Beneath a Darkening Moon (13 page)

“As long as you don’t get in our way. Where’s your car?”

“Parked on the main road.”

“I’ll escort you.”

“Don’t trust me to leave, huh?”

“You’re a reporter,” Cade said dryly. “And remember, if I catch you following us again, you’ll lose the exclusive.”

Blue eyes regarded him steadily. “And is the exclusive worth it?”

“It could be.”

“Then I’ll just head back to my car.”

“Good.” Cade grabbed Reeson’s shoulder and turned him around. “The road is that way.”

“You’ve had dealings with the press, I see,” Reeson commented, amusement in his voice.

“It’s part of the job.”

T
HE SCENT LED
Savannah deeper and deeper into the forest. Though there was little to be heard beyond the sound of her own breathing and the whisper of
the wind through the aspens and pines, the sensation that she was not alone in the dappled semidarkness was as strong as the aroma of ginseng and sandalwood. And as strong as the memories they evoked.

She’d never loved Jontee, but she’d enjoyed making love with him—at least until Cade had swept her off her feet with his bristling ideals and overwhelming machismo.

But Cade wasn’t the only reason she’d begun to distance herself from Jontee in their last weeks at Rosehall. She’d seen a change in him—a darkness she couldn’t explain and hadn’t liked. When she’d talked to Nelle about it, her friend had merely laughed and shrugged, reminding her that running a commune wasn’t as easy as it looked.

And maybe it wasn’t, but over the days that had followed, she’d realized something was very wrong. And not just with the commune, but with Jontee himself. Because of his dreams. Because of what she’d seen in them.

And that was the information that Cade had pulled from her mind.

In the sudden silence, Savannah stopped and glanced around. The wind had momentarily dropped, and the shadows seemed thick and threatening.

Imagination and memories, she thought, and rubbed her arms against the chill that raced across her skin. It had been nothing short of stupidity to come so deep into the forest alone—especially given the threatening note left on her windshield. Ronan would be disappointed, and Cade would just be plain furious. Still, she
was
a ranger, and she’d be damned if she’d let one little threat stop her.

“Vannah.” The voice was soft, drawing out her name.

She resisted the surge of fear that made her long to retreat and said, in a curt voice, “Stop playing games and show yourself.” Not that she had any hope of her words being obeyed.

“You will pay for what you did.”

The voice didn’t sound either male or female. It just sounded … odd. And it came from her left, so she took a cautious step in that direction. “I didn’t destroy Rosehall. Jontee did that all by himself.”

“You were the betrayer. You gave Jontee away.”

Gave him away? How, when all she’d really known was that something was wrong? Despite the darkness she’d seen growing in Jontee, never in a million years would she have guessed that
he
was the force behind the eighteen murders that had occurred in and around Wichita.

She stepped closer. The tang of ginseng and sandalwood got stronger but, oddly enough, she could find no trace of a man. Or a woman, for that matter.

“Jontee was a killer. He deserved exactly what he got.” And she couldn’t see anyone hiding in the shadows beyond the trees. Yet they had to be there, somewhere.

Suspicion snaked through her.

“He took you in, Vannah,” the strange voice continued. “He taught you, loved you, and you repaid his kindness with betrayal.”

She stepped past the pines, into the deeper shadows from which the voice seemed to be emanating. There was no one there. Just a ratty-looking tape recorder
sitting on the ground. She blew out a frustrated breath. She was being played; no doubt about it.

“I will kill you, Vannah, just as I will kill your lover, but it won’t be a fast death. You will suffer, as Jontee suffered.”

A chill ran down her spine as the voice on the tape fell silent, then the wind seemed to spring back to life, as if it had been holding its breath while the message played. Behind the small machine, something yellow fluttered.

She squatted in front of the tape recorder. Ginseng and sandalwood swamped her senses, and memories rose. Jontee’s teasing smile as she’d come to him on her allotted nights. The warmth of his touch, so good and yet so distant. Cade’s thunderous expression every time she left him for Jontee.

