Beneath a Darkening Moon

  "How do you know that? Smell?"

  She tapped a finger to her head. “He's seen my truck and is impolitely knocking. We'd better get around there."

  He followed her as she walked off. “How does one impolitely knock telepathically?"

  She glanced at him, merriment dancing in her green eyes. “You really want to know?"

  "I've a notion I should say no, but I'm feeling reckless."

  She arched an eyebrow, the glint in her eyes deepening. He threw up his strongest mind-shield as a precaution, but he would have been better off figuring out a way to use internal ear muffs instead. The noise hit like a hammer and made him feel like he was standing inside a ringing church bell. A church bell that oddly sounded like someone screaming his name. His whole body vibrated with the ungodly noise, but thankfully, it cut off as abruptly as it started.

  "That,” she said sublimely, “is what I meant."

  And she'd done it when his shields were on full. If she could do that so easily, then she could probably do everything else she'd threatened. Maybe he did have a lot to learn when it came to telepathy.

  "And you have to put up with intrusions like that all the time?"

  "No. Most people just ask.” She paused, and her voice, whisper soft, said, Like this, in his thoughts. It was a quick caress of sunshine that had him hungering for more. God, conversing with his teachers had never felt so good ... so intimate.

  Though considering his teachers had been male, it would have been a bit of a worry if it had.

  And can you stop thoughts if you choose to do so?

  Usually don't have to, as it's considered impolite to use private telepathy in groups and families, and including too many people in a mind-conversation can lead to a major league headache for the one coordinating. She paused. The only person I can't actually keep out is my twin.

  He hesitated, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, And Ronan?

  She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Yet amusement seemed to run around him, a gentle wave of delight that somehow made him feel foolish. Though why, he had no idea. After all, what was so damn wrong with the question?

  "What is it about Ronan that you dislike so much?"

  He's had you for ten more years than me, he thought. He knows you better than perhaps I ever will. None of which made sense to say. Yet. “I don't dislike him. It's just a territory thing."

  "That's implying I'm a territory that can be won, and when did you decide to make it a contest?"

  She raised an eyebrow, silently challenging him. It wasn't a question he could answer—not until he'd actually had time to think about it himself. To think about what he actually wanted, beyond as much time with her as he could get.

  "And why is it,” she continued, “that when male wolves hit a question they don't want to answer, they resort to the old ‘it's a territory thing’ excuse?"

  "Because we're one dimensional and can't think of other excuses,” he said dryly.

  "So true.” Her gaze left his at the sound of voices—one in particular, loud and gruff. She shook her head and added, “Dad's organizing the troops again. Heaven forbid that they actually be allowed to do their jobs without his input."

  "I'll take care of him if you like."

  She gave him a wry look. “I don't really need your protection. Never have."

  No, he thought. And it was that independence that had hooked him when they'd first met. She didn't need him—and yet, she'd wanted to be with him, wanted to share all the delights of her life with him, whether they be large and small. And he couldn't even share something as simple as the truth. He was a bastard. There was no doubt about it.

  But he was a bastard who was going to keep her alive, no matter what.

  "If these people are going after your family, you'd better get your parents out of here."

  "Yeah.” She walked on. “I'd been meaning to talk to Dad. It was stupid of me to delay it, but I didn't really think they'd go after them so fast."

  "The person or persons behind these events are playing by rules we don't understand. Better to account for all possible outcomes than be sorry afterwards."

  She looked at him, her expression unreadable, and nodded. “You're right. I kept my sister safe, but I didn't do the same for my parents. Stupid, as I said."

  Maybe, but then, she'd probably been working on the same assumption he'd been—that the killer would come straight after them now that they were both in town. Obviously, her game plan was bigger than that.

  As they walked around the corner onto Main Street, a big man with thinning blonde hair and angry-looking green eyes was coming towards them.

  "Sav,” he all but barked. “Are you all right? What the hell happened here?"

