Dragon Fever: Limited Edition Holiday Romance Boxset

by Serena Meadows

  Clem and a uniformed officer stood in the open doorway, talking to Drake and examining the beagle. As she approached, she heard Drake tell Clem about the call and Emily’s crying jag. Over Drake’s shoulder, Clem spotted her.

  “What did he say to you?” he asked. “When he called.”

  “That this was a warning.” Emily gazed down at the dog, the eyes filmed over, the blackening blood. “To get rid of Drake before things get worse.”

  “He was here last night,” Drake said.

  Emily stared at him, and Clem asked, “When?”

  “I woke up on the couch,” Drake went on, gazing at Emily. “I checked the house, then looked out the window. He was sitting in a car right there.” He pointed. “He looked right at me.”

  “Can you describe the car?”

  “Green, four doors like Emily’s but not the same. Smaller.”

  “Can you identify the make or model?”

  Drake shook his head. “I stayed awake the rest of the night, and he stayed right there until dawn.”

  The officer pointed at the dog. “This dog has been dead less than thirty minutes. If he left by dawn, then he came back.”

  With a quick nod, Clem glanced at Drake. “Put yourself in his boots. If you wanted to kill a dog, then hide to watch the reaction, where would you be hiding?”

  Stunned, Emily watched as Drake, without hesitation, jerked his chin toward a small grove of trees bunched together at the corner playground. “Right there. Hidden from view with a pair of high-powered binoculars. It’s away from people who might discover him, yet close enough to watch from hiding.”

  Clem glanced at the officer, who nodded. Then they both turned and walked casually down the walk toward their vehicles. The police car parked in front of her house had generated more than passing interest from her neighbors, and several stood in clumps in yards. The cops got into their separate vehicles, and without lights or sirens, headed toward the small playground.

  Emily watched, incredulous, as a shadow left the grove of trees and quickly strode across the playground. The cops hit both lights and sirens and aimed to cut him off, speeding their vehicles around the corners. The watching neighbors turned their heads to the drama. Emily touched Drake’s arm.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m a hunter,” he said simply. “I’m surprised the cops didn’t think of that.”

  “They aren’t hunters. At least not in the way you’re talking.”

  Emily saw the kids standing with their parents and knew the time had come. “We better take him over to them.”

  “I’ll carry him.”

  Drake picked up the beagle’s limp body, then strode down the steps. Emily, her mouth dry, caught up to him and walked beside him across the street. She had no idea what to say to the family, whose eyes widened as they saw what Drake carried.

  The kids began to cry.

  Emily had spoken to the family only a few times but thought they were on friendly terms. “I am so sorry,” she said. “So very sorry.”

  The father, whose name she thought was Jim, stared from the dog to Drake’s face to Emily. “What happened? Did you hit him with your car?”

  “No.” Emily drew a deep breath. “Your dog was murdered. The cops went after the man who did it.”

  The wife, Mary, Emily thought, cried alongside her children. “Murdered? Who would want to kill Sammy?”

  Emily hesitated. “I don’t want to scare you,” she said slowly. “But a man has been stalking me. He killed Sammy as a warning to me. I am so sorry you had to get involved.”

  Jim’s expression hardened. “A stalker? You mean that guy that sits in cars in the street all night?”

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “The police have spoken to me about him,” Jim replied. “I did know you were being stalked, but I thought it was over with. I couldn’t give a very good description, as it was always too dark. Once or twice, I went out to confront him, and he drove away.”

  “Jim.” Emily pressed her palms together in front of her chin. “Stay out of it. Do not confront him. Ever. He’s extremely dangerous and you must think about your family. Stay in the house if you see him, and do not come out. Just call the cops.”

  Jim looked at the dead dog still in Drake’s arms. He nodded and took the body. “All right. Thanks for telling me. Maybe, when it’s over, you can come over for a drink and tell us about it.”

  Emily gazed at the crying kids. “I will get them another dog when they’re ready.”

