Sadie Hart (12 page)

The proceedings had started without him,
stories of Claire spoken in gentle words, words deep with grief. He
knew the moment Holly joined him, the quiet tread of her shoes over
grass instantly recognizable. They searched together, fanning out.
He spotted the occasional Hound outside the cemetery gates, random
people visiting loved ones buried under earth and stone.

Holly stiffened beside him, her breath
stopping short before a long inhale. Caine turned and inclined his
head, instantly catching the faint whiff of wolf on the breeze.
Faint, but definitely the man they wanted. He sprinted towards it,
but Holly was faster. Despite her full set of curves, the woman had
a mean set of legs on her, and she could sprint like the devil was
on her tail. She had her gun out in a two-handed grip, and she ran
cautiously, aware of everything, neatly sidestepping tombstones and
bounding over graves.

It took all his self control not to bolt
recklessly across the cemetery, but everything about her body
language told him to hold back, that she was in charge here. More
importantly, that she knew things he didn’t. He spotted the paper
fluttering under a vase first, then noticed roses, a brilliant red
against the gray tombstone behind them.

Caine sprinted up to it, reaching for the
paper, but Holly stopped him by grabbing his arm. Slightly out of
breath she panted, turning to get a look around. Nothing. “Don’t
touch it. Evidence.”

“Yesterday—” But she shook her head and
passed him the gun.

Then her steel gray eyes closed as her hand
hovered the piece of notebook paper still flapping against the
stone. For a second nothing happened, then a chill darted up his
arms, lifting every hair on his skin. Caine stumbled back a step as
a jolt of energy shot through him. Like a flash of lightning, it
burned.

“What the hell?” He tightened his grip on the
gun as her hair lifted around her slightly, flowing against the
wind, circling her, as if caught in a mini-tornado revolving around
her. Magick.

He’d never been anywhere near a Hound when
they called it up full force and, for the first time, he was damn
thankful he’d never been there. Another jolt passed through him,
and Caine stiffened against it, swallowing back a growl as he spun
to do his job. He took in the empty cemetery around him, but saw
nothing but gravestone after gravestone disappearing up over the
hill they’d run over.

“Damn,” she whispered. “Nothing.”

He turned back to her with a question, but
Holly already had her cell phone in one hand and was dialing.
“Lennox, we have another note. Up the hill, head west. No sign of
our killer, and, no, this time no one touched it.”

She winced a little when she said that.

“It was evidence,” she added after hanging up
the phone, and he nodded.

“I didn’t really care at that point. She was
already dead.” Anger knotted down his spine, leaving him rigid and
tense. “I wasn’t thinking beyond that.”

Like the fact that they could have used the
evidence to stop him next time. Because there would be a next time.
Creeps like this bastard didn’t just stop. Holly touched his arm,
and Caine froze, watching her. It was the first time she’d really
reached out to him. “I know. And we didn’t get anything off it
anyway. He’s too careful for that. He’s not making mistakes
yet.”

“Fuck.” Caine snorted. “And just when does he
start making mistakes?”

And when those stormy eyes of hers glanced
away, he had his answer. Maybe never.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Hopefully
soon.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Typically when they get
mad, when something goes wrong. Like a victim escaping.”

“He’s already had that.”

“And now he’s made it a game. I didn’t piss
him off badly enough. He still got his kill that night; I was just
supposed to be the encore.” The words were brittle, so thick with
guilt that she had to gasp as she said it. Caine reached for her
and she jerked her head back. “No. I’m good.”

“No. You’re not.” He knelt, the grass
pressing against his knee as he leaned into catch her chin.
Awareness jolted through him at the touch. Her skin was smooth
under his fingertips, a curl of her hair tickling over his
knuckles. He saw the raw pain in her eyes, saw the shield that she
was so desperately trying to keep up cracking under the slight
touch of his fingertips on her face. She leaned into his touch.

“You’re not. You can’t keep blaming yourself
for escaping that night.”

Her lips twitched with the words she was
about to say, but whatever they were, they died at the sound of
running footsteps. She jerked back, rocking to her feet as Lennox
came running up, a pair of lion-shifters behind her. Both men took
one look at him and narrowed their eyes. Their hands-off posture
couldn’t have been any clearer, though after one whiff of Lennox as
she stepped closer, he decided they were fine ones to talk. She
reeked of them both.

