Sadie Hart (28 page)

She opened her eyes, saw the delight in her
fear. This is what he wants. He wants you scared. The world blurred
around her, the shadows growing hazy. She could barely feel her
hand on the gun. Her body went limp, the world blacking over. It
was all he needed. Dean eased back, his hand pulling at hers over
the gun, starting to draw it out.

Take this, you son of a bitch! She jerked her
hand free and with it the gun, turning it easily in her grip.
Lightning fast. The Hunter recoiled, desperate to get out of the
line of fire. She tilted it toward him just as he jerked,
scrambling to run. Her finger squeezed over the trigger and she
felt the jolt as the gun kicked in her hand.

The Hunter, Dean Winters—the man who had
killed nineteen women—staggered, trying to catch himself before he
fell. Ollie dragged in a gulp of air, and this time she had both
hands wrapped around the butt of the gun as she aimed. Black fur
shimmered, stealing over his body as he started to shift, but not
even a wolf could outrun a bullet.

The shot split the night, leaving behind a
hollow, dull echo. The wolf slumped to the ground. Ollie rolled to
her side, still gasping, and fired again. This time, she aimed for
the head. Exhaustion caved in around her, and Ollie sank into the
dirt, staring at the dead body of the Hunter barely ten feet from
her. Blood-red on black. Nineteen dead, but at least now he
wouldn’t kill again.

Ollie closed her eyes, her hands still
wrapped around the gun, and simply breathed the cool, sweet air for
a while.

***

The rope snagged against the bark again, and
Caine jerked, crying out from the pain, but finally it was loose
enough for him to wedge a hand free. Pain lanced up his arm, a
piercing throb that didn’t subside as he rolled, using an arm to
heft himself up. He yanked the piece of rope off his other wrist
and tossed it aside.

Breathing hard, in ragged, shallow gasps
Caine stared out at the forest. Dark shadows made it hard to see,
and even the filmy light of the moon was scarce. There was no way
he could shift, no way he could even dredge up the wolf enough to
get the animal’s added night vision. Blinking, he tried to get a
sense of direction. It was the same place he’d taken Ollie on their
first date.

Caine cringed. Damn, but nothing was sacred.
Nothing safe. Thanks to the Hunter, his pack had known no
sanctuary, no safety. Ollie, too. His throat constricted with a
snarl, biting back the rage, he lugged himself to his feet, using a
nearby tree for support. The bark was rough under his hands, but it
kept him steady. Ollie had put her life on hold because of this
bastard; they’d all lived to his monthly killing, like the story of
the Pied Piper, they all had been forced to march to his tune.

With a grunt, he staggered down the path
toward Ollie’s house. He needed a phone, a gun, and a flashlight.
Every slow, agonized step gnawed at him. He needed to hurry. He
needed to be out there, helping her. Saving her. A laugh stuck in
his throat. Since when did Ollie need saving? Trust her. She didn’t
need a savior, an alpha. She needed someone at her back, trusting
her to take care of business. That much he could give her. Would
somehow give her.

He breathed through the pain, focusing on one
slow, painful step after the other. Finally, the shadows of the
forest parted and the dim outline of her house came into view.
Caine staggered up the path, tripping over a stick, and he
stumbled, crying out with a snarl as he caught himself. Fuck, but
that hurt. He hoped she shot the son of a bitch. Made it
painful.

A dog barked as Caine stumbled into the squad
car, using the sleek metal vehicle for balance. Something glowed
inside, and Caine peered through the window. Her phone. Relief
flooded through him; he didn’t have to dig the key out of his
pocket after all. Didn’t have to try and drag himself up the
stairs. Someone out there was looking out for them, rooting for
them.

He fumbled with the latch and opened the
door, sinking into the driver’s seat. A warm tongue stroked his
face, the dog’s happy tail thumping the back seat. “Hey there,”
Caine croaked, giving the dog’s muzzle a quick pat before he picked
up the phone. Brandt’s name flashed again as the phone vibrated.
Caine answered it.

“Ollie where the hell are you?”

“Brandt.” His voice came rough, thick with
pain. He was so damn close to passing out, blackness lingered along
his vision, a dark promise, a threat closing in. Caine closed his
eyes so he couldn’t see it coming. “Get home. He’s here. He’s got
her.”

