Beneath a Darkening Moon

  She slanted him a cool glance, which was nothing but a brave front, but he didn't know that. “According to you, I didn't have friends. I just had bed buddies."

  "What about Nelle James?"

  Nelle. So that's what this line of questioning was about. “I didn't sleep with Nelle."

  His expression suggested he very much doubted the truth of that, and that got her dander up more than anything else he'd ever said about her. She certainly hadn't shared herself with everyone at the commune, no matter what he thought, and she most definitely hadn't slept with women. Not that she had anything against those who did; it just that it didn't rock her boat.

  "But you were close,” he said. “Very close."

  "What of it?"

  "You warned her to run, didn't you?"

  His voice was flat, but she shot him a quick look. His expression was just as flat as his voice, but his eyes glimmered with the faintest hint of fury.

  And there was something almost satisfying about that.

  "Yes, I did."

  "Why?"

  "Because she was my friend."

  "And your friend was involved in murder."

  The anger that had been bubbling under the surface surged to life, a flash so sharp it momentarily erased the fire of need. “No, she wasn't. Nelle had nothing to do with Jontee's schemes."

  "And you knew this for sure?"

  Despite her fury, she hesitated. Truth was, she couldn't be one hundred percent certain, because she'd never actually used her telepathy skills to invade Nelle's mind and check. And why would she? Nelle had been a good friend, and one she trusted. Besides, once the news of the murders had started getting out, they had discussed it. Nelle had been as shocked and as disbelieving as everyone else.

  "Why are you asking this?"

  "Because Nelle James is someone we've never been able to track down."

  "So naturally, you jump to the conclusion that she had to have been involved. I mean, it couldn't be something as simple as her using a false name in that place, now could it?"

  "Like you, you mean?"

  "Yes.” She glanced at him. “And you always did think I knew more than what I was saying."

  "That's because you damn well did. It's thanks to you—or rather, the information I pulled out of your mind—that I caught Jontee."

  "Pulled being the operative word.” She hesitated and took a deep breath, trying to calm old anger. “That hurt, you know. Physically and emotionally. You might as well have thrown me up against the wall and punched the information out of me."

  His brief look was almost contemptuous. “I think you're overstating it. I've done it before, many times, and most of the time the person I was with wasn't even aware of it."

  "But were most of those other mates telepathic, like you? Me?"

  He frowned. “No."

  "There's your answer, then."

  "Why would that make any difference?"

  She shook her head. He couldn't see the wrong in it, couldn't see the harm in it, even all these years later. And why would he? He'd been there to catch a murderer, and she was no more than an available scrap of wolf with whom he happened to share an amazing sexual relationship. That was all she'd been, all she'd meant to him.

  She just wished she could have said the same about him. Life would have been so much easier—then and now.

  She stopped the car at the first available space close to the basketball courts and pointed across the road to the park. “There's Denny, in the blue and black.” She glanced at Cade. “Let me talk to him first."

  "Afraid I'll hit him?” Cade said, voice wry but edged with contempt.

  She snorted softly. “Hitting would get you into trouble. But raping his mind? You've already proven yourself more than capable of that."

  He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, bruising her. “It wasn't rape of any kind, Vannah."

  "Then what else would you call forcing entry into another telepath's mind?” She wrenched her arm away from his and climbed out. The cool wind ran fingers through her hair, chilling her scalp but not her anger.

  Damn him for being here, she thought as she slammed the door closed. And damn her memories and her attraction and her lack of control for letting him get to her. She was a ranger and a grown woman now, not that silly, senseless teenager. She ought to know better.

  She walked around the car and across the road without bothering to wait for him. But his footsteps told her he wasn't far behind. It was like being followed by a storm cloud ready to break across her back—his presence was that dark, that furious.

  Denny glanced up, his face paling a little when he spotted them. He caught the ball, and for several seconds, he looked as if he was going to run. Then a smirk touched his thin lips.

  "Morning, Ranger Grant.” His gaze went past her, and his bravado slipped a little.

  If Cade looked as scary as he felt, Savannah couldn't actually fault the kid for being a little frightened.

  "Who paid you to drop that note under my wipers?” she said, as she stopped.

  "I didn't—"

  "Denny, Anni saw you."

  "Sneaking old cow,” he muttered, then sniffed. “What if I did? It was only a joke, like."

  "Did you read it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then you know it was no joke, but a threat."

  "No, it weren't. She told me—” He stopped abruptly.

  Something in her stomach clenched, but before she could say something, Cade said, “She who?"

  Though his voice was flat, there was an undercurrent that suggested violence. Denny swallowed and went white, which was not an easy thing for a brown wolf to achieve.

  "I don't know. Never saw her before."

  "Was she young? Old?” Cade snapped.

  Savannah crossed her arms and resisted the temptation to tell him to cool it. After all, he was getting answers quicker than she usually did.

  "Young,” Denny stammered. “Late teens, maybe even early twenties. She said she'd meet me later tonight and pay me, like."

