white wolf.jpg

by White Wolf (lit)

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “What about the one thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight days? Why did he point out the days?”

  “Another one of his red herrings. According to the FBI and Mountie reports, the days between kills actually hover around one hundred and twenty. Being a deputy sheriff gave him a decided advantage. He spread his kills over three Canadian provinces and two states. Fuck, if he hadn't told me about the similarities between the killings, I wouldn't have cottoned on to a serial killer.”

  Sorcha cuffed his shoulder.

  “What?” He frowned and rubbed the spot she hit.

  “That word is not an adjective.”

  “I'm working on it.”

  “I'll give you eight months to clean up your language. Once the baby's born, no more swearing. Deal?”

  Sweet fucking Jesus. She'd taken the pregnancy test.

  “Let me see,” he demanded and held out a hand.

  Wearing that perfect smile, she placed a white strip tipped blue on one end into his palm.

  “It's a boy,” he announced and couldn't stop the silly grin curving his lips.

  “Tomorrow's Sunday.”

  Whaaat?

  “I spoke to the minister and arranged for us to get married right after church.”

  Fu—Hell no.

  “I don't even have a ring for you.” He massaged the back of his neck. “And we have to choose things. And Jackie—She'll never forgive us if we don't make her head flower girl.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “That's Susie with the girls,” Sorcha said. “They want us to choose between two dresses. Both pink, of course. Jenna wants ruffles, and you know where Jaclyn stands on that issue. If anything could stop the wedding, that'll be it.”

  Gray groaned as she moved off his lap and skipped to the door.

  His groan morphed into a long moan when Doug Wicks strode into the cabin, followed by every single member of his family save his mother.

  “Uncle Gray,” Taylor squealed. The little girl's legs blurred as she raced across the wooden floor and jumped onto the couch. “Mommy's going to let us watch Barney till we fall asleep.”

  Gray's heart rolled over. Tucking a strand of her silky hair behind one ear, he said, “Hey, brat. How're you feeling?”

  Taylor frowned. “I'm fine. Are you sick, Uncle Gray?” A small, warm palm rested on his forehead. “You're not hot.”

  The resilience of youth, Gray marveled. “Why don't you help Aunt Sorcha feed White?”

  Wicks remained quiet throughout the dinner that followed.

  After his sisters settled their siblings in front of the TV in the study, the adults gathered around the fireplace, and Sorcha served coffee and dessert.

  “Spill it, Wicks,” Gray ordered, his curiosity fueling the logs blazing in the fireplace.

  “I've been on this assignment for two years,” Doug said. “My role was that of a redneck pedophile who hated women.” He caught Gray's frown and added, “I've already apologized to Edie and to the rest of the women I've offended in Twisp.” He shifted in his seat. “I wish I could do the same for all of the females over the last few years. It's going to be difficult to accept what I've said and done during this mission.”

  “Mike said you volunteered. Why?” Susie, as usual, went straight for the gullet.

  “My youngest sister went missing when she was two,” Doug replied. “We never found out what happened to her. I guess I thought this would be a way to honor her memory.”

  “When did you begin to suspect Bruce?”

  “A while back we arrested a ring operating in Vancouver. Among them was a group of politicians and two law-enforcement officers. One of them fingered Bruce.” Doug shrugged. “Hence my transfer here.”

  “I'm presuming you never worked for the LAPD?” Gray asked.

  “No. That was pure cover.”

  “Did you have an affair with Tonya Hazard?”

  “Mel, how could you ask that question?” Mike threw his mate a warning look.

  Scarlet hues played across Doug Wicks's chiseled features.

  “What are your plans?” Gray didn't know why he rushed in to rescue the man who'd ogled Sorcha so blatantly only hours prior.

  “I'm not sure.” Doug shrugged. “I know I'll never go undercover again. It's too hard on the psyche. I know I'll stay in law enforcement. Other than that, I've no idea.”

  “The deputy sheriff's position is open.”

  The other man studied him long and hard. “I may take you up on that.”

