Beneath a Darkening Moon (30 page)

He didn’t know, and he couldn’t find out without
breaking in. And he wouldn’t do that until he had a reason to—otherwise, he might only succeed in warning a potential suspect that she was under suspicion.

He turned back to the desk and began opening drawers. In the third one, he found a book containing delivery orders. He scanned through the pages, looking for Candy or Lonny. Neither of them was there. So why was Anni delivering flowers to Candy, and why weren’t they being recorded? He closed the book and returned it. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Trista.

“Hey, boss,” she said. “I just finished talking to Bryton, the ranger over in Merron.”

He opened the last drawer and began looking through it. “And?”

“He was very helpful.”

Undoubtedly hoping for a repeat of last summer, Cade thought wryly. “So he knew Lonny Jackson?”

“Oh yeah. Apparently, the mother was off with the fairies most of the time, and her daughter ran wild.”

He pulled out some notebooks and quickly flicked through them. Nothing more than old delivery addresses. The rest of the drawer was full of loose papers. He grabbed a handful, and started looking through them. “She didn’t happen to have a sister called Candy, did she?”

“No. Or at least, not during the time she was at Merron.”

So why the hell did Candy and Lonny look so similar? There had to be a link somewhere, he was sure of it. “Did you get anything else from him?”

“Yeah—there’s a really interesting bit of gossip about Lonny’s father.”

A letter in spidery writing caught his eye. It was from Lana Lee and addressed to Anni.
Pay the rent you owe me
, it said,
or I shall report what I saw you do to the police
.

It was not so much the threat, as the way it was worded that struck him as odd. Why the police rather than the rangers? And what the hell had Lana seen Anni do? Frowning, he put the letter to one side, and continued on.

“So who is Lonny’s father?”

“Jontee McGuire.”

Elation ran through him. Finally, they had a connection. Maybe not to the current murders, but at least to Jontee and Rosehall. “You sure?”

“Bryton is. Apparently Jontee had a real knack for seducing women, even as a teenager, but when he knocked Frankie up, her father beat both of them to an inch of their lives. Jontee did a runner, and Frankie was apparently never the same again.”

From what Vannah had said, Jontee hadn’t been, either. Though he’d seemed pretty damn sane when they’d caught and convicted him. “How old were they?”

“Fifteen. Jontee apparently lived next door to the Doherty household—Doherty being Frankie’s maiden name.”

“The time frame is right.” He paused, studying a snip of paper with an out-of-town phone number on it. Probably nothing, but worth checking. “I don’t suppose Jontee managed to get anyone else pregnant? The existence of a half-sister would certainly explain the similarities between Lonny and Candy.”

“I asked, but Bryton couldn’t say. There were none
reported, but given Merron doesn’t always register half-breed births, he can’t check.”

“Get him to ask around anyway. Someone might know something.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Did you find out what happened to Lonny when Frankie and her husband died?”

“She apparently went to a nominated guardian.”

“Who was?”

Trista paused, and he heard the sound of flicking paper in the background. “Jina Hawkins. She was Frankie’s older sister.”

Frankie’s sister?
That
would certainly explain the similarities in looks. “Is it possible that Jontee was bedding both sisters?”

“From what Bryton said, more than possible. I did ask if he knew any of Jontee’s other lovers, though, but he couldn’t give me any names.”

“Well, Jina would hardly have said anything given her father’s reaction to Frankie getting pregnant.” He paused. “Did Bryton say much about Jina?”

“Not really. Apparently she was thirteen years older than Frankie, and left Merron not long after Frankie was beaten. She hasn’t been seen on the reservation since.”

“So how did they find her to relocate Lonny?”

“Bryton didn’t know, but he’s going to ask around.”

“Good. Do a check through the system and see if you can find anything on our end, and pull up a birth certificate for Candy. And while you’re there, do a check on Anni Hawkins and a Lana Lee.” He gave her all the spellings.

“Is Anni Hawkins related to Jina Hawkins via marriage?”

“That’s one of the things I need to find out.”

“And the other woman?” she asked.

“Maybe another piece of the puzzle.” He shoved the papers and notebooks back into the drawer and closed it. “Oh, and check this number for me.” He grabbed the scrap of paper and read out the phone number. “Let me know who or what that belongs to.”

“Will do.”

Trista hung up, and he shoved the phone back into his pocket. He scanned the area to ensure everything was back in place, then picked up the two bits of paper and retreated. Vannah was dressed and brushing her hair in the kitchen by the time he got back to her apartment.

“Anni’s not downstairs.” His boot heels echoed against the wooden floorboards as he made his way across the room. “And there doesn’t seem to be anything out of place in the shop.”

“I figured as much.” She picked up the coffeepot with her free hand. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.” He grabbed the brush from her and began to run it through the wet silk of her hair. Her sigh was filled with contentment. He wished there was a mirror close so he could see her face, see the sweet half-smile that always curved her lips whenever he’d done this at Rosehall. “What do you know about Anni Hawkins?”

She shrugged. “Not a great deal. We do the inane chat thing whenever we see each other, but it never goes beyond that.”

“Do you have any idea why Lana Lee would send a threatening note to Anni Hawkins?”

“No.” She paused. “What did the note say?”

“That she wanted Anni to pay rent, or she’d report what she saw to the police.”

“Odd for her to say police instead of rangers.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. Obviously the old girl knew something about Anni that we don’t. Maybe that’s the reason Lana died in your suspicious fire.”

“What date was the letter written?”

“On the seventeenth.”

“Two days before the fire.” She took a sip of her coffee, then added, “Can I look at the letter?”

