Under Her Skin

  "Once word of this gets out, your deputies are never going to let you live it down," she said when Nathan slid into his seat.

  He glanced over toward Osborne. When he looked back at Emma, his broad grin kicked her heart against her ribs. "Word isn't getting out. Last year, I caught Osborne in the break room singing—and dancing—to Britney Spears."

  "How'd you know it was Britney Spears?"

  "It's a damn good thing he never asked me that, isn't it?" Nathan made a U-turn, lifting his hand as he drove past Osborne. "How's your head?"

  She prodded the bump on her scalp and grimaced. "Not bad. It only hurts when I touch it."

  "Then—"

  "Don't touch it." She met his eyes. There was warmth and laughter there, just as there'd been six years ago when she'd fallen off one of his horses, bruising her pride and her elbow. Her aunt Letty had given her the same advice then—don't touch it. "Yes, I know."

  His smile faded as his gaze swept over her again. "We'll stop at Letty's, have her look at that bump. Then I'll take you both to my place."

  Aunt Letty's old farmhouse shared a lane with the Forrester property. "Do you think that's necessary?"

  "Yes." The instrument panel cast a faint green light over his hard profile and the grim set of his mouth. "We're pretty sure he's local. And even if we try to keep your identity quiet, word will get out."

  And everyone knew where Aunt Letty lived, where Emma would be staying. "Will he come after me?"

  "If he thinks you can identify him, yes. No one's gotten away from him before."

  Nathan had already asked if she'd recognized her attacker. Emma hadn't. She'd know him if she saw him again, though. Or smelled him.

  With luck, however, she wouldn't have to taste him again. "I bit his hand pretty hard," she said.

  "I can see that." His gaze dropped to her shoulder. The blood soaking her wool sweater overwhelmed almost every other odor in the Blazer, so that beneath its metallic scent she only detected a faint hint of coffee, vinyl seats, the earthiness of male skin, and his lingering fear. "We'll keep a look out for any hand injuries. But this time of year, everyone's wearing gloves. Even if you took a good chunk, he could hide it."

  More than a chunk. Nausea churned in her stomach. "His truck had a diesel engine. It was a pickup truck.. I know it was one of the big ones, because the lights were high up."

  "Good. That's good, Emma. That'll help us." He rubbed his hand over his face before flipping the windshield wipers to high, whipping away the heavy flakes. "What the hell were you thinking, driving through this mess in the middle of the night?"

  She'd been thinking that even if her Jeep had gotten stuck, even if it had slid into a ditch, she'd be fine. Running the distance to Aunt Letty's would have been no effort. It would have been fun.

  "Well, I wasn't thinking that a murderer would give me a flat tire." She waited until he glanced over, met her eyes. "You're only pissed at me because you were scared. Believe me, I was scared, too. Out of my freaking wits."

  Nathan clenched his jaw, looked through the front windshield again. "You're calm enough now."

  And barely holding onto that calm. Her senses were filled with blood, with Nathan. "Trust me," she said softly. "That's a good thing."

  * * *

  Even waking her at two in the morning didn't trip Aunt Letty up. Telling her about Emma's run-in with a serial killer didn't either, but Emma hadn't expected it to. No, not Aunt Letty. Her only reaction was one similar to the reaction she gave the first time Emma had changed into a wolf in front of her: she stared at Emma with eyes like steel, but with softly pursed lips.

  Then she'd ordered Emma to sit at the kitchen table while she collected her first aid supplies from the pantry. Her white hair was braided for sleep; beneath the mint green terry-cloth robe, Emma knew there would be a sprigged flannel nightgown with a bit of lace at the hem. Her cool fingers were all wrinkles and knuckles, gentle as she cleaned the wound.

  "So, young man," she said to Nathan as she unwrapped a bandage, "you're moving us to your place because you're worried he'll come after my Emma."

