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“You?
??ll see,” Kurt sang, turning to the other MC members as they strolled inside the sheriff’s office. To the average outsider, the trackers looked like ordinary bikers, but they were anything but. They were the Alphas of several packs, brought together for one common cause—to stop a murderer before he ruined a nation’s sense of security and devastated the people left behind.
A dash of light shot across the room before Deputy Phillips entered the office. About thirty seconds after he arrived, his body was flung one way and then another. When the deputy landed on the floor, his head swung to the side. A double click sound rang out and then the deputy appeared to go into seizures.
For a brief second, Deputy Phillips remained still, but his exposed neck showed proof of a bite mark. Then, another mysterious click-clack noise resounded. This time, the deputy’s head snapped to the other side before his body went into violent tremors. A quick ripping sound sliced through the air. Randon braced for the slurping and gurgling noises certain to follow.
Another beam shot across the screen like blue lightning. Deputy Phillips was left behind to fight for his life. Blood spurted everywhere. The deputy somehow rose to his feet, stumbled to the desk, and miraculously made it to the phone before collapsing.
Pageant pointed the remote control at the television. Pausing the image on the screen, she turned to them and said, “I know what happened next.”
Noticing her ashen skin, Randon went to her. He longed to touch her, perhaps comfort and console her. “You okay?”
“I’m still standing.”
For how long was the question.
They’d known one another for less than twenty-four hours and yet he couldn’t explain the yearning. He had this profound need to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, but he feared the consequences of such an action. Her peers would want explanations. His MC brothers would demand to know why he’d compromised them. There were rules in place and the MC strictly prohibited showing instant affection to one’s mate. Speculation risks were great when one of them made a move to protect an unclaimed mate. Kurt would support him, but Kurt was the kind of friend who would stand up for him even if he happened to witness the firing of a smoking gun.
There was another minor complication to consider, too. While he was already in awe of his mate, perhaps even loved her in his own way, she probably didn’t feel the same way about him. At least not yet.
Randon focused on Pageant, completely certain of her place in his life. She watched him as well. For the first time since meeting her, Randon noticed a profound difference in the detective. She was frightened.
“I haven’t slept,” she said, perhaps blaming her shaken state on her overworked status. “Sheriff, I’ll take a few hours and be back as soon as I can.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I’ll let you know if anything develops.”
Kurt stepped forward. “Sheriff McKinney, use us. We’re here. The Feds won’t be here anytime soon.”
They wouldn’t be there at all.
“They’ll arrive in the morning.”
The others exchanged knowing glances before Kurt said, “No, Sheriff. They won’t.”
“Do you fellas know something I don’t? If you do, one of you better start talking.”
“Kurt, tell him what you know.” Randon narrowed his eyes on Pageant, detecting her fatigue, harboring it as his own. “I’ll see Detective Keen home.”
“I don’t need—”
“Don’t argue with him, Detective.” The sheriff studied Randon as if he were memorizing everything about him. He then turned his attention to Pageant once more. “We have thirty-two dead citizens and a hospitalized deputy. I think it’s safe to assume we were ill prepared for whatever it is that has plagued this town.” He focused on Kurt. “If what you’re telling me is true and the Feds don’t show up here tomorrow then I’ll have no other choice but to deputize a few of you.”
Kurt grinned. “You hear that, Randon? The sheriff is ready to make an honest man out of me.”
Chapter Eight
As Kurt had suggested, the sheriff made an honest man out of him, more or less anyway. Randon possessed similar ideas for the woman beside him.
Pageant lived a couple of miles outside of town. Randon hadn’t watched his rearview or side mirrors as he’d driven her home. There was little need. He’d been followed by a quad pack, a group of four riders tailing him in a tight formation. All four trackers had mates of their own. They were steadfast in their commitment to their women and their club.
If anyone understood Randon’s growing angst, the guys behind him could relate to his explainable anxiety. A bachelor for thirty years, Randon used to be “that guy” who smirked at the others when their old ladies called them home. He’d never been one to envy the guys with mates. He’d always enjoyed his freedom. He glanced at Pageant. Now, he couldn’t imagine a life without his chosen one, without the woman who would soon be cradled against his chest and curled up in his arms.
Killing the engine, he surveyed the area while the others left their bikes and walked the grounds surrounding Pageant’s cottage-style home. Mac, one of the older guys, pecked on the glass and Randon rolled down the pump-style window. “Clear?”
“He’s been here.”
“What?” Pageant was suddenly alert. “How do you know?”
