Beneath a Darkening Moon Read online

  He nodded. “Go check. I'll call Anton and get him up here with some plaster."

  She resisted the urge to salute and continued down the hill. The road dropped sharply away from the viewing point, and soon she was alone. The wind that teased her cheeks with its icy coldness moved through the pines lining the road, making them sway, whisper. Yet, beyond that, the day seemed hushed. Intense.

  Too intense.

  She sniffed the breeze, sorting through the scents of balsam and pine and the oncoming storm. Mixed within those came two other aromas that bought memories back with a rush.

  Ginseng and sandalwood.

  Jontee's scent.

  The small hairs on the back of her neck rose. Jontee was dead, so he couldn't be out there now, following her. Watching her.

  But someone most definitely was.

  Chapter Five

  As soon Vannah left, Cade felt the wrongness. He glanced up and scanned the trees, half wondering if it was nothing more than missing her presence, the warmth of her body so close to his—missing her exotic, erotic scent teasing his nostrils, fueling the fires already raging in his body.

  They were going to have to do something about the moon fever. Neither of them could afford to get distracted by desire when there was a madman running around. But to ease the fever, they had to make love, and that could be just as dangerous.

  She knew that as much as he did. He'd seen it in her green eyes when he'd all but dared her to break the promises they'd made last night.

  Which wasn't the sanest thing he'd ever done, but he hadn't exactly been in a calm, rational frame of mind. Where in hell did she get off accusing him of mind-rape? He'd been well trained in probing a suspect's mind. He had been so damn good at it that even the men who'd trained him hadn't been aware of him rummaging through their thoughts.

  He hadn't raped her mind, though he most certainly had read it.

  And in doing so, he'd caught his killer. He couldn't be unhappy about that, no matter what she thought of his actions.

  Something flickered through the trees to his left. A fragment of green darker than the pine needles that swayed and dipped in the gathering wind. He frowned, watching, and almost instantly realized it wasn't a tree or bush set deep in the forest, because the movements were too furtive, too human.

  Anticipation shot through him. Could it be their watcher from last night?

  It was certainly a possibility, though surely the person who'd watched them yesterday without discovery would be a little more circumspect than this person.

  He watched the green patch for a moment longer, then shifted shape and padded after it. The hush of the pine-filled forest enclosed him, and the dappled light and deeper shadows provided good cover for his dark brown coat. He pricked his ears, listening to the soft steps ahead as he nosed the air, tasting the scents riding the cool breeze. The man smelled of stale cigarettes—an easy scent to follow in the crisp mountain air.

  He increased his pace, loping quietly through the undergrowth and shadows, drawing ever closer to the stranger. The man didn't appear to notice his approach. He was too busy peering through the trees and following the soft sound of steps coming from up ahead.

  Vannah, Cade thought suddenly. The man was following Vannah.

  A red wave of anger surged through him. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he charged out of the shadows and straight at the stranger.

  The man swung at the last moment, his squawk of surprise becoming a grunt of pain as Cade hit him from the side. As the man hit the ground, Cade shifted shape, grabbing the stranger by the throat and pinning him down. The growl that rumbled up his throat was all wild wolf, and the force of it shook his body. For several seconds, he knelt there, his teeth bared and his breathing harsh as he fought the territorial need to rip open the stranger's neck. To protect what was his.

  "Wait, please,” the man gasped, blue eyes wide and frightened. “I meant no—"

  Cade tightened his grip on the man's throat, cutting off the rest of his words. “Tell me who you are and what you're doing here. Nothing more, nothing less."

  He relaxed his fingers a little, and the stranger gasped. “Alf Reeson, reporter from the Ripple Creek Gazette. Who the hell are you?"

  A stinking reporter? That's the last thing they needed, if it was true. “Cade Jones, IIS. Where are your credentials?"

  "Top pocket."