  He stopped several feet in front of them, giving them both a glare. Cade felt invisible hackles rising. It was that, more than the sudden tension tightening Savannah's shoulders, that told him this aging, leathery wolf was her father, Levon Grant.

  "I'm fine,” she said, voice cool. “But the diner was bombed."

  "Why the hell would someone bomb the diner?"

  "It was meant to kill you, but Cade and I got there first."

  Green eyes fastened on Cade. “And who the hell might Cade be?"

  She stepped to one side, and waved a hand his way. “Cade Jones, from the Interspecies Investigation Squad."

  "Really?"

  The old man looked him up and down, and then he offered his hand. But his expression, when it met with Cade's, was shrewd, giving very little away. Even the anger had disappeared, which was to be expected. He wouldn't be the pack alpha and town leader if he wasn't strong and a damn good politician.

  "What are you here for, Agent Jones?"

  Cade shook the offered hand, noting the power in the older man's grip and returning it in kind. “I'm investigating two murders on the reservation."

  "Indeed.” The old man's gaze returned to Savannah, and the air fairly crackled with hostility. “Why wasn't I informed?"

  Again, those invisible hackles rose. Cade wasn't sure if it was a natural reaction to the man's antagonistic body language, or simply an instinctive need to protect what the moon deemed his. But either way, he was going to have to watch it. Levon Grant was not someone he wanted against him. Not if he wanted to remain in his chosen career. “I asked Ranger Grant not to tell you."

  Those sharp green eyes came back to him. “And why wouldn't you want to tell a reservation's council that a murdering bomber was running around their town?"

  "We had no idea they'd go to the extent of bombing the diner,” Savannah snapped, then grabbed her father's arm. “You and I need to talk. Now,” she added, when the old man didn't move.

  Cade watched her drag him away. As he saw the tension so evident between the two, one thing became obvious—his earlier assumption that Vannah had won the head ranger's position because her dad was head of the council was totally out of line. If what he'd just witnessed was any demonstration, Levon Grant didn't support his daughter in any way.

  Odd for a man who was supposedly so gung-ho about family values.

  A gray truck pulled to a halt beside the fire trucks, and Anton climbed out. Cade walked over to him.

  "Hell of a mess,” Anton commented. “If you and the ranger were in there, you were extremely lucky to get out."

  "Very,” Cade agreed, his gaze on a green ranger's truck coming down the street fast. “The bomb was set in the kitchen, and I suspect wired to the light. When the structure's declared secure, I want you to go in there and see what you can uncover."

  Anton nodded. “Wiring to the lights suggests electrical skills that our pretty blonde suspect apparently doesn't have."

  The truck stopped and two rangers climbed out—one Steve, the other a dark haired man in his mid-forties. Not Ronan, as he'd half expected. “There are two pretty blondes, and we have no idea what skills Nelle James has."

  "Or if she's even involved,” Anton said.

  Cade met Anton's gaze.
“She's involved."

  "If she was here in town, surely Ranger Grant would know. After all, they were good friends."

  So he would have thought. But then, ten years had passed since Rosehall. When combined with a twenty year age gap, the Nelle he and Vannah remembered might not even remotely resemble the Nelle of today, particularly if those ten years had been harsh ones.

  He frowned. “How is the crosscheck going on recent arrivals?"

  "Everyone has checked out."

  Damn. “What about the check on Lonny Jackson's mother?"

  "Her name is Frankie Jackson. Married one Kenneth Jackson some eighteen years ago."

  "So he's not Lonny's natural father?” Or the sister's, if indeed Candy was Lonny's sister.

  Anton shook his head. “The father is listed as unknown on her birth certificate."

  Interesting. Jontee's true believers were all fatherless, too—all except for Vannah, who simply had a father she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. “Any other information on the mother?"

  "Yeah, she and her husband died in a car crash ten years ago."