  Mary hugged them close. “That would be kind of you, Emily.”

  Crouching down to be on level with the kids, Emily guessed them to be about six and eight years old. “I am so sorry about Sammy.”

  They continued to cry, staring between her and the dog in Jim’s arms. Drake touched her shoulder. “The police are back.”

  Straightening, Emily glanced at Clem’s sedan and the officer’s cruiser halted in front of her house. “Jim,” she said. “Stay out of it.”

  “I will.”

  Returning to her yard, she saw the clear disgust on both police faces. “He got away.”

  “He had a car parked just on the far side of the playground,” Clem snapped. “He got to it before we got around the corner. We saw his taillights, and then he was lost in the traffic. We radioed for officers in the area to keep looking for him and gave the description of the car.”

  Clem glanced at the family clustered together across the street. “You took the body to them?”

  Emily nodded. “I told them to stay out of it.”

  “Good. We don’t need anyone else hurt.”

  “I’m gonna hit the road,” the officer said, his thumb over his shoulder. “Cruise around and see if I can locate that son of a bitch.”

  “Thanks, man.” Clem shook his hand.

  The officer shook first Emily’s hand, then Drake’s, but eyed Drake’s bandaged arm with worry. “Sorry.”

  “No harm done.”

  Clem followed Emily and Drake back into the house. “Coffee, Clem?”

  “Sure.”

  The three of them sat around the table, and Drake first sniffed, then drank his coffee warily. Emily guessed that he’d never had coffee before, then turned to the detective.

  “I had my first good sleep in months because of Drake,” she said. “I don’t care what he threatened, Drake stays.”

  “Of course, he should. Obviously, he’s getting to the guy, getting under his skin. The sketch artist was not there yesterday, so I want you both to come in today. Give your composite to the artist, Drake, and then we’ll have you look at mug shots.”

  Drake nodded and sipped his coffee.

  “With the computer, we can narrow his description to men who look like him,” Clem continued, “so you don’t have to look through hundreds of pictures of long-haired tattooed bikers, for instance.”

  “I want to kill him, Clem,” Emily said, her voice flat. “I’m at the end of my rope with this guy.”

  “Don’t, Emily. Don’t get into that mindset, I’m warning you.”

  “And what if he kills a kid next?” she all but screamed. “What if I find the corpse of a baby on my doorstep?”

  “Don’t go there, Emily,” he warned. “You don’t want to go to prison for murder. He’s already facing charges of stalking, assault, attempted murder, and now felony animal abuse. We catch him, he goes away for a very long time. If he kills someone, then it’s the death penalty.”

  “He needs to be dead.”

  “That’s not my call. Nor is it yours.”

  Calming herself, Emily found comfort in Drake’s steady gaze, his quiet assurance, his tiny smile. She almost heard his unspoken words—he will not harm you, nor will he harm anyone else. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Clem saw their silent exchange.

  “Now, Drake is from somewhere else,” he snapped. “Don’t even think he can kill this stalker then run away to wherever it is he came from. I will find him.”

  �
�I can’t go back, Clem,” Drake replied. “I won’t be going anywhere.”

  Clem drank his coffee, muttering under his breath. “I have to get back, write this up. Meet me at my office in two hours.”

  He set his cup down and pushed back from the table, clearly irritated. He left the house, slammed the door, and Emily heard his car start up, the squeak of brakes. She met Drake’s amused eyes over the rim of his cup.

  “What?”

  “Should I kill him,” Drake said slowly, “there’d be no trace of him ever found. No one could prove he was even dead.”

  “That’s not possible,” she replied. “Even crematoriums can’t burn teeth and such. Jimmy Hoffa vanished, but he’s out there, somewhere.”

  “Who’s Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “I’ll tell you sometime. But if anyone kills this bastard,” she said, glaring at Drake, “it’ll be me.”

  Drake drank his coffee. “Not if I get to him first.”

  Staring at her kitchen, ignoring his comment, Emily said, “I don’t feel like cooking. Let’s get some breakfast somewhere on the way.”