  "Where?” Savannah asked, relieved that the person behind the threat wasn't old, so it couldn't have been Nelle, as Cade had undoubtedly believed.

  "At Club Grange."

  "A local rave room,” she said, for Cade's benefit. And it was a place that had caused more than its share of drunken behavior over the last few months. For some strange reason, people seemed to think out of town meant safe from the rangers. “Give me a description, Denny."

  "About my height. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Big tits.” He shrugged.

  "Wolf?"

  He snorted. “When they look like that, who cares?"

  "You'd better start caring,” Cade said. “Because you're in it deep this time."

  "For a note?"

  "Threatening an officer of the law is a chargeable offense."

  "But I wasn't—"

  "But you did.” Cade paused. “Of course, if you were to go to that club tonight and point her out to us, I might consider letting you off with a warning."

  "And miss out—"

  "Would you rather have sex or a firsthand view of a jail cell?"

  If the kid's expression was anything to go by, it was a close run race between the two options.

  "All right,” he muttered eventually. “I gotta be there to meet her at ten."

  "In the main room or the moon room?"

  He half-sneered, then his gaze shot beyond her and his bravado fled again. “Moon room."

  "Then we'll be there, too,” Cade said. “And if you're not—"

  He let the words hang, but Denny's expression suggested he definitely got the unspoken message. “Can I go now?"

  Savannah nodded, and the teenager scampered, leaving her alone with Cade once again.

  Oh, joy, she thought sourly. After taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she turned around. His expression was every bit as dark as she'd expected.

  "If we go there tonight, the news will spread like wildfire. This wom
an won't show."

  "So is this place just for teenagers?"

  "No, for everyone, but it's recently become the ‘must-be’ place for the late teens and early twenties.” Mainly thanks to her old man's attempts to shut the place down. Nothing like a good bit of council outrage to make the inquisitive sit up and take notice.

  "And what is the moon room?"

  She half-smiled. “Just because the leaders of this town are against the moon dance doesn't mean all its citizens are."

  "Naturally, seeing as there's a Sinclair clan living on the reservation.” He crossed his arms, and she clenched her fingers against the urge to run her fingers across all the muscle so evident under his blue shirt. “But what has that got to do with the moon room at this club?"

  "It's outside city limits and on private land. Just as the Sinclair Mansion is."

  "Ah. So the moon room is, in fact, a safe place where wolves can go celebrate.” He frowned. “But Denny is underage. He can't legally be at a bar."

  She snorted. “Like teenagers all around the world don't get past that problem? Anyway, his mom lives and works at the bar and her brother owns the place, so technically, he's under the supervision of his parent and on home ground. And he doesn't drink."

  "Just celebrates?"

  She nodded. “The problem with us going there tonight is that everyone knows me. As I said, if this woman is involved in the murders or the threat, she'll hear quickly enough."

  His gaze slid down her length, and heat prickled across her skin, igniting the ache deep inside. Her nipples hardened, pressing painfully against the tough material of her shirt. She licked her lips, trying to remain calm and collected when her pulse raced so loud it seemed to roar in her ears. Lord, how she wanted him. Wanted to run her hands over his warm, hard flesh, feel the press of it against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. To drink in his scent and his arousal and lose herself in that sexual place that contained only pleasure. No memories, no lies, just pure, unadulterated bliss. They'd had that last night and could so easily have it again, here and now.

  Had she been anywhere else but the middle of a very public park, the sheer force of her need for him might have had her crossing the line she'd drawn between them. But thankfully, they weren't alone. Or secluded.

  When his gaze finally rose to meet hers again, there wasn't only the thick heat of lust in his eyes, but the need to hurt, to accuse, as he had before. She braced herself mentally, felt the tightening across her shoulders.

  "I'm sure you can change your appearance,” he drawled. “After all, that was one of the things you were so very good at, wasn't it? Changing your appearance to match each newcomer's needs?"

  The barb cut deep, not so much because it was true, but because he still clung to the belief that she'd bedded every male at the commune. But she forced an eyebrow upwards, feigning a calm she didn't feel. “I never had any complaints."

  He snorted. “Oh, I'm sure you didn't. You were so very good at your work, after all."

  "Yes, I was, wasn't I?” She stepped around him, then briefly stopped and met his gaze again. “And tell me, who is the biggest whore? The woman who sleeps with a man for the sheer pleasure of it, or the man who sleeps with the woman for the sole purpose of getting information?"

  "I was working undercover,” he bit back, as he followed her. “That was part of the job."

  "I'm sure it was, but that doesn't actually answer the question.” She opened the car and strode around to the driver's side. “Where to next?"

  Part of her was hoping he'd say the forest. The saner part was praying he didn't.

  His gaze met hers, blue eyes hard, cold. Yet a shimmer of excitement ran through her. Because those eyes, for all their glacial indifference, spoke to the wildness within her.

  They would go to the forest. And that wildness would be released.

  "Take me,” he said, his gaze challenging hers, “to the clearing where you heard the car."

