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She arrowed in through the smashed glass and did a circuit around the house. Evil had been here, as recently as a day or so ago. The air still recoiled from its presence.
The house was in bad shape, many rooms filled with boxes of junk and yellowing newspapers. Dust was inches thick everywhere except in the bedroom and kitchen. Obviously these were the two rooms the old man had used most. She shifted shape in the bedroom, drawn by a scent that wasn’t age and decay and death. Hands on her hips, she studied the double bed and tried to ignore the room’s almost overwhelming sense of sadness and loss. But it was almost impossible when everywhere she looked there were photos of a smiling, gray-haired woman.
The sheets were surprisingly clean, the creases barely disturbed. Perhaps he’d changed them in expectation. Light sparked off something close to the pillow, and she reached for it. It was a delicate gold chain and cross. Not the sort of thing an old man would wear, but certainly something a little girl would.
Janie had been here. Kat had obviously been closer than she’d thought last night. Maybe even close enough to rescue that little girl.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the frustration running through her. Damn it, why couldn’t they catch a break in this case? Her gaze swept the room again, looking for something she might have missed the first time. Nothing. But given that the farmer had been dead for about a week, and Janie had been taken only three days ago, someone else had obviously been caring for the little girl. She couldn’t imagine zombies doing it, so either the soul-sucker had undertaken the task or someone else was helping her. The werewolf, perhaps? Though what would a wolf—or a vamp, for that matter—be gaining from such a situation? It surely couldn’t be sex, given that they had to be aware of the danger of getting their soul sucked during such an act.
She clenched her fingers around the cross and turned away from the bed. The kid wasn’t here now, but neither were the soul-sucker or the zombies. And she very much suspected they wouldn’t be found at the last remaining farmhouse. Still, she had to check. Then she had to go back and face Ethan.
And she had a feeling it would be easier facing a dozen zombies than telling Ethan they’d missed rescuing his niece by the slenderest of margins.
She shoved the chain in her pocket, then shifted shape and flew back out the window.
ETHAN LEANED AGAINST THE QUAINT, WHITE PICKET FENCE that bordered part of the bakery and watched the traffic roll by. Not that there was much, and not that they rolled by very fast. In fact, most of them slowed down to give him a good, long look. Small-townsfolk didn’t miss much. By later today, he’d no doubt be the subject of much speculation.
If it weren’t for the fact he was officially off the kidnapping case, he would have started asking some questions himself. If the kidnappers were here, then surely someone in this town would have seen something. But the minute he started nosing about, the sheriff would be informed. While Benton now knew he was here, he at least needed to keep up the pretense of not investigating. Otherwise his boss would come down hard on him.
Kat strolled down the street about ten minutes later, wearing a dark red cashmere sweater and a short black skirt that swirled around her thighs. Though she looked good enough to stop traffic, his gaze was drawn to the shadows under her eyes. To the shadows in her eyes.
He caught her hand and drew her in between his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her, enjoying the sweetness of her warm lips but resisting the urge to taste deeper, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, her gaze searching his. Something in his gut clenched tight.
“Does your niece wear a necklace?”
The restriction moved up from his gut to his chest. “A cross. Why?” His voice was harsh, flat.
She reached into her pocket. “This cross?”
The sun caught the cross as she pulled it free, sparking fire across the gold surface. He reached for it slowly. He’d given Janie the cross last Christmas. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the turmoil, fighting the fear. “Where did you find it?”
“At a farmhouse. She’s not there, Ethan. I looked.”
She reached out as if to comfort him, but he jerked away and pushed her to one side. He took several steps before he could force himself to stop.
“Where is this farmhouse?” He had to see, had to check himself. Had to know if there was a scent to follow.
“You can’t go there.”
He swung around, fists clenched against fury rising inside. “Like hell I can’t!”
Her green eyes were full of understanding, full of compassion. It only seemed to fire his anger more, though he couldn’t say why.
“The soul-sucker killed the farm’s owner. Benton will have to be called in, as will the sheriff.”
“You call them before I get up there, and we may lose her scent.”
“There’s no scent to follow. It lingers in the bedroom where they kept her, but that’s it.”
“You don’t have a wolf’s nose,” he retorted. “I may find what you couldn’t.”
She crossed her arms, as if to contain the anger he could see forming in her eyes. “You don’t have a wolf’s nose, either, unless you shift shape.”
He took a deep breath. It didn’t help the anger or vague sense of desperation boiling through his blood. “You have no idea what a wolf is and isn’t capable of.”
“I know more about werewolves than you probably do, especially since you’ve spent a major part of your life denying your heritage.” She shook her head, then brushed past him. “You want to go look for her, then go. See of you can find her without my help. I’m going back to Gran.”