  “Do we have the results of the search of Whitener's and Wells's homes in as yet?”

  “The files are in the car.” He shifted forward.

  “You don't have to get them. Summarize,” Gray ordered.

  “We found a floor safe under the carpet in Wells's bathroom. Thirty-three right toes, two guns, a .22 and a .38.”

  “Your parents were shot with a .38, honey, and you were shot with a .22.” Gray twined their fingers together.

  Sorcha's complexion paled, her freckles becoming more prominent. She pressed closer. Gray hugged her to him.

  “CSI's doing the DNA and ballistics tests on the guns as we speak.”

  “Whitener's house?”

  “Nothing.” Doug shook his head. “The place is clean. But we found over a grand in German marks in the diner's safe. Money issued over fifteen years ago.”

  Thank God he was sitting. Gray tried to keep the shock off his face. “Hans killed Yaeger.”

  “Wells handled that case. The DA issued an order to exhume Yaeger's body. I checked the reports, and I'll bet you anything we'll find Yaeger's stab wounds were done hours apart.” Doug leaned forward, hands linked between the forearms resting on his knees. “According to immigration, Yaeger and his girlfriend and Hans arrived in New York on the same flight from Germany. Hans Whitener arrives in Twisp, works for six months as the diner's cook, and then buys the place. Pays cash.”

  He was a fucking idiot. “The only robbery in all the murders is Yaeger's. Whitener killed him purely for the money. Henry did all the others.”

  “We're not certain about that,” Doug disagreed. “Our profiler seems to think the men were working, if not together, in conjunction with each other—Whitener robbing the victims, Wells doing the dismembering and being responsible for the final kill.”

  “But nothing was stolen in the other murders,” Sorcha protested.

  “Not here in the US. But across the border, all the killings included robberies, and the take was big. Over a million stolen during the last ten years.”

  “Can we prove Hans knew Yaeger and his girlfriend and knew how much cash they carried?” Gray plowed his hands through his hair. “It's so fu—freaking clear now.”

  “We're working on it,” Doug replied. “I am curious, though, Ms. McFadden—When did you begin to suspect Whitener?”

  “Sorcha, please, Doug,” she said, smiling.

  Gray's curiosity on that point hadn't been satisfied, and he pounced on Wicks's remark. “I know you knew something last night, but how? None of us knew until the end.”

  Sorcha and Susie colored; the two women looked at each other and then away.

  “You two listened while we were in the study,” Mike accused.

  Susie shrugged. “Well, if you men weren't so secretive, we wouldn't have to eavesdrop.”

  “Honey?”

  Sorcha shifted to face him. “It didn't make sense. It just struck me as odd that Miss L and Victor were so upset about a portion of pie.”

  “What? You figured out it was Whitener because of a piece of pie?” Chad shot her a glance, equally incredulous and horrified. “God help you, Gray.”

  “It seems obvious now,” Melanie said.

  “Hindsight's always twenty-twenty,” Joe remarked. “I bet over the next few weeks each one of us will remember something either of them did that seems blatantly obvious.”

  “What about Brucie?” Mike asked. “Is he in jail?”

  “Homeland Se
curity's taken control of Hazard's case. Multiple charges, including tax evasion, conspiracy to defraud the United States, wire fraud, child pornography. The list goes on and on,” Doug said. “From what I've heard through the grapevine, he's not going to see the light of day for a long, long time.”

  “And Tonya?” Sorcha shifted on his lap. “What will happen to her?”

  “As of now it looks like she wasn't part of Bruce's schemes. Apparently, she's been drinking heavily for the last few years. According to her attorney, once the DA gives her permission to leave the state, she's heading to the Betty Ford Clinic in New York.”

  “She's lost everything in less than a week,” Sorcha commented. “Poor Tonya. Her son's dead, her husband in jail.”

  “Poor Tonya, my ass,” Susie retorted. “That woman didn't have a kind bone in her body. I can't tell you how many people she's set out to ruin in this town. And she was a lousy mother. I've no pity for her.”

