by Cynthia Eden
Her hand fell away. “How many wolves have you actually met, other than me?”
His brows flew up, and he ignored what was turning into a dull throb in his side. At least he was healing. “Um, you mean other than the asshole stalking you?”
She kicked the door shut with her heel even as her eyes slit. “No one’s perfect, Jude. Not wolves. Not tigers. You should know that.”
Oh, hell, no, she hadn’t just thrown his past into his face. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the mud-brown wall. “Don’t go there, sweetheart.” He’d trusted her. Bared his soul. While—what? All the time she’d been keeping her secrets from him? He’d been trying to help her.
But the woman was working her own agenda.
Wolf.
“I-I didn’t mean—” She broke off, shaking her head and sending those silky locks flying. His nose was working again—he’d felt lost for a time without the onslaught of scents teasing him—and the heady fragrance that was Erin filled his nostrils.
“What did you mean then?” Her mouth was close. Tempting and close and he would not kiss her. Not now. Because, dammit, he couldn’t help but wonder…what other secrets was she keeping?
She wet her lips.
Damn her. That swiping pink tongue had his cock jerking.
“Do you—do you remember what you told me about Lones?”
No, he had no idea.
His expression must have said as much because she glared at him. “How screwed up do you have to be,” she quoted, “to get kicked out by the pack?”
Okay, he remembered. Jude tried real hard not to wince. So he’d been a hardass on the Lones, but after that Feral butcher who’d killed his family—
“I got kicked out.” Said with dignity. Said with a stare that was straight and unflinching. “They thought I was weak. Unworthy.” A pause. “Not fit for the pack. When I couldn’t shift, they threw me away.”
His hands clenched into fists. It was either ball ’em up or grab her again and hold tight. And he couldn’t hold her, not yet. She’d kept this secret from him after he’d bared his soul to her.
He should have seen this coming.
He says I’m his mate.
Because the bastard after her was a wolf. Just like she was. Like to like.
So why the hell was the beast inside him screaming that she was his mate?
No way could a woman be a mate to two shifters.
“My mother took me to my father’s house. Dropped me on the doorstep without a word, and left.” Memories trembled in her voice. “She’d kept me from him for fifteen years, because while they were mates”—Erin said the word like it was a curse. Maybe to her, it was—“she didn’t love him, because he wasn’t pack.”
He tried to think. Hard to do, when she was so close and his fury still rode him. “You could have just been delayed. Shifters don’t change until puberty. If you were just fifteen—”
A slow motion of her head, back and forth. “I don’t change, Jude. The claws and the teeth are all I have. All I’ll ever have. There’s no running in the woods for me. No beast who can break through the surface. There’s just”—her hands lifted, fell—“what you see. And that wasn’t enough for the pack or for my mother.”
The mother who’d appeared tonight, more than ready to attack him. “Why is she here?” He didn’t believe in coincidences.
“I don’t know.”
He snorted.
“I don’t.” Erin exhaled on a hard breath. “I haven’t seen her since then—until tonight, anyway. I-I remembered those eyes.” She straightened her shoulders. Stiffened her spine. “My father was scared of me because he was scared of her. He loved me, I know he did, but I think he was always worried the wolf would come out.”
“Your dad—you said he was human?”
“He was a shaman for his tribe. He was used to helping people. When he first met my mother, she was hurt. He told me she’d been attacked by vampires. He wanted to help her, but in the end, she didn’t want to be helped. She wanted the blood and the violence and pack.”
And she’d taken Erin into that world.
Then tossed her out.
Bitch.
“My father was psychic. He could see things, change lives.” She blinked quickly. “He was a good man.”
Erin had loved him. No denying the emotion in her voice. “What happened to him?” he asked, because there was so much pain there.
“He was killed. One of those horrible wrong place, wrong time things. He was mugged. Caught one night coming home. The guy stabbed him and my father bled out on the street. On the filthy street, with his eyes wide open.” Her lips twisted. No smile this time. “I saw it happen. My damn dreams. But by the time I got there, it was too late. He’d left me, too.”
