white wolf.jpg

by White Wolf (lit)

  “I thought of that earlier tonight.” Gray told them about the cake Edie'd found in Miss L's shop and the letters h and w. He tangled a lock of Sorcha's hair around his finger. “Howie's jumped to the top of my suspect list.”

  “But Miss L's death doesn't fit Mike's theory,” Susie protested.

  “It may,” Sorcha said. She told them about having pie with Miss L and Victor Morgan at the diner. “I got the distinct feeling Victor had been with Miss L when his shop was vandalized.”

  “Wicks never mentioned that in his report.”

  The Wicks who'd squealed about her going into town that first night. Sorcha choked back a snort.

  “Your Officer Wicks made a remark suggesting Victor should have heard the vandalism of his shop. At any rate, if Victor and Miss L had been having an affair, that would make her murder fit into his theory.”

  “Hmm,” Gray murmured. “You may have something there, honey. As it happens, Mike's wrong about one of the Hazard twins. That black teenager Kevin was hanging around with, George Brown's nephew? I'm almost positive he and Kevin were lovers.”

  “Bet Bruce is going to love hearing that news,” Joe muttered.

  “That only leaves the other twin,” Sorcha mused.

  “Any more details on his death?” Joe queried.

  “Ken? Stabbed thirty-three times. According to the coroner, with the same weapon used on Miss L and Kevin. What bothers me about Ken's death is that he was killed within an hour of his brother. Ken was found at Leader Lake, Kevin at Logan's Point. “

  “That's cutting it close. Even pushing the speed limit, it's a forty-five-minute drive between the point and the lake.” Joe rotated his head right. “Our killer likes the adrenaline rush.”

  “There's another thread—Most of them were either recently married or, in that one case, recently reconciled.” Susie glanced at Gray and Sorcha. “You do realize because of the interracial aspect, you two make a prime target for this killer?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following day, Gray jerked out of a deep sleep to a persistent ringing. Pushing onto his elbows, eyes bleary and a tad unfocused, he yawned. Through the open arch to the sunroom, he glimpsed White's tail wagging. The Lab opened one eye, curled tighter to his body, and gave Gray his back.

  Wishing he could do the same, Gray edged off the bed and stood, his gaze roving over Sorcha. The phone stopped ringing as he stared at her. Everything about his mate fascinated him. After she'd fallen asleep last night, he'd studied the way her bountiful breasts rose and fell as she breathed. By chance, he discovered that even in slumber her nipples pebbled into rock-candy pink treats when he blew on them.

  She'd frowned and rubbed one taut peak after he'd tested her reaction a dozen times. A small, crescent-shaped scar on her hip bone entranced him for long minutes. Sorcha's ankles caught his fancy, and he compared their feet, his more than twice the size of hers. Whereas he had long thick toes, with his second and third toes longer than his big toe, Sorcha had plump, juicy toes he yearned to nibble.

  Tucking the covers around her shoulders and pulling the comforter up to her neck, he kissed the tip of her nose and beamed when she mumbled his name. A quick glance at the bedside alarm clock made him stifle a groan—11:30. Crap, he'd planned to be at the 400 before nine.

  Not wanting to disturb Sorcha since he'd recognized the signs of physical and mental exhaustion last night, he showered and dressed in the external cabana bath. Downing his first cup of coffee, he cooked and ate a ham and cheese omelet and refilled his mug with more java.

  Getting the chores out of the way, he set out food for White and Kumar in the sunroom, added two drops of the sleeping bird's medicine to the conical cup that held his water, and returned to the living room.

  Since Sorcha had claimed the dining table as her territory, and he didn't want her out of sight, which meant forgoing Aileen's spacious study on the other side of the cabin, Gray decided to settle in front of the flat-panel TV. Thirty minutes later, he had a minioffice established. A side table served as his laptop desk, his portable filing cabinet acted as a low side table, the top his office supply area.

  Laying out the sheets of paper from yesterday, Gray studied each one in turn and then wrote two headings.

  Threads Exceptions

  Interracial Ken, Miss L?

