by Sadie Hart
Brandt stopped tapping his pen against the desk. “He’s back.”
“Shit. Hell of a down period.”
“Yeah, well, he lost the object of his obsession for awhile. Found her again, though.” Brandt grimaced. “It’s not my story to tell, but I could use the extra brain power. Short version? He was human, desperate to become a ‘werewolf’ and picked out his perfect mate.”
“And she didn’t want him.”
“Nope. He kidnapped her, begged her to change him, and when she wouldn’t, he kept her but also began abducting and killing others. She escaped while he was disposing of the twelfth victim.”
Ollie made a quiet sound, and Brandt hesitated. His sister was strong. Hell, she’d always been strong. But he hated to be the one to bring back old memories.
“Don’t go big brother on me,” she muttered, startling him. “I don’t have to see you to know you’re having second thoughts. Dean Winters is dead. And for the record, he’s not the only killer I’ve stopped.”
Dean Winters had been the Hunter and Ollie’s own personal Charles Wolfe. “And the nightmares?” Brandt asked as gently as he could.
“Better. Not perfect, but better. Back to your case, the girl, you said she escaped?”
“Been living in hiding. She changed her name and created a pack for runaways. We put the link together when he killed one of hers and left her a present on her front stoop.”
Ollie cursed. “The bad guys never seem to get it that their gifts just aren’t that appreciated.”
Brandt couldn’t help but smile there, because he’d seen how white Ollie had gotten after one of the Hunter’s gifts. She knew. And she knew the hell that Timber would have gone through in the moment she’d recognized Wolfe’s scent.
“So he found her again. It’s personal, then, and you know it. He’s not going to stop. You need to move her—”
“She escaped him twice, Ol. The first, from before he actually started killing, and Shifter Town Enforcement gave her back to him. He was human at the time and she was a wolf, you know how this game works. His word was better than hers. She’s not going anywhere. I’m lucky she’s talking at all.”
Ollie was quiet for a moment. Brandt could guess what was going through her mind. If someone had handed her over to the Hunter...
Brandt had to bite back a growl. Fuck, but he’d have personally killed a Hound for that.
“I don’t know what you called to hear, bro, but she sounds strong. She got away twice. She survived. And from what I know of that case, she had to be a hell of a person to put a life together, especially one saving others, after getting away from him.”
“What would it take to convince you?” Ollie would know what he was asking.
“You. If Shifter Town Enforcement had done that to me, it’d take someone special, someone worth trusting, to get me to put my life in their hands again. It won’t happen overnight, and she’s going to need time she probably doesn’t have, but it’s about honest. About doing what you say you’re going to do. Big bro, you can’t lie worth shit and so you don’t tend to even bother. She’ll believe the honesty vibe soon enough. “
“Soon enough might not be soon enough.”
“I know. So what are you doing in the meantime? If I remember right, you bunked with Nana and me through my demons. Hell, you kept watch with me. Left your pack and your own open cases behind. Not being able to wrangle her into shifter protection isn’t going to stop you.”
“I’m sleeping on her couch.”
Ollie laughed. “She already trusts you then, more than either of you know.”
“I told her about how you could remember the smallest details from the time you were in the shack. The birds thing. It wasn’t my place--”
“Bull. I don’t care what you tell her. I got through it, I’m okay now, but you know what? Sometimes you have to know that someone else out there understands. Give her my number. If she needs to call, she’s more than welcome to.”
Tate paused outside Brandt’s office and lifted an eyebrow. “Thanks, Ol. I have to go.”
“Need me to come up there?”
“No, but I’ll let you know if that changes.” He hung up and gestured for Tate to come in.
“You all right there, boss?”
No. He was running on four hours of sleep and caffeine. He also still didn’t have the slightest clue how he was going to keep Timber safe.
“Fine,” Brandt ground out, the word a half-growl as it slipped past his teeth.
Tate snorted. “Call it a day. Everything else that needs doing I can do.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re right,” Tate said, cutting him off. “You won’t be going home. You’ll be packing up and playing guard dog for the one living witness we have. So sitting here pounding your fist into your desk sounds like a much better plan than keeping her safe. Or—here’s a thought—what about finding out what else she might know?”
Brandt leveled a glare at Tate, but, hell, the man was right. They had other cases the pack was working on, and he was more than willing to trust Tate to handle all of them.
“She trusts you,” Tate said softly. “I don’t know why. You’re such a stubborn jerk.”
“Watch it,” Brandt warned, but even as he said it, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Tate was going to make a damn good alpha someday real soon.
“Go see what else she knows about him. Background check pulled blanks, but she lived with him for a year.”
In hell, chained to a bed. But he didn’t say it. Because Tate was right. A year was a long time, and Brandt doubted that Wolfe had been able to hide much from her. She’d seen him at his worst, what could there have been to keep from her? “All right. Hold down the fort here. Call me if anything new comes in.”
It felt weird walking out in the middle of the day, knowing his pack was still there, working without him. But if they had one real shot at catching the Wolfman, it lay with Timber. Brandt stopped home long enough to pick up a fresh change of clothes and some essentials before driving to her place.
