of this moon dance, but she wasn’t about to lean on him,
not in any way. She’d chosen him to be a means to an
end, nothing more, though whether he’d let her continue
her investigations now that he knew who she was, she
didn’t know. But undoubtedly soon would.
Her teeth were chattering by the time she reached her
house, and the goose bumps he’d mentioned were
practically boulders. She flicked on the lights and the
heating, then moved into the kitchen to fill up the coffee
pot.
“I’m going for a shower,” she said, flicking the switch.
“Alone.”
She turned to face him, and all thought of showering
immediately fled at the desire so evident in his dark eyes.
Her heart began a double-time dance, and she knew with
certainly this time it had nothing to do with fear. Freezing
cold or not, she wanted this man with a fierceness that
was almost scary. As was the fact that she’d never felt
anything like this before. But then, she’d never been with
a wolf as wild as Duncan before. Her previous mates had
been sensible choices—the sort of wolves her parents would
have approved of.
She stood her ground, and he stopped, leaving only
inches between them. The heat of him melted the ice from
her skin, and the wave of his anger and passion burned
at her mind. She might have her shields at full strength,
but right now she was feeling this man’s emotions all too
clearly.
“Tell me one thing.” His voice was soft. Emotionless.
But his dark gaze held hers with an intensity that curled
her toes. “Is Savannah the reason you’re at the mansion?”
She nodded, wishing he’d touch her. Hoping he didn’t.
Crazy, that’s what she was.
“You joined the dance for no other reason than to hunt
down her attacker?”
Again she nodded. With the emotive soup of passion
and need and hunger swirling around her, through her,
she could do little else.
“And no one else knew of your decision?”
She couldn’t help a derisive snort. “Not until you
announced to the whole damn hospital ward that I was
your mate this moon phase.”
Something flickered in his eyes. What, she wasn’t sure,
though she doubted it was regret. This man didn’t seem
to regret anything he did.
He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, his
gentle touch sending a shiver of longing through every
fiber of her being. Then he dropped his hand and stepped
back.
“Go have your shower.”
She stared at him for a moment, wondering what sort
of game he was playing now. Or was it merely an extension
of the same one? His behavior over the last day certainly
suggested he enjoyed stirring her to the point of climax
then pulling back, and while she was nowhere near that
point at the moment, his closeness had her so hot it
wouldn’t take much to reach it.
“Go,” he said when she didn’t move. “I’ll rustle up
something to eat.”
She went, though in truth, it was really the last thing
she wanted to do. By the time she’d showered and changed,
the aroma of deep fried chicken wafted through the air.
Her stomach rumbled a reminder that she hadn’t eaten
breakfast, and she hurriedly dried and brushed her hair
before padding barefoot down the stairs.
Stopping in the doorway, she watched him dish up
two plates of chicken and vegetables. He’d taken off his
coat and rolled up his sleeves, and he looked so completely
at home in her kitchen that something stirred in her heart.
He glanced up, his dark gaze catching hers and seeming
to delve deep into her soul. The intensity that flared
between them went beyond the natural heat of moon-spun
lust. It was deeper, stronger. But just how deep or strong
was something she had no intention of finding out. Such
exploration would only lead to a disaster with this man.
“That smells good,” she said, breaking the moment
and refusing to contemplate what that moment actually
was.
He picked up the two plates and brought them over to
the table. “Living on my own for so long has taught me to
cook. Eat up, while it’s still hot.”
It was hard to imagine Duncan being on his own for
any length of time. And he’d hardly have the reputation
he had if he was. She sat down on the opposite side of the
table from him, picked up the knife and fork, and quickly
discovered the meal tasted as good as it looked. They ate
in silence, and when they’d both finished, he took the
plates over to the sink and poured them both a mug of
coffee.
“So,” he said, sitting down once again. “You want to
explain why you and your sister are so adamant the killer
is hiding in the Sinclair mansion?”
“You want to explain why you think he isn’t?”
His smile was grim. “I know my family. They’re many
things, but they’re not killers.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”
He met her gaze squarely, and though his face was
expressionless, his exasperation and anger stirred around
her. “Even me.”
She leaned back in her chair and contemplated him
over the rim of her coffee cup. “Then why did you go to
jail?”
“You mean you haven’t already gotten all the details
from your sister?”
