by Jane Godman
Driving down the feelings of panic that were threatening to overwhelm her, she glanced wildly around the hangar. There was a toolkit near one of the planes. Almost tripping over her feet in her eagerness to get to it, Maria tugged it open and stared down at its contents. She found a large screwdriver with a sharp, pointed blade and grabbed it up with a sound close to a sob.
Thank God I still have most of my right hand.
Hurtling out of the hangar, she skirted around the bloodbath and, staying in a crouch, made her way along the chain-link fence until she reached the rear of the first car. Her task was made easier by the chaos going on around the plane. No one noticed her as she made her way stealthily along the line of cars. Her heart was threatening to make its way out through her mouth and her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. Even so, she did it. With a hand that was shaking wildly, she managed to drive the screwdriver into fourteen of those tires, avoiding the front ones, and rip into every one of them. With every downward slash, she reminded herself she was doing this to save Madden’s life.
She completed her task just in time. As she finished ripping into the last tire, the atmosphere changed. A cloak of malevolence descended and the engines roared into life. Retracing her steps and ducking back into the hangar, she watched from behind the door. All she could do now was hope she had done enough. She knew it was possible to drive on a flat tire. She just had to have confidence it wasn’t possible to drive the distance those cars needed, in a straight line, on two slashed rear tires.
Her hopes were fulfilled. As the cars accelerated toward the fight scene, it was immediately clear that the drivers were struggling to control them. Maria’s instincts had proved right and each vehicle singled out one of the brotherhood members. Because of their slashed tires, the cars couldn’t stay on track and they veered wildly across the tarmac before coming to a halt just short of their targets.
The Arctic werewolves had been alerted by the engine noises and the fact that the drivers were struggling to maintain control. Instead of being mowed down in a surprise attack, they were able to avoid the oncoming cars. Even so, this was the dangerous part: If the drivers of those vehicles did have guns with silver bullets, they were now within shooting distance of the brotherhood.
Maria watched in fascination as the Arctic werewolves worked in a concerted movement to each lift the body of a dead or dying Hellhound in its jaws and hurl it against the front window of one of the cars. She winced. It was an unpleasant, but effective, way of obscuring the vision of the men behind the wheels. Now they could neither drive away, nor see to fire a weapon from where they were. If they wanted to get a shot at the Arctic werewolves, they would have to leave their vehicles. Maria was guessing that, having just witnessed what had happened to their friends, they wouldn’t be too fond of that idea.
Observing the brotherhood was like viewing a choreographed routine. She knew they could communicate telepathically, but it really was incredible the way they worked together as one entity. She could distinguish Madden from the other werewolves by the star-shaped gray blaze on his forehead, so she knew he was directing his teammates and she watched now as he lifted his head and howled. In response, the others shifted back into human form at the same instant Madden did.
Each member of the brotherhood moved swiftly to one of the cars and, jerking open the driver’s side door, hauled the occupant out onto the tarmac. The attack had the element of surprise and none of the drivers managed to fire off a shot. The helpless men lay facedown on the bloody tarmac with the bodies of the other Hellhounds littered around them.
“Vigo, take their guns off them and search them for any other weapons.” Madden issued the order. “Samson and Sebastian, search the vehicles. Jenny and Wilder, round up the injured.” He raised his voice slightly. “Lowell, go and get Maria out of her hiding place in the hangar.”
* * *
“Cleaning up after something like this is a fucking nightmare,” Madden grumbled.
Maria regarded him with fascination. “Does it happen often?”
“No. Thank God.” He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck wearily. “But I’m a police officer in my human life. I can’t leave any trace of what happened here, or any hint of my DNA—wolf or human—at this scene. None of us can afford that sort of scrutiny.”
Wilder had taken charge of the cleanup operation. It seemed this was another, well-practiced routine. Within minutes, he had been directing the others to dispose of bodies and vehicles. Now, less than two hours later, the tarmac was clear of any evidence of the carnage that had taken place. Each member of the brotherhood was clean, clothed, and appeared deceptively wholesome. Maria didn’t care to inquire too closely into the methods her new friends had used to dispose of their evidence. She was just glad she was on the same side as them.
“Where does the money come from for all this?” She waved a hand toward the plane and the hangar.
“Every Arctic werewolf living in the human world donates a portion of his or her earnings toward the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun,” Madden said. “That fund might not be touched for centuries. Or, like today, it might be needed to provide some expensive support. It’s useful to know we don’t have to count the dollars when we have a job to do.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “I might have guessed there was a catch. I suppose I have to start contributing to this fund now I’m a full-fledged werewolf?”
Madden laughed. “I’m sure Wilder will be in touch for your membership fees. No one slips through his net.”
“It’s a good job my right hand is working. Looks like I’m going to need to sell a few paintings.”
She cast Madden a sidelong glance. Something was different about him. She had no idea what it was, but he seemed more relaxed, easier within himself. Maybe he got off on killing humans. That thought should have her running for the hills. It didn’t. I am in so deep I can accept a little light dismemberment from the man I love.
