Beneath a Darkening Moon

  Though she'd long known the truth, his words still hurt. After all, she'd once cared for this man. Cared for him deeply. To discover it was all nothing more than lies had cut to the quick. Yet his lies were not the worst of his actions. Far from it.

  She leaned back in her chair, and feigned a calm she didn't feel. “My name is Savannah. Kindly use it."

  "Savannah,” he mocked. “Such a sweet name."

  "So was the girl you knew as Vannah. You sure as hell cured her of that."

  Something flashed in his eyes. Not anger, because that was there already, but something deeper, darker. “The girl I knew as Vannah put on a damn good show of being sweet, but time sure proved otherwise."

  "Time?” She gave an unladylike snort. “We knew each other less than a month."

  Which was time enough to think she was in love. Time enough to prove how bad a judge her heart could be.

  "Sometimes a month is all it takes to prove how very wrong first impressions can be."

  "How very true,” she said dryly. “So why don't we just drop the Happy Trails memory time and get down to business?"

  "Suits me."

  He crossed his legs, drawing her eye down the powerful line of his thigh and shin to the garish blue and red of his boots. A smile touched her lips. It seemed even the starched blue correctness of the IIS couldn't break his love of cowboy boots.

  "Tell me about the murder."

  Her gaze came back to his. “Everything is in the report, which I've no doubt you've read."

  "I want your impressions."

  "Really?” Bitterness crept into her voice. “And why would you want the opinion of a no good—what was the term you used that night? Whore? Strumpet?"

  His face closed over. “I thought we were keeping this business?"

  So they were. But it was harder than she'd thought it would be, especially when the warm mix of sage and tangerine touched the air, stirring her hormones as much as it did memories of the nights she'd spent in his arms, drinking in that same scent.

  "There's been a second murder,” she said, the annoyance in her voice aimed more at herself than him. God, anyone would think she was still that dizzy teenager, not the much wiser woman she'd become. “Same MO."

  He sat up a little straighter. “Why didn't you mention this straight away?"

  "Could have something to do with seeing the one face I never wanted to see again."

  Again that darkness flared in his eyes. “Tell me about the second murder."

  "As far as we can tell, it's exactly the same as the first one. My people are up there now, locking down the scene and taking prelim photos."

  "Who discovered the body?"

  "Local teenager out for an early morning run."

  "You've taken his statement?"

  Anger flickered through her. What in moons did he think she was, an amateur? “Hell no,” she bit back. “Was I supposed to?"

  "Sarcasm is not what either of us needs right now.” His gaze bored into hers. “If you can't handle me being here on this case, step aside and let someone else take care of it."

  She didn't bother answering. As the IIS officer for this region, he had no choice in being here, and as head ranger, neither did she. But he was right about one thing—she had to get a grip on herself. “The coroner should be up there by now. You got a team following?"

  He nodded. “Two people. They should be here this afternoon. We will, of course, take over investigations, though we'll appreciate your department's help in dealing with the townsfolk."

  And he was going to need it, because the citizens of Ripple Creek didn't appreciate the sort of superior attitude he was currently offering. She took a drink of coffee and asked, “How far behind are they?"

  "They'll be here in a few hours."

  "Are you intending to wait for them, or do you want to head up there now?"

  "I'd like to get up there before the scene gets too contaminated."

  That flicker of anger became a roar. “My people are well trained and damn good at their jobs."

  "But they aren't trained for this sort of investigation, which is why the IIS is always called."

  The IIS being called had nothing to do with skill—or the lack thereof—but was a means of pacifying the humans who always seemed to think that the murder of a human on a werewolf reservation was the first sign of a planned uprising. Humans—or at least some of them—seemed to live in permanent fear of wolves. Why, she had no idea, especially when humans had all but wiped out the werewolf population in America. Hell, of the twenty reservations that had been granted originally, only eleven now existed. And two of those were in jeopardy from the encroaching human population. Resettlement was currently being discussed, but she knew from her old man that this time the wolves on those two reservations were going to give the government the legal fight of its life.

  But she didn't bother saying anything, because voicing her opinion wouldn't matter a damn. Cade was here, and their part in this play was now officially minor.

  She gulped down the rest of her coffee and rose. “I'll take you out there now."

  "Good. And on the way there, you can give me your opinion about these killings."

  She bit back the instinctive urge to throw another bitchy comment his way. As she walked past him, she tried to ignore the warm tease of tangerine in her nostrils. But it wasn't so easy to ignore his familiar presence at her back, or the way his body heat seemed to caress her skin, burning her the way the sun might burn during summer.

  It had been like that the first time she'd met him—a rush of heat, a fever that had become fiercer the longer she'd stayed in his presence. No wolf since had ever given her that sort of reaction, and she was damn glad of that fact. These days, she was quite content to spend her time in Ronan's arms, secure in the knowledge that the sex was good, that she was safe, and that he would never do anything to hurt her.

