Wolf at the Door Page 2

  The air whooshed out of her lungs. For a moment she couldn’t inhale. She reached for the door to support herself, her fingers slapping for the wood, but she missed. Instead her hand found the Hound’s shoulder as he stepped closer, catching her. “You okay?”

  “What do you mean you don’t think it’s an isolated incident?” The women in her pack came to her because they were all on the run from something or someone, but that rarely spilled over to cause trouble for anyone else. Isolated incidents were run of the mill for her pack.

  But one look at the Hound in front of her and she knew he was telling her the truth.

  “Why don’t you let me in so we can talk about it? And you can sit down.”

  Hell. It didn’t look like she had a choice anymore.

  She let the big, bad Hound inside.

  Chapter Three

  Brandt felt her stiffen in his arms, right before he felt her give in. She didn’t want him in her house. She’d made that very clear, but the ripe fear that had flared in her a second ago had left her vulnerable. Then he applied a smidgeon of gentle pressure, and she’d caved.

  That vulnerability of hers was about the only thing he had going for him right now.

  Timber righted herself and pulled out of his arms. The smooth cotton of her nightshirt whispered along his fingers as she pulled away. Damn, but who answered the door in nothing but an oversized T-shirt? His gaze skimmed down the loose navy T. It stopped at mid-thigh and below that...nothing but smooth, creamy skin.

  He swallowed and forced his eyes back up.

  She hip-shoved the front door open wide enough to let him in. “Come on.”

  “Thank you,” he said, realizing his voice sounded a bit rough. But then Timber Kearney had caught him by surprise. He’d met her once before and pretty much decided the purple-haired alpha was a bit of a crazy, wild-woman type. One hell-bent on feminism and shoving the laws up Shifter Town Enforcement’s theoretical ass.

  This woman didn’t fit that description at all.

  He’d seen the flash of terror a moment ago. That wasn’t a woman who wanted to face down everything, waving rebellion like a flag. Last time they’d met, he’d guessed someone had hurt her, but now he wondered just how badly.

  She gestured toward the couch, a make-yourself-at-home invitation, and Brandt’s gaze snagged on a flat spot on her chest. Her right breast was plump, filling out the shirt with a nice curve, but where her left breast should have been...there was nothing.

  Cancer survivor, he decided.

  Maybe he hadn’t been so far off in his original assessment. Perhaps her prickliness was not so much about rebellion as it was about survival.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “I’m going to put some jeans on.”

  Brandt jerked a slight nod and watched her walk away, the curve of her butt making the shirt dance over the backs of her thighs. Hell. He was here on business to discuss the possible reappearance of a very real serial killer and here he was lusting after Timber Kearney’s ass like a thirsty man in the desert.

  With a groan he sank back into the couch and tried to shake the image out of his head. No such luck. Instead, he turned his attention to getting a better idea of what kind of woman he was dealing with. A tangled blanket and a book were heaped in the recliner. He could smell coffee in the mug on the table beside it.

  He leaned over to get a look at the book when he heard soft footsteps in the hall. After that, all he could think about was what she’d be wearing now. Would it match the wild hair or the vulnerability?

  He couldn’t wait to find out.

  ***

  She’d let a Hound into her house. Not something Timber had ever thought she’d do. She’d gone to them for help once, when she managed to escape from Charles. Tried to tell them what he was doing, and Shifter Town Enforcement hadn’t believed her. They’d decided it was nothing more than a lovers’ quarrel. As if she enjoyed the beatings, the torture, the rape.

  And lovers’ quarrel?

  What a joke.

  She’d never loved Charles. She hadn’t chosen him, either. But she’d been a wolf with no home, no living family, and so few friends that it was no wonder no one noticed her absence after he kidnapped her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to stifle the clamoring memories.

  And now she’d let a Hound into her house. But...

  Oh, God. Becky was dead.

  Bear Creek was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where women could hide until they were ready start over. Timber did everything she could to ensure her wolves’ safety. New identities were top of the list, and Becky’s had almost been complete.

  I don’t think her death is an isolated incident. The words scrambled around in her head. Oh, how she hoped he was wrong.

  Sighing, Timber forced herself into action. She yanked on a pair of well-worn jeans, her favorites, with a hole over the right knee from too much time spent crawling around in the dirt, tending to the pack gardens last summer.

  Even after a half dozen washes the pair still looked dingy, old. But they were comfy, and she had a feeling she’d be grateful for comfy during this meeting. She turned to get her bra and paused. She’d been out there in nothing but a T-shirt, not even wearing a bra, let alone her prosthetic.

  She touched the spot where her left breast had been.

  No one knew about it. Not even another wolf in her pack. That was part of her cover.

  Maybe he didn’t notice. She wouldn’t be surprised. He’d spent a lot of time staring at her thighs, maybe he’d never looked up. Maybe—

  And she could play this game all morning but it wouldn’t get anything done.

  Quickly, she finished dressing, double-checking this time to make sure everything was in place, and then bracing herself before going back downstairs. The Hound was sitting on her couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her approach. His gaze flitted over her chest and then back to her face.

