by Jane Godman
Gazing down at her, he circled her clit with his middle finger, watching her face as her eyes widened and she gasped. Without giving her time to catch her breath, he drove two fingers into her and fastened his mouth to her clitoris. And sucked. Maria went into a frenzy, writhing and calling out his name. Madden hardened again instantly. The taste of her was intoxicating, drawing him into a trancelike state. He lost himself in mindless pleasure as he circled her nub with his tongue and drove his fingers in and out. After a minute or two, he realized he was growling low in his throat.
“Ah, please, Madden . . . I need you inside me.” It was a plea that sounded like it had been dragged from Maria in between her desperate moans.
Inside her. That sounded like heaven. He took one final lick and withdrew his fingers. They hadn’t discussed protection but it wasn’t necessary. Maria was a werewolf. Her cycle was the same as a wolf’s and she was only fertile in the mating season. But that conversation could wait for another time. As he rolled a condom down his rigid length, he opened her thighs wide. Moving her legs over his shoulders, he positioned himself so that the head of his cock was just grazing her glistening entrance. Maria’s eyes closed in anticipation and her mouth parted on a sigh.
Madden wanted to take this slow, so he didn’t obey his instincts and plunge straight into her welcoming warmth. Instead, he slid smoothly forward, allowing his thick head to penetrate her. Maria’s eyes opened wide. As Madden moved, he stared down at her, watching every tiny reaction. Enjoying the widening of her eyes as his girth stretched her, the blink of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Everything she needed to say to him about how he felt inside her was right there in those looks.
As he began to move, his thick shaft opened her further, sliding into molten heat. His hips moved up between her legs, pushing her thighs even further apart. His every sense was on high alert. Maria’s soft cries sent fingers of fire down his spine and straight to his balls. Pulling back, he began to piston faster. Maria’s hips slammed up from the bed in response. God, she was so responsive. So fucking tight and wet around him.
Madden kept up this new rhythm of hard, fast thrusts. Maria moved the heels of her hands down to his buttocks and pressed into them, urging him on. Both of them were panting now, their bodies slamming hard together. His cock was so hard it felt like steel as he drove it relentlessly into her. Maria gave a soft cry as she met each forward thrust. Madden’s body began to heat and tighten, as it spiraled out of control toward his release.
With a ragged groan, he felt the first spasm. Maria felt it too and the sensation sent her over the edge. Her inner muscles clenched hard around him, deepening the first explosion. Madden groaned as the intensity of his orgasm hit hard and his cock jerked wildly. Maria pressed herself tight against him, every part of them in contact from groin to neck as they writhed and trembled in unison. Finally, they clung together, helpless to do anything except hold each other in the wake of their mutual storm.
* * *
“The man Hendrik Rickard was due to meet doesn’t exist.” Callie Monroe started the meeting with the words no one wanted to hear.
“This is the art consultant, right?” Madden checked his notes.
“That’s the one. The name Hendrik wrote in his diary is Ian Spicer,” Callie confirmed. “So we checked Hendrik’s laptop, and we found email correspondence with an Ian Spicer. The first email was sent a week ago by Ian Spicer. The signature line gives a fake address here in Fairbanks.” Callie flipped a switched and brought up a copy of the email on the large screen that was positioned at one end of the room. “As you can see, the person claiming to be Ian Spicer introduces himself as an associate of Hendrik’s former art consultant. He offers his services since Hendrik’s consultant has retired and suggests a meeting.”
“Does anyone know if Hendrik contacted his former consultant to check out this guy’s credentials?” Paul Crozier asked.
“It looks like Hendrik did try, but he didn’t get a response. His former consultant, name of Powell, left on a world cruise a few weeks ago and, although I managed to get in touch with him last night, he confirmed that he hasn’t been answering calls or emails.” Hazel Stewart generally took responsibility for long-distance communication. “Powell was able to confirm that he has never heard of an Ian Spicer.”