  Cade reached in and pulled out a worn leather wallet. Inside, he found a smoke-stained press card and photo. Though press cards were easily faked, he suspected this one was the real deal, because it was grimy, faded with age and smoke, and dog-eared in a way only time could achieve. He flipped the wallet closed and put it back. “Why are you here?"

  "Heard there were some problems at the Ranger Grant's place this morning. Someone left a threatening note.” The small man shrugged—a movement that looked awkward with Cade still gripping his neck. “Thought I might find me a story if I followed her."

  And he had—or at least, he'd caught the whiff of a story, if the gleam in the reporter's blue eyes was anything to go by. The Ripple Creek rangers might have kept the murders out of the news, but by attacking Reeson the way he had, Cade had all but blown the case wide open. And though he doubted he could save the situation, he certainly had to try. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the hysteria that had happened ten years ago.

  "The so-called threatening note was a prank left by a kid,” he said, removing his fingers from the reporter's neck and reaching into his pocket for his badge. “However, given the fact that Ranger Grant is assisting with my investigation, sneaking around after her is not likely to be viewed favorably."

  Cade rose and moved back. The reporter eyed the badge as he sat up and rubbed his neck. Even in the hazy light suffusing the forest, it was easy to see the red fingerprint marks ringing Reeson's neck. Still, red marks were a whole lot less than what could have happened. What a part of him had almost unthinkingly let happen.

  Where the hell had that fury come from? He'd never blown up like that before. Never.

  "I wasn't sneaking. I was following.” Reeson paused. “So tell me, what are you and the ranger investigating?"

  "Nothing I can talk about at the moment."

  Reeson's grin was all reporter. “Can I print that statement?"

  "Do it and I'll give someone else the exclusive when there is something to report."

  Reeson raised a graying eyebrow. “That a promise, Agent Jones?"

  "Yes."

  "Good.” The reporter rose and brushed the leaves and pine needles from his clothes. “Expect to see me waiting at the ranger station for my exclusive, then."

  "As long as you don't get in our way. Where's your car?"

  "Parked on the main road."

  "Then I'll escort you."

  Reeson grinned. “Don't trust me to leave, huh?"

  "You're a reporter,” Cade said dryly.

  "Damn."

  "If I catch you following us again, you'll lose the exclusive."

  "Double damn.” Blue eyes regarded him steadily. “And is the exclusive worth it?"

  "Could be."

  "Then I'll just head back to my car."

  "Good.” Cade grabbed Reeson's shoulder and turned him around. “The road is that way."

  "You've had dealings with the press, I see,” Reeson commented, amusement in his voice.

  "It's part of the job,” he said. “And if you don't move your ass, I might just have to arrest it."

  "For what reason? My throat getting in the way of your hand?"

  Cade gave him a deadpan look. Reeson grinned. “I can see that you're a hard man, Agent Jones."

  "It's part of the job,” he repeated, and shoved the reporter toward the road.

  * * * *

  The scent led Savannah through the pines, deeper and deeper into the forest. Though there was little to be heard beyond the sound of her own breathing and the whisper of the wind through the aspens and pines, the sensation that she
was not alone in the dappled semidarkness was as strong as the aroma of ginseng and sandalwood. As strong as the memories they evoked.

  She'd never loved Jontee, but she'd certainly enjoyed making love with him. At least until Cade had swept her off her feet with his bristling ideals and overwhelming machismo.

  But Cade wasn't the only reason she'd begun to distance herself from Jontee in their last weeks at Rosehall. She'd seen a change in him, a darkness she couldn't explain and hadn't liked. When she'd talked to Nelle about it, her friend had merely laughed and shrugged, reminding her that it wasn't as easy as it looked to run a commune.

  And maybe it wasn't, but over the days that had followed, she'd watched Jontee and realized something was very wrong. Not with the commune, but with Jontee himself.

  And it was that information that Cade had pulled from her mind.

  Suddenly realizing she was surrounded by silence, Savannah stopped and glanced around. The wind had momentarily dropped, and the shadows seemed thick and threatening.