  "Yes, Miss Letty," Nathan said from the kitchen entrance. If he'd had his hat, Emma thought, it'd have been between his hands. Before retiring last year, her aunt had been both teacher and nurse at the tiny Pine Bluffs high school. Emma hadn't met anyone in town below the age of fifty who didn't speak to Letty with the same deference that Nathan did.

  "And what did Emma say to that?"

  "She didn't argue."

  Letty arched her white eyebrows. "Well, isn't that something?" she murmured. "I thought for sure Emma would have said she'd handle any threat on her own."

  "I bit him," Emma said quietly, her gaze locked with her aunt's. "He's dangerous—and going to get worse."

  "Then it seems to me that, before things get worse, you've got some explaining to do." Letty straightened up. "Maybe you can get started on that while I pack."

  Emma sighed, and watched Nathan step aside to let her aunt pass into the hallway. Of course Letty was right. But knowing was easier than doing. Knowing was always easier than doing.

  But that was why she'd come back, wasn't it? There were things to do, and to explain.

  She just hadn't realized she'd be starting this early.

  "You might as well change now, too," Nathan said, his deference going as easily as it had come. His fear had passed, too. And his anger. In their place was speculation. His eyes narrowed as he assessed her from head to toe. "I'll need your clothes as evidence. It's unlikely that you'll be getting them back."

  "That's fine." Emma hooked her fingers beneath the hem of the blood-stained sweater, and paused. "You're going to watch?"

  "I will if you take them off here where I can see you."

  In answer, she pulled the sweater over her head. He'd been teasing her, she knew. But now his smile froze in place as Emma took off her t-shirt and threw it on top of her sweater. Then she began to shimmy out of her jeans.

  She heard his approach, the racing of his heartbeat. His hands flattened on the table on either side of her hips, closing her in with his wide shoulders and tall frame. "Stop it, Emma."

  The growl rumbling up from her chest stole her response. She kicked the jeans free of her feet, and stood in front of him in her bra and panties.

  Nathan's face darkened; his breathing deepened. "We got along before, pretending we could just be friends. I can't do that now, not after that phone call, not after hearing you scream and not knowing—" He bit off his words. His throat worked and he leaned in, forcing her back against the table. "So you should think a little before stripping off in front of me."

  Off balance, she grabbed onto his biceps to steady herself. "I've thought more than a little. I've been thinking about you for five years."

  "Not hard enough, obviously." He backed out of her grip. "Because for five years, you've been up in Seattle."

  She crossed her arms over the scratchy lace of her bra. "You haven't exactly been burning up the highway between here and there."

  He stared at her for a long moment before he turned toward the door, shaking his head. "You always ask the one question I don't have an answer to."

  "I didn't ask anything."

  "Yes, you did. Which suitcase do you need?"

  She blinked. "The small one."

  She listened to the heavy tread of his footsteps on the front porch, then to the snow crunching beneath his boots as he walked to the truck.

  Winter in Pine Bluffs. Emma knew the summers better. When she was sixteen, her mother had sent her to stay with Letty over summer vacation, arguing that time away from the city would do her good. Emma had chosen to come the next six years. Nathan had only been part of the reason, because her mother had been right—time in Pine Bluffs had done her good. She loved the forests with their thick mats of pine needles over red earth, loved the town with its three stoplights and not a single chain restaurant.

  So she'd visited, first in high school and then throug
hout college, fully intending to make it a permanent move after she'd earned her degree. But she'd changed her plans, that last summer.

  Apparently Nathan had been thinking of that summer too, and the hike they'd taken around the lake, the tension simmering between them. "Your leg didn't scar," he said, setting her case on the table.

  Automatically, Emma glanced down at her right calf. Smooth skin stretched over muscle that, five years ago, had been mangled, bleeding. "It turned me into a werewolf. So I heal faster now."

  His short burst of laughter was exactly what she'd expected. No, she couldn't tell him straight out. She'd have to prepare him, so that he could more easily accept the unbelievable. After dropping Aunt Letty and Emma at his house, Nathan would have to return the highway and help Osborne go over the scene at the Jeep. It would be a simple thing to follow him in wolf form and offer help...and then hope he didn't shoot her, as he had the werewolf who'd attacked her.