  Kel turned around at the sound of their footsteps, and her gaze went from Savannah to Cade and back again. Though her expression was perfectly pleasant, Savannah was hard pressed not to smile. Cade had a lot of ground to make up if he expected anything more than very basic assistance from Kel. And considering that the smooth operation of this ranger station depended greatly on the efficiency of its admin assistant, Cade was in deep trouble.

  Unless, of course, he brought his own admin assistant, which considering the sort of money being thrown at the IIS these days was highly likely.

  "Kel, I'm taking Mr. Jones up to Pike's clearing. If anything urgent comes in, call Steve to handle it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Have you booked rooms for yourself and your people?"

  The deep blue of his eyes seemed to bore right through her. “Not yet."

  She repressed a shiver and glanced back at Kel. “And arrange two rooms at one of the lodges."

  A smile touched Kel's lips. “Right away."

  Savannah knew that look, and she suspected luxury accommodations—or at least, as close as they got to it here in Ripple Creek—was not what Cade and his people were going to end up in. “In town,” she added, just to ensure they didn't end up in some Godforsaken corner right on the outskirts.

  A pout touched Kel's lips. Savannah smiled and led the way out the door. At least Cade couldn't have a go at her about the accommodations—but she very much suspected that he'd have a go at her about lots of other things. Most of them in the past, and most of them things she'd much rather forget.

  But if he thought she was still that meek and mild teenager, he was about to learn how very wrong he was. If he wanted a damn fight, he'd get one.

  Because after years of dreaming about the events of ten years ago, she was more than ready for it.

  * * * *

  Cade shifted slightly in the truck's seat so he could study Vannah's profile without being obvious about it. She'd changed since he'd last seen her, and the most apparent of those changes was the pale scar over her left eye. But while it constantly caught his gaze, it didn't really detract fr
om her unconventional beauty. Nothing could—not the scar, the shorter cut of her once gloriously long hair, or the cold wariness in her green eyes.

  He'd always expected that sometime they would meet again, simply because his work as an IIS officer took him to many different reservations. And though he'd never really thought about how he would react, he'd expected that anger would be first and foremost on the list of emotions. It had certainly been there—hard, deep, and furious. But what he hadn't expected was the rush of desire, or such fierce relief over the fact that she was safe, well, and whole.

  And if anything, the flood of those last two only served to make him angrier. At her, and at himself. He'd followed the path of desire once before with her, and it had almost resulted in his death. He would not go down it again, not even for the woman who still haunted his nights.

  "Tell me your first impressions of the murders,” he asked again, his voice a touch harsher than necessary.

  She slanted him a supercooled look. “It's in the report."

  "I want your thoughts, not the sanitized summary you wrote for the IIS."

  A smile flirted with her lips—lips whose sensual touch he could still remember. “Do you really want to know my thoughts?"

  "Do I have to put you on warning?” Maybe that would be a good idea. Two warnings and she was off the case, and he would be free to deal with the murders without interference from her or the past.

  "The killer uses a ritual to murder his victims,” she said, voice ultra professional yet managing to sound tart. “Blood results state the first victim was drugged, and given there's no evidence of resistance, I'd say the second victim was too.

  "The stone circle was present in the second murder as well?"

  She nodded. “As were the mutilations."

  "And what do you think of them?"

  Her gaze met his briefly, the green depths giving little away. This reserve was new. Once upon a time, he could have read a world of emotions in her eyes.

  Though he'd learned the hard way that some of those so visible emotions were nothing more than lies.

  "I think we have a nut on our hands."

  He raised an eyebrow. Was she deliberately avoiding any reference to the murders of their past? Or was she simply intent on giving him the usual “this is my town and don't you forget it” crap that he generally received from rangers of small reservations like Ripple Creek? He suspected it was the latter and that disappointed him. He'd expected more from her.

  Though why, he had no idea. After all, she'd given him very little in the way of help the first time they'd met.

  "And you don't see any similarities to past murders?"

  She met his gaze again. “That's not for me to judge, is it? Not with the IIS here."

  In other words, she wasn't admitting anything. Not to him, anyway. Which was no surprise, really. They'd done it the hard way the first time and probably would again.

  She stopped the truck beside another, in a clearing that could have come straight off a postcard, and climbed out. He quickly followed suit and breathed deeply of the crisp air. If there was anything he missed about reservation life, it was the purity of the air and the sheer and utter quiet of clearings like this.

  But then, it was hardly practical for an IIS officer to live in one of the reservations he might have to investigate, although many did. He'd grown used to city life, though, and as places to live went, Denver wasn't all that bad. At least there were glorious mountains within easy driving distance.

  "This way,” she said, and disappeared down a small path until all he could see was the occasional flash of sunlight gleaming off her golden hair.

  Not that he needed to see her to follow her. Her scent was as unusual as she was—a tantalizing mix of a warm summer breeze combined with the rich headiness of exotic flowers and fruits. Even here in the mountains, with the crispness of the air and the scent of pine and snow heavy in his nostrils, her aroma was a teasing, sensual seduction of his senses and memories.

  And he had better get control of those senses—and memories. He was here to catch a killer. Nothing more, nothing less. Whether or not he and the chief ranger had a past was irrelevant, even if he still bore a scar across his shoulder blade that was the direct result of said ranger's duplicity.