Lennox caught Holly by the arm. “You
okay?”

“I’m fine.” But Caine didn’t miss the way her
hand shook when she reached up to shove a lock of hair behind her
ear. Nor did anyone else. Her brother stepped around the pair of
lions. He saw Caine and nodded.

“And no sign of the killer other than the
note?” When Holly nodded, Brandt plowed on. “You follow the
trail?”

“Just his scent.”

Fuck. The reminder that the bastard was still
out there twisted through Caine, and he was moving to stand when
Brandt caught him by the shoulder and held him down. “Lennox, want
to get some of your dogs out here?”

She grinned at him. “Already on it.”

With a jerk of her head, both lion-shifters
followed. Noticing the black phone in her hand, Caine knew she was
calling in the rest of her pack. Brandt let him go then, the
wolfhound suddenly seemed weary. No, exhausted. And, unlike his
sister, Brandt Lawrence wasn’t the type of person to let his
emotions wander freely over his face.

“Ol,” Brandt said, soft and soothing. It came
out a low rumble that had Holly turning away, her arms already
wrapped around herself, hugging tight. Damn her. Caine rose and
caught her, pulling her into his embrace before he even realized
what he was doing.

Something about her shut down his brain, made
him react without thinking. Brandt watched them, his cool gaze
professional, assessing. But the brother half was there too, a dark
shadow that made damn sure Caine didn’t do anything stupid.

“You okay?” Brandt asked her, and she
nodded.

“I’m fine.” She started to shrug out of
Caine’s arms, but he held her anyway. Right here, right now, he
felt in control. He was doing what he was supposed to do—meant to
do—protecting. Reassuring.

And whether she could admit it or not, she
needed it. The way she held herself, the way she leaned away from
everyone, the raw flicker of emotions exposed on her face that she
was constantly trying to shield from everyone else. So he wrapped
her in his arms instead, and dared her personal demons to come
knocking.

Her brother ran a hand over his face with a
sigh. “You don’t look fine.”

Brandt’s gaze flicked to Caine. There was so
much in that one look. The need to protect his sister, obviously,
but there was more than that. Curiosity, acceptance, a vague sense
of something Caine couldn’t quite place. “You didn’t look fine when
I walked up,” he amended.

For a moment, Holly held herself absolutely
still; she didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, eyes closed with
her jaw so tight he thought it might snap. Caine loosened one arm
to brush a thumb over her wrist, just a faint touch to remind her
he was there, still holding her. A shudder ran through her and the
tension leaked away.

“He’s not making any mistakes.” The words
were straightforward, spoken without a hint of emotion, but he
could feel the way her body lurched as she said them, as if just
spitting out the words hurt her.

“Yet,” Caine said. “We just have to make him
mad. You said so yourself.”

Kind of. But since it brought a smile to her
face, he didn’t regret the words.

“We should be helping them, not standing here
worrying about me.”

“No.” Brandt stepped closer. Close enough
that Caine could smell the pine of the wolfhound’s aftershave, a
light hint of cologne, the mint still on his breath from when he
brushed his teeth that morning. “You’ve been ordered to stand down
the rest of the day. The week.”

A whip slashing through her back would have
had less effect. Holly jerked, ready to run, but Caine held her
fast. Brandt caught her face and pressed his forehead to hers. “You
need a break.”

“He’s going to kill again.”

“You’re not any good like this, Ol. You’re
running yourself ragged. You’re not sleeping, and don’t even feed
me bullshit lines, I was there last night. Nan says you haven’t
slept much in weeks. Even Star’s exhausted with keeping you company
at night.”

Her heart pounded so hard he could feel it.
Caine closed his eyes, leaning in to scent the spice of her
perfume, and underneath it, the sweaty smell of fear. Raw,
untarnished panic.

Brandt’s lips twisted. “You’re too close to
the case.”

“You can’t pull me!”

“I’m not. But you will take a week off. One
week.”