Frowning, she took a pen from her pocket and carefully pinned the yellow strip of ribbon to the ground. There was no message on the part she could see, but a good half of it had been buried under the soil.

She dragged the ribbon sideways with the pen, gently pulling the rest of it out. The dirt fell away, revealing a beaded bracelet, and the fear that had all but vanished returned tenfold. Because she knew the bracelet. She recognized the emblem sitting in the middle of it—a yellow rose entwined around the peace symbol. Rosehall’s signature.

It was Jontee’s bracelet. One that should have been buried with him.

He
couldn’t
be alive. Cade had assured her of that, and she believed him. So why was this bracelet here? And how did it get here?

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and
dialed Cade’s number. “Where are you?” she said, the minute he answered.

“Just escorting a reporter back to his car.”

She groaned. “Not Alf Reeson?” The man had the nose of a bloodhound. If he’d sensed there was a story unfolding, there’d be no getting rid of him.

“The same. And where the hell are you?”

She masked a surge of anger at his peremptory tone. “Grab the kit from the car and walk back up the road until you see a wild raspberry bush on the right side. Then head north into the forest.”

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of going anywhere.”

His grunt suggested he didn’t believe her. Grinning slightly, she hung up and rose. Since ginseng and sandalwood weren’t exactly everyday aromas, there had to be something here permeated with those scents. The scent was too strong to be just the ribbon.

She took a cursory look around, but didn’t find anything. No other source for the scent, and no footsteps. Nothing to suggest anyone had been here but her. So whoever was behind the threats was either a shifter who could take to the wing, or was someone damn good at tracking.

Unless … Savannah glanced upward, studying the branches above her head. In the pine to the right of the tape recorder she saw something white. She moved to the tree and carefully pushed the branch to one side. The handle of a white metal cup had been nailed to the thick part of the branch, and inside it was a cloth. She didn’t have to go closer to know the
cloth had been soaked in ginseng and sandalwood. The two scents were overwhelming.

Then she stepped away carefully and let the branch swing back into position. She couldn’t touch anything until Cade got here with the kit. But rather than just standing idly and waiting, she did a wider search around the perimeter of the small clearing, trying to find some trace of the person who’d left the recorder. But all she found was a slight scuff in the soil, as if someone had slipped on the leaves.

She shoved her pen in the soil to mark the spot and moved on. Soft steps rode the wind and, seconds later, Cade appeared. Just watching him walk through the trees with such easy, effortless grace had her heart slamming against the wall of her chest.

“I found where the truck hit a tree,” she said, before the anger so evident in his eyes could erupt. “And someone left me a message.”

“They might have done more than that,” he said, approaching far too close for comfort. The heat of him swamped her, sizzling across her nerve endings. “Coming here alone was pretty stupid.”

“No more stupid than walking down a lonely mountain road alone,” she shot back.

“
I
am more than capable of protecting myself.”

“And so am I. But neither of us can do anything about a long-range rifle.”

He took a step closer, and suddenly the air seemed thicker. She licked her lips, but resisted the urge to retreat.

“Maybe,” he agreed softly. “But I don’t think our would-be killer is interested in taking the easy way out.”

“No. Whoever this is, he intends to draw it out. He wants us both to suffer.”

His gaze met hers—so very angry, and yet so very aware of what was burning between them.

Moisture skated across her skin—tiny beads of perspiration that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man who stood too close. “Whoever it is, they know about us.”

One dark brow flicked upward. “Indeed? What, precisely, does the tape say?”

She told him, then added, “No one followed me last night.”

“Nor me.” He frowned. “So whoever it is knows about the moon promise.”

“And I haven’t exactly gone spreading
that
little bit of stupidity around, believe me.”

Something deep and dangerous flared in his eyes. “It’s not exactly a moment I’m proud of, either. But we did it, and now are stuck with it.”

