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Not that she needed any more foreplay. She’d already come twice. She knew he’d bring her with his mouth again in a moment.
And she didn’t want that. She wanted him. In her. “Baran,” she moaned. “Please. I... AH!... need you.”
“You have me.”
Somehow she managed to force her lax neck muscles to lift her head so she could look down at him. He watched her over the plane of her body, his dark eyes burning in the soft darkness.
But instead of the male triumph she’d seen before, there was a hint of something lost and desperate in his gaze, as if he was storing away the taste of her, the sight of her, the feel of her. Saving those sensations in some mental memory bank for the day she was gone. “Now,” he whispered, “you have me.”
He rose to all fours. Muscle flowed through his shoulders and arms as he crawled up her body like a great cat, the head of his erect shaft brushing her skin. She found herself unable to look away from his intent stare. He settled over her, his body surrounding hers in strength and heat, a blanket of hot muscle. His gaze never left hers as he lifted just enough to aim himself.
Then he sank inside, a*long, slow thrust, and she caught her breath.
Baran lowered his head, his long hair curtaining her face. He reached up an absent hand to sweep it aside. Then he found her mouth with his and kissed her as he began a slow, teasing thrusting. His lips felt hot and soft and slick.
Jane kissed him back as the pleasure rose in a warm wave, swamping them lazily. Arching against him, she came with a moan even as he groaned and poured himself into her.
It was only later, as she lay curled in the cove of his body staring blindly at the dancing flame of one of the candles, that she felt a tear slide down her face. “Baran, when you leave, it’s going to be...”
The hair-roughened arm around her waist tightened. “Yeah. I know.” He pulled her closer.
The scanner crackled.
She woke from a light doze to the feeling of his tongue swirling over her nipple. Whimpering helplessly, she threaded her fingers through his silken hair and lost herself in him.
“Tayanita One-Eight,” the scanner blared. “Reported stabbing, one-oh-two Bajor Lane.”
Jane jerked up her head. “Shit. Baran ...”
He lifted his head. “I hear it.”
“Caller describes a white male, over six foot, long hair, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Code five with a knife.”
“May not be him,” Jane said as he rolled off her and grabbed his pants off the floor.
“Female victim suffered a laceration to the throat.”
“It’s him,” Baran said, jerked the slacks up his long legs. “He’s using his imagizer to change his appearance again.”
Jane shot out of the bed and started pulling on the clothes he’d stripped away. “Why didn’t he call us this time?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t like it. He’s broken the pattern.” He sat down to pull on his shoes. “Freika!”
“I hear you, boss.” The wolf trotted into the room from the hallway, where he’d been curled outside the door.
“Where the hell is Bajor Lane?” Jane jerked on her boots. “I’ve never even heard of it.”
“TE gave me a map,” he said, frowning. She looked up to see his eyes slide out of focus. “It’s at the other end of the county, eighteen-point-two miles from here. Looks like a heavily wooded area.”
“Hell, it’s going to take us twenty minutes to get there.” She jumped up, grabbed the scanner and headed for the stairs, Baran and Freika at her heels. “I wonder why the hell he didn’t call us this time....”
They were halfway there when she remembered the gun, tucked away in her nightstand drawer. Jane cursed; they didn’t have time to go back for it.
Just as well. She didn’t want anything to do with the fucking thing anyway.
* * *
It was a harrowing trip in the dark. Jane strongly suspected that without Baran’s flawless directions, she’d never have found the place.
Bajor Lane was a gravel road that snaked through thick woods. Trees loomed on either side, ghostly in the SUV’s headlights as she drove. Something about the whole scene made the hair rise on the back of her neck. That feeling was intensified by the knowledge that Druas was probably somewhere out there, watching. What the hell was he up to now?
They rounded a bend in the road to see the revolving blue-and-white glow of patrol car lights casting shadows on a lone double-wide mobile home. Jane spotted Tom’s champagne Crown Vic and knew they were in for another grilling on their whereabouts during the time the woman had been murdered.