  Couples Miss L, Ken

  Recently Married Miss L, Ken, Kevin

  Stabbed None

  Dismembered Kevin

  Missing Right Toe Schmidt, Ken

  What did the possible exceptions have in common? Gray grabbed his mug and gulped the rest of his too-cool coffee. The exceptions had all happened within the last two days, and all of them had been stabbed with the same weapon.

  He needed a detailed map of the county.

  Carrying his ceramic cup, Gray slid the glass doors open and stepped onto the porch. Weather in Okanagan County proved temperamental in the extreme this time of year. Spring warmth had morphed into chilly fall-like weather overnight. Watery sunlight filtered through a dense layer of clouds resembling snow after a muddy thaw. Gusts dimpled his sweatpants and plastered his T-shirt to his back.

  Scanning the lake's choppy surface, he sighted two men sitting on opposite benches in a dinghy near Goose Point. Zooming in, he identified Victor Morgan and George Brown, caps pulled low over their heads, fishing poles clasped in weathered hands.

  Hadn't George and Morgan had a quarrel a while back? A vague memory of Miss L explaining the older men's recent feud hovered at the corners of his mind as he strode across the porch and hopped over the two steps to the graveled path leading to the carport. He made a mental note to ask Edie if she knew the reason for the men's discord. His chief dispatcher kept au courant with the local rumor mill.

  Gray extricated his stack of maps from the SUV's driver's-side storage bin. Every county vehicle came equipped with a laptop loaded with the state's computer-aided dispatch system and a built-in GPS. Most of the newer employees didn't bother with paper. Gray carried two sets of maps in his glove box, the first set issued by the county and the state, the second copies of maps hand-drawn by the last generation of white wolf shape shifters three generations ago.

  Clearing the kitchen table, he laid his great-great-grandfather's map parallel to a contemporary map of the county. Outlook pinged the time on his computer, and he checked the clock. Henry'd be in by now; Gray slid the phone out of his pocket and thumbed three.

  “Wells.”

  “What's up, Henry?”

  “The Fed agents are combing Miss L's place.”

  “They know what they're doing?”

  “Pompous asses. Both are African American—one's in his midforties, the other thirtysomething.”

  Gray recognized the undercurrent in his deputy's tone.

  “And?”

  “You're going to have to do something about Wicks soon.”

  He could picture Henry shaking his head and cupping a hand over his mouth so Edie couldn't read his lips. Each member of his team had his or her own eccentricities, and Henry's centered on security and small-town gossip.

  Recently divorced, the deputy sheriff had decided to jump-start his social life and had joined three online-dating sites. His ex-wife, a programmer for an IT gaming company in Seattle, had been assigned a three-month project that required her presence in the city a couple of years ago. She'd never returned. Gray admired the way Henry had handled the whole situation and suspected the marriage hadn't been satisfactory for either spouse for some years.

  “Spill it.”

  “He took one look at Garner and Lloyd yesterday and developed a stomach flu.” Henry snorted. “Man's got issues, Gray. We're riding a cliff for a complaint. Edie's just about had it with him.”

  “I'll deal with him. Until then, keep him away from the bureau personnel,” Gray ordered. “Did he show up today?”

  “He's here, and so are Garner and Lloyd.”

  “Put me through to him. I have an assignment that will get hi
m out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

  “I owe you one, boss.”

  While waiting for the transfer, Gray added water to the coffeemaker's well and then hit Start.

  Sorcha, knuckling her eyes, stumbled into the living room as the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans whipped around the kitchen on a fierce, icy gust.

  Hugging her arms, she muttered, “What happened to spring? It's freezing in here.”

  Wild auburn hair spilled over her shoulders, framing plump, jiggling breasts covered by a thin T-shirt in a loving curl of a caress. His mouth watered, and his cock saluted her luscious body.

  “Lieutenant Wicks.”

  Coffee couldn't mask the scent of her pussy, and he couldn't take his eyes off the faint hint of triangular curls directing him to the paradise between her thighs.

  “Sheriff Gray? Deputy Wells said you had an assignment for me?”

  The coffeemaker sputtered; Gray grabbed the carafe and poured.

  “Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Lt. Wicks. I was on another call.” Almost four months into the job, and he and Wicks had yet to grab a meal at the diner, a ritual he used to probe every new subordinate's strengths and weaknesses. “I need you to pick up an unwashed article of clothing from Kevin and Ken Hazard and bring it to the McFadden cabin ASAP.”