He passed an STE vehicle parked on the road outside her house. The Hound inside waved to him as he pulled up next to the car. “All clear?” he asked.
“Yup. It’s been pretty quiet all day. I do patrols every half hour and I haven’t seen or smelled a thing. Far as I can tell, he hasn’t been here since last night.”
Brandt nodded. A Hound could tell pretty damn well. Scents rarely lied. Rough patches of weather, tricky terrain, that could throw the scent off course a bit, but there’d been nothing in the weather today that would have made his Hound’s job difficult. And short of having a witch in his back pocket, Wolfe couldn’t mask his scent well enough to escape a Hound.
Relief settled Brandt’s shoulders.
“Thanks,” he said and turned his car up the drive.
Pulling up in front of her house, Brandt looked around, familiarizing himself with the sights and sounds. Once out of the car, he wandered. Her yard was well kept, with a flower garden off to one side. The dirt was freshly turned over, and he spotted the pair of gloves and a dirt-covered spade on her front steps.
He strolled around back, his stomach twisting a little when he spotted the tree Tate had mentioned. It sat right next to her bedroom window. A branch leaned out, close enough to touch the glass. That he didn’t like at all. Even if he was bunking on the couch, if Wolfe could shinny up that tree quietly enough, there was a chance he would get to Timber before Brandt could stop him.
The back door creaked open and he jerked his attention to the woman standing on the porch. Dirt was smeared over her thighs and knees. Her white tennis shoes were filthy. She wore an over-sized sweatshirt that hid every one of her curves.
Timber had pulled her hair back in a haphazard pony tail, but several strands hung loose over her face. Dark purple waves seemed to frame the edge of her jaw, a jaw as smeared with dirt as her jeans. Lust stirred low inside him, a heat that slowly began to simmer the mom
ent she’d stepped outside.
She was stunning. Even when she looked like she’d been rolling around in her garden she managed to take his breath away.
She leaned toward him, bracing her arms on the wooden rail, and Brandt realized he was walking closer, drawn to her. Hell, but now he knew what went through a moth’s mind as it flitted closer to the fire. He shouldn’t, but nothing short of a gunshot was stopping him.
He paused a few feet in front of her. Her lips were full, tempting. Nearly irresistible, even with the slight smudge of dirt along one dimple. Brandt swallowed hard and forced his gaze up to hers. “How you holding up?”
She rubbed at a bit of dirt on her hand. “Well enough. What are you doing here?”
He recognized the wall she tried so hard to erect around herself, a protective shield that would keep everyone out. Victims of violent crimes tended to crave their personal space, that semblance of control that helped them believe they could somehow manage to keep from getting hurt again.
When was the last time she’d let somebody in?
“One, I’m here to check on you.”
“You have another Hound babysitting me for that.” Her hands flexed, curling into fists and then stretching out again. Nerves. And by now he could tell when a person needed something to do with their hands. “I also have a picture I’d like to run by you—”
He reached for it when she cut him off.
“I saw it. On the news. It’s him.” Her jaw tightened. “He didn’t have the scar on his right cheek before, but it’s him.”
“Good. An image lets us tell people exactly who they need to watch out for. We have a real good shot at—”
Timber shook her head and shoved away from the rail. “I’m going back to work.”
She hurried down the back steps, and strode to the side of her house and the garden. Brandt looked up at the tree again. He needed to talk to her. But he needed her to trust him before he could honestly expect to get anywhere. Hell, he almost wished he’d asked Ollie to come. Maybe his sister could get Timber’s trust faster, because right now it didn’t feel like he was making much progress. If any.
Watching her walk away, he was fairly certain he had taken several enormous steps backwards. She was walling herself up again, and soon there’d be no reaching her.
Brandt sighed and followed her. He knelt next to her while she dug down into the dirt, carefully creating a small hole for one of the flowering plants she had lined up next to her.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me plant flowers.”
“No.” He sank back against her house.
Her eyebrows arched at that. “How’s that? You fire the other babysitter?”
Brandt felt his lips curve into a soft smile. Her tongue was like acid when she was testy, all sting, and she pulled no punches. Not too different from him in that regard, though he at least tried to soften the blows occasionally. Maybe soft wasn’t what she needed, though. “Frankly? I need to get to know you. What makes you tick, your habits, your routines. It’ll help me know when he’s most likely to strike.” It also might help him figure out a way to get her to let him in.
She didn’t say anything in response, just worked in silence. Digging a small hole, selecting one of the potted Hostas, and tucking it in the ground. He didn’t know how long he sat beside her as she worked, but finally, “So you said you had a sister. She a Hound too?”
“Yeah, Ollie.”
The look she gave him said it all. Ollie was not a name, at least not a normal one. Brandt laughed. “Long story, but childhood nickname. Her real name’s Holly. She said to feel free to call if you want to talk.”
“I’m not really into the sharing feelings kind of thing.”
“Nah, you don’t say.” He knew he was teasing, but the surprise on her face when she looked up at him made him laugh. She looked so damn incredulous. “Don’t get me wrong, Timber, but I’ve been around the block before. The first time you tell what happened, it’s always the hardest. You’d never told anyone about Wolfe—not everything.”
