She didn’t know if he meant the sex…or the confession or, hell, maybe he meant both. But she could see from the strain of his expression that he wasn’t going to give in.
And when he turned his back on her, his broad, powerful shoulders hard with a gripping tension beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, Hope took it for the final rejection she knew it was meant to be.
“Watch your back,” she whispered, her own shoulders heavy with the weight of disappointment. Despite how hard she’d tried, she still couldn’t get through to him. “Just…don’t take any chances, Riley. Millie and I are being careful, but you need to make sure that you look out for yourself.”
Then she turned, walked out the door and headed back into the rain.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wednesday morning
THE SECOND KELLAN touched his shoulder, Riley’s eyes flew open, the grim look on the Watchman’s face warning him that something had happened. Something bad. “What?” he croaked, jerking up into a sitting position. “What is it? Is Hope all right?”
“She’s fine,” Kellan told him, stepping back and sitting down on the second double bed. “It’s the bastard ex.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Riley growled, throwing back the sheet as he surged to his feet, grabbing the jeans that he’d laid on the foot of his bed. “Where is he? If he’s so much as laid a hand on her, I’m going to—”
“Riley, man, calm down,” Kellan murmured, holding up his hands. “I told you that Hope’s fine. But Capshaw is dead.”
He froze, his fingers gripping onto handfuls of denim so hard that his knuckles were white. “What do you mean he’s dead? How can he be dead?”
“They found his body in his motel room,” Kellan explained. “He’d been torn up…bitten. Hell, you know the routine. They think it happened late Monday night, and the cops don’t have a clue what’s going on. I feel sorry for the bastards. No matter how hard they try, they’re going to have a heck of a time getting to the bottom of this one.”
“His fingers?” Riley grunted, trying to wrap his head around it. The noise in his brain was deafening—a jumbled, crashing blend of his pulse and too many angry, condemning voices all shouting at once.
“His fingers were missing, same as the girl up in Wellsford,” Kellan said with a tired sigh. “Which means Gregory’s body count is stacking up. He’s still hanging around, but God only knows what he’s waiting for. I’m starting to find it hard to believe he’s still just biding his time, waiting for us to find that bloody Marker.”
“I don’t like it,” he muttered, buttoning his fly and pulling on a T-shirt, then reaching for the shoulder holster and gun that he’d left on the bedside table. “You’re right. He wouldn’t be this patient, unless he had a reason.”
“And why go after the ex?” Kellan asked as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his spread knees, his hands clasped loosely together between his legs. “Gregory must know that no one’s going to be upset over that asshole’s loss. Least of all you.”
Checking to make sure he had a full clip in the Beretta, Riley snapped the gun into the holster. “How did you hear?” he asked, dreading having to face Hope after this…and wondering just how she was taking it.
“Millie told me when I went up to the house for some coffee.”
Clearing his throat, Riley glanced through the window at the pouring rain that would make it impossible to dig before it let up, and said, “What was Hope doing? How’s she taking it?”
“I didn’t see her, but Millie said she was holding together. Thinks she’s more shocked than anything else right now. She was working in the kitchen when I left, keeping busy.”
Riley wanted to go to the café and check on her, but couldn’t get past the idea that she might slap his face when she saw him. Couldn’t get past the fear that she might finally look at him and with hatred and revulsion for the chaos he was wreaking on her life.
Picking up his phone, he stared down at the keypad, thinking he could call her first…try to get a read on her that way. She might scream at him, but he could take it. He just needed to hear her voice, damn it. To know that she was okay.
Punching in the number, he lifted the phone to his ear. She picked up on the first ring, saying, “Riley, thank God. I was just getting ready to call you.”