  “Only if I buy.”

  Too distracted to argue, Emily dragged him into the bathroom. “I want to change your bandages.”

  “My arm is mostly healed.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Taking a scissors, Emily gently cut the gauze wraps from his arm, focusing on not hurting him. Little by little, the bandages fell away and revealed long red lines that less than twenty-four hours earlier were horrible, open gashes.

  Emily stared. “That’s not possible.”

  Drake lifted his arm to the light, running his fingers over the fresh scar tissue. “What were you muttering about? Sepsis? A flesh-eating bacterium? Infections?”

  Taking his hand, she ran her fingers over the red lines, firm under her touch. “That’s not possible.”

  From his knuckles on up to his elbow, Emily gazed at the scars that should truly have been at least two weeks in the making. “What are you?”

  Drake looked away from her accusing eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

  Suddenly, Emily didn’t want to know. She grabbed fresh wraps from the cabinet and bound his arm again. “If Clem sees this miracle, there will be hell to pay,” she grated. “As far as anyone knows, you’re still healing.”

  “Well, it is the truth,” he replied. “Once I’m fully healed, there’s no trace of the wound.”

  “Put a cork in it. Please.”

  While Drake sat in an office and described the stalker to the sketch artist, the artist drawing the face of the man he confronted, Emily drank more coffee in Clem’s office. “What now?”

  He leaned back in his chair, gazing toward the main station. All around police officers typed on computers, spoke on telephones, grabbed coffee from the pot, or compared reports with one another. Other detectives, like Clem, worked in their offices, and Emily wondered how many crimes actually got solved.

  “Now, we see if your pal can help us come up with a name,” he replied. “If he can, we’ll issue an arrest warrant, and go find him. With his name, we can look up an address, work history, vehicles registered in his name. Then it will be hard for him to hide.”

  Emily nodded absently. “And what if he runs?”

  “Then he’ll be too busy running and hiding to bother you.”

  Drinking her coffee, which had started to grow cold, she asked, “Have you ever wondered why he fixated on me?”

  “No.”

  She eyed him in confusion. Clem shrugged. “There’s no rhyme or reason for why these yo-yos fixate on who they do, Emily. He could have seen your reflection in a shop window and decided you were for him. He’s a psycho, he has no emotions. No conscience.”

  “I think he’s going to try to kill Drake.”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption since he’s tried already. How’s his arm?”

  “Better.”

  “Good. Just know we’re gonna find this guy.”

  Emily cleared her throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Clem, but I don’t think you will. He’s smart, and he’s two steps ahead of us. All the time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Drake looked at the drawing and nodded. “That’s him.”

  The artist reached across the table to take his drawing back and shake Drake’s hand. “Good job.”

  Leaving the office, Drake saw Emily waving to him, and made his way through the desks and working police officers toward her. Leaning his shoulder against the door jamb, he said, “The artist drew a very good likeness of him.”

  Clem stood up. “I’ll take you to a computer where you can look at mug shots. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that he’s in there.”

  He showed Drake how to click through the pictures using the mouse and then left him alone with Emily. She sat down beside him, her nearness acting as a pleasant distraction while he scanned picture after picture. She said nothing, but her clean, female scent drifted into his nose and brought from within him an urge to touch her.

  Not just touch her. But also fold her into his arms and kiss her.

  He clicked past a picture, frowned, then went back. “That’s him.”

  “What?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  Over his shoulder, Emily stared at the photo of a man with thin hair on the sides of his head, bald on top, icy blue eyes, a thin nose, and thin lips. She then bolted for the door, calling for Clem. But what captured Drake’s attention was the lack of anything human within those eyes.

  As Drake stared, remembering the man as he fought to escape Drake’s reaching fingers, he recalled the man’s complete lack of fear.

  “You got him?”

  Clem looked at the drawing in his hand, then at the photo on the computer screen. “Good God, they’re identical. Jonas Toombs, forty-eight years old, arrested for stalking a woman with intent to rape. Did four years behind bars.”