Such a nice way of putting it. Still, it was hardly any worse than calling it stupid. Albeit, for all of twenty-four hours, she’d once considered it the best damn thing she’d ever done.

And Neva wondered why she never took chances anymore.

“We’ll probably have to tell our people what’s happening,” she said. Ronan knew, but everyone else deserved the truth as well, if only because they could be stepping into the line of fire. Who knew who this madman would go after next?

The thought terrified her.

Neva
. She hadn’t actually intended to reach out to
her sister so sharply, and she winced when she heard her sister’s mental gasp.

What?

Call Duncan now, then both of you get to the Sinclair mansion and stay there
.

I hate that place—

I don’t care. It’s safe
. No one would get to either of them there. Not without confronting the wrath of the whole Sinclair pack.

But why?

Because you both might be in danger
.

Danger? Sav, what’s going on?

Long story, and one I can’t really explain right now. But it’s very possible someone might come after you just to get to me. Just promise you’ll call Duncan immediately and get yourselves over to the mansion
.

I’m contacting him as we speak
.

“Savannah?”

Cade’s sharp question made her jump. “What?”

“What just happened?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I have a sister here. A very pregnant twin sister. I just ordered her to the Sinclair mansion.”

Surprise etched his voice. “You have a twin?”

She nodded. “And if this person intends to come after me, Neva is a good target. She’s all I really care about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about your parents?”

“I care about them, of course, but we haven’t seen eye to eye for ages. Most people know that.”

“So you’re presuming this person is from Ripple Creek?”

“No, I’m simply presuming this person has done
their homework. Neva is the most logical target if someone really wants to hurt me.”

“And what about your lover?”

Her gaze narrowed at his derogatory tone. “What about him?”

“Isn’t he also a logical target?”

“Not when no one in town knows about us.”

“Supposedly no one knows about you and me, either.”

“Ronan does.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You told him?”

“Of course I told him. I refuse to sneak around behind anyone’s back.”

His grimace was touched with sadness. “Yeah, I know.”

Her gaze searched his. “Sounds as if you would have preferred me to sneak.”

“I would have preferred you not to go at all.”

Her stupid heart did an odd little dance, though heaven only knows why. It wasn’t as if he’d been jealous. To be jealous, you had to actually care, and he never had. “That was never an option.”

“There are always options, Vannah.”

She snorted. “Like you had the option of telling me the truth?”

“
That
wasn’t an option I had.”

Too many things weren’t an option when it came to her, it seemed. “Look, let’s not get into this here.”

“No.” He studied her for a second, his gaze hot and heavy. The smell of his desire washed across her senses, teasing her, making her more ready for him than she’d ever been with anyone else. And all without even touching her.

The worst thing was, she knew it wasn’t the moon but the man himself. He was the fuel to her fire.

And he knew it, damn him.

He stepped so close that, if she hadn’t been breathing in as he breathed out, they would have touched. Each breath he released was a warm rasp of air that flushed a tingle across her body—tiny pinpricks of desire that eventually pooled low in her body. “Don’t,” she said softly.

“I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.” His eyes glittered at her. Dared her. “But you made no such pledge. You can touch me anytime you want.”

And she did want to touch him. Badly.

“I intend to stick with the conditions I set,” she said stubbornly.

“The moon will make that impossible, and you know it.”

Maybe she did. But that didn’t mean she had to give in the minute he crooked his little finger. Sure, she’d probably be a needy mess by the end of the day—if she made it to the end of the day—but she sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy. Not this time.

And certainly not with the possibility of a reporter running around.

“We have work to do,” she said resolutely.

A condescending smile touched his lips. Lips she ached to kiss.

“You can’t hold out forever, Vannah.”

No. But she was going to hold out for as long as she could. At the very least, it was one way of showing him she wasn’t the person he thought.

And right now, she had no desire to explore why it was so important that he realize that.