He could tell by the tone of her voice that something was wrong. Something more immediate than Neal Capshaw’s murder. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answered in swift reply, though he could hear a tremor that sounded suspiciously like fear in her words. Before he could question her, she said, “But there’s someone in the café. He hasn’t done anything. Just ordered some coffee and took a table over in the far corner of the room. But there’s a really weird vibe about him. I don’t know. I mean, I feel crazy for bothering you, but after Neal—”
“What’s he look like?” he asked, cutting her off as he started pulling on his boots.
“Attractive. Muscled and tall, like you and Kellan. Chin-length, golden-brown hair.” She paused, then lowered her voice as she said, “But his eyes are what’s strange. I swear they’re the same pale, icy blue you told me the Casus have, even when they’re in human form.”
“Stay the hell away from him,” he ordered, his heart racing as he snatched up a flannel shirt to cover his gun. He jerked his chin toward Kellan, who’d already moved to his feet, signaling that they needed to go. “And don’t go anywhere by yourself,” he was saying as they went through the door. “In fact, make Millie stay in the front with you, behind the counter. We’re on our way.”
Filling Kellan in while they ran like hell for the house, Riley knew that no more than thirty seconds had passed by before they reached the café. He spotted the human-looking Casus the second he ripped open the front door, the blast of warm air doing little to ease the cold burn of fear twisting through his insides. Not for his own life, but for those of the people around him. Hope, Millie, Kellan. The innocent customers enjoying breakfast on a rainy Wednesday morning.
The Casus was sitting at one of the back tables in the far corner of the café, just as Hope had said. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a cocky smile, his muscular arms crossed on the tabletop. A cup of coffee sat before him, and as he watched Kellan move to Riley’s side, their bodies held hard and tight with predatory aggression, he lifted the mug to his smiling lips for a drink, acting as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
Riley had known, the instant he set eyes on him, that it was Gregory.
Casting a swift glance at Hope and Millie to make sure they were behind the counter, Riley stalked toward the table. “You have a lot of nerve coming here,” he rasped, careful to keep his voice low. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” the monster drawled, leaning back in his chair. He lifted one sun-darkened hand and scratched lazily at his chest. “But for now, I just wanted to gloat a little. Maybe even hear a thank-you for ridding you of that worthless worm of a human. God, you should have seen him. It was pathetic, how he refused to give in. And the harder he fought—” he paused as his smile widened, looking somehow grotesque as it spread across his face “—the longer I made it last.”
Riley heard the breathless sound that Hope made, and flinched, knowing he’d brought this on her…that he’d dragged it into her world. This violence and evil and danger. He might not have killed Capshaw, but he was the reason the man had been targeted. The reason he was dead.
And that means this asshole knows about Hope. Knows your dark, dangerous little secret.
Shaking off the terrifying thought, Riley focused on keeping the fear out of his eyes as he listened to Gregory say, “I realize I was doing you a favor, which…let’s face it…just isn’t my thing. But I couldn’t have ol’ Capshaw getting to her first, damaging what I plan to hurt. Where’s the fun in that?”
“You wanna have some fun?” he snarled, the vicious, guttural rasp of his voice no longer something that was en
tirely human, the Merrick seething beneath his skin, outraged at the fact that it couldn’t break its way out of him and tear into the murderous monster. “Let’s take this someplace private, Gregory, and I’ll give you all the fun you can handle.”
Shaking his head, the Casus lifted one hand to push a sun-streaked lock of brown hair from his brow, a mocking note of humor in his deep voice as he said, “What’s that expression? The one about writing checks that your ass can’t cash? That would be you, Buchanan. Or have you forgotten that your search hasn’t turned up that precious little cross you’re looking for?”
Bracing his hands on the table, Riley leaned forward, knowing the Casus could see the gun resting beneath his open flannel shirt. “You never know, Gregory. Maybe I’m simply planning to put a bullet in your head, sending your ugly ass straight back to Meridian. After all the trouble you’ve caused, I doubt they’ll be letting you out any time soon.”
Gregory tilted back his head and gave a rich, husky rumble of laughter. “Oh, God, that would be priceless, just to see the look on Calder’s face.”
