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"If you stake him while he's visible, they will."
"Then stakes it is," Rhoan said.
He walked to the trunk and fetched them, then handed two to me and flexed his shoulders. "Let's go."
His gray eyes had become cold and dead. The eyes of the hunter. The eyes of the killer.
I glanced at Quinn. He gave me a smile that was a nice mix of confidence and desire, then turned and melted into the semidarkness. I switched to infrared and watched him run toward the tree line, then turned and followed my brother.
While I couldn't hear heartbeats like he and Quinn, I was still a wolf, and the scents of sweat and blood and fear that rode the air were unmistakable. And they were getting stronger.
As the granite outcrops began to grow more numerous, and the eucalyptus gave way to black cypress, Rhoan paused, pointing to the right then holding up five fingers. I nodded, but wondered if Young would actually give us that much time. He was a vampire after all, and he could hear heartbeats as well as either Rhoan or Quinn. No matter how caught up he was in his whole revenge scenario, he'd realize eventually that we were here.>"He's going through the council records for house approvals. He'll let us know if he finds site or floor plans."
"What can I do for you, Riley?" Sal said.
I shoved the phone to my ear, and said, "I need to be put through to a Jerry Mayberry. He used to be the local police officer up in Beechworth. He's retired, but apparently he's still living up there."
"Hang on, and I'll see what I can do." She put me on hold, and tinny elevator music blasted me. I winced and shifted the phone away from my ear.
"How is the cop going to help us?" Rhoan asked.
I glanced around at him. "He was the cop on duty when Aron Young disappeared. He might be able to tell us a little more than what was reported in the papers."
Sal came back online. "Okay, I found an address and a phone number. You want me to patch you through now?"
"Yes. Thanks, Sal."
"Hang on, then." I went back on hold for a second, then there was a click, and the phone was ringing.
And ringing.
Come on, come on, I thought, then glanced at the clock and realized I was actually ringing at an ungodly hour. The poor man was probably tucked up nice and warm in his bed.
Eventually a gruff voice said, "Hello?"
"Is this former sergeant Jerry Mayberry, from the Beechworth Police Station?"
"That would be me."
"Mr. Mayberry, it's Riley Jenson, from the Directorate. We're investigating several murders that appear to be linked to an old case of yours, and I was wondering if you could help me with some details."
"I'll try, but my memory is not as sharp as it used to be." He hesitated. "The Directorate, you say? Which section?"
"Guardian division, Mr. Mayberry."
"Martin Bass still in charge there?"
I smiled. There was nothing wrong with this man's mind. Nor, I suspected, his memory. "There's no Martin Bass working in the guardian division, sir. Jack Parnell has been in charge for the last eight years or so."
"Ah, yes." His tone softened a little. "What case we talking about?"
"Aron Young's disappearance."
"Ah. That was a strange one."
"In what way, Mr. Mayberry?"
"We had evidence of rope marks on a tree limb, we had blood splatters we believe came from the victim, and we're sure he was killed. But we never found a body and none of the kids would talk."
