The wind gusted toward her and she froze. Her head turned toward the scent and she brushed a few strands of black hair from her face. Something smelled--wrong--about the forest. There were the usual scents of moist earth, growing things and various life forms, but there was more. The birds were quiet, waiting for something. Whatever it was, the odor teased at the edges of her senses, like decay on the wind. Her eyes morphed, the deep green irises narrowing as the pupils lengthened and allowed her vision to reach deeper into the shadowed vegetation.
She took a step toward the tree line.
Chapter Three
"KESSLER!"
HANK MORGAN stopped Jamison from walking off into the woods. He didn't know what had caught her attention, but it could wait. He had a meeting scheduled with the Panthera Council. Things were happening around Harmon that had the elders concerned. Things in which Jamison Kessler was about to become deeply involved. Looking at her now, he knew she had his full confidence.
She stood in the middle of the clearing in front of the Paul Smith's Visitor's Center. The sun shone off her short, thick hair, the color of a raven's wing. It shimmered like a living thing, locks sweeping gently across her forehead to frame intelligent green eyes that were caught in mid-shift.
Jamison's facial structure could have been carved from marble, her jaws strong and square. Broad shoulders tapered to a thin waist, but Hank knew appearances were deceptive. She was solid muscle. Jamison's weight could be considered a little high by human standards, but not by those of the Panthera. When she transformed, she became sleek, powerful and deadly.
Hank shivered in spite of the late-morning sun. As her boss and an elder, he was loathe for Jamison to witness such a reaction so he cleared his throat and issued a gruff command. "Get in here already. I don't have all day."
JAMISON LET THE minor irritation of being disturbed flow away from her and carefully avoided direct eye contact with Hank. She wasn't afraid of him and knew if it came down to it, she could take him easily. The avoidance was out of respect for her superior and a man she'd known all her life.
She followed him into his office and shut the door to keep from being overheard by the other employees. "Anything special on the agenda today, Elder?"
"Sit down." Hank indicated a chair in front of his desk with a tilt of his forehead. "There's been another killing."
Jamison took a slow, deep breath and settled her long frame into the chair. The leather squeaked slightly and she allowed the smell of warm calfskin to soothe her. Hank often blurted information out in ways meant to provoke a reaction, but Jamison wasn't a rookie.
"I thought we weren't even sure the first incident could be considered anything unusual." She settled her gaze just below his left eye.
"True." Hank nodded. "But that hog had been exposed to the elements for several days and other scavengers got to him. It's not like that this time."
"All right, tell me what we've got."
Hank sat up straight and retrieved a manila folder from his desk, which he passed across to Jamison. While she went through the report and attached photos, he began to explain.
"You remember Ray Mitchell?"
Jamison shook her head. The name didn't sound familiar.
"He's a farmer who owns a beef cattle ranch about ten miles west of here between Red Dot Trail and Blake Falls Reservoir. Anyway, he lost a bull yesterday."
"I'm assuming you don't mean it ran away?" she said, looking at the gory photos in the file.
"Not likely, unless it can haul its sixteen hundred pound carcass up a tree." Judging from his scowl, Hank didn't appreciate her attempt at humor.
"No, I guess not. Then you're saying it's one of us." Their eyes met briefly as Jamison realized the seriousness of the situation.
"I honestly don't know. Dragging a meal up a tree for later is something one of us could do, but why? I don't understand why someone would deliberately draw attention to themselves. Also, there's something...weird about these kills. The skulls aren't crushed and whatever did this started feeding around the abdominal area."
"That's not Panthera," Jamison said confidently. "We'd be more inclined to crush the skull and kill the prey instantly."
"And the heart and lungs would have been the first to go, but they were still intact."
"I take it someone has already checked out the animal first hand?"
Hank nodded. "Yeah, I did. Mr. Mitchell called me and I drove out late yesterday afternoon."
"If you've already investigated you should know if it's one of us. The scent alone would answer that question, so what's really going on?"
"Normally I'd agree, but the scent was inconclusive. I want you to take a look at the animal and tell me what you think."
Jamison waited a second, but Hank sat silently. "There's more to this. You could have asked me to take a look at the bull over the phone."
"Phones aren't secure." Hank stared at her a second, but when she didn't respond he finally said, "The Council is concerned someone's trying to expose the Panthera to the rest of the world."
Jamison was shocked at the idea. "And this is supposed to be our coming out party? That's hardly the way to gain trust."
"Agreed. If they find out about us this way it'll be a massacre.
We're outnumbered ten thousand to one."
"Then why do it? They'd be killed, too."
"Not if this killer isn't part of our community."
She realized they were finally getting down to why she was sitting here with him. "The Council thinks whoever did this is trying to expose our community in particular? In that case they'd probably be from another group, not related to the Panthera. What could the motive be, to take over our territory? I don't buy it. There's more to it than that."
"Maybe," Hank said, "but whatever it is we need to find out. Whether it's one of ours who's gone crazy or someone with a deeper purpose, the Council wants you to find out. As of today your sole assignment is to investigate this situation. The Elders will want regular updates, and that includes me as well."
