Cain kept driving past the bar. Nice and slow. Their windows were tinted so no one would get a good look at him and Eve, and he sure wasn’t doing anything to attract attention to them, not yet.
He also didn’t respond to Eve’s comment. Wyatt could have the wolf shifter—
Or Trace could be dead. If the wolf had fought back, death was a strong possibility. Cain knew other paranormals who hadn’t been taken alive. Wyatt just burned their bodies and moved on to his next target.
“You said that you knew how to find Wyatt,” Cain said instead, trying to keep her focused and away from the wall of worry he could almost feel growing around her. As soon as he learned what she knew, he would be dropping Eve off with a supernatural who owed him more than a few favors. The guy would keep her safe—until Cain made sure Wyatt wasn’t coming after any of them ever again.
“He wasn’t supposed to take Trace.”
A red light flashed. He slowed the car. Glanced in the rearview mirror. No sign of a tail. Yet. “He did.” Maybe the words were too cold, but Cain didn’t know any other way to be.
He heard the sharp rasp of her breath, then she said, “Turn right.”
He did.
“Left.” The word was clipped. Eve was worried about her shifter, but she was holding herself together. The woman was strong. Far stronger than Cain had initially realized. “Head straight for two miles,” she told him, “then turn at the federal building.”
He followed her instructions without question, wondering what Eve had planned next.
She had him stop in front of a small tattoo shop called Death Ink. The lights were off, and the place looked abandoned.
“Last night, while I was fighting that guard who locked me in that room to burn”—she exhaled on a heavy breath—“I saw a tat on his arm.”
“Wyatt has a shitload of military guys working for him.” Or ex-military assholes who’d been kicked out because they were psychotic. “Most of ’em are probably sporting ink.”
“Not like this. Not like this.” She shoved open the door and headed for the small shop.
Death Ink was located right in the middle of a bar strip. Since it was early afternoon, those bars were shut down tight. Cain’s gaze scanned the street. He didn’t see another person anywhere around. He eased from the car. Watched the nice sway of Eve’s ass as she headed for Death Ink. Her ass truly was fine.
It was such a pity the woman could be so lethal.
She slammed her hand on the glass door. “Dru, open the hell up!”
There was no sound from inside. No rustle of movement. No footsteps.
Cain sauntered toward her. She was a wanted woman, her face splashed on the news. Maybe she shouldn’t be screaming so loudly—deserted street or not. “I don’t think anyone’s home,” he murmured.
“Yeah, she is. She’s always here during the day. Dru’s just trying to ignore me.” Eve obviously wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. She lifted her foot and kicked at the door. Glass broke in a long, thin crack. She swore and kicked again. Harder. Again.
It was going to take forever her way.
Cain cleared his throat. She kept kicking. He picked her up, scooted her back, then rammed his fist through the glass. One nice, clean punch. The glass rained down on the ground around them.
“Supernatural show-off,” Eve said, but there was an edge of appreciation in her words.
Cain caught himself smiling. It wasn’t the time or the place. But Eve . . . kept sliding under his guard. Dangerous.
He reached inside and jerked the lock, opening the door. When he stepped inside the shop, the scent of incense and oils burned his nose. But he still didn’t hear anyone. Didn’t see anyone, either. “Told you,” he said as he turned back to glance at her. “No one’s—”
The floor creaked a few feet away from him. Cain whirled to face the threat—and a baseball bat slammed into his head.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When the bat came swinging at him again, Cain was ready. He caught the bat in his left hand. “Don’t fucking think so,” he said as he snatched the bat out of his attacker’s grip, ready to take a swing of his own.
“No!” Eve grabbed the bat. She tried—and failed—to pull it from his grip. “Don’t hurt her. We need her.”
He got a good look at his attacker. All five feet nothing of her. Deceptively delicate, the woman stood mostly in the shadows of the shop. Her eyes were dark and slanted, her skin a light mocha. Her hair was cut short, almost brutally so, as if she’d wanted to look tough.