He jerked her into his arms. “I’m pissed as hell at you,” he growled, but held her all the tighter. What was she doing to him? What?
“I couldn’t let you kill her,” she said, words muffled against him.
His side stung, but no way was he gonna let her go. “Yeah, well, sweetheart, looked to me like she was the one wanting to do the killing.”
No response.
“And if that gnome with the gun was anything to go by, she’s made a habit of hunting folks at that bar.” A wolf who hunted humans was a wolf that had crossed the line.
Rogue.
Her pack wouldn’t take her ass back if she’d gone Rogue.
Erin’s head lifted. Her long lashes were spiky, wet. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I just want things to go back to normal.”
Ah, normal. That word again. The one she liked so much. “Not gonna happen.” His nose twitched. So many scents assaulting him now that his enhanced smell was back. But, what was—
Hell.
He pushed Erin behind him and glared at the door.
“Jude!” Erin’s nails scraped down his arm. “It’s her!” Looked like Erin’s sense of smell was working, too.
This time, he could catch the lighter, feminine scent of the wolf shifter. Yet knowing that it was Erin’s mother on the other side of that door didn’t make him relax his guard for a second. No, it only made him tense more. “Stay back.”
He grabbed the doorknob. Wrenched it open—
And came face-to-face with Erin. No, not his Erin. An older version, one with faint lines around her eyes. One whose face was more haggard, whose hair was a bit shorter.
And whose eyes were more yellow than gold.
Sonofabitch.
She stared at him, measuring him. Then one black brow shot up and she said in a voice too much like Erin’s, “You gonna stand there staring all night, cat, or are you gonna let me see my daughter?”
Detective Ben Greer eased under the bright yellow line of police tape, his gun holster pressing into his side. He’d had exactly two days of vacation—two days of sitting on his ass and going insane at the cabin—and then he’d gotten the call about Donald Trent.
Trent. Like he’d ever forget that bastard. He’d put down ten to one odds that the guy had offed his wife a few months back. Not that Ben had enough evidence to prove it, though.
But after being on the job for ten years, some things were just pure instinct.
Trent was a killer. A psychopath who got off on hurting women. If Trent’s body really was buried in those woods, then the women in Lillian would be one hell of a lot safer, and their sleep would be easier.
“Detective!”
A female uniform waved him over. Kristen Langley was still pretty fresh to the force, but she was a fast learner, and she knew how to keep a scene safe.
“What have we got?” he asked as his gaze swept the area. That house. He’d been there before. Been to tell Katherine LaShaun the news about her daughter. He’d seen the boys, peeking from behind the stairs.
Sometimes, the job really sucked.
“The dogs found something…” Excitement had her voice cracking. “Come on, we’re pretty sure it’s—”
&
nbsp; Ben ran past her. He could hear voices rising in the distance. The rest of the team. He caught the thud of a shovel. Dammit, they’d better be careful with his scene.
He twisted, avoiding the thick brush as best he could, then he broke into the area with his group. Stumbling to a halt, he eyed the large hole his men had sectioned off. Not too deep. Not deep at all, really. The spotlights lit up the area, and in the black dirt, he saw the faded blue fabric.
A shirt. Ragged.
More of the thick dirt was carefully brushed aside and he glimpsed—
Bones.
“Think it’s Trent?” Kristen asked, that excitement still in her voice.
He glanced at her, mouth grim. “It’s him.” Tests would have to be done. Dental records checked. But he could see a long, thin necklace, one with intertwined snake heads, laying across the bones.
Trent had worn that piece of crap around his neck every time Ben had seen him.
“Careful, people!” Ben yelled. “I want every piece of evidence here! Tag it, bag it, and don’t miss anything!” This case was going to have a shitload of media scrutiny. There would be no room for mistakes on this one.