"Let me get this straight," Jamison said, standing slowly as Hank did the same. "The Council wants me to patrol six point one million square miles of parkland by myself and stop an unknown killer who may or may not be one of our own?"
"No."
Jamison let out a relieved sigh.
"I also want you to keep an eye on the town of Harmon and the people who own property in the immediate area."
"Are you out of your mind?"
Hank instinctively bristled at her shouted question and a growl rumbled in his chest. His pupils elongated rapidly, the tawny brown irises all but disappearing. Hair stood up on his arms and he clenched his fists as he fought the urge to change and combat an opponent.
"My apologies, Elder." She lowered her eyes to the floor and waited a few seconds while Hank wrestled his anger under control. Normally he wasn't so quick to incense and Jamison gathered this situation was worse than it initially appeared.
"Don't worry," Hank said slowly, his voice still sounding a little like he had gargled with gravel. "You won't be alone and your orders are to stay in a twenty-mile radius around Harmon. The Council has assigned four packs of our best and most trusted hunters to back you. Two teams will be assigned to day duty and two to nights, but they will report directly to you."
"Understood. How many members are there per team?"
"The team lead and four hunters each."
"And who are the leads?"
Hank grimaced and started for the door. From his expression Jamison knew he wouldn't answer and she wouldn't like it if he did.
"They'll meet you at the coroner's office. That's where I had the carcass moved. You can get to know them there."
"Hank?"
"I need to go. I'm late and you will be, too. Be at the M.E.'s office by one o'clock."
Jamison didn't need to look at her watch to know it was already past noon.
Thanks for the head's up.
She retrieved the ke
ys for the Range Rover from the lockbox behind the service counter and walked out of the building without a backward look. Hank had already driven away and she fumed as she slammed the vehicle door.
How was she supposed to find out what was doing this? The two killing fields were miles apart and seemed to have nothing in common. One attack had been on a wild hog and another on a domesticated Galloway bull. More importantly, why would any of their own people do such a thing? Was it possible that an actual jungle cat of some type had escaped transport to a zoo and was loose in the Adirondack Park? Wouldn't there have been a bulletin about such a thing?
It was inconceivable that someone with higher reasoning capabilities would revert to another form and allow his instincts unfettered expression.
Jamison pulled out of the visitor's center and drove north along Blue Mountain Road toward the CR 458 turn that would lead to Harmon. The town was considered small by today's standards, but it was still the Franksburg County Seat. The M.E.'s office was located in the basement of the Harmon Medical Center and the coroner was one of the Panthera.
At least she wouldn't have to sneak in to get a look at the kill.
Brenda Thomas passed going toward the main office and she waved. No doubt the rookie was headed back for lunch, something Jamison would miss. Her stomach complained, but she promised it a nice rare steak after she'd finished at the morgue.
Jamison turned right at the county road turn-off. She hadn't driven half a mile when she spotted a battered old brown pickup pulled to the side of the single-lane road. The rear driver's side was jacked up and a blonde haired woman was almost in the driving lane on her knees, struggling to get a tire onto the lugs. Jamison braked slightly as she passed, a frown of indecision resting between her eyes. If she stopped she'd be late meeting the team leaders.
Yeah, and if I don't she'll get nailed by a passing car.
A split second later, Jamison turned the steering wheel and stopped on the narrow shoulder. She had her orders, but she couldn't just pass someone who needed help.
Chapter Four
DAMN TRUCK! THIS is exactly what I need, a flat. Someone please tell me why I just had to buy Hector's old piece of junk. What was I thinking?
Lee was not in a good mood. All she'd wanted to do was drive up to Santa Clara and get some shots of Long Pond in the canoe wilderness area. Santa Clara was supposedly home to fifty-eight ponds and breathtaking scenery. Now it was too late. Because of the flat she'd missed the lighting she wanted for some landscape shots and was still wrestling with the weight of the eighteen-inch tire.
It had taken her ten minutes just to figure out where the spare was and how to use the archaic equipment to lower it from under the truck. Then it took another fifteen to get all of the lug nuts off the flat, a feat managed only when she stood on the end of the tire iron and bounced on it while holding onto the edge of the bed. Once she loosened the nuts, getting the jack under the truck was no problem, but she felt exposed with her feet extending onto the blacktop.
She'd pulled over as far as possible, but the road was so narrow she had no choice. Finally, the damaged tire had been removed and she was valiantly trying to get the spare into place. Sweat ran down her face and she reached up to wipe it away, unknowingly leaving a large, black streak along one cheek. Just as Lee was trying to line up the holes in the wheel with the lugs, she heard a passing car slow and pull over to the side of the road.
Good timing, she thought sarcastically. I'm almost finished.
She'd have been happy to take advantage of the Good Samaritan half an hour ago, but she couldn't deny the sense of accomplishment she felt at having changed the tire herself. Normally it was a task her father's mechanic would have dealt with or she'd have just phoned AAA. Being isolated up in the Adirondack Mountains had left her no choice but to do the job personally.
"You shouldn't be out in the road like that. Someone might come along and hit you."
Gee, you think?
