Sadie Hart (8 page)

Instead, he was going to make her figure it
out for herself. It was so annoyingly him. “Obviously not. Or I’d
have caught him. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? That this
isn’t my fault, because I don’t know him? I do, Brandt. I’ve
studied him, I know what makes him tick, I know—”

“Okay, then. I never said you didn’t.”

Ollie grimaced.

“I believe you, Ol. I do. I think you know
this son of a bitch better than anyone else, probably better than
he knows himself.”

“But, because there is always a ‘but’ with
you.”

“But obviously, you don’t know everything. So
what don’t you know?”

“The where and the who. We know the when, his
MO, the fact that he needs a hunt rather than someone passively
waiting to die. He wants shifters.” Brandt held up a hand and she
stopped.

“I’ve got another question for you.”

Ollie laughed. “Then ask, Mr. Almighty
Genius.”

Her brother grinned at that. “By all means,
call me Great One. Mr. Almighty Genius is a bit of a mouthful.”

He winked at her, playful. Daring. Ollie felt
some of the tension in her ease, and she glanced back out at the
field. Not a bush had moved out there. Was she wrong after all?

“You say it’s personal now, and it sure as
hell sounds like it to me. So tell me this: Is he angry that you
got away or that you beat him?”

“Is there a difference?”

Brandt shrugged. “Maybe?”

He rose, stepping around his chair and behind
hers, then rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezing slightly.
His empty beer bottle pressed against her arm. She could hear Star
snoring from the dog bed in the kitchen, the dog’s happy thwacks of
her tail against the tile as she chased imaginary squirrels in her
dreams. They were Star’s versions of the bad guys. She hoped, at
least in Star’s dreams, the dog came out on top.

“It could be a huge difference to him,”
Brandt said softly. “Prey gets away. An equal can beat you. Which
one are you?”

She didn’t know. So far, he hadn’t come after
her like the other girls. He was still killing like normal. Did
that mean she’d bested him? Or was he just waiting to hunt her?
Waiting for what? Or was her brother just splitting hairs to make
her head spin? Ollie lifted an eyebrow and glanced back at him,
only to have Brandt squeeze her shoulders one more time.

“You know him better than anyone, but it’s
what you don’t know that will help you catch him. So don’t blame
yourself yet.”

Ollie stared out at the empty field as her
brother laid a kiss against the top of her head.

“You don’t even know what game he’s playing
now. You mixed things up that night when you stumbled across him.
You don’t know how he’s changing yet. The blueprint’s different,
and knowing him and not knowing him might be the same thing
now.”

And he was right.

She didn’t know.

But that only made it worse. Before, she’d
had a chance. When she’d faced him, she’d known how to win. Now
what did she have? Nothing.

“So, what, we start over?”

She glanced up at him and Brandt shook his
head, a soft sight slipping from him as he stepped away. “No. Just
know that you’re not fighting the same monster anymore.”

Her brother left her sitting there and
disappeared into the kitchen, bustling around like he owned it.
Ollie looked at the still empty field. He might not come back. And
then what? How else would he change?

Her heart hammered in her chest. I know you,
she’d told him.

And clearly, staring back out at her like
wolf eyes on a full moon night, the empty field in front of her
seemed to be saying one thing for certain... Not anymore.

***

Dean whistled along with the radio as he
drove the old, beat-up Chevy truck down to the lake. Bosley stuffed
his head out the window, jowls flapping in the wind, tail thumping
the passenger seat with delight. Dean knew Holly Lawrence would be
standing in the middle of her yard, waiting. A laugh burst inside
him. Hunting him. Try, bitch.

Oh, it was a good day for a different kind of
hunt. A damn good one. And after their little trip to the morgue,
with her cuddling the Sanctuary Falls alpha, well, he just couldn’t
help but make her sweat it out. Especially since she’d already been
swaying on her feet with exhaustion. And him? Why he’d slept like a
baby.

“How about it, boy? Let’s catch us some
birds.” He slammed the truck into park and slid out, the golden
retriever bounding out on his heels. The dog pranced in place, eyes
locked on his master’s face as Dean loaded his rifle and headed
down towards the lakefront. The gold reeds along the beach brushed
along the dog’s underbelly, rusty long fur blending with the pale,
yellow beach grass.

