Читать книгу Kindling The Darkness - Jane Kindred - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Oliver studied Lucy Smok’s profile as she followed his directions and drove toward the Gold King Mine & Ghost Town attraction just outside the town proper. When he’d clashed with her the night before, he was focused on her militant intrusion into his world, her unwarranted attack on poor Crystal Harney, an “undergrounder” who was just trying to get by.

Crystal belonged to a certain class of the not-quite-human who were shunned by those who ran in elite circles like the world of Smok International. Oliver had seen his fill of vulnerable undergrounders being victimized and demonized among the paranormal-aware community, and he’d vowed to watch out for them when he could, since no one else would. Lucy’s arrogant insistence that Crystal was a killer rubbed him the wrong way, the sort of attitude he’d seen from law enforcement types all his life.

Then, today, when Lucy had appeared in his shop after raiding his kitchen, Oliver took her for a spoiled brat. In the dark and the rain the night before, he hadn’t noticed how young and slight she was, and it was hard to reconcile the two versions of her. But discovering she was Lucy Smok, the high-powered twenty-five-year-old CFO of Smok International the council had brought in to deal with their problem, had thrown him for a loop. How all three things could exist simultaneously in one compact—and highly opinionated—person was difficult to process.

She was also one of the most visually striking women he’d ever seen.

Pale aquamarine eyes and porcelain skin contrasted sharply with almost-ebony hair, and the deep red lipstick she wore—like the stain from a beet—enhanced the effect. The paleness of her eyes made her seem like a dangerous wolf. He might have suspected her of being a shifter herself if she hadn’t been so adamantly bigoted against them. She also possessed a sharp cockiness he didn’t see in most women, the kind of confidence a woman would need, he supposed, to run a multimillion-dollar corporation—especially at such a young age.

He kept coming back to that. Because, beyond her puzzling contradictions, he was having trouble reconciling his own powerful attraction for a woman almost ten years his junior. It wasn’t the image he had of himself. Later in life, ten years wouldn’t matter so much. But a man in his midthirties chasing after a woman in her twenties was just embarrassing. Not that he was chasing after her. He didn’t chase. And he wasn’t interested in any kind of intimate involvement. He was done with that. But the attraction was undeniable.

It was almost visceral, like he’d been waiting for her, his senses pricking up in anticipation as if his body recognized her. And not in a sexual way—though he couldn’t deny there was that, too—but with a sense of familiarity, of knowing, that he couldn’t explain and didn’t particularly care for. Her scent seemed made for him, a blend of cardamom and amber, something both earthy and exotic at once. And he didn’t think she was wearing perfume.

“Now where?”

Oliver blinked. “What?”

She glanced over at him, annoyance drawing her ebony brows together. “Where do I turn?”

They were at the crossroad where Jerome-Perkinsville Road split off in two different directions, one toward the rustic museum of antique mining machinery and the other up into the hills.

“Oh, sorry. To the right. You can pull over by the gate.”

Lucy turned a bit too swiftly, tires kicking up dirt and gravel, and drew up in front of the rusted barrier chaining off the private road. “It says No Trespassing.”

“We’re not going in. We’re just heading up the forest road a bit. We could drive in farther, but I don’t think your car is made for dirt-road driving.” Her expensive convertible two-seater looked like it was designed more for show than for sport.

He noticed the dress boots with a two-inch block heel under her tailored suit as she stepped out of the car. She was even shorter than she seemed. He could probably pick her up and carry her under one arm like a caveman claiming his mate. Not that he approved of cavemen scooping up and claiming women. Or that he considered her a potential mate.

Oliver swallowed and reined in his idiotic thoughts. Sometimes it seemed like his brain took pleasure in going off on tangents that would make him uncomfortable. At any rate, how such a slight-looking woman could possibly be one of Smok Consulting’s premier field agents was beyond him. Going after someone small and defenseless like Crystal was one thing. And Lucy obviously had some kind of martial arts training. She’d briefly overpowered him with the element of surprise on her side. But what was she going to do when she tracked one of these things down? Call animal control?