He took it from his pocket and handed it to her. As she read it, he continued running the brush through her glorious hair, enjoying the soft feel of it as it slid past his fingertips, the way the silky strands gleamed like liquid gold as the overhead light caressed them. Was there anything more erotic than brushing a woman’s hair other than caressing skin to skin? It had always gotten him fired up. But then, when it came to Vannah, just one look could push him over the edge.

“It definitely looks like Lana’s writing,” she said. “The old girl was always writing us about the ‘hoodlums’ taking over her street and demanding we do something about it.”

“But she never mentioned Anni Hawkins?”

“No.” She hesitated. “You know, Anni’s talked about a lot of things over the last six months, but I can’t actually recall her ever mentioning where she came from. Odd, really.”

“I’ve asked Trista to do a search to see if she can come up with anything.”

“Good.” She handed him the note, then turned around and snagged her brush from his hand. “In the meantime, we’d better question Ari.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Then he tried to ignore how good it felt, how swiftly his body responded to the warm press of hers. But it wasn’t so easy to ignore the sudden longing to be able to do this anytime he pleased, for the rest of his life. “Before we go anywhere, you need to answer that question.”

She frowned. “What question?”

“Why can’t you be a ranger forever?”

“Oh, that.” She screwed up her nose. “Because I want to have kids one day.”

“Kids and a job are not mutually exclusive.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be a working mom. I want to be able to stay home and watch their every little milestone. At least until they’re old enough to go to school.”

Surprise ran through him. “Somehow, I can’t imagine the free-spirited woman I knew at Rosehall becoming a stay-at-home mom.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his nose. The brief touch sent desire shooting through every inch of his body, and it was all he could do not to press her back against the counter and give in to it.

“As I keep reminding you,” she said softly, her lips so close they were teasing his with possibilities, “the me you knew at Rosehall was discovering and exploring my sexuality, and I’d certainly never planned on committing to just one man.”

Which she hadn’t. And it still hurt, still angered him, even if the sensible part of him was willing to
accept her reasons now that he’d heard her side of it. He might not understand them, but he was willing to believe them.

“What about you?” she continued softly, her green eyes twinkling with what looked like amusement.

“Never imagined myself as a stay-at-home mom,” he answered dryly. “But if my wife wants to be the breadwinner, I’m more than willing to look after the kids.”

“So you’re a modern man?”

“I’m a lazy man who only works because he needs to support himself.”

“Raising kids ain’t easy, you know.”

He grinned. “Don’t I know it. I helped raise my brothers after my dad died and Mom was forced to work.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How many brothers?”

He slid one hand down to her butt and pressed her even closer, until the heat of her mound was pressed firmly against his erection. Gently, he rubbed back and forth against her, enjoying the sensation even if it was also the ultimate form of torture since he had no intention of taking it any further. “Four.”

Her pupils dilated as desire overran the amusement in her eyes. “I would have thought that having four brothers would turn you off to having kids of your own.”

“Well, it did make me damn careful about getting the fertility control injection every six months, just to make sure I was shooting blanks.”

She grinned. “I hope you’re still shooting those blanks, because I’m not ready to have kids just yet.”

“Neither am I, believe me.” Even if the thought of having kids with her made him warm inside.

And therein lay his real dilemma. He could lie to her, and he could lie to himself, as much as he liked. But the truth was, if he wanted to discover if what lay between them had the strength to end in such a dream, then he was going to have to release her from the moon magic and allow her the choice of being with him. Or not.

If he released her, he risked losing her again, and once was more than enough. Yet, by not releasing her, he faced the risk of losing her anyway. He might hold her physically, but he’d never be able to lay claim to anything more.

And he wanted that more. Wanted all she was willing to freely give.

So was it love?

Having never been in love, he couldn’t honestly say what it felt like. But he very much suspected that if he didn’t already love her, then he was certainly headed that way. Fast. And the more he tried
not
to think about it, to concentrate on the reason he was here rather than what he was feeling, the more control seemed to slither from his grasp. She’d had that effect on him at Rosehall, and it hadn’t lessened in the ten years they’d been apart.

Maybe what he should really do was just talk about it. Get it all out in the open and let it hang there for discussion. But his gut clenched and his throat threatened to close over.

Talking about emotions wasn’t something he’d ever been prone to do, and it was a hard habit to break, even for something—someone—as important as this.

She was right. He was a coward. He’d faced many a criminal with a loaded gun aimed at his face, and never once had he been as terrified as he was just now.

Her lips brushed his tenderly. “Some deep thoughts you appear to be having there,” she said, the glow in her eyes making him wonder if she’d perhaps been following them. “Hope all this talk of babies hasn’t made you skittish.”

“Not in the least. In fact, it’s nice to know the free spirit has mellowed.”

“I haven’t mellowed that much, as you’ll find out if you don’t stop doing what you’re doing.”

He raised a teasing eyebrow. “And what might I be doing?”

“Like you can’t smell my arousal.” Her sudden smirk was saucy. “That’s like saying I can’t feel your erection.”

“It’s attracted to heat, and there seems to be a lot of that at the moment.” He leaned down and kissed her like he intended to make love to her tonight—long and slow.

The sharp ringing of the phone shattered the moment. She broke away with a sigh, then leaned across and snagged the handset off the wall.

“This had better be good,” she said, her voice smoky with frustrated desire.

He wasn’t sure what the person on the other end said, but the sudden tension stiffening her body told him it wasn’t good news.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she said, and hung up.

“What?” he asked immediately.

Her stricken gaze turned to his. “There’s been another murder. They think it might be Ike.”