  A lead bullet between the eyes killed a werewolf just as easily as it did a man; unfortunately, death hadn't changed him back to his human form. If it had, she might have known what was happening to her. She might have known where the cravings came from, and why she'd woken up naked in the woods just outside Nathan's bedroom window.

  But she'd probably have been just as frightened, and run just as fast.

  "Your Jeep was packed full," he said, and she could feel his gaze on her as she unzipped her suitcase. "Are you staying a while?"

  "Forever, probably."

  "Why now?"

  She stepped into her jeans. "Aunt Letty's getting older, there's an opening for a science teacher at the high school, and I need a place to run."

  His eyebrows drew together. "Are you in trouble?"

  "Not a place to run to. A place to run. The city isn't good for that."

  His frown remained, but he only nodded. Emma pulled on a sweater as Letty came back into the kitchen, bundled in her coat and knitted cap. Daisy, the yellow Labrador who'd been Letty's companion for as long as Emma could remember, had ventured downstairs and now sat at Letty's heel. The dog's body was taut, shaking. That was another reason Emma had left. But she'd since learned that, with time, a dog would get over its instinctive fear of her. It just took a lot of dog biscuits.

  Letty's steely gaze landed on Emma's face. Emma shook her head.

  An aging aunt, a job, a place to run. All true. And Nathan was another reason—but she couldn't tell him that until after she showed him the rest.

  * * *

  The snow let up just before dawn. Nathan walked the highway shoulder, sweeping his flashlight over the ground, hoping for even a foot of tire track that hadn't been filled in. Emma had helped narrow down the type of vehicle, but a matching tread would go further in court.

  Two hundred yards from her Jeep, he gave up. Turning back, he saw Osborne standing beside the deputy vehicle, lifting his hand. Nathan waved him on. There was nothing left here. He'd have the Jeep towed into town, and the snow and the plows would erase the rest.

  Then he'd spend a good portion of the morning bucking through the logging roads that turned off the main highway between here and Pine Bluffs, searching for the route Emma's attacker had used. Cold, boring work, which would give him too much time to spend in his head. This meant he'd probably spend a good portion of the morning obsessing over Emma.

  And wishing that he was with her in his old bedroom, in that old double bed heaped high with blankets, instead of trudging through the freezing backwoods.

  He glanced into her Jeep as he passed it. An inch of white snow covered the driver's seat, and the black powder from the fingerprinting kit dusted the door handles.

  Not much hope there, either. Emma had been certain her assailant had been wearing leather gloves.

  Yet she'd still managed to bite through the gloves hard enough that his blood had splashed all over her. Terror lent her strength.

  A hot ball of anger settled in his gut. Nathan looked away from the Jeep, staring blindly into the tree line. They were going to get the bastard this time. If the son of a bitch knew what was good for him, he'd walk into the sheriff's office now and turn himself in.

  But Nathan hoped to God that when the time came, the bastard resisted arrest.

  Of course, they had to identify him first. With a sigh, he banged his fist against the roof of the Jeep, turned back to his vehicle. And froze.

  A wolf lay in front of his Blazer, like a dog stretched out before a fire, but twice the size of any dog Nathan had ever seen. He'd seen a wolf this large before, however; he'd killed a wolf this large after it had attacked Emma on a hiking trail.

  But this wolf wasn't snarling, hackles raised and fangs bared. Its thick, dark fur lay flat over its back; its head was raised, amber eyes watching him steadily, pointed ears pricked forward.

  He rested his hand on his weapon, but didn't draw it. Not yet. He edged to the side, began making a wide arc that would take him to his vehicle without directly approaching the wolf. He stopped when the wolf cocked its head, rose to its feet and trotted toward the Jeep.

  It sniffed at the snow by the flat tire, then began to work its way back. Scenting the blood, Nathan assumed. The tension began to leave his shoulders, and he watched as it began to dig through the small drift that had piled beside the rear tire.