The cut just made her look more . . . delicate.
“Who the hell is he, Eve?” the slugger asked, jutting up her pointed chin. “And why’d you trash my door?”
“Because you weren’t answering my knock,” Eve fired back even as she kept pulling on the baseball bat. “I need to talk to you, Dru. I had to come inside.”
This is Dru? Cain let Eve take the bat from him.
She tossed it into a corner and faced off against Dru.
Dru’s hot glare swept over Eve. “Do you know how many cops are looking for you right now? You need to be getting your ass out of Dodge.”
Eve shook her head. “No, what I need to be doing is clearing my name, and you’re going to help me.”
But Dru was backing up—very, very fast. “No, I’m not.”
Cain frowned, studying her. She was just a few feet from him, but he couldn’t smell her. Couldn’t hear her heartbeat. If the floor beneath her hadn’t creaked when she’d moved, this Dru could have bashed his head in without any warning.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped at him as she rolled her shoulders. “I’m not the freak in the room.”
“Why can’t I smell you?” He inhaled deeply, but still got nothing.
“’Cause I don’t stink?” she threw right back at him and edged closer to the back wall.
He suspected she was looking for a new weapon. Interesting. His head cocked to the side as he studied her. “I don’t hear your heart beating.” Even vampires had beating hearts, despite the myths about them being the walking dead.
Dru waved that away. “Trust me, it’s beating. So fast my chest hurts.” She jumped behind the counter and came back up with a handgun. “Eve, get your ass out of my shop.”
The sight of the gun had Eve tensing, but she said, “I will, but I want information first.”
Dru raised her gun. “Um, do you want a bullet in your head?”
It was Cain’s turn to step forward. He positioned himself between Eve and the barrel of the gun. “Fire if you want to,” he invited softly, “but then you should probably run.”
Her nostrils flared as if she were trying to get his scent. “You smell”—Dru whispered—“like blood and fire.”
He stared back at her. “And you smell like a woman who’s been using witchcraft.” A woman with no scent. The witches could do that. They could make a brew to cloak scents.
She laughed then. A deep, rumbling laugh that he hadn’t expected from such a small package. “I don’t mess with any crazy witches”—she leaned forward—“but I do know how to mix some herbs for a little protection.”
Protection that could mask her smell? Yes, he’d heard of that, but . . . “Why doesn’t your heart beat?” When he focused just on her, he should be able to hear it.
He couldn’t.
The laughter faded from her face. “Maybe I lied before. Maybe I just don’t have a heart.”
Eve sighed from behind him. “And maybe you’re just bullshitting.” She shoved Cain aside. “She wears a special vest under her clothes, okay? One that mutes the sound so that no one else can hear it.”
Dru gave a little shrug. “An unfortunate encounter with a vampire a few years ago. Even though he’s rotting in the ground, it’s made me a bit . . . obsessive . . . about a few things.”
“Yeah,” Eve muttered, “but maybe instead of worrying so much about your scent and heartbeat, you should look into investing in a new door and store alarm.”
She cleared her throat and slapped her hand on the counter. “But right now, I need you to help me.”
“And I should because . . . ?”
“Because it was my story that put your freak of a stepfather on death row.” Eve bared her teeth. “You’re welcome. Now pay me back, and I’ll get my butt out of your shop.”
Dru’s hand tightened around the gun, but she slowly lowered the weapon to the countertop. “What do you want?”
Eve backed up and hit the lights. When the illumination flooded on, Cain saw the sketches and photographs that lined the wall behind Dru’s head.
“No one inks wolves quite like you.” Eve’s voice was flat.
Cain frowned and searched the pictures. He saw half a dozen wolves scattered in the images. Some were hunting. Howling. Running.
“Even when they’re supposed to look like monsters, the eyes give them away. Your eyes are always different.”
Cain’s own eyes narrowed. He could see what Eve was talking about. The lines drawn for the wolves’ eyes . . . were distinctive. Not an animal. A human gaze.