She spotted something lying under a bright blue plastic tarp in the center of the gravel road; the victim, waiting for the last crime scene photos before the coroner took her away.
“Too late again,” Baran growled. Jane could almost feel his rage burning in the darkness like something molten.
After parking behind the farthest patrol car, she got out carrying her notebook, Baran and Freika moving around to join her. The Warlord had the camera looped around his neck, but his eyes flicked restlessly over the surrounding woods, and she knew he was scanning for Druas.
Then he stopped in midstep. “He’s here,” Baran murmured.
“Yeah, I see him,” Freika said, pitching his voice too low for the cops to hear. “He’s talking to Reynolds in that group of cops.”
Startled, Jane looked toward the group as her stomach laced into knots. A tall, skinny blond man she’d never seen before was standing with the detective, the lights of the surrounding cars throwing grotesque shadows as he gestured violently. His lifted voice carried clearly up the street. “I don’t know what the fuck happened. We’d just got out of the car when this guy walks up and grins at her, and then he fuckin’ cut her, and she ...”
“The blond guy?” she talked softly.
“Yeah,” Baran said, his tone grim. “I don’t like this. Let’s get the hell—“
“That’s him!” the blond shouted suddenly. Jane jerked, feeling her stomach plunge. He was pointing right at them. “That’s the guy that did it! He had a tattoo on his face....”
As if in slow motion, Jane watched the group of cops turn toward them, Tom’s eyes narrowing. As their attention was diverted, something nasty and triumphant flashed across the blond’s narrow face.
A couple of feet away, two deputies standing beside a patrol car pivoted in their direction. Jane registered the wariness flashing over the face of the nearest man, a burly black officer. The eyes of his fellow cop widened under a shock of carrot red hair. “Sir,” the black deputy said to Baran, reaching for his sidearm as he stepped toward them, “we need to talk to—“
“Look out!” Druas shouted.
The Warlord grabbed the cop’s shoulder and jerked, pulling him off-balance. The man staggered past them. Baran slammed an elbow in the back of his head. As he fell, out cold, the Warlord pivoted and punched the redhead in the face. The deputy collapsed in a boneless heap on the gravel road.
It had all happened too quickly for anyone else to react.
Jane heard Tom roar, saw several of the cops reach for their guns as the whole herd started forward. Druas, grinning maliciously over their heads, winked and blew her a mocking kiss.
Then the world flew sideways and something hard slammed into her stomach. Jane screamed before she realized Baran had jerked her off her feet and tossed her over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry. One powerful arm clamped across the back of her thighs as he started running, bounding toward the woods.
“Stop!” somebody bellowed. “Stop or we’ll shoot!”
Baran didn’t even break step.
Something popped, sounding more like a child’s cap gun than the 9mm Smith & Wesson Jane knew the cops carried. She cringed and covered her head with both hands.
“Hold your fire!” Reynolds bellowed. “You’ll hit the woman!”
Thank you, Tom!
Her head almost slapped into Baran’s butt
as he leaped over something. Yelping, Jane flailed around until she managed to hook her fingers in the fabric of his T-shirt. Between bruising impacts with his shoulder, she gasped, “I’ve ... got... a car!”
“They could catch us in a car!” Freika yelled back, racing through the dark at Baran’s heels. “Nothing human can keep up with a Warlord on foot.”
She realized he was right as they plunged into the trees. Jane had no idea how fast they were going, but even Freika was running like hell to keep up. How was Baran doing it? She wouldn’t have thought it possible to carry a grown woman at a dead run through thick woods, yet Baran didn’t even seem to notice her weight. Must be in riatt, she decided woozily as her stomach protested jolting against his rock-hard shoulder.
Clutching his shirt, she looked up to spot the swing and jitter of flashlight beams. The deputies had charged into the woods after them. She clamped her eyes shut and prayed nobody popped off another shot. Given her position, any bullet would probably end up in her head.
