Beneath a Darkening Moon (6 page)

With their bodies pressed so close, she couldn’t help but be aware of every part of him, from the rapid rise and fall of his chest pressing against her to the heated hardness of his erection. Part of her longed to arch into that hardness, to press it firmly against that part of
her
that throbbed so fiercely. To rub back and forth until the moon’s madness took over in a surge of heat and desire.

The saner part—the part that ached from past hurts
rather than desire—was fiercely glad that his compulsion still held her motionless, if only because she couldn’t succumb to her baser instincts.

Then he broke their kiss and stepped back with a suddenness that surprised her. But for too many minutes, his gaze bored into hers, his breath a rasp that flowed over her like a fierce summer storm. And though she could have broken their eye contact, she didn’t—simply because she needed him to see she was not that silly teenager anymore. That this time she knew him for the bastard he was and would not be fooled by pretty words or the promise of tenderness in his kiss or his touch.

“So, was it?” she said, forcing a note of indifference into her voice.

He frowned. “Was it what?”

“As good as you remembered?”

His smile was almost grim. “Yes. And you can move again now.”

Energy tingled across her skin, unlocking the force of his earlier command. Her fingers clenched against the truck’s door handle and, for an instant, she debated the pros and cons of punching him. If it weren’t for the fact that she loved her job and didn’t want to risk it, she might have succumbed.

She flung open the door instead and then stopped, unable to let the moment pass without at least saying something. “If you ever—
ever
—use the moon’s power against me like that again, I’ll report you to your superiors and make damn sure you’re never allowed out on field investigations anymore.”

As threats went, it was far better than anything
physical, simply because all he cared about was catching his man. He’d proved that long ago.

He snorted softly. “You think I’d be transferred to a desk simply because of a kiss? Step into the real world, Vannah.”

“I am.” She climbed into the truck and glanced back at him. “Oh, and by the way, my father is Levon Grant.”

The smug, condescending amusement fled his face. Her father might be considered a joke in certain sectors of Ripple Creek, but he had some pretty powerful friends—friends that had spread his puritan views far and wide. Friends who were highly placed in many government departments, including, she believed, the IIS.

And while she might disagree with her father’s views, she wasn’t above using his contacts if Cade didn’t heed the warning.

He didn’t say anything, just spun on his heel and walked around to the passenger side of the truck. Once he’d climbed in, she started the engine, turned the truck around, and drove back to Ripple Creek.

The air in the truck was thick with tension and simmering rage—his
and
hers—but, underneath it, desire still burned—and it wasn’t
just
the pull of the unfulfilled promise. Which meant, she thought grimly, now that this man had stepped back into her life—no matter for what reason or how briefly—she would be fighting this insane attraction to him at every minute of every day. Despite how little she now trusted him.

It was infuriating. And dangerous. Because the longer she resisted this fire between them, the more risk she stood of succumbing to the moon madness—
a condition that afflicted any wolf who ignored the proximity of his or her moon-sworn partner. With distance, it was survivable. But if the two were close … it was literally a case of surrender or lose your mind.

She grimaced. The truth of the matter was, there was only one thing she
could
do. And at least there were only five of the seven days she’d promised him left—surely she could survive that? Especially given that her reaction—or attraction—to Cade was as strong as it ever had been. Dancing with him wasn’t going to be a hardship.

But giving in
would
.

And it would undoubtedly dredge up memories and emotions she’d much rather forget, and that would also be a problem.

“What are we going to do?” she said, as the stoplight ahead turned red and she braked.

He glanced at her—something she felt rather than saw. “As I said, we need to talk. Is there somewhere decent to eat?”

“Yeah.” Several places, including her old man’s diner. But there wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell she was taking him there. Not only because Ari would be all over him like a wolf in heat, but because Neva would be all over her with all sorts of telepathic questions. Right now, she didn’t feel up to confronting either woman. “But in case you’ve forgotten, small towns have big ears, and what is brewing between us is not something I want the world to know.”

“Ashamed of me?” he asked dryly.

“No, ashamed of the fact that the stupidity of my past is coming back to haunt me. My body may be
clamoring to dance with you, Cade, but I don’t have to like it.” She met his gaze squarely. “Or you.”

His lips twisted bitterly. “I’m no happier about the turn of events than you are, believe me.”

“So why did you force the kiss?”

He stared at her for a moment longer, his expression giving little away. “Because,” he said eventually, “I had no choice.”

“Bullshit. The moon heat isn’t
that
strong.” Not yet, anyway.

He grimaced. “Not everything I say is a lie.”

She bit back another bitchy comment and swung the truck into the ranger station’s parking lot. The building was dark—Kel and Ronan were long gone, and it was Bodee’s week to handle any night calls. “We can get takeout,” she said, as she stopped the truck, “and talk without fear of anyone overhearing.”

“Or suspecting,” he said, bitterness and anger entwined in his rich voice, “that the head ranger and the head of the IIS investigation team have a bit of moon madness going.”

She climbed out of the truck and locked the door. “Precisely.”

He followed her to the main doors, the heat of his body an almost tangible force even though several feet separated them. She unlocked the doors and switched on the lights. Then she picked up the phone and dialed the nearby pizza joint. They often delivered to the station, so they wouldn’t think there was anything odd about the request, despite the late hour.

He had walked over to the bulletin board, the tension riding his shoulders giving lie to the air of casualness he was attempting to project.

“It’ll be ten minutes,” she said, after she’d hung up. “The conference room is the second door to the right. You want to wait there while I make coffee and wait for the food?”

“Feel the need for breathing room?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “It’s not every day I have my worst nightmare stepping back into my life.”