  “We found this in Wells's stash.” Doug held up a filigree gold chain from which dangled a small oval locket. “It's engraved with the words, 'The Luck of the O'Rileys.'” He offered the jewelry to Sorcha.

  “Oh my,” she whispered as she curled her fingers around the metal. “I never thought I'd see this again.” She swiped a hand at the tear rolling down one cheek. “Grams would be so happy if she knew.”

  “She probably does, sweetie.” Susie chuckled. “Aileen always did say you and Gray were made for each other. Betcha she orchestrated all of this from above.”

  Had Aileen and Miss L known about him? About the white wolves? Is that why Miss L left a small fortune to the Wolf Preservation Foundation? They'd probably never know for sure.

  Gray and Sorcha exchanged a glance, and he realized he'd broadcast his thoughts to his mate. Crap, he'd have to stop swearing mentally too.

  “You know, some good's come out of all of this,” Melanie said.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “Well, it's true. Tommy Houndtree's scholarship's been restored on the condition he doesn't violate the conditions of his parole. And Victor Morgan has taken on George Brown's nephew James as an apprentice. I was really worried about Victor. He was so dependent on Miss L.”

  Gray shook his head. “And just how much of both of those did you orchestrate, Mel? You have to stop picking up wounded doves. Mike, you gotta do something about her.”

  Mike snorted. He shot Gray a pitying glance.

  “Give him a few weeks,” Joe said.

  “Hah! Just wait till you have your first child. You really are a babe in the woods if you think you have the final say in anything,” Mike warned.

  “I told you.” Susie smirked and winked at Sorcha.

  “Okay, I've had enough of doom and gloom,” Mel interjected. “We have a wedding to plan. Mom's making the cake tonight. The girls and I organized flowers and the music. I ordered a printed announcement for church tomorrow. By the way, I think it's cute that your name means 'white' in Gaelic.”

  Gray's lips twitched. Cupping Sorcha's chin, he met her gaze. “Really? You know what this means, don't you? You're going to be Mrs. White White. Wait till Jackie hears this one…”

  A twitter swept the room.

  Sorcha groaned.

  “Aunt Sorcha,” Jaclyn said as she marched into the room. No stranger to being the center of attention, and even commanding it, the girl halted in the center of the space between the fireplace and the coffee table.

  Hands on hips, she declared, “I do believe we've come up with a solution for the ruffles.”

  THE END

  Jianne Carlo

  Jianne Carlo knows multi-cultural romance. Born to an Indian father and a Hispanic mother intent on becoming a nun, she met and married her Dutch-bred immigrant husband in her last year at college. Their children check off the majority of the boxes under the category, Ethnic Origin.

  Add to this the fact Jianne grew up on a sixty by forty Caribbean island where the population mixture represents the world's religious, cultural, and ethnic diversity (and some mixtures no one's dreamed up) and you have a multi-cultural woman who believes the word 'Mutt' represents the best of human nature.

  For the factually inclined, Jianne has a Bachelor's Degree in English and Sociology, and a Master's in Management Science with three areas of concentration, Computers, Finance, and Statistics.

  She's lived and worked in Canada (Ontario, Vancouver), the United States (San Francisco, various small cities in southern California, Miami, and Parkland) and the Caribbean (Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, Barbados, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Tortola) and South America (Guyana).

  Her passions in life center around her proudest achievements, a happy marriage (measure of happiness varies with level of irritation), and three grown sons of the finest caliber she's proud to call friends, although they're never allowed to forget the mom factor.

  Other areas of interest include, traveling, meeting new people, reading, dressage, all animals, cooking eclectic food, eating said food, and sipping good wine, while hanging out, ('liming' in Trini-speak) with friends. Jianne's proud to announce the only carbonated beverage she drinks is champagne. Who needs Coke?

  And you never want to be in the same room if she picks up a dart and aims for the target. Run for your life. Her colleagues do. Her family hides such instruments.