“She’s only just woken, so I haven’t had time.” Besides,
she wanted to know just how willing he was to be honest
with her now that he knew what she wanted—and why
she was at the mansion. “But I do know it was drunk
driving related. Did you kill someone?”
“No. And I didn’t spend a lot of time in jail—just enough
for the police to find the evidence that backed my story. ”
“Not a lot of time could be one month or one year,
depending on your point of view,” she said dryly.
He didn’t react, though the anger touching the air
increased. In some regards, that surprised her. After all,
he didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought, so why
did it matter what she thought?
“In this case, it was only a couple of days while the
police checked my story, and only because I couldn’t make
bail. A man who suspected I was having an affair with his
wife cut the brake lines, and I couldn’t stop the car. Luckily
for us both, the driver of the car I crashed into wasn’t
seriously hurt.”
“But you were drunk at the time.”
“Like most wolves, I have a high tolerance for alcohol.
I was nowhere near drunk, but I was right on the legal
limit.”
Until the lawmakers decided how to legally deal with
the different makeup of humans, werewolves and
shapeshifters, all of them had to cope with the laws as
they were. And it didn’t matter diddly-squat if the legal
limit was barely tipsy for a
wolf. It was the law, and they
had to live with it. “So you got a fine and did community
service?”
“Yes.”
“So why is it that Savannah thinks you’re a felon?”
“Because it’s not the first time I’ve landed in jail for
being drunk, though the other times, I wasn’t driving.”
“So you were a fool thrice over?”
“Yes.”
“And were you having an affair with the husband’s
wife?”
“They were separated.”
“So the answer is yes, you were.”
He shrugged and didn’t answer, his dark gaze as
impassive as his thoughts. If not for the mix of
exasperation, anger and hunger that burned between
them, she would have thought him totally disinterested
in both her reaction and her.
“Have you seen her since you got out of jail?”
“A fool I might be, but an idiot I’m not. I got the hell
out of Denver the minute I legally could.”
“And you’ve been with search and rescue since?”
“Basically.”
“And sober?”
“Definitely. I have no intention of ever going back to
jail. Being locked up for a couple of days was long enough
for me to realize that being locked up for a long time would
kill me.” He regarded her for a moment, then said,
“Satisfied I’m willing to tell the truth?”
It would be easy enough to check the authenticity of
everything he’d said, though she really didn’t doubt he
was telling the truth. “Can I ask one more question?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Why did you leave Ripple Creek, and why did you
come back?”
“Why I left is none of your damn business, and you’ve
already guessed why I’m back.”
She sipped her coffee and mentally made a note to
ask Savannah to do some digging into his background—if
she hadn’t already. “So you are here to investigate the
murders for your pack?”
“Yes.”
He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table.
Hunger slipped between them, caressing her skin with its
heat, stirring her mind with its fervor. The deep-down ache
increased, and she squirmed, trying to ignore the
sensation. She might as well try to ignore the rising of the
moon.
“Now,” he continued softly. “Are you willing to offer
the same sort of honesty?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then tell me why the rangers suspect it is one of the
Sinclairs behind the killings.”
She took a deep breath and slowly released it.
Savannah wasn’t going to be happy with her for doing
this, but instinct suggested she had to trust him. And
right now, instinct was the only thing she did trust. She
certainly wasn’t about to trust common sense, which was
currently suggesting she leap this table and dance herself
senseless with this beautiful but uncaring man.
“They haven’t got anything concrete, and certainly
nothing that would be admissible in a court of law.”
His dark eyes watched her intently. Hungrily. “But?”
“They found scent trails near two of the three victims
that led back into the mansion, and they’ve identified them
as belonging to Kane and Tye.”
“Considering they were the ones who found the bodies,
that’s logical. They undoubtedly found René’s scent near
the fourth victim, as well as mine.”
And probably hers, though it had been well covered
by the scent of jasmine. She’d have to remember to tell
her sister who was responsible for that particular scent,
otherwise the rangers might waste precious time chasing
a dead end.
“They also found several hairs on the first and third
victims.”
He nodded. “From a silver coat.”
“No. These were human.”
“Really? It wasn’t mentioned in the reports I read.”
She gave him a long look. “I wouldn’t be telling me
something like that. Not unless you want it reported back
to my sister.”