  So he’d noticed. Her throat started to tighten.

  “So what’s with the hair?”

  Timber blinked. The hair? She reached up and touched a strand, the bright purple wrapping around her fingertips as she twirled it. “I like the color.”

  “You like the—” He cut himself off with a nod. “All right, then.”

  He gestured for her to have a seat, but Timber couldn’t bring herself to move. His dark eyes watched her, and she could see it now, they were always working, busy trying to read her. She hated scrutiny like that. Everything in her life was designed to keep herself hidden, even the purple hair. She didn’t want someone trying to figure her out.

  “How’d Becky die?”

  His eyes narrowed, even as one corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “I thought you didn’t know Ms. Morgan well?”

  Damn him. Just his presence was throwing her off. Timber shook off the mistake and stalked closer to him, hoping like hell she looked more intimidating than she felt right now. What with the nightmare, seeing Becky’s lifeless face in a picture, and having a Hound in her house, the whole world felt like it was on shaky ground, ready to splinter apart at a moment’s notice.

  “Let’s just cut through the bullshit, Mr. Lawrence, and get to the point.”

  “Brandt. And let’s.” He stood, and suddenly the few feet she’d kept between them seemed way too little. She wanted to take a step back, craved it, but she didn’t dare. This was her house, she wouldn’t back down here. “How well did you know Ms. Morgan?”

  “She came to me for help.” The words were whisper soft and she hated herself for it. What had happened to Ms. Tough Girl?

  “I get that. I’ll take a wild guess and say most of the wolves in your pack—if not all—are hiding from something or someone. It’s why I haven’t been beating down your door every time I see a new wolf in town that I know isn’t registered.”

  “Your alpha must be thrilled over your restraint.”

  “No. In all honesty, I’m furious at myself for letting it continue.
Because it leaves me wide open to being clueless about who this bastard is going to target next.”

  Timber opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she’d be damned if she could find the words. He’d known. He was the alpha of the local Shifter Town Enforcement and he’d known?

  “I don’t let anyone I haven’t registered with you guys go into town.”

  “I realize the ones I’ve seen are registered. Under fake names. More than a few have pulled up as iffy during the identification process.”

  Oh, God. Her heart felt like it was being pulled right out of her chest. Connell was supposed to be the best in the business around here. Those IDs were supposed to hold up against everything. She rubbed her suddenly clammy palms against her thighs.

  “Look, Timber. I get it. When it comes to helping those who actually need help, most Shifter Town Enforcement departments leave a lot to be desired. I’ve seen them in action, the ones who turn a blind eye to what’s going on in their territory as long as it wasn’t a human or a Hound getting hurt.”

  “And what? You’ve never participated, or stood back and done nothing while it happened?” She called bullshit right here and let the sarcasm in her voice show it.

  Brandt actually had the nerve to smile at her then. “I’ve grown up a lot since the pup who passed through the Academy. Maybe someday we can talk about that. Right now? I need to know everyone you have under your protection. Real names, Timber.”

  She shook her head. That wasn’t an option.

  “Fine. Let’s get more honest here, then. Rebecca isn’t the first wolf-shifter we’ve found dead. Last week another woman was found in Delaney. Same injuries, same kill blow, same looks. Both wolf-shifters. And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t the first.”

  She took a step back, fear clawing its way through her chest, and she could feel the wolf inside her suddenly wanting out. She wanted to run, to escape, so whatever trap was closing around her couldn’t catch her.

  Brandt plowed on, stepping even closer. “Every wolf in your pack needs to understand the danger. Especially anyone who looks like Ms. Morgan. But I need to know who you have in hiding here. I have to know who he might be after.”

  There was more to it than he was saying. There was almost a note of desperation in his voice, but hell, she couldn’t blame him. He was saying he believed a serial killer was stalking the area.

  She’d thought she left that kind of hell behind when she escaped Charles.

  “I—” Timber closed her eyes. “I’ll get you a list.”

  “Thank you.”

  No. When she opened her eyes again, she leveled a glare at him, letting the fear and anger seethe until it left her voice gruff, aching with emotion. “Don’t you dare get any of these girls hurt. This list goes to you, no one else.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She wanted to laugh. It was more than fair. He had no idea the amount of faith she was placing in him. She just hoped she was right to trust him.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, boss,” Tate called out the moment Brandt stepped through the office door. Brandt clutched the lined paper in his hands, still amazed that he’d gotten the list. He’d expected more of a fight. To have to push and threaten until she caved. But through some miracle, Timber Kearney’s good sense had kicked in.

  She wasn’t at all like he’d thought.

  Tate grinned. “How’d it go with our resident pack of illegals?”

  It was a common joke around the station. They all knew Timber was hiding rogues, but outside of the few Hounds he hadn’t allowed to remain in his pack for long, everyone was willing to ignore it. Those who were savvy enough to change with the times even gave the woman credit for her guts.

  Tate was one of those who understood. In the pack where he’d been placed right out of the Academy, he’d seen first-hand how badly shifters were treated, how their own law enforcement didn’t give a damn what happened to them.