Lucy was eyeing him with a mixture of impatience and annoyance. “Well?”

“This way.” Oliver strode past her, hands in his pockets, up the dirt and gravel road, not waiting to see if she’d followed. Her expensive, unscuffed boots crunched on the gravel behind him. They weren’t going to be unscuffed for long. He led her around the bend, where he veered off the road and headed downhill over the remains of old mining spoil, only to realize she was no longer behind him.

He turned to find her standing at the top of the hill with her arms folded, watching him. “Too steep for you?” he called up to her.

Lucy uncrossed her arms and rested her fists on her hips. “Mr. Connery, is there a point to this little trek?” Her ability to project was impressive. She must have had stage experience.

“It’s Oliver,” he yelled back. “And yes.”

After regarding him with suspicion for a moment longer, she finally headed down the side of the hill with a sigh—extremely sure-footed on the damp earth despite the boots that didn’t look like they were made for hiking. It occurred to him as she came closer that perhaps it looked like he was leading her out into an isolated area for nefarious purposes. He’d forgotten to put himself in her shoes—not that he’d fit them—which was a large part of his meditative practice.

“Sorry about that,” he said when she reached him. “I should have told you what we were doing. This is where we tracked the creature after it was spotted lurking around the Ghost Town. The lupine tracks disappear here, to be replaced with human footprints.”

She looked where he was pointing, and Oliver stepped aside and moved off a few paces to let her examine the area without him hovering behind her. Lucy sank into a crouch, perfectly balanced on those thick-heeled boots, and took out her phone to snap some pictures before straightening and walking around the prints to get some shots from another angle. After walking farther down the hill to follow the now-human prints for a ways, she turned and headed back up.

“I see what you mean. The animal tracks aren’t standard wolves. I’ve never seen any quite like that. Certainly not that size. But those are definitely human prints leading away from them, with no sign that anyone else was out here until they appeared.” She glanced at Oliver’s footwear—a much more utilitarian pair of old brown work boots. “Except you, evidently. And now me, of course.”

Oliver tilted his head and studied her, amused. “You think I’m the werewolf?”

“Are you?”

“Would I tell you if I were?”

Lucy shrugged and headed back up the hill. Oliver followed, and they walked in silence until they reached her car and got in.

“I’m not,” he said as she started the engine.

“Not...?”

“The werewolf. For whatever my word is worth to you.”

“Exactly as much as any man’s is worth.”

He had the distinct impression that meant “zilch.”

She turned the car around and pulled back out onto the paved road. “Besides, I don’t think we’re dealing with a werewolf.”

“Oh?”

“Lycanthropic transformation isn’t instantaneous and smooth. The creature would have struggled and fallen, and the human shape would have been on all fours before the footprints began. There’s no sign of any transition at all with these tracks. It’s as if the creature simply chose to be human at that moment.”

“What kind of shifter could do that?”

Lucy was quiet for a moment before she answered. “None that I know of. So where to now?”

“Haunted Hamburger.”

She looked over at him. “Haunted...what?”

“Best burgers in town.” He smiled. “I think I owe you a meal.”

* * *

The outdoor seating overlooked the entire Verde Valley—the hundred-mile views the restaurant boasted of along with burgers, brews and “boos.” The distinctive red-rock formations that defined the Sedona landscape, made blue and soft by distance, marked the horizon like the rim of another world. Lucy gazed out across the panorama while they waited for their food, wondering how much of this territory might “belong” to the creatures she was hunting.

“It’s a pretty great view, huh? The ghosts seem to like it here, anyway.”

She turned toward Oliver, who was sipping his porter. “Hmm?” Lucy glanced at the valley once more. “Oh. Yeah, it’s nice. I was just thinking about the direction this thing might have gone. The tracks we looked at must have been made within the last few hours since the rain stopped.”

“That’s right. We got the report of the sighting about an hour after I caught you harassing one of our citizens.”