  “When did he get out of prison?” Emily asked.

  Clem read the information on the screen, then looked at Emily. “Two weeks before you first called me.”

  “He’s going to kill her.”

  Drake gazed at the man’s soulless eyes and knew, he knew, Jonas Toombs planned to not just rape Emily, but also murder her. “He is planning on it. Stalk her to torment her through fear. Weaken her. Then he will make his move.”

  “That’s what we’re here to prevent,” Clem stated firmly. “Now no vigilante stuff; you let us handle it, Emily, Drake. You got that?”

  “Yes,” Emily replied.

  Drake said nothing. He felt Clem’s eyes on him, felt the man willing him to agree, to say that Drake would not hunt Jonas Toombs down. I don’t make promises I refuse to keep. Even Emily watched him closely, as though trying to read his mind. He glanced at Clem at last.

  “Are we done here?”

  “Yeah, you’re done. The rules are still the same—stay in, call the minute he shows his face, even if he’s sitting in his car in the middle of the night.” Clem sighed. “I’ll get his address and an arrest and search warrant. Keep your fingers crossed that he’s at home taking a nap.”

  “Thanks for everything, Clem,” Emily said, then hugged him. “And if you arrest him, I’m buying you a fancy dinner.”

  “Now I’m really hoping he’s home taking a nap.”

  Leaving the police station, Emily took Drake’s left hand in hers and grinned up at him. “Just think, this might all be over soon.”

  “It won’t be.”

  Drake felt shame at her downcast expression and squeezed her fingers. “I do hope that he will be caught today,” he said. “But my gut says he won’t be caught napping.”

  Emily nodded. “You have a good point. He’s smart. He’ll know you got a good look at him.” She smiled. “I’m just wishful thinking, finding some hope in this shitty situation.”

  “I know.”

  Emily spent the afternoon and evening in her office working while Drake lay on the sofa, getting the hang of the storyline
s behind the old westerns. When he heard her cell phone ring, he rose from his prone position and padded down the hall.

  She wore a frown of frustration as she listened, and Drake guessed it was Clem she listened to. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

  Clicking the phone off, she tossed it onto the desk in frustration. “The address was an old one,” she said. “He hasn’t been there in months. He hasn’t been to see his probation officer, so that charge has been added to the arrest warrant.”

  She gazed at Drake. “You were right.”

  “I was hoping I wasn’t.”

  “But we have a name, a face, and every cop looking for him,” she told him brightly. “He’ll be caught.”

  Preferring to sleep on the couch where he could better hear any attempts to break into the house, Drake woke again late that night when the house lay dark and still. Rising, he checked on Emily first and found her in her room, sleeping soundly. Then he went back into the living room and peeked through a tiny gap in the curtain.

  Toombs was there, sitting in the green sedan as he had the previous night. Again, Drake got the feeling that Toombs knew he was there, despite the darkness and the distance, watching him peer through the window. I think it’s time I introduced myself. Leaving the window, Drake clicked the alarm off and went through the kitchen and into the garage.

  Leaving by the back door, he strode into the middle of the yard and changed forms. After carefully checking his vicinity for power lines, Drake launched himself into the air. Clearing the roof, Drake circled higher, watching Toombs. There was little doubt the man in the car would see him rise into the sky, blocking out the stars.

  Sure enough, the engine roared. Tires screeched in protest as Toombs hit the accelerator hard enough to spin the car sideways. Drake dove down over the street, following him, his wings folded for greater speed. Tempted to flame the speeding vehicle, force it to explode with Toombs inside, he knew the risk of other cars and houses also catching fire was too great.

  I mustn’t risk the lives of innocents. Toombs saw me. If he doesn’t feel fear, surely, he is smart enough to realize the kind of danger I present to him. Still, Drake followed, hoping Toombs might drive into the open where setting the car on fire posed little risk to others. He did not and continued to speed down residential and commercial districts.