  Cade scrubbed a hand through his dirt-encrusted hair. This case was getting more and more frustrating. Every damn time they seemed to find a lead, it was whisked away. But they were on the right track, he was sure of it. “And what happened to Lonny after their deaths?"

  "That we're still trying to find out. We found a picture of Frankie. It's in the car, along with all the other information we've collected, if you still want to look at it."

  It couldn't hurt. Given the way this case was going, he'd probably spot the dead Frankie walking around Ripple Creek. “The second blonde's name is Candy Jackson,” he told Anton. “Ronan said that Merron doesn't always register half-breeds, so maybe that explains why she looks like Lonny, and yet isn't listed as a sister."

  "Trista's calling the Merron ranger this morning.” Anton paused and added dryly, “They did get on extremely well."

  Cade snorted softly. It would have been more accurate to say that Trista and the Merron ranger had been bonking like rabbits. Still, if they could use that past relationship to get more information out of the man than they might have normally, then he was all for it. “I'll talk to her."

  He glanced across to where Vannah and her father were still arguing, noting that she seemed to be giving as good as she got. Part of him ached to go over there and defend her, but he had no rights beyond those he'd snatched with the moon magic. Besides, as she'd said, she was more than capable of looking after herself.

  But it was interesting that she was doing so against her father. While most wolf packs were modern in terms of women's rights, they were also very much a patriarchal society. An alpha male always ruled, never an alpha female, except in his family, of course. Since his father had died when he was young, his mom had ruled the house. But she'd still obeyed the edicts of the pack's alpha.

  So maybe the real reason Vannah and her father didn't get on was because they were very much alike, and she refused to acknowledge his right of rule over her.

  "She's going to need round-the-clock protection,” Anton said softly. “You both are."

  "We haven't the staff to run protection and keep up with the investigation. The best we can do is rotate where we stay—and don't advertise it."

  "You could leave town."

  "No. These bitches are mine."

  "If indeed they are bitches and not bastards."

  He didn't bother answering. He was pretty sure his rookie guess about there being more than one killer at Rosehall had been right, and he was damn sure they were right now. All he had to do was find the proof.

  "If you don't run, hiding isn't going to do much good,” Anton continued. “Gossip has a way of getting around in a town like this. Especially if the two of you shack up together."

  "I have no choice, Anton.” He forced his gaze from Vannah as Steve and the second ranger began talking to the fire chief. He frowned, suddenly wondering who was protecting Ronan. “I'm afraid the chief ranger and I have unfinished moon business."

  "Ah. I thought there was something more going on between you two.” Anton paused. “You'd better be careful that it doesn't distract you."

  "That's one warning I don't need. Let me know as soon as Hart arrives in town."

  Anton nodded. Cade headed for Anton's truck. By the time he got there, his leg ached fiercely, and the dried spots of blood on his leg had been flooded with a brighter, fresher red. He shifted shape, knowing it would stop the immediate flow, but it wasn't going to help long term. Not if he didn't stop moving around on it.

  There was no way in hell he was going back into the hospital, but he could rest for a while. He grabbed the folder from the back seat and limped over to Vannah's debris-covered truck to wait for her.

  * * * *

  Savannah thrust a hand through her blood-stiffened hair and tried to ignore the urge to scream at her father. He was frustrating at the best of times, but when it came to taking orders he refused to see the sense in, she might as well bash her head against a brick wall.

  Which, to be honest, was half the reason she'd delayed talking to him. She just had to thank God that her mom hadn't been home and paid the price for her reluctance to confront her old man.

  "Look,” she said, barely managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “I'm not arguing any more about this. I'm assigning Bodee to keep you company while you collect Mom from the hairdresser's, and then he will escort you both out of town."

  Her father's green eyes flashed with anger. “I won't be forced out of my own damn town."