Lucy ignored the bait. “And what makes you think the tracks were made by the same creature responsible for the ‘mountain lion’ attacks?”

“Because similar tracks were seen at the sites of those attacks. And a kid was found close to that spot yesterday with his throat torn open and his intestines missing.”

The same MO as the beast she’d been tracking from Flagstaff.

Oliver grimaced as the burgers arrived. “Sorry. I wasn’t planning to talk about that while we ate.”

“Why not? Isn’t that why you brought me to Jerome? I didn’t come for a social visit.”

“No, of course. And to be clear, I did not bring you here. I was outvoted, if you recall. But don’t you ever take a break?”

Lucy shrugged. “I’ll take a break when they do.” Which seemed like it was going to be never. She dug in to her burger, having forgotten how hungry she was until now. “So, where were the other attacks?”

“A hiker was killed in Deception Gulch near the old mine at Hull Canyon, and a couple of campers were torn to shreds near Woodchute Trail. And there was one more sighting recently at Hogback—the Old Miners Cemetery just south of town. But no contact there.”

“So it’s staying close to Jerome.” Lucy washed down her burger with a sip of root beer. “I wonder why.”

Oliver gave her a wry smile. “Some people like it here.”

“No, I’m sure they do. I mean, why, specifically, would it gravitate toward a small town with limited hunting and few places to hide in an area that’s neither urban nor wooded. Werewolves tend to prefer hunting grounds near large groups of people where they can blend in and stalk at night, or they isolate themselves and hide in undeveloped forestland and hunt small game. But this one—if it is indeed just one—has gone a few miles out, perhaps to hide, but then returned to the center of Jerome, where it made a brazen kill that it could have been caught at.”

“Maybe it isn’t afraid of being caught.” It was an unsettling idea.

While they both concentrated on their food, Lucy pondered where to start her hunt.

After a moment, Oliver set down his burger and took a drink of his porter. “So, how do you intend to catch it?”

“I don’t intend to catch it. I intend to kill it.”

His hard jaw was set even harder. “So you’re judge, jury and executioner.”

“That’s right. That’s what people like you pay me to be. What did you expect me to do, put it in a zoo?”

“Doesn’t your biotech company develop drugs to help shifters lead ‘normal’ lives?”

“We have certain promising pharmaceuticals in development but none on the market yet.”

“Isn’t that your brother’s bailiwick? You both inherited the company, didn’t you?”

Lucy breathed evenly. “Lucien has a lot of responsibilities that keep him from the day-to-day operations. But yes, Smok Biotech is Lucien’s particular area of interest, and the anti-lycanthropy project is one that he’s spearheaded.”

“There are rumors about him.”

Her hand remained perfectly still around her glass, and she kept her expression neutral. “Rumors?”

“That he’s actually at some swanky rehab center in California, and his addiction is being quietly covered up.”

She made a dismissive sound and emptied her glass. “Lucien isn’t an addict. Rest assured, the company is in very capable hands. My brother just happens to be a rather private—and busy—person. You can spread that around your rumor mill.” Lucy set her napkin on the table and pushed her plate away. “I’ll take a drive out to Hogback and see if I can spot anything unusual. In the meantime, a sketch of the creature would be useful in determining what we’re dealing with. Did you get a detailed description from any of the eyewitnesses?”

“I’m afraid not. We have fairly limited resources at our disposal. But I do have this.” He took out his phone and displayed the photo, turning it toward Lucy on the table. “The eyewitness at the Gold King Mine got a picture of it before it took off. I’m afraid it’s not very clear.”

Lucy studied the blurry image, like a photo of Bigfoot through the trees, only this was a large, dark, doglike shape on its hind legs, its muzzle caught in midsnarl. As unclear as it was, there was something unsettling about the image. The creature seemed fully aware it was being photographed, as if it was posing for the camera, the snarl a ghoulish grin.

And it was a dead ringer for the thing Lucy had shot this morning.