“And if he takes another victim?” She shook,
tremors racing through her from head to foot. Furious. Caine saw
the outrage in those steely eyes and felt sorry for Brandt. They
couldn’t have paid him enough to tell her this, but she needed it.
Caine laid a kiss against her temple.

“There’s more than two weeks to the full moon
yet.”

She stared her brother down, her hands fisted
against Caine’s chest as she tried to shove him away. But Caine
wouldn’t budge.

“He takes them early to rape them. Torture
them. You know this,” Holly said.

Brandt shook his head, a slight grimace on
his face. “If he takes another victim, we’ll talk. But, barring any
activity, you’re on leave for a week.”

“Damn you,” she cursed at her brother. Holly
leaned back into Caine’s arms, not happy, but not defeated yet
either. The muscle in her jaw flexed and Caine knew without a doubt
that she was already devising a way to get back to work. There was
no way she’d truly take the week off and he couldn’t help but
wonder if her brother realized that.

Still, it warmed Caine’s heart. He’d never
seen a Hound care so much.

“Fine.” Holly turned away from her brother as
a group of Hounds approached, two already shifted into large
bloodhounds. They darted ahead, noses low to the ground, but Caine
doubted they’d find the Hunter.

Holly had stopped when they’d found the rose
and the note, and Caine could take a good guess at why. The Hunter
had done what he’d come to do, he’d left his message. The roses
caught his eye, a dozen in all, but under the vase sat the Hunter’s
note. To Holly. Caine had no doubt about that, the killer was
taunting her.

Caine heard her breath catch as he focused on
the broad, black words on the page, reading the words he knew were
meant for her:

Tick tock. Too late.

Chapter Ten

Ollie dug out her
king-sized whiteboard, coughing from all the dust, and lugged it up
the basement stairs. Vacation her long, skinny tail. She didn’t
need one. Not when this monster was still out there, about to
strike again. Unease cranked the knot between her shoulder blades
tighter, and added a weight that just would not go away. Not until
she caught him.

After hauling the big, awkward whiteboard up
the stairs, she slid it over the cool linoleum floor in her kitchen
and propped it up against the table. Dumping the assortment of
colored markers on the floor, she plopped down and got to work. One
by one, she listed each victim—name, age, occupation, date of
capture, and date of death.

She was halfway through the listing when
Brandt’s soft shoes scuffed the floor, followed by his sigh. “You
lasted a whopping seventy-two hours.”

And barely that. The need to do something was
eating her alive, burrowing straight through her stomach lining,
and she could damn near feel the ulcers building in her gut. “I’m
home. Technically, I’m relaxing. This just happens to be how I
choose to relax.”

Brandt gave a quiet huff, but her brother
didn’t argue. Instead he slid down onto the floor next to her, legs
stretched out in front of him. His faded blue jeans were even
rattier than his last pair, a hole in one knee. She shot him a
look. “How much vacation time do you have?”

“As long as I need.”

In other words, as long as he needed to make
sure his sister wasn’t crazy. Ollie turned back to the task at
hand, meticulously raiding her memory for every detail. Brandt
waited in silence until she’d finished her list, no doubt reading
every word, letting every fact sink in. He might have thought she
was being stupid, not giving herself space from the case, but he
was also a good Hound. “They all shifters?”

Ollie nodded. “Yeah. An assortment. The
majority of them are wolves, but they’re abundant here. He never
takes two from the same pack or group.”

Probably because it upped his chances of
getting caught.

“Any similar victimology? Hair color, eye
color, height, build?” Ollie shook her head, stopping him before he
could continue.

“They’re all over the board. Doesn’t matter
what they look like, what they shift into, where they work, or what
they like to do in their free time. Other than the fact that the
Hunter killed them, there’s nothing to connect one victim to the
next.” She passed him the file she’d gathered at the academy.

It had been the case she’d picked for her
final assignment. She’d had to study him and every one of his
cases, develop a profile around him. “What matters to him is the
kill. He needs them to run. In almost all of the cases there’s a
shed in the woods, a shack, something. He keeps them there until
the night before the full moon, lets them loose when it gets dark
and waits for them to run. When they do, he hunts them down and
kills them.