Riley was about to ask who this Calder was, knowing that Gregory had mentioned him before to Saige, but Kellan cut in to the conversation, saying, “Where are your buddies, Gregory?”
“I’m afraid I’m playing for my own team now,” the Casus drawled.
“I guess that means you have some pretty stiff competition for me then,” Riley remarked in a gritty slide of words. “Worried someone is going to get to me first, Gregory? Steal your chance for revenge? I know there’s at least one Casus who you’re poaching on. I doubt they’re going to be very happy with you.”
“You mean the one who jump-started you?” The corner of the Casus’s mouth kicked up in a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, Merrick. I have things under control.” Sniffing the air, he added, “And at any rate, you’re still not ripe enough yet. They’re all just going to bide their time, which leaves the playing field wide-open for me.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice to a soft, husky whisper as he said, “And who do you think I’m going to play with next? Any guesses?”
One second the Casus was sitting there wearing a shit-ass grin, and in the next Riley had his hands fisted in the fabric of Gregory’s shirt, ripping him to his feet and slamming him against the back wall of the café. Behind them, there was a mad scrambling of bodies as customers moved to put distance between themselves and what they probably thought was going to turn into a fight. Thankfully, there was no one sitting at the nearby tables, but they still had the attention of every person in the room.
“Riley!” Hope called out, and he watched her move closer from the corner of his eye, stepping from behind the counter.
Gregory gave another low, wicked rumble of laughter, something cold and evil burning in the depths of his pale, chilling gaze. “I’m going to enjoy taking you apart, Merrick. But—” he nodded his head toward Hope “—not as much as I enjoy her. For her, I’m going to do everything I can to make it last. To make it count.”
It wasn’t easy, but Riley refused to let Gregory get any more of a rise out of him than he already had. Choking back his fear for Hope’s safety, he forced a sarcastic sound from his throat, and shook his head. “You guys need some new lines. Ian told me your brother made the same pathetic threats about his woman, and look what happened to him.” Enjoying the flare of rage in the Casus’s eyes, Riley leaned closer, getting right in the bastard’s face as he said, “Tell me, Gregory. Will you run when I face you down with the cross? I heard you did before. Quinn and Saige told us all about how you left your buddy Royce behind to die, and ran to save your own pathetic ass.”
“I was smart enough to choose my fights, Buchanan. Going up against a Raptor with a Marker is a lot different than going up against you. And you don’t have your pretty little cross yet, do you?”
“You’re right, I don’t,” he admitted, giving a sharp smile as he lifted his brows. “So just what are you holding out for, Gregory? Why not have a go at me right now? Is it my awakening you’re waiting for?” He narrowed his eyes, searching for the answers in Gregory’s icy gaze. “Or is it something else?”
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see,” Gregory drawled, obviously not going to tell them anything more. “I hate to give away the ending.”
Just wanting the son of a bitch to get the hell out of there, Riley finally released his hold on Gregory’s shirt and took a step back, wishing like crazy that he had the means to go ahead and fry the asshole now. The Casus straightened his shirt, then walked to the table and tossed a wad of bills beside the empty cup of coffee. Casting a meaningful look toward Hope, he said, “Till later, sweetheart.” And then he walked across the floor…and out the front door.
Riley had no more than a second to reach out and grab hold of Kellan’s arm before the Watchman rushed past him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he grunted, spinning the younger man back around.
Kellan shot him a look as if to say are you crazy? “What do you mean where am I going?” he forced out through his gritted teeth. “I’m going to follow him.”
“And do what?” Riley demanded, distantly aware of Millie doing her best to calm the other customers, assuring them that everything was fine.
“I’m going to give the son of a bitch exactly what he deserves.”
“Not without a Marker you aren’t,” he argued, understanding only too well how Kellan felt, but knowing he couldn’t just let the Watchman rush off to his death. “You might have gotten away from those Casus the other night, but Gregory isn’t going to just lie down and let you rip into him, Kell. I’m not going to let you take that risk.”