  “Right away, boss.”

  Gray heard both relief and puzzlement in the lieutenant's voice and knew he would have to have “a talk” with Doug Wicks sooner rather than later.

  Sorcha's small hands sneaked around his waist, and she kissed his back. He couldn't feel her lips on his skin between their T-shirts, so he yanked his up and then spun around, clasping her hands to his back.

  The doorbell rang.

  In the act of lowering his mouth to hers, he scowled and glared at the front door. “Maybe whoever it is will go away if we ignore it.”

  “Wishful thinking,” she whispered and tiptoed and brushed soft, succulent lips over his. “I'll go change into something respectable. You get the door.”

  “Susie,” Gray said seconds later as he opened the door. He hadn't expected his sister and the girls to visit today. “What's up? Why are you here?”

  “Good day to you too.” She folded her arms. “Does something have to be up for me to visit my big brother?”

  “Yeah. Are you staying or is this to drop off something?” He tried not to get his hopes up but crossed his fingers behind his back.

  “Didn't Sorcha tell you?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Are you going to make me and your nieces stand out in the cold?” Susie frowned and shot him her best “mom” look.

  Gray raised an eyebrow and peered around the loose cloud of her black hair.

  Since the girls were throwing stones into the lake and didn't look in the least bit perturbed by the weather, he narrowed his eyes and tried to intimidate her into leaving. “Joe needs to do something about that smart-ass mouth of yours.”

  “I'm not budging.”

  Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Gray flicked the door fully open. He whistled; Ariel and Taylor twirled like ballet dancers and ran in his direction.

  Dropping to one knee, he opened his arms wide. Taylor hopped onto his thigh, and Ariel curled her arms around his neck.

  “Where's White?”

  Supplanted in his nieces' affection by a dog. “In the sunroom.”

  Before he could get another word out, the girls ducked under his arms and began racing in the direction of the bedroom. At that moment, the door opened, his nieces bumped into Sorcha, and the two giggling kids tumbled onto the carpeted floor. Sorcha rocked on her heels as the children tangled with her feet, and her fingers clutched the door frame to prevent a spill.

  “You did good, bro,” Susie said, her words meant for him alone. “She belongs with us. It's funny, Sorcha and I haven't seen or spoken to each other in years, yet it feels as if we've never been apart.”

  “I'd given up hope of finding my mate.” It stabbed his heart to see her so tentative with the girls, touching them lightly, tucking a wayward lock behind Taylor's ear. How lonely it must have been to be an only child. He remembered how he had longed for a minute alone in a household of three sisters, his parents, his grandparents, and the odd uncle when work was scarce.

  The Whites had grown up money-poor but affection-rich until his father was injured on the job. Damaged nerves and a permanent, pronounced limp meant his father lived in constant pain. When his disability money ran out and they had to go on welfare, it broke the man who had proudly escaped the Native American blight of alcoholism. Both parents fell hard and fast.

  His grandfather promptly moved the whole family to a reservation run by another white wolf pack where both of his parents dried out and dedicated themselves to a life of sobriety. During those carefree months on tribal land, Gray learned from his elders and honed his wolf instincts, pushing his limits constantly.

  “She hasn't been around kids, Gray. Once she holds her newborn, all those maternal instincts will kick in.” Susie cuffed his shoulder. “Take that scowl off your face. That reminds me, are you going to wait until you've captured the serial killer before you set a date?”

  Massaging tense neck muscles, he muttered, “She hasn't said yes yet, sis. She wants time.”

  “For heaven's sake. You've been together what—six days? Give her time. What's a few weeks in a lifetime?”

  A few weeks? Fuck. He'd figured on getting Sorcha to agree to a ceremony on Sunday.

  “She's very frustrated about not being able to remember her childhood.”

  “I know.” He remembered her earlier question at the door. “What was Sorcha supposed to tell me?”

  “Yesterday, she got a call from Miss L's lawyer. The will's being read today at two thirty, and she needs to be there. I arranged for the Y to babysit the kids so I can go with her.”

  “Thanks, sis. Are you and the girls here until you leave for the Y and the lawyer?”