  Then it turned, looked at him, and sat. When Nathan only stared back, the wolf made a chuffing sound, pushed its long nose back into the drift, and nudged.

  Something small and black rolled out of the drift, leaving—Nathan realized with a strange, swooping sensation in his stomach—specks of pink ice in its wake.

  The wolf backed up a few yards, then sat again.

  Slowly, Nathan approached the Jeep. He kept his gaze on the wolf, then dared a glance at the object on the ground.

  His stomach did another swoop, and for a second he thought his head was going to go with it. He crouched, sitting on his heels, waiting for the light-headedness to pass.

  It was a thumb, still inside the leather of the glove.

  He had a fingerprint. Holy shit. Disbelieving, he took off his hat, pushed his hand through his hair. He looked up at the wolf.

  "What the hell are you?"

  Its mouth stretched into what Nathan would have sworn was a grin. For an instant, he remembered Emma in Miss Letty's kitchen, joking about becoming a werewolf.

  God. Was he actually entertaining the idea that this wolf was a human? That it was Emma?

  He was obviously lacking sleep or caffeine. Shaking the ridiculous thought from his head, Nathan stood. The wolf trotted past him, its shoulder brushing his leg.

  He watched it break into a lope down the highway, and turned back to the thumb on the ground. He could think about the wolf later. Now, he had a job to do.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Nathan slammed on his brakes when the wolf appeared on the highway shoulder. The Blazer fishtailed before the chains caught and gave him traction. It took a long time for his heart to stop pounding.

  He climbed out of the truck, pointed at the wolf. "Do you know how dumb that was?"

  Probably not any less dumb than talking to an animal. And definitely not as stupid as feeling chastised when it gave him a look, then trotted a few yards up the highway.

  To a logging road. It sniffed at the snow, moved farther off the highway, then looked back at Nathan expectantly.

  "You're kidding me," he said.

  The wolf shook its head. Answering him.

  And there went reality. Nathan trudged forward. "No jury is going to buy this story."

  * * *

  Emma was still half-asleep when she heard Nathan come home. She turned, buried her face in her pillow, and listened to Letty ask him about the investigation, the status of the Jeep, and whether he preferred rolls or biscuits with the beef stew she was making. Then she sent him from the kitchen with an instruction to wake the princess who'd slept the day away.

  The princess thought she deserved all the sleep she'd h
ad. Emma had run more than thirty miles that morning. After she'd left Nathan by the highway, she'd searched through a quarter of the town, trying to track down the murderer by scent.

  Unfortunately, she hadn't found any sign of him.

  Nathan didn't knock. She held her breath as he came inside the room, locked the door, and moved to the bed. He pulled off his boots and slipped in next to her, drew her back tight against his chest.

  "You're awake," he said, his voice low in her ear.

  She nodded, fighting the sudden need that was tearing through her, the growl that came with it.

  "We got closer to him today." Nathan shifted slightly, snuck his arm beneath her ribs, hugged her to him. "We found where he pulled off the highway and waited, got the imprint from a tire track. We even got a fingerprint, sent it in to the state lab. Hopefully they'll come up with a match. Any guy with a missing thumb is going to have some explaining to do."

  Emma forced the need away, found her voice. "It won't be missing for long. It'll grow back. And that story will be a lot harder to sell to a jury than the one you have for this morning."

  The silence that fell was heavy, painful. Nathan didn't move. She couldn't see him, had no idea what he was thinking. But at least he didn't let her go.

  Finally, he pulled her closer. His jaw, rough with a day's growth of beard, scratched lightly over her cheek. "This morning, I thought I was having some kind of spiritual experience. The kind people have a few weeks before they play naked chicken with a train. So if you're saying what I think you're saying, it's a lot less worrying than thinking I've gone crazy."

  Emma could only nod again, her relief a shuddery ache in her chest.

  But Nathan didn't let her off the hook. "If you're saying it, Emma, then say it."