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As it started up and roared away, she couldn’t help the chill that settled around her heart. Their time together had been too peaceful. Too perfect. And in her life, that typically meant the other shoe was getting ready to drop on her head.
Shaking off the dread, she went to search for something clean to wear to work.
* * *
Jacee’s little house got smaller and smaller in the distance, and Micah hated every second of leaving. Through sheer force of will, he focused his mind on the task ahead.
And struggled to ignore the ever-present craving in his veins. The need for the numbing effects of myst that had been suppressed by the calming effect of his mate came creeping back in like a thief to steal away his carefully constructed peace. His sanity.
His mate had no idea he was barely holding it together. He’d been so careful to shield his emotions—the fear and the disappointment that he hadn’t yet defeated this thing—because he didn’t want her to worry. Nor did she have any idea about the bottle of pills stashed in the leather saddlebag on his bike, the ones he was supposed to have thrown out. They had enough hanging over their heads right now. She didn’t need one more thing to stress over.
Winding his way down the roads through national-park land, he was struck by how close this murder scene was to their compound. Like the other. Another taunt? Something else was niggling at the back of his mind, and by the time he rolled up and parked next to the sheriff’s vehicles and Pack SUVs, he’d managed to put his finger on what it was.
Shutting off the ignition, he set off toward the activity taking place just out of sight among the shelter of the trees. As he approached, he spotted Nick, Jax, and John right away. They were talking with Sheriff Deveraux, and Micah’s gut tightened at the sight of the man. Jesse wasn’t a bad guy. No, he was a good lawman but gruff. Short on friendliness.
Who cared, though, as long as he got the job done and was on the Pack’s side?
“Sheriff,” Micah said in greeting, walking into their circle. Jesse nodded, face grim. Then Micah looked at his team, and they didn’t appear any happier. Jax in particular eyed him warily, and guilt speared Micah’s chest. He still hadn’t cleared the air with Jax after going berserk on the man, and he couldn’t blame him for thinking Micah was a serious head case.
Jesse nodded, held out his hand. “Chase.” They shook, and the sheriff got down to business. “Now that you’re here, we can show you the scene, get your take on what’s going on, and wrap things up here.”
Dread slid over Micah. “You were waiting on me, in particular?”
“Afraid so.”
“Okay, that’s downright alarming.” He glanced around at the serious faces.
“It should be.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?”
Typical damn cop answer. “Not that I’m aware of. I don’t know anything about what happened to these poor men out here any more than the woman from the other day.”
Jesse ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that’s where someone begs to differ. A lot of times we know more than we realize, deep down.”
Dig deeper. The person after him was someone from his not-so-distant past. Wasn’t that his mother’s warning?
Taking a deep breath, he said, “All right. Show me what you’ve got.”
The sheriff started off, and Micah followed, catching some shared glances between his teammates. Apparently they’d already seen whatever awaited him, but didn’t care to enlighten him before they got there. He tried not to let that bother him, but it was a fight.
As they approached the area, Micah could see a couple of deputies standing around. The pair looked up at the group’s approach and moved off to the side. At first, all Micah saw was . . . gore. And lots of it.
As a SEAL, he’d seen bodies torn apart by bombs or gunfire. Such was the way of war, horrible though it might be. So the dead man before him on the ground was nothing he hadn’t seen before—except his death was completely out of place. He was dressed for camping in jeans, a flannel shirt, and well-worn boots. He’d been a fairly fit man for his age, which Micah guessed to be in his forties.
No, the man shouldn’t have been dead on the forest floor, glazed eyes wide and horrified, mere feet from the cheerful remnants of his campfire and the hot dog picnic he’d obviously shared with his son, who was now fighting for his life.
The man had been slashed and torn to pieces, with chunks of flesh missing from his limbs and torso. From his chest. Wide swaths of flesh and muscle simply cut away cleanly, but by something . . .
Micah squatted and peered at the body. “A knife didn’t do this. The furrows are too large.”
“No,” Nick spoke up. “You’re right. The wounds weren’t caused by a knife.”
“Animal,” Micah guessed, looking up. He met Jax’s eyes. “Or a paranormal creature. Did you do a reading?”
“Right before you got here. The man didn’t see what attacked them because it came from behind him—and from above.”