Buried behind his kids’ house. How freaking twisted.
And who’d done the bastard? Who’d finally managed to kill Trent?
Even he’d been tempted. Especially after he’d seen Sylvia’s broken body.
Ben rubbed his hand over his face. His eyes were gritty. “I want to talk to the family.” Had to be done. Better to just get it over with now.
Kristen nodded, her short red hair bobbing around her face. She looked barely eighteen, but Ben knew that image was deceptive—and one that Kristen used to her advantage on the streets. When you were expecting fluff, it was easy to get taken down by a bulldog.
Crickets chirped around them. The cadaver dogs barked as their handlers held them back.
When they approached the house, he saw Katherine walk onto her back porch. A worn robe covered her thin shoulders and she hugged herself. “You found him, didn’t you?”
He didn’t want to suspect her, but the questions in his mind wouldn’t stop. Had she known about the kill? Been in on it?
Katherine LaShaun. A strong woman. One who would do anything for her family.
Buried behind the house. In the woods that the boys probably played in every day.
Sick.
He walked onto the porch. He hesitated under the bright light. “We’ve found a body. Too early for identification yet.”
Kristen crept to his side, almost soundlessly. The lady knew how to move and she knew how to track killers. One day soon, she’d make a good detective.
Katherine nodded. “It’s him, then.” Certainty. A jagged breath. “My boys won’t have to worry anymore.”
Ben glanced around. The house seemed too quiet. Sure, the boys should have been sleeping—but no, they would have woken up with all the cops and dogs there. It was too loud for the kids to still be sleeping. “Katherine, where are the boys?”
Her gaze left the woods and came to rest on him. “At a friend’s house. They’re safe. They don’t know…won’t know…about this.” Her lips shook. “They play there—they won’t know.”
She’d moved the boys before the cops arrived. How the hell had she known to do that?
“You knew we were coming, didn’t you, Mrs. LaShaun?” Kristen asked.
Katherine glanced her way. Slowly. “Don’t believe I know you, honey.”
Kristen slapped a smile on her face. The non-threatening one she wore so well. “Kristen Langley.” She offered a hand. One that wasn’t taken.
Katherine rocked back on her heels. “All this time, I was afraid, and he was right here.” Her gaze skittered back to Ben’s. “Do you know who killed him?”
Not yet. But, God willing, he would soon. “Who told you we were coming, Katherine?” The person who’d given her the tip could well be the killer.
Only the officers on his team knew about this body. The cops—and the killer.
Her lips, already thin, flattened even more. “I need you cops to be done by tomorrow afternoon. My boys will be comin’ back then.”
Kristen opened her mouth—
“You got a phone call, didn’t you?” he pressed, not about to be led off track. He wasn’t new to this game.
Kristen’s mouth snapped closed.
“We can subpoena phone records, you know. We’re going to find out, one way or another.”
She stumbled back. “You didn’t do a damn thing to help my girl! Not one damn thing! You let that bastard out and he killed her—he killed her!”
“We don’t know that, Mrs. LaShaun.” Yeah, right.
“Bullshit!”
Katherine had never been one to mince words. One of the things he liked about the woman. “I’m sorry about your daughter, Katherine. I did try to help her. Erin—” Don’t think about her now “and I did everything we could.” It just hadn’t been enough.
Her gaze fell. “Erin Jerome fought for my daughter even when Sylvia wouldn’t fight for herself.” Soft. Sadness passed over her face. She sucked in a sharp breath and her shoulders shoved back even as her chin came up with new determination. “Get your subpoena if you have to! Do it! But I’m not tellin’ you another thing!” Then she turned and stormed into the house, slamming the back door behind her.
Well, well. Katherine was hell-bent on protecting someone. From the look on her face, she thought that someone might have been involved in the killing.
Who? Who would Katherine protect? Only her boys. Just the boys.
His eyes narrowed as he stared at the back door. “Kristen, get the DA. Let him know we need that subpoena yesterday.”