“This seems like a good time to discuss the fact that I told you to wait on the plane.” Madden’s voice was silky smooth.
Maria opened her mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what. An explanation or an argument maybe. The words faded on her lips at the message in Madden’s eyes. It needed no interpretation. He was putting her in her place. He was an alpha male and she was obliged to defer to him. To his strength, his masculinity, his dominance. Her human might not like it, but Maria was a werewolf now. It was her duty to obey him. He had given her an order and she had transgressed.
A flash of anger thrilled through her. She had saved their lives with her actions, and this was the thanks she got? A reminder that she was the little woman in a wolf-man’s world?
The moment was interrupted by Sebastian. “Three.” Madden raised a brow, and his friend elaborated. “Two of them can’t speak. One has no teeth and the other probably won’t regain consciousness.”
Madden nodded. “One is all we need. Bring him into the hangar.”
Maria wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to question a Hellhound.” He placed an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t look so worried. We might finally get a few answers.”
When they stepped into the gloom of the hangar, the other members of the team were already assembled in the center. Kneeling on the concrete floor in front of them was a man. Even through the dried blood streaking his face, Maria knew him immediately. She let out a little exclamation and clutched Madden’s arm.
“What is it?” He glanced down at her, his expression concerned.
“Don’t you recognize him?”
Madden looked closely at the man’s face, his own features hardening as he identified him. “Redmond Wilkes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Redmond Wilkes had clearly decided he was going to be strong and silent. As he looked up at the six tall, muscular men and two women standing over him, it became apparent that strength and silence were not traits that came nat
urally to him.
“He’s the only one left,” Samson said. “Might as well just kill him now.”
Wilkes gave a whimper and turned his attention to Madden. “You’re a police officer. You can’t do that.”
Madden smiled. “It may have escaped your attention, but I haven’t exactly stayed within the letter of the law today.” He nodded to Samson. “You’re right. Killing him is probably the best solution. It’s less messy if we have no witnesses.”
Wilkes licked his lips. “Wait. I . . . I might be able to help you.”
Madden leaned his shoulders against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “I doubt it.”
“I have information about what’s been going on.” Wilkes cast a nervous glance in Maria’s direction. “With the case you’re working.”
Fury—cold, hard, and implacable—hit Madden in the gut. This guy had come into Lowell’s house, pretended to be a forensic artist, placed Maria in danger, and all that time he had information that might lead them to the killer?
Grabbing Wilkes by the front of his torn and bloodied shirt, Madden hauled him to his feet. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. You are going to tell me everything you know. Everything. If I get even a hint that you are lying, or holding out on me, I will rip your fucking head off and use it to scare the birds off my lawn.”
As Madden dropped a quivering Wilkes back to the ground, Sebastian intervened. “Let’s not be too hasty.”
A rumbling growl issued from deep in Madden’s chest. Wilkes shuffled slightly closer to Sebastian.
“What are you saying?” Madden asked.
“The last time you decided to use some guy’s severed head as a lawn ornament, we had to rethink the plan. You live in an apartment, remember?” Sebastian gave Wilkes a smile that sent the other man quickly scurrying away from him. “Just rip his throat out instead.”
Madden nodded. “Good point.” He turned his attention back to Wilkes. “Talk. Start with this little welcome committee.”
“The master told us to be here.” The words tumbled over themselves as they left Wilkes mouth. It was as though in his haste to please Madden by showing him he was willing to talk, he couldn’t them out fast enough. “He contacted us with the details, told us what time the plane would land, how we should stand, what we should do. We were to listen for his commands.”
“Who is the master?” Madden knew the answer, but he wanted confirmation. He wanted Wilkes to say the name out loud.
“He is the mighty werewolf hunter, Jean Chastel.”
Madden could sense the tension that coiled through his own muscles also hardening the bodies of his teammates. It was one thing to suspect they were up against their old enemy. It was quite another to have it confirmed. Chastel used powerful sorcery to wage war on werewolves. He had risen to prominence in eighteenth century France when he had killed a feral werewolf known as the Beast of Gévaudan. Over the ensuing centuries, Chastel had recruited a huge following. Known as the Hellhounds, his supporters would go to any lengths to please their master by bringing Chastel the head of a werewolf. In return, Chastel was prepared to offer huge rewards. The biggest bounty of all would be paid to the Hellhound who could bring him the head of an Arctic werewolf. The head of a member of the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun? That would secure a place in Hellhound history.
It would be easy to dismiss the Hellhounds as cranks who stayed at home and posted on-line about their werewolf hunting exploits. That was how the human police viewed them. Days like today showed how wrong that perception was. On this occasion, they had struck lucky—or unlucky—and found themselves face-to-face with real werewolves. There were many instances of Hellhounds getting it wrong and pursuing innocent victims in their attempts to please Chastel and claim his bounty.
“I didn’t see any sign of Chastel here while you were fighting. How did he get his commands to you?”