  They came out of the tree line, and the hint of blood touched the cold air. The rich, metallic smell made his pulse quicken in anticipation—something that always happened at the beginning of a hunt, even after all his years as an IIS agent. He ignored the sensation and swept his gaze across the barren, snow-speckled landscape. Ten years ago, the killer had carefully avoided obvious paths, concentrating his movements across barren stone or through water. Given this killer seemed to be imitating those past events, he very much suspected the situation would be similar here. Only here, the ground wasn't as rocky, so there was a good chance that they might find a print.

  If the rangers hadn't walked all over the area, that was.

  Which wasn't being entirely fair, he acknowledged. He glanced at Vannah's stiff back, his gaze drawn to the gentle bob of her golden ponytail, and then drifting down the curves of her back and rump, so lovingly displayed by the close-fitting, pale green ranger's uniform.

  He'd seen some sloppy work done on many of the reservations, but Ripple Creek didn't appear to be one of them. Her initial report to the IIS had been one the best he'd seen, though that didn't mean she and her team had the skills to deal with something like this.

  She led him through the rocks and stopped when she reached a large, egg-shaped stone. He stopped beside her, his nostrils filling with her rich scent as his gaze swept the scene before them. It was exactly the same as the seven he'd seen long ago, right down to the mutilated genitals and the victim's left handed, one finger salute. It had always looked like the dead were offering one final opinion on life itself.

  Two men worked near the feet of the victim, the older of the two—and the man he presumed was the reservation's acting coroner—on hands and knees between the victim's legs, intimately scrutinizing the gaping hole that had once contained penis and scrotum. A much younger man stood ready with a camera and an eager expression.

  A third ranger squatted at the top of the stone circle, but he looked up as Cade came to a halt. The flicker of animosity in his gray eyes was brief but nevertheless there. He placed a flag in the soil, rose and carefully made his way toward them.

  "We've found several foot prints, both human and wolf. I've flagged them all.” He came to a halt beside Vannah and crossed his arms.

  Presenting a united front against the invader, Cade thought, and barely restrained a bitter smile. How many times did he have to face such shows of unity before people began to realize he was actually working for them, not against them?

  "Ronan, this is Senior Agent Cade Jones, from the IIS."

  The russet-haired ranger held out his hand. His grip was neither aggressive nor passive, just the grip of a man very comfortable in what he was and what he was doing.

  "Pleasure to meet you, sir,” the ranger said.

  Like hell it was. “Please, call me Cade. I don't believe there should be formalities between law enforcement officers.” Not as long as they understood he was in charge. He waved a hand toward the victim. “How far have you progressed?"

  "We've taken photos of the victim and surrounds. Done an initial check for marks, but haven't moved the victim as yet. I've ordered an ambulance to take the body to the state medical examiner."

  Cade nodded. “I'll have someone waiting there. Did you find anything different from the first murder?"

  "Not so far."

  "What is the coroner looking at?"

  "Odd marks in the soil,” the coroner said, without looking up. “If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was lapping up the blood as this fellow bled to death."

  If true, this was a departure from the previous murders, and it would help cement his theory that this was a copycat. He walked over. Vannah and the other ranger followed
, a fact he knew only because her scent remained as strong as it had been when he'd stood beside her.

  He squatted on the outside of the stone circle. This close to the body, the aroma of blood and death was all consuming.

  "Where?” he said.

  The coroner quickly pointed out several marks in the soil. He was right—it did look like lap marks. He glanced up at the kid with the camera. “Have you taken photos?"

  The carrot-haired ranger nodded, his very demeanor one of fierce anticipation. First murder, Cade thought wryly, and wondered if the kid's exuberance would last any longer than the end of this case. It certainly hadn't with his first murder case.

  But then, he'd been a still-wet-behind-the ears recruit into the IIS, not a mere ranger, and those murders were still the worst he'd ever seen. Until now.

  "Are you ready to move the body yet?"

  "Yes, sir. Just thought you'd prefer to be here when we did it."

  At least the officials in this town seemed to be up with recommended procedures. He couldn't remember the amount of times he'd arrived at a crime scene only to find the body already bagged and hauled away. And while it was true that he usually couldn't spot anything more than the coroner would, he liked to be present when the body was first moved—just for that one time when he did spot something. “Thank you."

  The old man nodded and carefully moved to one side of the victim. The kid raised the camera and took a shot. Heaven only knows why, but Cade could hardly berate him when he was trying to do the right thing.

  The coroner shifted the victim's arm. Then he rolled the body over, carefully avoiding the flag that had been placed in the soil not too far away from the corpse's thigh. And there, on the victim's back, was another major difference to the original murders.

  Because carved into the dead man's flesh were two words.

  Remember Rosehall.

  He remembered, all right. How could he not, when his very first case had been his very worst? Thing was, the damn man behind those original murders was dead. He'd seen the body himself. Had been at the burial to watch the casket being covered with dirt and to spit on the grave.