  "Have you actually looked at the diner? Half the top floor is gone. If Mom had been home as usual, you'd be down at the morgue right now identifying her bits.” She stopped to take a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and guilt that had her voice rising. “Look, I know you don't want to leave, but I can't do my job and find these people if I'm constantly worried about your safety. And I simply haven't the manpower to put you under a full-time guard."

  "You said that these people are after you, not me."

  "But they'll try to get to me through you and Mom. I sent Neva to the mansion for her own safety. Either you go there too, or you get out of town."

  "I refuse to go anywhere near that den of depravity."

  "Then leave town.” She glanced over to where Bodee was standing, and she noted for the first time that Steve was with him. Damn it, why wasn't he guarding Ronan? “Bodee, Steve, can I see you both, please?"

  The two men walked over. Steve held up his hands as soon as he neared her and said, “Don't yell at me. Ronan refused to have me anywhere near him. Said he didn't need a baby sitter—only he wasn't quite that polite."

  Stubborn damn man—men, she corrected, glancing back at her father.

  "What's wrong with Ronan?” he asked, voice sharp.

  Not that he actually cared about Ronan's safety, she thought sourly. It was more a case of his wishes possibly being thwarted. Ever since the Sinclair murder case, he'd been maneuvering to get Ronan instated as head ranger. Not that Ronan particularly wanted the position—he hadn't even been asked about it, in fact—but that was beside the point. Her father wanted her out, having always believed it wasn't a job suitable for a woman—a belief that had been confirmed by her near death at the hands of the moon dance killer. Once she'd actually recovered and returned to the job, his machinations had begun. They hadn't been successful yet, but Savannah knew she'd only have to drop the ball once and she'd be out.

  And yet, perversely, she knew he was proud of her work and the way she handled herself. Knew because he'd told her more than once—usually right before he and Mom launched into their whole “it's time you settle down and have babies” routine.

  And Neva's marital bliss and resulting pregnancy had only increased their fervor to see her palmed off onto some poor, unsuspecting man.

  "The people behind the bombing tried to run Ronan down this afternoon,” she explained, then glanced at Bodee. “I've
ordered my mom and dad to leave town immediately. I want you to play chauffeur and take them to wherever they want to go.” She returned her gaze to her dad's. “But nowhere known. Go somewhere you've never been, somewhere people wouldn't expect you to be."

  "This is damnably inconvenient."

  "Being dead would be doubly so. Just do it, and let me get on with my job."

  He grunted. “Get that cut seen to, will you? It's bleeding everywhere."

  As yeses went, it was begrudging, but it was better than nothing. She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Be careful."

  "You too, cub. You, too.” He squeezed her arm, then spun around and followed Bodee to the car. She heaved a silent sigh of relief and looked at Steve. “Any word on Ike yet?"

  "No one's seen him."

  "Damn.” She bit her lip for a moment, trying to quell the fear knotting her stomach as she watched Anton and several fire fighters enter the diner's carcass. “Call Honor Jackson and see if Denny made it home, and then contact search and rescue. Once they've been advised, head on over to Ronan's. I want him watched for the next twenty-four hours, even if all of you have to sit outside his house in your trucks."

  Steve raised an eyebrow. “Why only twenty-four hours?"

  "Because I have a feeling this is all going to be over sooner rather than later."

  "For good, not for bad, I hope."

  "So do I,” she muttered. Trouble was her instincts didn't seem interested in seeing that far ahead.

  "A twenty-four hour watch is going to be hard to manage,” he continued. “We don't have enough staff to man the station and do a watch."

  Savannah scrubbed a hand across her forehead. She had a major league headache blooming, and she wasn't sure if it was a result of the bomb blast or simply an overflow of stress. “I know. But he won't leave town, so we'll just have to manage the best we can."

  Steve coughed, then sniffed and said in a scratchy voice, “So are the rest of us in danger?"

  "I honestly don't know. But it's well known that Ronan and I are good friends, and I suspect that's the only reason they had a go at him."

  Steve nodded. “It might be better for everyone if you got out of town."