In the past, Chastel had thrown every magic trick in his sorcerer’s repertoire at the brotherhood in an attempt to defeat them. He exerted mind control over his followers, used a variety of disguises, switched bodies with unsuspecting innocents, and persuaded his Hellhounds to become werewolves themselves in order to fight the enemy from within. He had even made telepathic contact with Fenrir and together they had hatched a plan to destroy the brotherhood. Madden might hate Chastel, but he never underestimated his ability.
“The master doesn’t need to be physically present to communicate with us. His power is such that he can speak to us without words.” Wilkes allowed a trace of pride to creep into his voice.
“Telepathy.” Even so, Madden judged Chastel would need to be close by. He had been controlling a large number of his followers. Doing that from a distance would not have been an easy task. Madden even suspected Chastel might have been close enough to see the action without getting his own hands bloody. Which meant Chastel was in Anchorage, possibly even here at the airport.
“How did Chastel”—Madden refused to call him “the master”—“know we would be here?”
Wilkes looked bewildered. “He is the master. He knows everything.”
It was obvious Wilkes didn’t have that level of information. Chastel didn’t need to share every detail of his operation with his foot soldiers, and Wilkes was clearly one of those. Madden suspected Chastel had been watching Lowell’s house. Once the brotherhood decided to move, it would be an easy matter to discover their destination. Air travel wasn’t an easy thing to keep secret. At least Samson had used his security team to protect Lowell’s house. Odessa, Valetta, Cindy and Luka would be well protected inside the mansion while the brotherhood was away.
“And your orders were to kill us?”
“Those are always our orders,” Wilkes confirmed.
“Tell me what you know about the Cage Killer.”
The swift change of subject caught Wilkes unawares and his eyes shifted uncomfortably to Maria’s face. Madden felt his heart begin to pound. Was he finally going to get somewhere? Get the snippet he had been waiting for that would crack this case wide open? He didn’t believe Chastel was responsible for the Cage Killer murders. He had a feeling Chastel had seen an opportunity in the mind of this twisted killer and exploited it. If there was a chance to damage the werewolf community, Chastel would take it, even if it meant offering the hand of friendship to a serial killer. Hell, Chastel would sign a pact with the devil if it meant he could get himself a werewolf scalp.
Wilkes looked like a man who was hoping the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “I was tricked.”
Madden caught hold of him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Wilkes made a choking sound as his feet scrabbled wildly inches above the concrete.
“You’re a fucking liar.” Madden’s voice was low-pitched and menacing. “When you arrived at my friend’s house pretending to be a forensic artist, you knew exactly which case Maria had been part of and what she had been through. You exploited her suffering on behalf of your precious master. No more excuses. Tell me what you know, or be prepared to part with your head.”
He dropped Wilkes back onto the ground where the other man lay on his side clutching his throat. “I don’t think he can talk,” Maria said.
“Delaying tactics.” Madden eyed the squirming figure coldly. “They all try it.”
He waited with his arms folded across his chest until Wilkes gradually straightened and sat up. Jenny moved forward and handed him a bottle of water. Wilkes gulped from it eagerly. Casting a scared glance in Madden’s direction, he set the bottle on the ground and tried out his voice. The first sound that came out was a rusty croak. Clearing his throat, he tried again.
“Okay, I knew what I was doing. The master told me who Maria was when he sent me to make the sketch.”
“What happened to the real artist? The person who should have turned up that day?” Madden asked.
“He, or she, was paid by the master to take a sick day.”
Madden’s lips tightened. So much for police integri
ty. “I don’t understand why it was necessary for Chastel to send you along in place of the real artist. What did he hope to gain from it?”
“The master wanted to know how much Maria had remembered of her captivity.” Wilkes risked another glance at Madden’s face. “And because the master thought it would piss you off when you knew one of his followers had been inside your territory.”
Madden laughed. “He was right.” His expression hardened again. “Now tell me what you know about the Cage Killer.”
Wilkes shook his head. “Nothing.” He saw Madden’s expression shift and cringed closer to the floor. “I swear. All I know is he is someone close to one of you who has a grudge.”
* * *
“Someone close to one of us who has a grudge?” Madden drained half his bottle of beer in one swallow. “Close to whom? And what sort of grudge?” He ran a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture that signaled his frustration. “This gets us no closer to the killer.”
They were seated in a private room in the hotel. After their unconventional arrival in Anchorage, Madden had decided to wait until the following day to approach Anton Rainer. Although he no longer held out much hope of finding the environmentalist. If Rainer was one of Chastel’s followers, he would already have been alerted to their arrival and was likely to have fled his Kenai Peninsula home.
Wilder had booked them into a hotel close to the airport and they had congregated to review the day’s events. It was getting late and Maria could feel the drama catching up with her. Her nerves felt frayed and her senses had gone into overdrive. The voices of those around her were alternately too shrill or too booming. The bland gray and white color scheme in the hotel room seemed loud and annoying. The scent of beer and coffee stung her nostrils and the taste of the steak she had eaten earlier left a metallic film on her teeth that no amount of brushing would remove. She was back in the town that had been her home her whole life, but she had never felt so out of place. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she had a feeling slumber was a luxury that would elude her for some time.