyance. “Any idea of what?”

“Are your parents or pack telepathic?”

“I cannot believe we keep coming back to this. And no, none of my immediate family is telepathic. What has that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, other than the fact no one has taught you common courtesy.”

“I’m an IIS officer. Part of my job is entering the
minds of others to read them. I’ve done it lots of times and, believe me, no one has ever been the wiser.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Those other telepaths being the people who trained you?”

“Yes. And what difference does that make?”

“They were ready for you, Cade. They had to be, because when a telepath raids another telepath’s mind, it’s never pretty, and it’s never easy.”

“Unless you have the training.”

“Training? I was raised in one of the strongest telepathic wolf packs there is, for Christ’s sake. Even my low-end shields are stronger than the average telepath’s. What you did was nothing short of brutality.”

“Quit being so melodramatic. I didn’t force my way in, and I didn’t rip through your shields, because there weren’t any.”

“Really? Are you willing to bet on that?”

His eyes narrowed at the challenge. “Yes.”

“Right here, right now?”

“Yes.”

Her sudden grin undoubtedly had a nasty edge, because right at that moment she was feeling particularly nasty. She might not have Neva’s mental strength, but she was her father’s daughter, and her father was the head of their pack simply because he
was
the strongest. “And what price would you be willing to pay? How about, if I’m right, you revoke your little addition to the moon promise?”

“No.” His answer was immediate and obviously instinctive.

She felt like baring her teeth and growling in frustration. Why did this man always take without ever
being willing to give, even just this once? “Are you afraid you’ll lose?”

“You’re mine, Vannah, and you will remain mine until I say otherwise.”

“If you were so damn sure I belonged to you, you’d be letting
me
make the choice. But you aren’t sure, are you?” She snorted softly. “I never took you for a coward—”

She stopped, glancing down as movement near the door caught her eye. A big-busted blonde had entered the club. Dressed in a short skirt, a white tube top that flared brightly under the strobe lights, and what looked to be six-inch stilettos, the blonde definitely fit the description Denny had given them.

She mentally cursed the woman’s timing, but added, “I think our quarry just arrived.”

He made a low rumble that sounded as ominous as thunder, but he glanced downstairs. “She’s definitely as Denny described.”

She nodded, briefly watching the woman as she teetered on the edge of the steps. “How do you want to play this?”

The dark look he cast her way suggested that this was the last game he wanted to play right now. “We wait until she makes contact with Denny.”

She nodded and leaned on the railing, her arms crossed as she watched the woman totter around the bar side of the dance floor. “Some women just shouldn’t wear stilettos. She looks like she’s going to topple over at any minute.”

“Are you sure it’s not a function of how … top-heavy she is?” he commented, his voice hinting at amusement.

Savannah glanced over at him. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes, lending his face a sudden warmth. Though still angry with him, she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re a breast man?”

“
Any
man is a breast man, and don’t let them tell you otherwise.” His gaze slid from her face down to her chest. Her nipples puckered under his scrutiny, and warmth flushed across her skin. “However, I have always been of the opinion that a nice, plump handful is all that a man really needs.”

“Just as well, seeing that a plump handful is all you’re going to get from me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have I ever complained?”

“No.” She frowned as the blonde stopped and reached into the small bag slung over her shoulder. “But you’ve never complimented them, either.”

“Remiss of me.”

“Very.”

He glanced downstairs, then back at her. “What if I say you have the most luscious breasts I’ve ever seen?”

“I’d say you were full of shit.”

His sudden grin was unexpected, and made her heart do an old, familiar dance. “Is that the cop speaking, or the woman?” he asked, voice so low it seemed little more than a warm vibration across her skin.

“Both.” The blonde had gotten out her phone and was searching the upper balconies as she talked. Looking for Denny, or for someone else? Savannah frowned as the woman’s gaze seemed to snag on her and Cade, lingering for too many seconds before moving on. “We’ve been made.”