  Imagination and memories, she thought, and rubbed her arms against the chill that raced across her skin. Still, it had been nothing short of stupidity to come so deep into the trees alone, especially given the threat left on her windshield. Ronan would be disappointed at her thoughtlessness, and Cade would be just plain furious. Still, she was a ranger, and she'd be damned if one little threat kept her housebound like some Nervous Nelly.

  "Vannah.” The voice was soft, drawing out her name, accentuating the “a” sound.

  She resisted the surge of fear that would have had her stepping backwards, or worse, retreating, and said in a curt voice, “Stop playing games and show yourself.” Not that she had any hope of the person doing so.

  "You will pay for what you did, Vannah."

  The voice was neither male nor female, just ... odd. And it came from her left. She took a cautious step in that direction. “I didn't destroy Rosehall. Jontee's own actions did that."

  "You were the key. You gave Jontee away."

  Gave him away? How, when all she'd really known was that something was wrong? Never in a million years would she have guessed that Jontee was the force behind the eighteen murders that had happened in and around Wichita.

  She stepped closer. The tang of ginseng and sandalwood got stronger, but oddly enough, she could find no trace of man. Or woman, for that matter.

  "Jontee was a killer. He deserved exactly what he got.” She couldn't see anyone hiding in the shadows beyond the trees. Yet, they had to be there, somewhere.

  Didn't they?

  Suspicion snaked through her.

  "He took you in, Vannah,” the strange voice continued blithely. “He taught you, loved you. And you repaid his kindness with betrayal."

  She stepped past the pines, into the deeper shadows where the voice seemed to be coming from. There was no one there. Just a ratty looking tape recorder sitting on the ground. She blew out a frustrated breath. She was being played; there was no doubt about it.

  "I will kill you, Vannah, just as I will kill your lover. But it won't be a fast death. You will suffer, as Jontee suffered."

  Imagine that, she thought, even as a chill ran down her spine. The voice on the tape fell silent, and the wind seemed to spring back to life, as if it had been holding its breath while the message played. Behind the small machine, something silky and yellow fluttered.

  She squatted in front of the recorder. Ginseng and sandalwood swamped her senses, and memories rose. Jontee's teasing smile as she'd come to him on her allotted nights. The warmth of his touch, so good and yet so distant. Cade's thunderous expression every time she left him to be with Jontee.

  Frowning, she took a pen from her pocket and carefully pinned the yellow strip of ribbon to the ground. There was no message on the part she could see, but a good half of it had been buried under the soft soil.

  She dragged the ribbon sideways with the pen, gently pulling the rest of it out of the soil. The dirt fell away, revealing a beaded bracelet. The fear that had all but disappeared returned tenfold, because she knew the bracelet. Recognized the emblem sitting in the middle of it—a yellow rose entwined around the peace symbol. Rosehall's signature.

  Jontee's bracelet.

  One that should have been buried with him.

  He couldn't be alive. Cade had assured her of that, and she believed him.

  So why was this bracelet here? How did it get here?

  She got her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Cade's number. “Where are you?” she said, the minute he answered.

  "Just finished escorting a reporter back to his car. Where the hell are you?"

  She groaned. “Not Alf Reeson?” The man had the nose of a bloodhound. If he'd sensed there was a story happening, there'd be no getting rid of him.

  "The same. Now answer my damn question."

  "Who died and made you my boss?” she snapped back. Then she took a deep breath, trying to retain some vague thread of calm, trying to remind herself that in this situation, he was her boss. “Grab the kit from the car and walk back up the road until you see a wild raspberry on the right side. Walk past that and head north into the forest."

  "Don't move."

  "I have no intention of going anywhere."

  His grunt suggested he didn't believe her. Grinning slightly, she hung up and rose. Since ginseng and sandalwood weren't exactly everyday aromas in this particular forest, there had to be something here to throw those two scents, and it certainly wasn't the tape recorder.