  Brandt rubbed his forehead. “Well enough.” He flashed Tate the folded sheet of lined paper. “I have a list of the women she’s keeping safe and strict orders that it’s for my eyes only. Agreeing sure as hell beat arguing.”

  Tate gave a surprised snort. “Well, shoot, I thought for sure you’d have to drag her down here in cuffs before she’d give up her pack.”

  So had he. But there had been real fear in her eyes when he mentioned Rebecca Morgan hadn’t been the first. He tapped the piece of paper he’d set on the desk. They’d done a routine background check on Kearney when she first moved into his turf, but now he was curious again. “Run a check on Kearney for me again. Dig deeper.”

  “You think she’s dirty?”

  “No. But she has a bone to pick with STE and a hell of a protective streak when it comes to those women.” And a streak of vulnerability ten miles wide. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at Tate, still tapping the list. “I think it might help to know what’s driving her. We’ve let her operate under the radar for a while, but this case proves we really can’t let it continue.”

  “But to get her to cooperate we need her trust. Gotcha there. I’ll run it myself, see what I can find. Anything else?”

  “How’d Bannock take the news?”

  The two nearest wolf-shifter alphas couldn’t have been more different. Where Timber took in misfits and used subterfuge to keep them safe, hiding in the shadows, Nathan Bannock was a powerhouse. Delphi was the largest wolf pack in Colorado, and its alpha was a force to be reckoned with. But Bannock also made sure every wolf in his pack was registered with STE so he couldn’t be accused of doing anything shady.

  And he also made sure that every other wolf pack out there knew to stay the hell away from what was his.

  “Pissed as all get-out. There were a few moments there where I was pretty sure you’d set me up to get a fist in the face.”

  “Bannock’s got control.”

  Tate huffed. “He’s also got one hell of a temper. Still, they’re on guard, he’s pulling in his pack. He took the picture of Rebecca Morgan. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in his pack with brown hair ends up blonde by the end of the night.”

  It was smart, but it might not be enough.

  “He was already ordering a buddy system as I was walking out the door. What the hell is this guy? Former military?”

  Brandt nodded. “Marine. He works security now. Delphi is probably the safest, especially now that we’ve tipped off Bannock.”

  He rubbed the paper under his fingers. Unlike Bear Creek. They would be prime pickings for a madman, and that worried him. Tension gnawed his gut, chasing out the exhaustion. “Get me that background check.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tate gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and left his office.

  Brandt glanced back down at the paper, carefully unfolding it so he could read the names. She had fifteen wolves in her pack. He swallowed. They’d known of six. She’d smuggled in more without bothering to register them—crappy fake identities or not.

  But at least he had a list. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that Wolfman had come here to hunt someone specific. It might not be likely, but there was a chance. And he had to work this case from every angle.

  With a sigh, Brandt swiveled to face his computer and got to work.

  ***

  Timber hadn’t actually expected to sleep that night, but she’d been hoping. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, covered with cold sweat, as she fought to gain control of her breathing again. Her heart still raced with panic. Normally after a bad night she might have a few quiet ones, when her body was too exhausted to dream.

  Not tonight.

  Not after the Hound had shown up to warn her about the possibility of a serial killer. Not after seeing Becky’s dead face in that picture. Timber squeezed her eyes shut. Poor Beck. The woman had run from an abusive ex, one who’d threatened her so many times she finally fled in fear of her life. And as much as she felt guilty for it, Timber hoped it had been Becky’s ex who’d found her. Hoped th
at she’d died quickly. Because Becky’s ex didn’t have a reason to go after anyone else.

  With a groan, Timber rolled out of bed. She couldn’t just lie there mourning and feeling sorry for herself. She could only do what she could do. The rest was up to the universe and its crappy version of fate. She threaded her fingers through her scraggly hair, pulling at the knots until her hands slid through easily.

  Sleep wasn’t an option. What she wanted, she realized with a start, was to run. To let the wolf out, shift under the sliver of moon in the sky, and just run it out. A laugh stole up her throat then, surprisingly bitter. She might have done it last night, but only a fool would go out alone tonight. Until this killer was caught there’d be no more late, solitary runs.

  She sighed and trudged down to the front room and her book. If she couldn’t run, maybe she could lose herself in another world. The book was still where she’d left it, propped open on the armrest of her recliner. Timber paused, staring at the spot where Brandt had been sitting. He wasn’t typical of the Hounds she’d come to know over the years.

  If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he truly cared.

  “Except you do know better,” she murmured. Hounds never cared when it came to shifters.

  She tried to wrestle her attention back to the book, but she couldn’t bring herself to go over and curl up in that chair. The room felt stuffy, too small, cramped. The wolf inside her paced, uneasy. The hunter never liked being the hunted.

  She’d had enough of that when she’d been imprisoned in Charles’s version of Hell.

  Fine. Timber stalked to the front door, braced her hands against the wood, and leaned up to look out the peephole. It wouldn’t hurt just to open the door for a second and breathe in some fresh air, right? If it had been any of her wolves making that argument she’d have lectured them until she was hoarse.

  And yet she quietly slid open the locks and cracked open the door anyway.