Ben kissed the rest of his vacation good-bye and got ready for his business of murder. Murder—just what he did best and—
Voices. Shouting, the snarls of fury drifting on the wind.
His stare snapped to Kristen’s. What the fuck?
He vaulted off the back porch. She was with him, her smaller body hurtling behind his.
They rounded the house. Good, more police tape was up. That should keep the gawkers back, for a while anyway.
“Get out of my way! Don’t you know who I am?” An asshole was all but screaming at one of the uniforms, shoving a long, thick finger at the young guy’s chest. “I’m—”
“Judge Lance Harper.” Bastard extraordinaire. Ben braked to a halt and glared at the idiot who would no doubt be headlining the local news for the next three days.
The judge’s head jerked toward him and his muddy brown eyes slit. “Greer.” Sounded more like a curse than a name because, yeah, there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of love lost between him and the judge, arrogant SOB that the guy was.
Ben braced his hands on his waist, knowing the move would show his holster. Shooting the judge probably wasn’t an option, but a man could dream.
Oh, yes, he could dream.
“I’ve got this one,” Ben said to the uniform. “Langley”—Kristen’s gaze was on the judge—“go make that phone call.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her head bob and then she backed away.
The judge’s hands fisted. “I demand that you tell me what is going on here.”
“Ah, you demand, huh? Since when do you have the right to demand anything at my crime scene?” What was the guy even doing there? No way was this the man’s business anymore.
A muscle flexed along Harper’s jaw. “Cartwright told me about the body on the property.”
Did no one in this city believe in keeping things under wraps? This was a murder for shit’s sake! “His mistake,” Ben managed, the words grating in his throat.
“It was my case, detective. The man was in my courtroom, he was—”
“You let him walk.” A mistake. Not Harper’s first, not his last, and the judge’s insanity on the bench was only part of the reason why Ben couldn’t stand the guy.
The other reason? Ben had once had a lover leave him…for th
e judge. The guy might be old, but the bastard was hell with the ladies.
Very slowly, Harper’s fists unknotted. “You think you know me, don’t you, detective?”
No, he didn’t know him particularly well. Didn’t want to, either. “I’m working a murder, Harper. I don’t have time for your games.”
Harper’s chin rose. “I didn’t want to let that bastard walk, but I had no choice.” He shook his head. “When the wife changed her story, what was I supposed to do? There wasn’t enough evidence to hold him.”
“You know he probably killed Sylvia, don’t you?” Ben fired right across his words. “He walked and he killed her.” That knowledge had burned in Ben’s gut more nights than he could count.
Harper’s Adam’s Apple bobbed. “I-I know.” A rasp. Remorse? What? From Harper? Their eyes locked. “What I do in this world isn’t easy,” Harper said. “Justice never is.”
Ben thought of those dirty bones. Of the boys who’d grow up without their mother or their worthless excuse for a father. “Go home. There’s nothing left for you here. This isn’t your case anymore.”
Harper’s gaze drifted to the house. “No—no, I don’t guess it is.” His shoulders slumped and he turned away.
For an instant, Ben could almost feel a stir of sympathy for the fellow. Almost.
Then the instant passed. He wheeled around. Back to business. “All right, people, I want this scene combed for every bit of evidence you can find. We’ve got a body, and we’re damn well gonna find his killer.” Because Ben didn’t believe in letting monsters walk. Not in his town.
Even if the vic had been a cold-blooded asshole, he’d find Trent’s killer. That was his job.
He was good at his job.
“What are you doing here?” Erin stared at her mother—oh, damn, her mother—and kept every muscle in her body locked tight.
Not going to her.
Not going to hold her.
Not going to hit her. Not!
“I came to see you.” Flat. No emotion there. Never had been. That one eyebrow rose again. “Can I come in or do I have to stand out here all night?”
Leave.
“Come in,” Jude growled. “But at the first sign of a shift, your ass is gone.”