The flight through the woods seemed endless. Jane could barely see the trees Baran dodged around or the brush he either bulled through or leaped over. Yet he ran without breaking stride. With his sensors, the woods must have looked as bright as day, or he’d never have been able to do it.
She, on the other hand, jounced along in the center of a black, half-seen world with his shoulder pounding into her belly. It was all she could do not to vomit down his back.
Somehow Jane managed to hold it together until the shouts of the deputies faded behind them. Finally, unable to take any more, she yelled, “Baran... stop! I’m going... to... be ... sick!”
He kept going.
“I... mean ... it!”
Something in her tone must have told him Jane was serious. He slid to a halt and lowered her to her feet. She promptly collapsed onto all fours, swallowing desperately as she fought to control her gastric rebellion.
Freika flopped onto his side, panting like a bellows. Even Baran was breathing hard. Managing a glance up at him, she saw his eyes glowing in the dark like a pair of coals. “What the ... hell are ... we doing?”
“Keeping you alive,” he gasped, and braced his hands on his knees.
“Yeah, well...” She rolled onto her back with a groan. “I can’t decide whether... we’re Butch and ... Sundance or Thelma and Louise. Either way... it ain’t... good.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Movie references.” She took a deep breath, blew it out, and managed an uninterrupted sentence. “Both from flicks with heroes who ended up dead after a run in with the cops.”
He straightened to look down at her. She could see the burn of his eyes in his silhouette. “I can’t go to jail, Jane. You’d be dead before they closed the cell door.”
“Freika...” she began.
“Does not have opposable thumbs,” the wolf said from the darkness. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. I can hold Druas off for a while, but he’d gut me eventually. And then it’d be your turn.”
Jane sat up wearily and braced her palms behind her in the crackling leaves. “What the hell are we going to do, then? We can’t stay on the run. I’ve covered manhunts before, I know how it works. They’ll saturate the area with law enforcement. Cops’ll come in from three counties, they’ll have helicopters, dogs ....”
“Huh. Any dog that comes after me is kibble,” Freika growled.
Jane ignored him to focus on Baran’s shimmering eyes. “As far as they’re concerned, you’ve butchered three women and taken a fourth hostage. They won’t stop until they get us.”
“I’ve infiltrated enemy armies, Jane. I can handle a few twenty-first-century policemen.”
“Of course you can.” She braced her elbows on her knees and sighed. “If you’re willing to let the situation blow completely out of control. You can’t kill these people, Baran. One, they’re just doing their jobs, and two, you could trigger a paradox.”
He looked off into the darkness. “Anything I do here I was supposed to do.” She felt him brush her shoulder as he extended a hand to help her up. “Come on. We need to get moving again. They’re getting closer.”
“Not that close. I don’t hear a damn thing.”
“That’s the idea. If we stay far enough ahead of them, they won’t hear us, either.”
“So, now what?” She put her hand in his and let him tug her onto her feet. “We run around in the woods indefinitely, dodging cops? That’s not going to work, Baran. Eventually, they’re going to corner us.”
“And I’ll take care of them,” he said, wrapping his fingers around hers and tugging her forward through the darkness. “Eventually Druas is going to get tired of playing games, and then we’ll finish it.”
“Baran, dammit, these men are my friends! I don’t want them hurt.”
“And I don’t want you dead!” He reached up and pushed a limb aside for her to pass under. She was lucky he was there; she hadn’t even seen it.
Frustrated, Jane stopped* pulling at his hand in an effort to get his attention. “Look, this is what he wants! Why are we following that bastard’s game plan? That’s not the way to win this.”
The full red glare of his eyes focused on her face. “And what do you suggest?”
She blurted the idea that had been teasing the edge of her consciousness for days. “Work with Tom to set a trap for him. He could pretend to arrest you. When Druas shows up to come after me—“
“Forget it.”