  She took a cursory look on the ground around the immediate area, but she didn't find anything. No scent source and no footsteps. Nothing to suggest anyone had been here but her. Whoever was behind the threats was either a shifter who could take to the wing, or they were damn good at tracking.

  Of course, if it was a shifter, then that cut Nelle out of Cade's list of suspects. She was a wolf-human cross.

  She glanced upwards, studying the branches above her head. In the pine to the right of the tape recorder she saw something white. She moved to the tree and carefully pushed the branch to one side. The handle of a white metal cup had been nailed to the thick part of the branch, and inside it was a cloth. She didn't have to go closer to know the cloth had been soaked in ginseng and sandalwood. This near, the two scents were overwhelming. She stepped away and carefully let the branch swing back into position. She couldn't touch anything with her bare hands until Cade got here with the kit, which would have gloves. Rather than just stand here, she did a wider search around the perimeter of the small clearing, trying to find some trace of the person who'd left the recorder. All she found was a slight scuff in the soil, as if someone had slipped on the leaves. Still, a vague footprint was better than no footprint.

  She shoved her pen in the soil to mark the spot and moved on. Soft steps rode the wind, and seconds later, Cade appeared. Just watching him walk through the tree towards her with such easy, effortless grace had her heart slamming against the wall of her chest.

  "Someone left me a message,” she said, before the anger so evident in his dark eyes could erupt.

  "They might have done a whole lot more,” he said, coming to a halt in front of her. The heat of him swamped her, sizzling across her nerve endings, making them quiver and jump. “Coming in here alone was pretty damn stupid."

  "No more dangerous or stupid than walking down a lonely mountain road alone,” she bit back. “Or remaining alone in a turnaround studying tire tracks."

  "I am more than capable of protecting myself."

  "And so am I. But neither of us can do anything about a long range rifle or laser sights, and I won't be restricted by the fear of them."

  He took a step closer, and suddenly the air seemed scarcer. She licked her lips, but she resisted the urge to retreat. She'd done that once, and once was more than enough.

  "Maybe,” he agreed softly. “But I don't think our would-be killer is interested in taking the easy way out."

  "No. Whoever this is, he intends to
draw it out. He wants suffering. Yours and mine."

  His gaze cut into hers, so very angry, and yet so very aware of what was burning between them.

  Moisture skated across her skin, tiny beads of perspiration that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man who stood far too close. “Whoever it is, they know about us,” she said.

  One dark brow flicked upwards. “Indeed? What does the tape say, precisely?"

  She told him, then said, “No one followed me last night."

  "Nor me.” He frowned. “It suggests that whoever it is knows about the moon promise."

  "I haven't gone spreading that little bit of stupidity around, believe me."

  Something deep and dangerous flared in his eyes. “It's not exactly a moment I'm proud of, either. But we did it, and now were stuck with it."

  Stuck. Such a nice way of putting it. Still, it was hardly any worse than calling it stupid. And she sure as hell hadn't thought that at the time. In fact, for all of twenty-four hours, she'd considered it the best damn thing she'd ever done.

  And Neva wondered why she never took chances any more.

  "We'll probably have to tell our people what's happening,” she said. Ronan knew, but everyone else needed to be warned. They deserved the truth, if only because they could be stepping into the line of fire. Who knew who this madman would go after?

  The thought froze her. Terrified her.

  Neva. She hadn't actually intended to reach out to her sister so sharply, and she winced when she heard her sister's mental gasp.

  What?

  Call Duncan home now, then both of you get to the Sinclair mansion and stay there.

  I hate that place—

  I don't care, she cut in. It's safe. No one would get to either of them there. Not without confronting the wrath of the whole Sinclair pack.

  But why?

  Because you both might be in danger.

  Danger? Sav, what's going on?

  Long story, and one I can't really explain right now. But it's very possible someone might come after you to get to me. Just promise you'll call Duncan immediately and get your ass over to the mansion.

  I'm contacting him as we speak.