Madden clenched his fist on the table. The Cage Killer—because he knew in his gut this was the Cage Killer—had stepped right into his world and snatched one of his friends. This had become personal. “So Hendrik decided to go ahead and meet Ian Spicer anyway?”
“That’s how it looks.” Callie nodded. “The other emails between the two men are brief, just containing details of where and when.”
“Which was?”
Callie flipped through the remaining emails. “According to the emails and Hendrik’s diary, they were due to meet at the Blue Parrot. It’s a coffee shop attached to the Fairbanks Art Gallery. We can confirm that the meeting did take place. Witnesses, including the coffee shop owner, confirm that Hendrik met with another man. We can be fairly sure it was Hendrik because of his distinctive coloring.”
Callie’s eyes flickered over Madden. He knew what she was thinking. He also knew she wasn’t the only one. Hendrik had the same unusual coloring as their boss. As all the other victims. They were all asking themselves the same question. What the hell was this? Madden knew the truth, of course. He just couldn’t tell them.
Callie collected herself and continued. “There was nothing remarkable about that meeting. The two men ordered coffee, sat down, talked for about twenty minutes to half an hour, drank their coffee, then left. The coffee shop owner thought their conversation was amicable, but it was busy that day so she couldn’t be sure. Whatever they talked about, Ian Spicer was persuasive enough to get Hendrik to leave his car in the parking lot at the Blue Parrot and go with him.”
“You’re sure about that?” Madden asked.
Callie pressed a few buttons on her laptop and a grainy image appeared on the screen. “This was taken from the closed-circuit television that the firm operating the parking lot security uses. It’s not great, but you can see these two figures here.” She pointed with the cursor. “The taller one with the lighter hair is Hendrik.”
Madden watched as his friend walked with the other man to a car and got into the passenger side. Even though the images were grainy, he couldn’t see any evidence that Hendrik was being coerced. It looked like the two men were talking companionably.
“Can we get those images enhanced?” he asked.
“We’re working on it right now. And we are gathering witness statements about the appearance of the man Hendrik was with,” Callie said.
“Get the same guy who did Maria’s sketch onto it.” Madden dredged up his name from the depths of his memory. “Redmond Wilkes. That way if there are similarities, he’ll be onto them.”
Callie scribbled down a note. “I’ll contact him as soon as the meeting is over.”
“What about Hendrik’s car?” Madden frowned at the screen again. Hendrik wasn’t stupid. How had the Cage Killer gained his trust so quickly? Because that’s what he does. He’s good at this. His mind tried to grab an elusive connection, but Callie was speaking again and the thought was lost.
“Still where he left it in the parking lot at the Blue Parrot,” Callie confirmed. “Forensics are checking it out, but I’m guessing the killer never went near it.”
Madden knew he had to keep his personal feelings out of this. As his team discussed Hendrik’s private life, he had to refrain from jumping into the conversation and offering his opinion, particularly when the discussion switched to whether Hendrik could have been attracted to the other man and gone with him for sex. Madden wanted to point out that his friend had been married and had a daughter, that he was in a long-term relationship and that sex with strangers wasn’t his style. But he knew he had to keep an open mind. He had to treat this case like any other and pretend he didn’t know Hendrik. His friend’s life might depen
d on it.
It was only as the meeting was ending that he remembered what Callie had said that had struck him as odd. That connection his brain had been trying, and failing to make, fell into place. “In every case, this killer has gained the trust of the victim and got them to go with him.”
Callie nodded. “He must be very persuasive. Do you think he changes his cover story each time? That must take a hell of a lot of research.”
“No.” Madden shook his head. “That’s not where I’m going with this. There was one case that was different. With Maria, he came up behind her with a gun instead of meeting her face-to-face and charming her into going with him.”
Paul Crozier let out a soft whistle. “Why was that? Could she have known him?”
Callie frowned. “But surely if she already knew him, she would have been more likely to go with him?”
“Unless she didn’t trust him,” Madden said.