“Fuck,” the other man snarled, and he could
hear the wolfhound moving. Shouting orders to the other Hounds.
“Are you okay?”

“Been shot. I don’t remember how many times.
Silver.” The words were coming slower, heavy, and Caine forced
himself to steady, to keep his words clear. Giving up, not an
option. He could not pass out right now. They still needed him.
Ollie still needed him. “She’s armed, he’s not.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Brandt’s voice
clipped over the phone, commanding. A car rumbled in the
background, tires spinning out on asphalt. “He’s always armed—”

“She took it from him. She’s chasing him. Ah,
hell.” Caine sucked in a ragged breath, fighting to stay awake.
Stars danced in his vision, white moving dots that, no matter how
many times he blinked, wouldn’t fucking go away.

A gunshot split the darkness. Then another.
Fresh chills ran down his spine, and Caine jerked his head towards
the woods. Brandt cursed on the other end of the line. “Was that
what I think it was?”

Caine shook his head, not caring that the
other man couldn’t see him. He dropped the phone, Brandt’s
screaming voice, and staggered out of the car, slamming the door
before the dog could escape. His hands skimmed the dark grass,
searching for the weapons the Hunter had made her leave behind.
Fingertips brushed the cold metal, and he snatched the gun off the
ground.

“Ollie!” He staggered under the force of his
yell. No answer.

Caine ran for the woods, dizziness
threatening his every step. He staggered more than he ran straight,
crashing into trees, stumbling over the vines and shrubs littering
the forest floor. Rough bark scraped at his hands as he caught
himself, pain lanced up his knee as he stumbled, knocking into a
stump. It drew a hiss from him as he fought to right himself. Panic
roared in his head, a crashing wave as he stumbled on. Desperation
driving his voice higher. “Ollie!”

“Over here.” Her voice called out, soft in
the darkness. Relief slammed through him and Caine stood there,
hand on a tree, gasping. The only thing that kept him standing was
the knowledge that she was still okay. “Over here,” she called
again, and Caine staggered in the direction of her voice, using it
as a lifeline.

He pushed on. A prickly thorn bush tore at
his arms but he shoved through the thick undergrowth, only to see a
silhouette sitting next to a tree. No one else. Defeat drove him to
his knees. “Did he get away?”

Then he saw the prone body of the Hunter,
stretched out over the dirt, and Caine closed his eyes, slumping
forward. She’d gotten him. “Is he dead?”

“Yeah.” Ollie’s hands found his face, gentle.
Her voice was warm, soothing. She ran her hands through his hair,
trailing down his face, over his neck. Her lips found his in the
darkness, and then Ollie was hugging him, pressing him back against
a tree. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Caine whispered, his voice thick.
Sluggish. He hoped he was okay.

“Oh, God.” Her hands trailed down his chest,
pressing over the wound by his right shoulder. “I’ll go call for
help, you have to put pressure on this. You’re losing too much
blood.”

“Already called. Brandt. He knows.”

“Does he know you’ve been shot?” Caine closed
his eyes, the darkness stealing closer. Ollie leaned forward to
kiss him again, and he felt the wet trail of tears against her
cheek. That hurt. Knowing he’d made her cry. “Don’t you dare die. I
will find you and kick your ass.”

A wry smile twisted his lips then. “My, my,
how bossy you are,” he teased. Slowly he lifted a hand to her face,
running his fingertips down the edge of her jaw. “I’m not going
anywhere.”

But even as he said it, exhaustion dragged
him under and the already dark night went black.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ollie
leaned into him, keeping pressure on the wound as she struggled not
to cry. Dean Winters lay dead barely five feet to her right, his
still body eerie in the night forest. She kept waiting for him to
twitch, to roll over and laugh. For the man to come back alive,
grab his gun and shoot her. But he didn’t.

She didn’t know how long she waited, every
second feeling like hours, but finally she heard the distance call
of voices. A bay of a bloodhound on the track. “Over here!”

Boots stomped through the forest but it was a
sleek, muddy-brown dog that found her first, his ears floppy as he
shifted back. “Shit, Ol,” the bloodhound said and snatched his
radio. “Get the medics out here now.”

He relayed their location, before turning to
the Hunter. “That him?”