Vibrating with a sharp, explosive rage, Kellan said, “You don’t have the authority to tell me what to do, Ri.”
“But I do have a gun,” he snapped.
The Watchman gave a low, sarcastic laugh. “What? Are you going to shoot me now?”
“I will if I have to. If it’s going to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“I’m outta here,” Kellan muttered, pulling out of his hold and heading for the door.
“Damn it,” he snarled, following the Watchman outside. A light, drizzling mist of rain floated on the salty wind, the crashing of the waves against the cliffs accompanied by the distant rumble of another storm brewing out over the churning gray waters of the Pacific.
“Let it go,” Kellan called out over his shoulder. “He’s long gone by now and there isn’t a chance I could track him through this rain.”
Riley braced his hands on his hips. “Then where are you going?”
“To blow off some steam. We can’t dig in this weather. It’s nothing but muddy slop out there right now.”
Following Kellan down the cobbled path that led to the road, he asked, “And exactly who are you going to be blowing off steam with?”
“None of your damn business,” Kellan grunted, turning suddenly and facing him, the dark auburn strands of his hair whipping around his pissed-off expression. “What the hell, Ri? You planning on following me all the way to town like a mother hen?”
He knew he didn’t have any right telling the other man what to do, but it drove him crazy, the thought of Kellan getting killed because of him. “Just be careful. And take the truck,” he told him, pulling the keys from his pocket and tossing them over.
Arching one brow, Kellan said, “Gee, thanks, Pops. Do I get an allowance now as well?”
Shaking his head, Riley muttered, “Just try not to get yourself killed. Your brother will have my ass if you do.”
“I’ll try,” Kellan snorted, heading toward the side parking lot, where Riley’s truck was parked.
Turning back toward the gray-shingled house, Riley swiped the beads of water from his face, then took out a cigarette, cupping his hands as he lit it to shelter the fragile flame from the wind and the rain. Taking a deep drag, he welcomed the burn of the smoke in his lungs, focusing on the sharp sensation as he struggled to ground himself. To find a level
of calm through the rage still pounding through his blood. He wanted to go back into the house and assure himself that Hope was okay, but held back, worried. Second-guessing. Unsure of how she felt about things. Her ex’s murder…him…Gregory. He didn’t suppose she would be shedding any tears over Capshaw’s death, but she must be frightened. And then to have Gregory showing up in the café. Christ, was she blaming him?
What kind of jackass question is that?
He grunted under his breath as he headed toward the white picket fencing that followed the cliffs, knowing only too well that he was to blame for bringing this shit down on her head. He knew he should stay away, but who gave a damn? He was tired of doing what he should. Of being the bloody Boy Scout.
“Screw it,” he muttered, taking another drag on the cigarette as he headed back toward the café. Dropping the cigarette into the damp grass, he ground it out with his boot and headed inside, unsurprised to see that Hope and Millie had left two employees to deal with the front counter. Ignoring the curious, startled looks thrown his way, he headed through the kitchen, into the living room of the house. Millie was sitting on the sofa, looking tired as she sipped a cup of tea. She sent him a small smile, but he noticed the way her hand shook as she placed the cup atop the coaster on the coffee table. Hope was nowhere to be seen, and he pushed his damp hair back from his face as he said, “Is she okay?”
Millie nodded, pulling her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “I sent her upstairs to take a hot bath. Hopefully it will help calm her down.”
For a moment he wondered if Hope was soaking in a steaming tub of water, doing her best to wash away the stain he’d made on her life, but then he threw off the melodramatic idea with a scowl. Scraping his palm over his bristled jaw, he said, “She must be pretty pissed at me.”
“She isn’t angry,” Millie corrected him, her gray gaze following him as he walked to the bay window, staring out at the back lawn. “She’s worried, Riley. Terrified that something’s going to happen to you.”
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