She looked away and Brandt eased back again, stretching his legs out in front of him so his legs were alongside her small garden patch. Close enough to talk in private, even if the Hound on duty went on his patrol, but far enough away to give her the illusion of space. “Sometimes talking it all out helps. For some people. Ollie wasn’t exactly one of them, and I don’t reckon you’re one of them either.”
“What kind of person was she?”
Brandt laughed and plucked a piece of grass. “The kind that was even more hell-bent on catching the bastard and making him pay.”
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to pay attention of the blade of grass in his hand, spinning it between his thumb and index finger. Hurt and frustration warred across her face. She wanted Wolfe caught, but her last run-in with STE had ruined that hope for her.
“Ollie was lucky,” he said softly, drawing her attention to him. “She was close to catching the Hunter when he nabbed her. When she escaped she was still a Hound, so the case got even more of a priority. She also had a hell of a boss. Lennox Donnelly isn’t the kind of Hound who turns her back on shifters, but that’s a story for another day. Though if you get bored some time you can Google her. But yeah, Ol was lucky in the fact that she had a STE pack backing her.”
“Most of us don’t.”
“I know. I’ve seen it myself. I’ve watched packs cover up abuse because it was happening within shifter groups. It’s a hard line. You don’t want to break down the door every time there’s a brawl over a rank or two lions are scrapping, but at the same time...what’s right in nature and in the wild isn’t always right for civilized people.”
“It’s not even just that. It’s like you Hounds don’t even think of yourselves as shifters. If a normal person says something against a shifter it’s just accepted as fact.”
Brandt tore the blade of grass in two. “Not all of us. And some of us have been reminded that even the Hounds we work with aren’t always the good guys. I’ve seen what happens when a Hound goes rogue. We’re not a perfect system, but I’m trying. My pack is trying.”
Timber sighed. They sat there in silence for a moment, but Brandt hated the air of defeat that seemed to settle around her. He tossed the grass to the ground. “You asked me what kind of person Ollie was, but you didn’t say what kind of person you were.”
“I want to be the kind to catch him and make him pay, but honestly? I’m just the person who tries her best to survive. To hide.”
Brandt disagreed.
“No. I see you as the avenger type. You’re a survivor, you’re strong, and you couldn’t make him pay because the resources just weren’t there for you. But you didn’t hide, not from life. You changed your name so he wouldn’t find you, but you didn’t curl up and let life just pass by. You’ve turned to helping others, to keeping them safe, to doing what STE failed to do for you.” He let his words sink in, but before she could try and slough it off or turn him away, he changed the subject. “How much do you like that tree?”
Timber jerked up to look at him. She wiped the back of her hand under her eye, leaving a small smear of dirt along the edge of her cheekbone. She looked exasperated. “I don’t know, why?”
“If he can climb that tree quietly enough, scurry out on that branch, he could break in before I could make it up those stairs.”
She paled and a fresh flash of terror shattered her eyes for a moment. Then, calm as could be, she dropped her spade, pulled off her gloves, and shoved to her feet.
“Timber?”
She ignored him, continuing in the direction of the shed at the back of her lawn. Brandt followed. She yanked open the door, the metal squealing in protest. A moment later, she lugged a small wooden ladder out of the shed and braced it against the metal. Next, she reappeared with a handsaw.
She reached for the ladder but he beat her to it.
“Simple answer,” she said with a shrug. �
��I’ll cut it down. I’m not making this easy for him.”
Her voice was like steel. Unbending, hard, but he’d seen her eyes a moment ago. Seen the fear.
Without thinking, Brandt reached forward and rubbed at the smear of dirt on her cheek. She froze under his touch, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, he swore he felt her lean slightly into his touch. Barely.
She couldn’t cut a tree that size down with a handsaw, but he understood the sentiment. She needed to do something, now. “I’ll do it,” he said softly, and let his hand fall away. Later he’d have someone else come in and cut the tree down if it was necessary, but today they’d start with the branch. “That’s what I meant to ask anyway.”
“It’s my house.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have help.”
And before she could argue with him, he gently pried the saw from her hand, shouldered the ladder, and angled his path toward the large oak that reached for her bedroom window. Besides, it gave him something a lot less risky to do with his hands.
A good thing, too, because his efforts so far at keeping them safely occupied weren’t working very well. Not when he could still feel the smoothness of her cheek under his fingers. If he wasn’t careful, next time he might not stop with simply smoothing away a speck of dirt.
He imagined sliding his fingers along the edge of jaw, around the back of her neck, playing in her long purple hair. Purple had never been a turn-on before, but there was something about the way it framed her face, brought out every emotion in her eyes... Brandt sucked in a hard breath.
Yeah. He needed something to do with his hands that didn’t involve touching Timber Kearney.
The woman had been through enough. She didn’t need him pawing at her.
And she sure as hell didn’t need him kissing her.
But of course the moment that thought flitted through his head, kissing her was all he could think about.
“Shit,” Brandt muttered as he slammed the ladder against the solid tree trunk.
“You all right?” she asked from beside him and he jumped. He hadn’t realized she’d followed him. A major, major flaw in this whole him-protecting-her deal.