“What?” He looked down. “How?”

The blonde was still talking on the phone, and though her gaze seemed to be on the dancers in front of her, the sudden tension in her stance suggested she was ready to flee given the slightest provocation. “I don’t know, but she’s seen us. Or me, at least.”

“Odd that she answered the phone before she made us.” He glanced at Savannah. “It suggests an accomplice.”

“Or that the person behind the threats is in this room.” Yet if Tane didn’t recognize her, why would anyone else, especially disguised as she was? “Shall we wait or move?”

Before Cade could answer, the woman made the decision for them, slipping her phone into her bag as she turned and headed back toward the door. “You go left; I’ll go right,” he said, thrusting away from the railing.

She nodded and headed left. Her stilettos clattered against the metal stairs as she ran, making enough noise that the dancers closest to her glanced up. And though Denny was one of them, there was no recognition in his eyes. At least that meant he’d probably still be here if she and Cade missed their quarry.

Ahead, the blonde was climbing the stairs and walking toward the door. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry, meaning they either had the wrong woman or she knew she had plenty of time to escape. Savannah was betting on the latter. If this woman was involved in the murders, then there would have been provisions should something go wrong. The fiend behind the recent murders was too well organized to leave anything to chance.

Savannah ran along the edge of the dance floor, dodging the occasional overenthusiastic dancer or drunk patron. By the time she got to the steps, the blonde had already left the building. Cade was two steps behind her as she pushed the door open and ran out.

“There,” he said, pointing left to the flare of reversing lights.

They ran toward the truck as it reversed out of the parking spot. Savannah glanced at the plates, noting the number and the fact they were from Arizona. Before they could get any closer, the truck sped off, leaving them in a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust.

Cade swore and thrust a hand through his hair. “Our first solid connection to the murders, and we let her get away.”

“I wouldn’t call her a solid connection as yet,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. “And at least we can track down the truck via the plate number.”

“Not when it had false plates.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

“Because the second plate wasn’t stuck on too well. I saw the corner of the real plate sticking out one side.”

She grimaced. “At least we still have the truck.” Even if that make and color was one of the more popular ones in Ripple Creek. She tugged off her wig and scratched irritably at her scalp. “Of course, the question is what—or who—tipped her off?”

Cade glanced at her. “Did anyone see you coming over here?”

“I was in wolf form, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Maybe they were watching your apartment.”

She frowned. “They could just as easily have been watching your rooms. It’s no secret now that the IIS is in town, even if no one knows why.”

“I would have noticed a shadow.”

Irritation swept through her. “Meaning I wouldn’t have?”

The guard glanced their way. “Keep it down,” Cade said, as he waved a reassuring hand toward the guard. When he looked back at her, Cade’s expression was a mix of annoyance and frustration. “Meaning, you’ve had less experience at being tailed than me.”

“Less experience doesn’t mean no experience,” she bit back. “And I wasn’t followed.”

“Then how the hell did that woman—who I’ve never met and I presume you haven’t either—make us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone
must
have followed one of us.”

No one had followed her; she was sure of it. So what had given them away? She frowned, remembering the way the blonde’s gaze had lingered on them—or, more particularly, her. It suggested that she’d been the one recognized, but how? With the wig and the costume, she looked nothing like herself. Someone from Rosehall might have recognized the shoes, but the darkness of the club precluded that.

Rosehall …

Oh, shit
. She’d never worn this costume at Rosehall, but she had gotten it there.

“Someone recognized my outfit,” she said, her voice empty of the anger boiling inside. Anger aimed at herself, at her own thoughtlessness. Yet, how could
she have known that there was
any
chance of the costume being recognized?

“What?”

“This outfit,” she said, lightly flicking the chains wrapping the skirt. “I got it at Rosehall.”

“From who? Jontee?”

If only
. “No. Besides, Jontee’s dead, and hardly in a position to recognize anything.”

“Then who?”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Nelle James.”