“It’s like a fingerprint. I saw your fingerprint last night.” Eve’s voice came faster. “I saw your fingerprint on the right inner wrist of a man who locked me in a room and watched while I burned.”
Dru swallowed.
“He was military, don’t know if he was current or discharged, but the guy moved like Special Ops. Controlled. Dangerous. He was six foot two, about two hundred twenty pounds, with dark hair and scars that cut across the right side of his face—”
Dru held up her hand. “You should have started with the scars.” She bent beneath the counter. Pulled out a heavy, black book, and began flipping through the sketches. She stopped and her finger tapped on the image of two wolves.
One wolf had just killed the other. The victor stared back, fangs glinting. Eyes shining.
“He hated the way I did the eyes,” Dru said and her lips pulled down in a frown. “Asshole thought he’d get his money back because I made the wolf look like he had a soul.”
And monsters weren’t supposed to have souls.
“The guy’s a Ranger.” Dru flipped the book around so Eve could scan the notes she’d jotted next to the image. “Name’s Damon Tyler. And I even have his address for you.”
An address Cain had already memorized. He knew this town pretty well, and he knew where to find that street.
“Now are we done?” Dru demanded. “Does this square us up?”
Eve nodded and backed up. “Thank you.” She turned away and Cain followed at her back.
“I should thank you. . . .” Dru’s voice was soft. Far more subdued.
Cain paused when Eve glanced over her shoulder at the other woman.
A grim smile lifted Dru’s lips. “My stepfather really was a freak—and I’m counting down the days until the needle goes into his arm.” Her lips tightened. “But you might want to move faster, Eve, ’cause I set off my alarm as soon as you kicked my door, and the cops are gonna be here any minute.”
Eve’s face tensed. “Don’t tell them I was here.”
Dru nodded.
Eve took Cain’s hand, and the move surprised him so much that he let her drag him from the shop. A few moments later, they were in the vehicle, driving away. Not too fast—why look guilty? He was heading straight for the Ranger who damn well would take them to Wyatt.
“Told you I could find him,” Eve said, staring out the window. “Guess I’m not so useless after all.”
He stiffened. Had he called her that? He hadn’t meant . . .
“We find Damon, we find Wyatt. The bastard won’t see us coming until it’s too late. He’ll be the hunted one now.”
Cain drove in silence, then he had to know. “What did her stepfather do?”
“He liked to cut up girls. The younger, the better.” She pulled in a rough breath. “Dru . . . had a little sister. She went missing, just like two other girls had in her neighborhood.”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. A needle in the arm was too good for the prick. “You knew it was him?”
“Dru did. She came to me because I was the only reporter in town who’d listen to her.” A sad laugh. “Maybe because I was the newest one then?”
No, he thought it was more than her just being the new kid on the block who’d been hungry for a story.
“She’d tried going to the cops, but Leon was too good at playing the grieving father. He was also very good at not leaving evidence behind.”
“How’d you catch him?” Cain drove easily, but his attention was on Eve.
“Humans couldn’t find his tracks. Supernaturals could.” A brief pause. “I used a shifter to sniff him out . . . and to help me find the bodies.” Silence, then . . . “I never want to see graves that small ever again.”
Cain’s gaze cut to her.
Her lips trembled. But then she shook her head as if trying to shake off the memory. “I took the cops to the bodies. Said I’d had a source call me. There was enough DNA left behind that we could tie the bastard to the killings. He’s been on death row for five years, and it’s time for him to go to hell.”
“Dru knew you used a shifter to help you.”
“That’s why she can’t ever make wolves look like the monsters most people think they are. To Dru, the shifters were the heroes.”
And she always showed that in their eyes.
Cain slowed the car as he neared the small, ranch-style house located at the end of Branchline Road.
Eve cleared her throat. “So . . . who gets to play good cop when we go inside?”
He killed the engine. Turned his head to slowly glance her way. “I’ve never been good.”