He reached across the table, capturing her hand,
turning it palm up. His thumb stroked her wrist, a gentle,
almost possessive caress that sent shivers of desire skating
across her already overheated skin. “You won’t tell on me,
will you?”
It wasn’t a question, but an order. And the power that
slipped between them ensured she’d obey. She tried
wrenching her hand from his, but he held her tight.
“You could have just asked. You didn’t have to use
the moon bond.”
“Didn’t I?” The smile that touched his sensual lips
was laconic. “Considering the lengths you’ve gone to track
down your sister’s attacker, I think I’ll continue to play it
safe.”
“So, you’re asking me to trust you, but you’re not
willing to offer the same?” Annoyance bit through her tone,
and he smiled.
“If it came down to a choice, you’d take your sister’s
side every time.”
He was still stroking her wrist, and it was beginning
to do weird things to her breathing. “Naturally. She’s
family, and I love her.”
“Exactly. While I—” he hesitated, his gaze seeming to
deepen. “Mean absolutely nothing to you.”
“As little as I do to you.” But as her gaze got lost in the
obsidian depths of his eyes, she had to wonder if either of
them was telling the entire truth.
“And these hairs they found—are they matching or
different?”
Right then, she didn’t particularly care. His fingers
had slipped up her arm and were caressing the inside of
her elbow. It felt so damn good desire trembled through
her. “Matching,” she somehow managed to say.
“Black hair?”
His fingers slipped further up her arm, and the back
of his hand brushed against her breast. Her nipples ached
to feel his touch, pressing almost painfully against the
restrictions of her bra. She swallowed, and said, “I presume
so. I only read the prelim reports.”
“No chance of getting back into your sister’s office and
reading the rest?”
His touch retreated back down to her wrist, and she
almost groaned in disappointment. “About as much chance
as we have of this storm stopping by nightfall.”
“Then ask your sister.”
“My sister is still listed as critical. She won’t be looking
at anything for a while yet.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth.
Knowing Savannah, by tomorrow morning she’d be
demanding full reports on everything that had happened
since she’d been attacked.
“And that’s the only evidence the rangers have that’s
it a Sinclair?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You tell me. You seem to have
had better access to the files than I did.”
His sudden smile was warm and sexy and all too
fleeting. “It’s not much evidence to believe that it’s
one of
us, is it?”
“Well, no, but who else could it be?”
He leaned back in his chair, the shutters well and
truly in place. It made her uneasy, though why she had
no idea. It wasn’t as if she’d been able to read too much
emotion in his expression anyway.
“Someone who disagrees with the dance, perhaps?”
he drawled softly.
The uneasy feeling increased. She eyed him for a
moment, then said, “Half the golden pack doesn’t like the
idea of the dance, me included. Are you trying to imply we
have some sort of conspiracy going on?”
“Is it any more implausible than one of the Sinclairs
being the murderer?”
“Well, yeah. My pack are strong telepaths. A secret
that big would not stay secret for long.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “The fact that you’re all
strong telepaths means you all have strong shields, doesn’t
it?” When she reluctantly nodded, he continued, “So why
is it implausible?”
“Because my pack aren’t murderers.”
“And the Sinclairs are?”
She wished he’d get to the point—if he had one. “Well,
you Sinclairs do have a rather wild reputation you’re not
afraid to live up to.”
“There’s a difference between being wild and being a
murderer.”
“From what I’ve heard, a lot of the Sinclair pack walk
the edge.”
“Walking the edge doesn’t make us murderers.”
“No.” She hesitated, then put her coffee cup on the
table and crossed her arms. “So, who do you suspect?”
He studied her for a moment, face impassive, dark
eyes hard. The air around her practically buzzed with
tension—both his and hers.
“Your mother was born on the Bitterroot Reservation
over in Idaho, wasn’t she?”
It felt like he’d punched her. Her breath left in a whoosh
of air, and for several seconds, she couldn’t even breathe.
Couldn’t do anything more than look at him in horror.
“Did you know,” he continued mercilessly, “that as a
sixteen-year-old she took part in a raid of the Sinclair
stronghold over there and burned it to the ground?”
“No.”
“Yes.” His voice was monotone. Relentless. “Thirteen
people died that night, and many more were injured. Your
mother was never charged because her old man paid off