It didn’t take them long to nab a few ducks.
The mallards were easy picking and Bosley was a pro at swimming out
to fetch the bodies. The golden shook, splattering lake water up
his jeans and flannel shirt, and Dean tossed back his head in a
laugh. The overcast sky darkened, thick and heavy rainclouds coming
in. A good time to call it a day, then.

“Good boy,” he said, giving the dog a hearty
thump on the side. “Good dog.”

He reached down to pick up the dead birds,
their wet, limp bodies flapping as he held them out in front of
him. A predatory smile touched his lips, dark as he stared at the
lifeless creatures in his hand. The light that had once sparkled in
their eyes had been snuffed out like a candle. The tip of his
tongue touched his lips, almost tasting their death.

“We got ourselves a good dinner here,” he
murmured, but he was already thinking of something better to do
with one duck. “We’ve got ourselves a mighty fine gift here,
too.”

He glanced at Bosley. The dog was staring out
at the water, clearly wishing for another round despite the hard
rise and fall of his chest. The dog loved to hunt. Just like him.
Anticipation curled in his gut. He could wait awhile yet, but to
see the fear that one little duck could bring. Well now, that was
just too good to pass up. He’d be careful though, make sure she
didn’t see this one coming. Be a shame to let the Hound think she
really had a leg up on him.

He patted his thigh and headed for the truck,
tossing the dead birds in the bin in the truck bed. Dean didn’t
bother to towel the dog off. Bos could air dry with his head
hanging out the window. Besides, with the ratty old truck he didn’t
give a flying bird’s ass if it stunk like wet dog. It already did.
Instead he opened the door and patted the seat.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

The golden’s ears pricked forward and the dog
joyfully leapt inside, dashing for his spot on the passenger’s
side. Tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth, Bosley stuck his
head out the window, obviously eager to have the wind flapping his
ears and whipping through his fur. Dean chuckled softly as he slid
in next to the dog. Looked like both of them were going to enjoy
this little jaunt.

Dean turned the engine over and backed the
truck down the winding dirt path, turning around and heading back
for the road, all the while his mind on the gift in the back of his
truck. It’d be a nice little reminder. A lesson for the good little
dog to learn.

Soon she’d be wishing she hadn’t bluffed,
that she really did know him.

Soon. But it’d be too late for her.

Chapter Seven

“Caine?” Trey
called from the front door, leaning halfway inside. “Got something
you should see.”

“Can it wait till after I speak to the
Rawsons?” Then he turned and caught a good look at Trey’s face. The
man was pale, stress lines crinkling the area around his eyes.
Damn. What was it now? Couldn’t he have a half hour to compose
himself before he had to go tell someone, Hey, I’m sorry but you
lost your daughter today. I failed.

“What is it?” He shoved on his boots and
followed Trey out the door, troubled by the tension strung through
his second in command. The locked shoulders, the stiff jaw. The
wolf inside Caine picked up on it all. “Trey,” he said softly and
the other wolf winced, waving him towards the driveway.

Shit. Caine headed down the gravel drive.
He’d made it half way when the scent of fresh blood caught his
attention. Not human, though. Avian. With a frown, Caine stalked
towards the scent. His nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of fresh
pine trees around him. Some wolf had gone hunting today.

His stomach twisted at that. He’d banned solo
hunts for now, at least until the Hunter was found. The fact that
someone had disobeyed him, could have ended up just like Claire
Rawson, had panic and fury roaring through him. “The pack was under
orders to follow the buddy system.”

The words came out a rough growl, and Trey
turned, confusion flashing across his face a moment before he
realized his alpha was still scenting the wind. Trey shook his
head.

“Caine,” Trey started, just as the scent
fully sank in. Male, musky, no one he recognized. Caine turned to
meet his second’s eye. “It’s not one of ours.”

He recognized the wolf now. The Hunter. Heart
pounding, Caine turned back to the scent, dragging it down in
gulps. The scent of dog hit him then. Not Holly Lawrence, though.
It wasn’t even a dog-shifter. Just a run of the mill, everyday
canine. So the Hunter had waltzed up here with his dog, and no one
had seen him?

At his front door, less than two hundred feet
from his house, and he hadn’t even known.