Chapter Ten
Deep inside her, Maria could feel a flicker of something that didn’t feel part of her human self. She had to reach deep and focus, but it was there. Now all she had to do was find a way to bring it to the surface.
Among the books Lowell had loaned her there was an ancient text. It was more of a leaflet than a book. She had discarded it at first, finding its flowing script and dramatic illustrations too old-fashioned to hold her attention. There was no news about Hendrik and, on this particular afternoon, the house had fallen quiet with everyone going off to do their own thing. Maria had wandered up to her room. With nothing else to hold her attention, the leaflet had caught her eye and she’d picked it up.
The title of the booklet was The Werewolf: Satan’s Best Friend. It didn’t sound like a promising start. Written from the perspective of a devil worshiper who wanted to become a werewolf in order to support Satan, it was a helpful guide on how to become a lycanthrope. Deciding it was likely to be comical rather than helpful, Maria curled up on her bed and prepared to be amused. Within minutes, she had become engrossed.
The author had described in detail the perfect conditions needed for a werewolf to shift. Helpful hints included observing wolves in their natural habitat, copying their mannerisms and positioning until it felt natural, imagining oneself as a werewolf, and living as a wolf. Finally, the would-be werewolf was encouraged to think and feel the way a werewolf would by shifting his or her consciousness so it became that of a wild animal. The leaflet contained exercises to experience the world through the eyes of a wolf, and to replicate the urges and instincts of a carnivorous animal.
Maria realized that the images she had dismissed as unhelpful actually showed a man covering his naked body with a wolf pelt. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine her hosts taking the suggestion kindly if she asked if there were any wolf skins available for her to perform a similar exercise. The members of the brotherhood were fierce wolf conservationists.
The next series of instructions were more helpful. The author suggested looking carefully at the environment and ensuring that it was private and secluded. Maria approved wholeheartedly of this suggestion. If she reached the point of shifting, she had no intention of doing it in a place where there might be prying eyes. The outdoors was also preferable and a natural forest setting was the best place.
The author advised appealing to the primal urges of the inner wolf by placing food in the environment. Raw steak was recommended. Maria thought of the huge amounts of bloody meat consumed within the Lowell household and decided there might be some wisdom in this statement. There was nothing she liked less than rare meat, but who knew what her inner werewolf might want in the way of a snack if she ever emerged?
The leaflet then strayed into the realms of the occult, discussing the invocation of a lupine deity to assist with the shifting process. The author’s chosen god was Fenrir, the mighty Norse werewolf. That made Maria sit up and take notice. Fenrir’s name had cropped up a few times already. Now, she discovered he was not only the son of the great goddess Angrboda, he had also tricked his mother into becoming his lover. Skoll and Hati, the gods who drove their chariots across the sky were the result of that relationship. Santin, Fenrir and Angrboda’s other son, was Odessa Lowell’s father. The twists and turns of the Norse legends and werewolf folklore were fascinating.
The text included a drawing of Fenrir, a snarling image that made Maria decide she would prefer to avoid anything to do with that particular god. The full moon was also a recurring feature throughout the text, but, as Maria already knew, Arctic werewolves were unique and the moon had no effect on them. They were influenced instead by the midnight sun. Even so, the leaflet advised aspiring werewolves to shift when the moon was at its fullest. Maria decided she it would be wise to make her own attempt by the light of the midnight sun.
If I do this. She felt the need to add that clause, even as she continued to avidly read the remainder of the booklet. When she closed it, she exhaled slowly. Although it didn’t give precise details—it wasn’t as simple as turn three times and repeat after me—there were some key messages. Visualization was important, as were passion and belief. She got the message. If she didn’t have faith in this process, it wasn’t going to happen.
Tiring of intensity, she picked up the pad and pencil that lay on the bedside locker. Since the removal of the bandages, she had been using her right hand for large movements and was pleased to find it worked well. The loss of her little finger didn’t hamper her movements too much. The left hand wasn’t as good. Before she left the hospital, a doctor had spoken to her about a prosthetic left hand, and she supposed that was next on her physical recovery agenda.