  “Yeah. Sorcha and I are going to discuss the possibility of me writing copy for ads for her local magazine. You're looking antsy—Why don't you take off now?”

  Since the odds of him having any alone time with his mate hung around zero to none, Gray hurried to gather his tools while Sorcha, Susie, and the girls fussed over Kumar and White in the sunroom. He loaded everything into the SUV and wound his way to the glass-enclosed, octagonal conservatory.

  A broad smile grabbed the corners of his mouth at the scene that met his eyes. Ariel's head lay on White's middle; she held an open book in both hands and had propped her feet on the cushion of a fat, wicker ottoman. Taylor mirrored her sister's position in the opposite direction. Kumar stood on the Lab's belly in the space in between their heads, nibbling on a lock of raven hair—who's, Gray couldn't discern.

  Sprawled across a sofa and a coffee table opposite the kids, Susie and Sorcha faced each other. The two women didn't notice his entrance. Loath to disturb the tranquil ambience, Gray projected his wolf pheromones. Sheer curiosity prompted him to count the seconds until his mate lifted her head and locked onto his eyes—fifteen. Not a wolf, and not even carrying his cub yet, she still recognized his scent within moments.

  Gray mouthed, Gone to the precinct, made the phone-call gesture with his thumb and pinkie, blew a kiss to her, and left. In a dazed, contented trance, he drove to the station on autopilot.

  “Hey, boss,” Henry greeted him as he stepped through the doorway.

  Alcohol assaulted his nostrils, and Gray did a double take. His deputy sheriff had been drinking on the job?

  “Henry.” He halted at the man's desk. “Things quiet?”

  “FBI superheroes found a pin drop of unidentified blood on one of Miss L's fairy figurines.”

  Gray took a surreptitious inhale, and the aroma of mint filled his nostrils. He frowned. Had he smelled vodka on Henry's breath?

  “Say again?”

  His deputy sheriff reiterated the good news.

  Their first real clue.
Gray strangled a roar of elation. He could forgive Henry a celebratory drink. “Fucking A,” he said, breaking into a wide grin. “How did our boys miss it?”

  “It was lodged between the toilet tank and the wall.”

  “Must have been one of those tiny figurines?” Miss L had so many inch-long fairies, he couldn't even begin to guess which one they'd found.

  “A fucking mushroom.” Henry used his thumb and forefinger to identify a space of about an eighth of an inch.

  “His first mistake,” Gray muttered as he ambled to his desk. “Now it's only a matter of time.”

  “The DNA results are in on the blood.”

  “I'm guessing from your expression, the results lead us nowhere.”

  “It doesn't belong to Miss L or the twins.” Henry shrugged.

  “Run the results through NCIC and WCIC databases. Get Dana Werner to obtain a warrant to run the results against all state inmates.” He checked his watch. “Judge Ormond isn't in session. I'll phone him and let him know she'll be in his office in ten minutes.”

  “Ain't that stretching it a bit?”

  “Got any other bright ideas? Get to it, Henry. I want that warrant served to every county warden before the hour's out. Deploy National Guard personnel to all the paper-based organizations as soon as warrants are served. While we're waiting on the warrants, send out an internal e-mail suggesting all personnel submit to voluntary DNA testing.”

  The scowl Henry shot him spoke volumes. “You think someone here is involved?”

  Dragging a hand through his hair, Gray replied, “We've enough potential red flags on this case, beginning with us overlooking the missing toes. I want no one pointing a finger at 400.”

  “I'll snap to it, boss,” Henry snarled, flung him an exaggerated salute, bounded to his feet, and shoved the chair so hard, it bounced off the wall.

  Gray stared at his deputy sheriff. Reticent to a fault, the team often joked Henry wouldn't flinch if he stood at the foot of Mount St. Helens and the volcano blew. Him flying off the handle did not compute. Was he drinking on the job?

  Dropping his backpack on the file cabinet behind his chair, Gray sat and watched as Henry walked down the hallway, his gait steady, his steps certain. Vodka was virtually odorless and difficult to detect. Had he erred? Did it matter? By all rights, Gray should Breathalyze him now, but how would he explain his suspicion? Only a white wolf could scent the underlying aroma of alcohol that the spearmint Henry chewed may or may not have masked.