She nodded. A ghost of a smile lifted her lips as she reached for her door handle. “Right, then I’ll—”
Cain caught her hand. “You’ll stay behind me.” The guy was a Ranger, trained to kill in more ways than most humans could count. Tyler wasn’t getting close to Eve. “If he’s here, then I’ll be the one to face him.”
“And I’ll—”
“Stand back and not get hurt.”
She stared at him.
“The price of being human,” he murmured.
Her eyes narrowed. “We both know I’m not.”
“We don’t know what you are.” It was eating him up inside, wondering if she was like him.
Eve glanced back at the house. Cain had parked a little ways down the street, but they had a perfect view of 2808 Branchline. “If he’s not home, we’ll search his house,” she said. “We might be able to find intel that we can use.”
The searching part she could handle. He’d do the attacking.
They climbed from the vehicle. Instead of keeping to the shadows of the trees, Cain headed for the guy’s front door.
Eve grabbed his arm. “Uh, have you heard of the subtle approach?”
“I’m more familiar with the ass-kicking approach.” No neighbors were around. Probably all at work. Good. Cain slammed his fist into the door. Heard no sound from inside.
“Here,” he told her, backing up a bit, “I’ll try your routine.”
“Cain, wait—”
His foot drove into the door. His kick was far more effective than hers had been at Death Ink. The wood splintered, and the door flew open.
The human didn’t rush out to attack, but Cain heard a faint groan from inside the house.
He entered the small foyer, then spun to the left and rushed toward that sound. With every step, the scent of blood filled his nose.
Dammit.
He ran into the kitchen and found a human male on the floor, soaked in blood. The man’s hands were spread out beside him, palms up, and the dark tattoo stared back up at Cain.
“I guess someone else wanted him dead, too,” Cain said quietly.
Eve pushed past him and fell to her knees. She put her hands on the man, one hand on his chest, one hand on his neck. “He’s not dead yet.”
With that much bl
ood, he would be. Soon.
Eve grabbed a towel off the counter and shoved it against Damon’s wounds. “He’s been shot, looks like two times.” She leaned over the man. “Damon! Open your eyes. Look at me!”
Cain could already smell death coming. She had to smell it, too. He backed up, prowling around the house. Making sure the shooter wasn’t still close by.
“Missed his heart . . .” Eve’s voice floated toward Cain as she muttered. “Bullet’s still in. Has to get out . . . Cain, call an ambulance!”
He was supposed to help the bastard who’d watched her burn?
Slowly, Cain made his way back to the kitchen. Blood was on Eve’s hands. What the hell had she been doing? Why was she doing it?
“Damon, Damon, look at me!”
The man’s eyes flickered, then opened.
“You’re gonna be okay . . .”
Why was she lying to him? Cain frowned. Death was there, hovering so close.
“Who did this to you?” Eve asked him.
The bleeding male’s lips curved. The guy was smiling. At death? Cain looked at the human with new interest.
“Can’t . . . trust . . . anyone . . .” Damon gasped. More blood came from his lips.
“Where’s Wyatt?” Eve demanded as she put pressure on his wounds. “Where is he?”
More blood. Grunts.
Eve glanced up at Cain. “Call the ambulance.”
Cain didn’t move. “Why? They’d never make it here in time.”
She stared at him in shock. “C-Cain?”
He didn’t move toward the phone. “He’s gonna be dead long before any help can arrive.”
Air wheezed from the man’s lips. His eyes were wide open, and he had to be feeling every second of pain as his blood pumped from his body.
Cain knew what those gunshot wounds felt like. He’d been killed that way a time or two.
Eve kept pushing on the wounds. “Call help.”
Cain shrugged and bent toward the man. “Guessing your own team shot you, huh? Shot you, and left you to die . . .” He shook his head. “Why’d they do that? From what I can tell, you’re just a human. Not Wyatt’s usual paranormal target at all.”
“Am . . . human . . .” Damon rasped.