This was the first time since she had left the hospital that she had attempted to draw and she sucked in a breath as she put the pencil to the paper. What if it was gone? What if the Cage Killer had robbed her of that ability? Once she started sketching, relief flooded through her. Her hand felt different, but it flowed across the paper in the same way. Her talent was still intact.
She drew Fenrir, the giant, snarling werewolf god in the leaflet, enhancing his fangs and claws. The leaflet showed him held down by chains and with a sword holding his jaws apart. All very dramatic, Maria thought, as she added in those details. What sort of god allowed those things to happen to him?
Casting aside the sketch of Fenrir, she moved on to the picture she really wanted to draw. Closing her eyes, she summoned an image of the man who had come into her hospital room. Redmond Wilkes had drawn him, but he hadn’t seen him. He had been translating Maria’s words into a picture and the result had been too bland. What Wilkes had drawn had been a caricature of normality. The intruder had been very ordinary looking, but even so, every face was individual. If I can just capture that. Get his expression down on paper . . .
* * *
Hendrik had been missing for three days and the tension in Madden’s gut was increasing with every minute. If the Cage Killer had him, this would be the day of the first phone call. The team meeting that day had turned up nothing of note. A forensic search of Hendrik’s house and car had come back clean. The CCTV images had been enhanced and the owner of the Blue Parrot had confirmed that the man with Hendrik in those images was the same man he had met inside. She had never seen him before that day. Callie Monroe and Paul Crozier were working on getting an improved image of the suspect’s car.
Madden had returned to Lowell’s house in the late evening, missing dinner. As he pulled into the drive, his cell phone was ringing and he answered it before leaving the car. It was Callie. “Boss? This forensic artist you wanted me to contact about the witness sketches . . .”
“Redmond Wilkes.” With some displeasure, Madden recalled the man who had come out to the house. He had been overbearing and pompous, but the guy seemed to know what he was doing.
He could hear the confusion in Callie’s voice. “Yes, that was the name I wrote down.”
Madden massaged between his brows, right at the point where a headache was trying to form. “Is there a problem?”
“There could be. Redmond Wilkes doesn’t exist.” Callie said the words slowly as though uncertain how they would be received.
“What?” Madden jerked swiftly upright, his headache forgotten.
“There is no forensic artist named Redmond Wilkes working for the Fairbanks Police Department.”
“Then who the fuck was the guy who came out here to do Maria’s witness sketch?” Madden clenched a fist on his thigh as realization hit him. “My God, that bastard has been here. In this house, in the same room as me, taunting me . . .”
“But he can’t have been the same guy who broke into Maria’s hospital room,” Callie reasoned. “If it was, she’d have recognized him immediately.”
Callie was right, of course. Madden took a moment to process that information. What Callie didn’t know was that, if they were dealing with Jean Chastel, they were dealing with a magician who also was a master of disguise. Or they could be up against any number of his Hellhound followers.
“Maria could have been right when she said there was more than one killer,” Callie said.
“We can’t rule anything out.” It was becoming Madden’s mantra for this case. “Now we have to get a genuine forensic artist out here to draw a sketch of the fake forensic artist.” It sounded like a bad joke. One that had no punch line.
He ended the call to Callie feeling like the whole case was spiraling out of control. Maybe the politicians were right. Eighteen months down the line and they were no closer to catching the killer. Was it time for a new face in charge of the team? For the first time, Madden was starting to wonder if they might be right.
Trudging wearily into the kitchen, he found most of the brotherhood congregated there waiting for news. He had nothing to offer them. Odessa set a plate of raw steak and a glass of water in front of him and he accepted it gratefully. Maria came to sit next to him and her presence comforted him. He would have to tell her about Redmond Wilkes, but not now. He didn’t want to scare the hell out of her all over again right this minute.