Ollie nodded, her gaze on the man running
through the trees toward her. Her brother barely glanced at Dean’s
dead body as he hurried to her side. The scent of silver had become
so thick in the air it was burning her lungs with every breath she
took. “Help Caine,” she whispered and Brandt caught her head,
pressed a kiss against her temple.

The medics appeared then, struggling to get
the stretcher through, and Brandt leaned over and picked Caine up,
carrying him to them. Ollie staggered after them, even as Lennox
and Sawyer appeared. “I have to—”

“Go,” Lennox said, catching her arm and
giving it a soft squeeze. “We’ve got this.”

Ollie glanced back at the body. She’d never
seen this coming. Never saw herself leaving the scene before it was
processed. She’d embedded herself into every piece of this case,
and now she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“The dog, he’s in the car in the drive.”
Lennox gave her another shove. “And we have to find the Carsons. We
have to...”

Sawyer waved her off. “Go. Be with him.”

The crime scene tape was already being rolled
out, flashing lights breaking through the shadows as the pack
settled into work. Her boss squeezed her arm again, a silent
signal. Go. Ollie turned and ran after the medics.

“I’m riding with him.”

They didn’t stop her as she climbed into the
ambulance after Caine. Her hand found his, she held on for dear
life. Head held high, she fought not to cry. “He’s going to be
okay,” she told the medic next to her, and the Latino man just
nodded and smiled.

He touched her arm. “I’m sure he will.”

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance
lurched into motion, sirens blaring. She moved aside when they
pulled up, then followed the medics wheeling him out of the
ambulance and towards the emergency room.

“Ol!” Brandt shouted, and she turned to see
him jogging from the Shifter Town Enforcement car parked in the
lot. He caught her arm. “It’s going to be okay.”

Her hands fisting in his shirt, she dragged
herself against him, biting back a sob as her brother held her.
“He’s lost so much blood.”

“They’ll give him a transfusion. Come on.
Let’s get in there.” He handed her his phone. “Call his pack.
They’ll know his medical records.”

The next several hours blurred together.
Caine’s second in command had arrived, taking over the questions
and paperwork. Night had bled into dawn with Caine still in
surgery, so Ollie slipped outside for some fresh air, Brandt’s
phone in hand just in case there was as she called Lennox. “Did you
find them?”

“Not yet. We don’t know where he’d have kept
them. I have Hounds searching his house, but if he had clues,
they’re not obvious ones.”

She leaned back against the lamppost, eyes
closed against the morning sunlight. “I’m sorry.”

She should be there with them. Helping.
Should have kept him alive. Ollie closed her eyes against the
guilt, doing her best to squash it. This was not her fault. None of
this.

“Don’t you dare,” Lennox said, echoing her
thoughts. “That bastard deserved the bullets he got. I’d rather he
end up dead than you.”

But that might mean that two more people
died. Ollie’s grip tightened over the phone as she fought off the
tears, as exhaustion slowly ate away her control. No. She couldn’t
think like that. They’d found the Hunter, they could find the
Carsons.

“It’s not your fault. You caught him. Ol, you
can’t do everything,” Lennox said, the words probably habit for her
boss by now, but this time, they weren’t necessary.

“I know. Call me if—no, when you find them.”
And for the first time, she felt confident.

“I will,” Lennox said, voice tender. “And
Ollie, you did a good job. Damn good.”

Smiling, Ollie hung up and stared out over
the hospital parking lot. The morning sun had chased away the
darkness, leaving the day fresh. Crisp, clean. A squirrel darted up
a tree, tail twitching angrily as a boy biked past on the sidewalk.
She heard the hospital doors swish open behind her, the steady
approach of boots.

Brandt’s hand found her shoulder. “You should
come inside.”

“I needed the fresh air.”

“They find the Carsons yet?”

She turned to look at him. He had bags under
his eyes, his face was drawn, puffy. Exhaustion was etched into
every line and wrinkle on his face. “You look like hell,” she
murmured, and he smiled.

“I look better than you. Come on. I think you
should hear this.”

He tugged her back inside and her heart leapt
as she saw the doctor talking with Trey, Caine’s second in command.
The woman turned and smiled as Ollie approached. “Ms. Lawrence?
He’s going to be all right. But he’s still under. You should go
home, get some rest.”