A snarl ripped out of him, and suddenly he
was striding past Trey, long legs eating up the ground as he headed
down the drive, his speed barely short of a run. He could feel the
wolf under his skin, pacing. The pack. The fucking bastard had
waltzed right up within range of the pack and no one had had a
freaking clue. Caine whipped his head around, pinning his second
with a glare, a growl still riding low in his voice. “I want
scouts, patrols. You got me?”

Trey jerked his head in a nod. “Already have
Mark and Cisc out. They’re doing loops. We’ll trade up every hour.
But it’s a lot of land to cover.”

And not all of Sanctuary Falls lived on pack
land. He wondered if the Hunter knew that. Like an infection
spreading in his gut, he felt the queasy rise of bile, vomit a
bitter taste at the back of his tongue. Then again, the killer
seemed to know everything.

The dead bird lay at the edge of his drive, a
stake through the animal piercing it to a tree. A blood-spattered
note was above it, impaled on a small twig. The wind could have
easily whipped it away. A frown edged over Caine’s face as he
reached for it, catching the flutter of paper in his hands, but
leaving it in place. He straightened it out and froze.

Give our Hound a gift. Tell her I said
hi.

Caine went very still, the pale piece of
paper light against the dark bark of the tree. He let his gaze fall
to the dead duck; the mallard’s head hung limp against its breast.
Shot. The feathers were still rank with pond water, and he knew the
bird would still be wet, that the kill was very recent. “I didn’t
hear a gun shot.”

Trey shook his head. “He drove here. Scent
ends ten feet up, disappeared into a car. Has a dog.”

Caine heard the skepticism in his second’s
voice. Dog. Hound? And after that case in Colorado, where a Hound
had gone rogue and tried to make it look like the lion-shifters had
all gone insane, he could see where Trey was going with that train
of thought. But no. At least not the Hound he was working with.

“It’s a normal dog, smell again.”

Trey’s shoulders lifted in a slight shrug.
“Could be.”

Caine shook his head. He’d let his second
believe what he wanted. Caine smelled a wolf-shifter and an
ordinary dog. Caine stared at the dead duck, its beak still open.
There was blood in its feathers from the shot. Trey shuffled his
feet beside him, just a slight movement, but Caine turned. The
other man watched him a second longer, bushy eyebrows drawn down
over his eyes. Cautious. “Our Hound?”

He didn’t say the rest of the question. Like
why Caine had come back smelling like her earlier. He glanced back
at the paper. Did the Hunter know, then? Had he been there too?
Another growl built low in his gut and Caine tamped it down.
Getting pissed over that wouldn’t help a damn thing. But he didn’t
like being stalked.

Instead of answering Trey, he ripped the
paper off the tree, yanked the stake out of the duck and caught the
bird before it fell. “Looks like I have a message to deliver.”

“You want me to talk to the Rawsons?”

“No. This won’t take long.” Caine took a deep
breath and looked back at his partner, friend. But for as much as
Trey could handle the pack when he was away, some things just
weren’t anyone’s job but Caine’s. “It should be me.”

The Rawsons deserved to hear it from him.

Caine headed back towards his car, the duck
hanging limp in one hand, paper fluttering in the other. He tossed
the bird on the floor in the back, dug his keys out of his pocket,
and drove away, leaving Trey to stand watch again. Suddenly, the
pack seemed too big, too spread out to protect effectively. It was
something he’d have to fix when he got back.

Once on the road, he dug his phone out of his
back pocket and dialed the number she’d scrawled on her card that
first day. Breath held, he waited until she picked up. “Hello?”

“Holly?”

“Caine?”

“I need to show you something. I’m already on
my way. Just give me your address.” She seemed to hesitate a
moment, silence stretching between them. He thought back to the
morgue, her firm refusal of a kiss. “It’s from the Hunter. A gift
as he called it.”

“Shit.” She relayed him her address. Another
twenty minutes out.

“I’ll be there soon.” He hung up before she
could ask him anything else, pressed down harder on the gas pedal
and sped down the old country roads that would take him from
Sanctuary Falls to the small, rural address she’d given him. The
trees occasionally gave way to corn fields and open stretches of
meadows, the occasional horse paddock and barns, a rocky outcrop in
the distance, but when the road turned to dirt and sloped uphill,
he knew he’d found it.