  Her pulse rate soared and sweat broke out across her palms. He could smell her desire as much as she could smell his, so there was no point in feigning disinterest. And what he was doing, what he was really saying, was that it was up to her to break their agreement. Her choice; her decision. But once she did, it was all bets off.

  God, she'd barely gone half a day in his presence, and here she was, breaking down. Where was her strength of will when she really needed it?

  Trying to keep control, she simply nodded and climbed into the car. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed a number, issuing orders to Trista as Savannah drove out of town and up Red Mountain Road. She turned into the side road but stopped a short way in.

  "The road is slippery from the snow yesterday and the rain we had early this morning,” she said, when he looked at her. “And we haven't got chains on."

  He nodded, and they both climbed out. She breathed deeply, letting the scented but cold mountain air fill her lungs, hoping it would wash the heat and the smell of man from her lungs and her skin.

  It didn't.

  Even with the car between them, her senses were filled with his presence. She wasn't going to survive the entire day without touching him. Or begging him to touch her.

  She glanced at the sky, silently swearing at a moon that was currently shining its cold light on another side of the world. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she began the long climb up the road. After a few minutes, he joined her, walking so close to her side that the warmth of his body caressed hers, yet not close enough that their arms were brushing.

  And suddenly, she was aching for the simple pleasures they'd once shared—like walking up a mountain hand in hand. Even though it was so long ago, she could still remember the gentle way he'd twined his fingers through hers, the press of his palm against hers. The way he'd gripped tight, holding her upright as she'd slipped.

  She blinked away the sudden sting of tears. Damn it, she had to stop doing this to herself. The past was gone. She needed to get over it—get over him.

  Yet she very much suspected that in order to do either of those things, she had to sit down and talk to him. Ten years ago she'd run rather than confront him over his actions. That had been her biggest mistake. The years had not eased the pain or her feelings for him, because there'd been no true end between them. She needed that end to put it all behind her.

  But even now, the thought of challenging him over what he'd done scared the living hell out of her. Because as long as she didn't go there, some small, stupid part of her could still believe that despite his words, despite the fact that she was just a means to an end, some small part of him really had cared.

  And the mere fact that after all this time she still clung to that spoke of how much she now needed to exorcise those feelings if she was ever to get on with her life.

  Now was not the right time to begin such a task, though. But was there ever going to be a right time? Somehow, she suspected not.

  Once they reached the parking area at the top of the road, she led him across to the spot from which the car had taken off. He squatted, studying the ground, carefully moving leaves about with a pen he'd drawn from his pocket.

  "Looks like it could have been a truck rather than a car,” he said, after a few minutes.

  She frowned. “You found a track?"

  His quick look suggested she should have found it, too, and that annoyed her. God, it wasn't as if she'd had the benefit of daylight.

  She squatted beside him and did her best to ignore his warmth and rich, enticing aroma. “Where?"

  He outlined what was little more than a wide smudge in the mud.

  "No wonder I didn't spot it last night,” she muttered, then tilted her head as she studied the vague impression. There was something very odd about it. “They didn't have chains on."

  "No, otherwise the imprints would have been deeper.” He glanced at her, navy eyes cool. Dangerous. That of a cop rather than a lover. “Why?"

  She frowned. “Well, this road isn't surfaced,
and because it's so steep, getting up here without them would have been pretty much impossible after the snow we had the night before."

  "They could have had a four-wheel drive."

  "Even a four-wheel drive can have trouble on a steep, slushy road."

  He shrugged his acceptance of her comment. “Your point being?"

  His curt tone had her fingers clenching. She flexed them, but it didn't do much to ease the annoyance. “The very fact that this impression is so faint suggests that the driver not only didn't wear chains, but he didn't, in fact, drive up here yesterday. The ground that was under the truck is drier, which is why he didn't leave much of an impression when he first sped off."

  He ran his pen over the ground beside the faint impression. “It does seem firmer.” He glanced at her. “A good observation, Ranger."

  His voice was patronizing, as if he hadn't expected something like that from her. The inner bitch rose to the surface, but she somehow managed to quell the instinct to snarl at him. “Meaning,” she said, her voice surprisingly even, “that our quarry was probably here before the snow had actually fallen."

  He nodded. “It also suggests you might have heard him moving positions rather than actually trying to sneak up on us."

  She rose, walked around the tire impression and then down the hill a ways. The air was noticeably colder this far away from Cade, but at least she could take a breath without every speck of air being filled with the enticing spice of his presence. “It also means we should be able to find more tracks. If he didn't have chains, he would have had little control going back down that road."

  "If he'd hit something, we would have seen it."

  "But the road is straight. What if he managed a controlled slide most of the way down and just sideswiped the trees at the bottom?” She certainly hadn't noticed any sign of damage, but she hadn't been looking for something like that.

  Which was just more proof that Cade's presence was rattling her more than it should.

  "With that sort of impact, he'd still be down there."

  She shook her head. “Depends on how bad the slide was, how fast he was going, and how quickly he was able to recover once he hit the main road.” Her gaze met his. “But even a small bump might have left paint."