Lee couldn't keep the thought from forming in her mind, but bit the words back. She was surprised the voice belonged to a woman, but if all she'd stopped for was to impart some words of wisdom she could be on her way. Holding the top of the tire to keep it from sliding off, Lee had just turned her head to say as much when her eyes connected with deep, forest green.
Whoa, baby!
For a brief instant, she could only stare at the vision standing in front of her. Coal black hair framed verdant eyes. Tanned skin rested over flawless bone structure and flowed down into the brown and green uniform of a park ranger. The short-sleeved uniform did nothing to hide strong shoulders and muscled arms. A black belt encircled a narrow waist and Lee couldn't stop her gaze from sweeping down incredibly long legs to rest on highly polished black boots.
I'd love to photograph her.
"Are you okay?"
Lee jerked her gaze back up to the woman's concerned face. She flushed in embarrassment and redirected her attention to the tire.
"I'm fine."
There was a second of awkward silence before the ranger asked, "Do you need some help?"
"No," Lee answered shortly. "I've almost got it."
"All right. Well, I'm going to set up some cones so someone doesn't drive over the top of you while you're finishing up."
Lee grunted in response and screwed one of the nuts on to anchor the spare. Then she twisted her head to watch the woman walk back to her vehicle. What she saw made her hold her breath.
My God, it should be illegal to be that good looking. Then she mentally slapped herself. What's wrong with me, a gorgeous woman comes along and I can't take my eyes off her? Must be heat stroke. Yeah, that's it.
She watched the raven-haired woman remove some flares and a few orange cones from the rear of the Range Rover and was caught off guard a second later when their eyes met. The stranger smiled in a friendly gesture and Lee felt the urge to return it with a grin of her own. She stopped herself and quickly concentrated on the spare. It only took a few minutes to finger tighten the other lug nuts and when she looked up the flares and cones were already in place. The ranger was standing at the rear of the truck watching her.
"I'm Jamison Kessler, by the way. Sorry if I startled you."
"You didn't startle me," Lee said as she began jacking the truck back down. "I heard you pull over. Uh, thanks for stopping."
JAMISON SMILED SLIGHTLY. The last was added almost as an afterthought. She looked around while the blonde began tightening the nuts with the tire iron. The truck the woman drove was old and had definitely seen better days, but the driver was mismatched to the vehicle. Even with the smudge of dust across her face, she had an air of sophistication. Certainly not the type to be changing her own flats.
She glanced into the back of the pickup and noticed all of the high-end photography equipment; camera bags, cases and a Giotto lever-lock MTL 92 tripod, from the description on the cover. This kind of gear didn't come cheaply.
"So, what brings you up to the Adirondacks?" Jamison asked in what she hoped was a conversational tone.
The blonde met her gaze and glanced into the pickup bed. Instead of answering the question, she said, "I didn't steal the camera equipment if that's what you mean."
She'd tightened down the lug nuts as much as she could by hand and Jamison watched in amazement when she placed the tire iron onto a nut, grasped the edge of the truck bed and stood on the tool to finish cinching them down.
"I could do that for you, if you want?"
Jamison forgot to breathe when the woman smiled at her, the first genuine emotion she could remember seeing from her. As cliché as it sounded, she suddenly felt as though the sun shone just a little brighter off the stranger's blonde hair and had to blink the sight away.
"Thanks anyway." The woman shook her head and the light reflected off her hair again, threatening to distract Jamison once more.
While the stranger finished with the remaining lug nuts, Jamison bent over and pushed the damaged tire underneath the truck. Sh
e needed something to think about besides the lingering image of that smile, so she concentrated on sliding the chain through the flat. Then she cranked it back into position where the spare would normally be stored. By the time she finished the woman had just stowed the tire iron inside the cab.
She held her dirty hand out and Jamison took it without thinking. "Thanks again for stopping."
"You're welcome."
The blonde hopped back into the pickup, offered an offhand wave through the open window and was gone.
Jamison was left standing on the side of the road wondering what had just happened. She'd expected another annoying tourist who would complain constantly while Jamison changed the flat. Instead she'd encountered a beautiful woman who was obviously fiercely independent and a contradiction in visual clues. The expensive equipment and her demeanor just didn't fit with a broken down old pickup. People were usually so easy for her to read, but not this time.
It was only then that she realized she hadn't even learned the stranger's name.
Shaking her head at her own behavior, Jamison retrieved the burned out flares and cones from the roadway and stowed them in the back of her vehicle. She climbed into the driver's side and sat for a moment staring at her dirty hand. In contrast to Michael Wallace's handshake earlier, the woman's grip was firm and dry.
Then she remembered the comment about not stealing the camera equipment. Something in Jamison's expression must have given her thoughts away. She'd erroneously judged the blonde out of hand simply on the basis of what kind of vehicle she drove and the stranger had been perceptive enough to pick up on it. Jamison was getting as bad as the people around her.
She reached down, started the Range Rover and drove away, the woman's dirt smudged face occupying her mind. Who was she? Why was she here? Was she just another tourist?
Under the Midnight Cloak Page 3