“It would work!”
“Jane, in case you haven’t noticed, Reynolds is leading that pack back there. If he arrests me, it’s not going to be ‘pretend.’”
“If we told him the truth...”
“That he’s after Jack the Ripper? Oh, that’ll go over well. He’s not going to believe us.”
“He will if you show him the Mary Kelly recording. It’s pretty damn evident that thing is not the product of contemporary technology. It sure as hell convinced me.”
“Out of the question,” he said coldly. “I’m not going to put your life in the hands of some human who could get us all killed. I’ve been that route before, remember?”
Jane winced, remembering the civlian scientist whose stupidity had resulted in the slaughter of Baran’s entire unit. Which sounded like her cue for a change in tactics. “Okay, let’s say it plays as you think it will. You lead the cops around by the nose until Druas gets tired of waltzing and comes out to play. You kill him. What happens then? Are you going to leave his body for the cops to find?”
“You know I can’t do that. They’d do an autopsy. Given his implants and reinforced bones, that would raise too many questions.”
“So as far as the cops are concerned, this case will be unsolved.”
Leaves crunched as he shifted his weight. “It’ll have to be. Otherwise Druas would have had no reason to come here—and that would cause a paradox.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that. But what about me?”
“You go back to your life.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’ll end up under a cloud of suspicion I’ll never escape.”
“What?” Jane could almost hear the frown in his voice.
“Baran, as far as they’re concerned, / brought you here. I vouched for you, I supplied you with an alibi while, they believe, you killed three women. I could be charged as an accessory.”
‘That’s highly doubtful,” Freika said. “There’s no evidence.”
“Which doesn’t mean a damn thing. People will believe I’m guilty. Tayanita’s a small town; that kind of public doubt would ruin me. The paper my family ran for more than a century will go under. And if the story goes national—and it could, given the serial-killer angle—I won’t even be able to get work as a reporter anywhere. For the rest of my life, I’ll be the woman who covered up for the Tayanita Ripper.”
“Hell.”
Hearing the sick realization in his voice, she knew she finally had her opening. She had
to take advantage of it. “My only chance is to talk to Tom and get his help. He can clear both of us when this is over.”
“He won’t cooperate.”
“Yes, he will,” she said, praying she was right. “I’ll convince him.”
“Before or after he slaps me in jail? In either case, you won’t have much time to convince him. Druas was back there, Jane. And I guarantee, the minute the cops take me into custody, he’s going to be all over you.”
“Not if I’m with Tom.”
“Even if you’re with Tom.” His tone was grim and certain. “You’d outlive your cop friend by about two minutes.”
She frowned. “But would Druas risk killing him? Wouldn’t that cause a paradox?”
Freika snorted. “If Druas gave a damn about paradoxes, he wouldn’t have started the whole Jack the Ripper scheme to begin with.”
“For that matter, he doesn’t even have to kill the cop,” Baran pointed out, “just incapacitate him long enough to get at you.”
They had a point, and yet... “Well, we’ve got to do something. This sure as hell isn’t working.”
There was a tense silence. In the distance Jane thought she could hear shouts.
Finally, reluctantly, Baran said, “I have an idea.”
Tom Reynolds emerged from the woods five hours after he went in, feeling as if someone had beaten him. He could hear the helicopter circling overhead, along with the bay of distant tracking dogs, but it wasn’t looking good.
At first he’d thought it would be easy. The two dogs had picked up a scent quickly enough, following the trail Arvid and Jane and that damn wolf-whatever had left as they’d run into the woods.
Then suddenly the animals had stopped dead and begun casting around as though the trail had vanished. He’d seen that behavior before, of course; it usually meant the perps had gotten into a car and driven off. But it was the middle of the fucking woods. There wasn’t room for a car. And there was no stream around the three could have used as a scent-free pathway. It was as if they’d somehow erased the trail.
Where the hell had they gone?