Amusement glinted briefly in his eyes, and his mouth curved into a bittersweet smile. But he didn’t say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the hall.

She blew out a breath and got down to the business of making some decent coffee. By the time she’d finished, the delivery kid had arrived. She paid him, adding a good tip, and locked the door behind him. No sense taking the chance of someone walking in—especially since she had no idea what would happen.

She collected the steaming mugs and their dinner and carefully made her way into the conference room. Cade was studying the mug shots of everyone who worked at the station and the brief histories underneath.

“This is an unusual idea,” he said, without turning around.

She didn’t answer immediately, letting her gaze linger on the tight fit of his shirt across his shoulders and the way his muscles rippled under the soft material. Then she gave herself a mental kick and said, “Yeah, but it’s a good way of introducing everyone.”

“So every time someone new comes in, he or she hits the wall?”

“Yes.” She placed his pizza and coffee in front of
the nearest chair, then retreated to the far end of the table.

“There hasn’t been much staff turnover since you took over.”

“No.” Because they all got on extremely well. “And that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

“I guess not.” He sat, tackling his food with a gusto that suggested he hadn’t eaten in a while.

She ate at a slower pace, even though she was no less hungry. But the way tension was riding her body, she’d probably have indigestion if she gulped down her pizza too fast.

When he’d finished, he picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. Surprise flickered through his eyes at the taste. “Decent coffee.”

“A rare thing in this ranger station if you piss off our admin assistant,” she replied, tossing the remnants of her food into the trash. “So are you going to step away from this investigation or not?”

His smile was wolfish. “You’d love me to, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” She returned his look steadily. “And isn’t there some sort of protocol that prohibits an IIS officer from being intimately involved with a reservation’s rangers during the course of an investigation?”

“It’s one of those unwritten rules—and before you ask, there
is
no one else. I am the one most familiar with the past murders, so this case is mine. Whether we like it or not.”

And she didn’t like it. She definitely didn’t like it. She didn’t like the way he made her body sing with desire. Or how desperately a part of her wanted to
succumb. The sooner she could get rid of him, the better. “So what’s the other problem you mentioned?”

He pushed away from the table and rose. “Hart, the third member of my team, called me this afternoon with the results of his own autopsy on the first victim. He found something the medical examiner didn’t.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“A sliver of paper inserted into the index finger of the victim’s left hand.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“To taunt us.” He began to pace back and forth. His steps brought him close to her end of the table, washing the scent of desire across her senses as he turned and retreated. In such a confined space, his energy and masculine aroma were almost overwhelming.

“Hart actually thought it might have been a sliver of wood when he first pulled it out.” His gaze caught hers briefly. “Miniature crosses had been inserted into the same finger of the original victims.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

She let the maliciousness in his voice slide past. “What did the note say? And did the crosses have anything written on them?”

“No. The crosses were made of silver, and were obviously meant to prevent the shapechange during the blooding ceremony. This note said, ‘Vengeance tastes sweeter when the cooking is slow.’ ”

She raised her eyebrows. “So our lunatic is poetic?”

“Apparently so.”

“Jontee wasn’t.” Although he’d certainly had a way
with words, and a presence that was so sweet—so powerful—it was spellbinding. That he was also a killer wasn’t something she’d discovered until close to the end.

His gaze speared her again. She sipped her coffee, trying to retain an air of indifference while the two halves of her soul waged a war inside her. Fuck or fight, to put it crudely.

“Jontee McGuire is dead,” Cade said.

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes. I watched them bury him.”

“Was there anyone from Rosehall at the funeral? Or anyone from his family?”

“No. I was watching for either.”

“Then tell me how
this
murderer is copying
those
murders so precisely?”

He stopped at her end of the table, placing his hands on the wooden surface as he leaned toward her. His scent washed across her. She wouldn’t last another five minutes in his presence, let alone a couple of hours. Passion had always been a madness that flared to life between them like a fire about to rage out of control—and, in many ways, just as dangerous. Nothing this fierce, this powerful, could be without consequences—and she really had no intention of letting him stick around until those consequences were revealed.

But until he
did
leave, she had no choice but to face up to the results of her actions so long ago. Still, there was one thing she was sure of. Any dance they might share would be on
her
terms. Not his, and not the moon’s.

“You tell
me
.” He glared at her for several seconds,
then added, voice curt, “I never entirely believed you when you said that you knew nothing.”

“But you never actually
asked
me about what I knew, Cade. You just charged right in and took what you thought you needed.” Not that she
had
known much—only what she’d caught in Jontee’s thoughts when sleeping with him. And, at the time, she’d thought them to be little more than nightmares. It wasn’t until Cade had tried ripping the information from her mind that she’d realized the truth—about Jontee,
and
about Cade.

“I was trying to stop a murderer.”

And in the process had destroyed something so very fragile, so very rare. Or so she’d thought at the time. But it seemed that she was the only one who’d thought what was happening between them was worth anything.

“Then I guess you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” she taunted.

He stared at her for too many minutes, his gaze so intent, so full of heat and anger, that she felt like a schoolkid under the glare of a stern principal again. And that only fueled her fury. Damn it, she’d done nothing wrong ten years ago. If he could accuse her of anything, it was naïveté.

She pushed away from the table and stood. He straightened as well—and though the table was still between them, he was far too close. But retreat was the one thing she wouldn’t do. This was
her
turf,
her
home, and this time she would not give him the upper hand. “I understand why the moon heat will cause problems, but why do you think the murderer leaving notes is such an issue?”

“Don’t play obtuse, Vannah. You know as well as I do that they’re personal messages, aimed at the two people who were at Rosehall.”