Jake shrugged. “Why wouldn’t she meet with you and state what her business is here? Why try to conceal her identity? The only conclusion I can come up with is she doesn’t think Lelandi’s death was an accident. And she’s looking into it herself.”
“Hell.” Darien glowered at the red, wondering what her hair would look like if it wasn’t that hideous black color, way too harsh for her light creamy skin.
“Looks like she gave the ladies hell who meant to mess with her.” Tom grinned.
“Which means there’ll be more trouble.” Jake’s voice was as dark as Darien felt.
Darien turned to Tom. “I want you to—”
Jake interrupted, “She’s leaving.”
All conversation in the tavern instantly died.
Her boots clicked on the wood floor as she walked toward the door, her back stiff, her hands clenched in fists—her whole body language saying, Don’t mess with me.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he craved chasing after her and laying claim to her, just like he’d done with her sister. He felt an overwhelming urge to kiss those pursed lips, feel her soft skin na**d beneath his, make love to her like he’d made love to her sister. He was definitely losing it.
With the utmost restraint, he remained seated and observed her open the door. “Follow her, Tom. Watch where she goes, and… hell, stick to her for the night.”
“You sure? You really mean it?” Tom asked, his voice too hopeful.
“Just don’t let anyone get to her, all right?”
“He means,” Jake interjected, “don’t let anyone screw with her and that includes you.”
Tom looked at Darien for confirmation. If his brother wanted her and the woman was agreeable, who was he to say no? Their kind wasn’t into casual sex, so if she wanted a mate and Tom was interested, fine. Darien wasn’t about to go down that road again. “Do whatever it takes to make sure none of our people bother her.”
Tom gave Jake a look like he had him there. “Thanks, Darien. I’ll take care of her.” He hurried after Lelandi’s sister as the door slammed behind her.
Sending Tom after the woman signaled to the rest of his people in the tavern, and the word would quickly spread to the others, Darien wanted her left alone. If any stepped over the line, he’d hold them accountable.
Jake moved his glass over the wooden table, scraping it back and forth.
Darien glowered at him. “What, Jake?”
“Don’t you think you should talk with the woman? Find out what she’s doing here?”
“Why do you think Lelandi was murdered?”
“You’ve buried your head in the sand on this one, brother. Several believe someone murdered her, but when they spy me, the talking stops. No one will tell me or Tom what they suspect.”
“A conspiracy?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Unless they’re protecting someone, or are afraid you’d be too mad if you learned the truth.”
“Most of the pack believes I’d be happier thinking she committed suicide?”
Jake twisted his head to the side. “Yeah. If we have a murderer in our midst, it could shake up the whole pack. If she committed suicide, everything would be a lot cleaner.”
“She left a suicide note in her own handwriting. She killed herself. End of story.” Darien took another swig of his beer, but this time it tasted sour.
“Then why don’t you tell her sister the truth? Why send Tom, who’s bound to botch the whole thing?” Jake’s mouth curved up, the first truly evil smile Darien had seen him offer in a while. “If he gets fresh, he’s liable to look like Ritka with a colorful new eye.”
Darien ignored his comment. “If a twin sister is looking into what happened, Lelandi must not have had any brothers.”
“We didn’t know she had any family, period.”
Darien rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension pooling there. The gnawing pain of her death would never fade away, but now seeing her look-alike sister brought it all crashing back tenfold. Yet, he was furious with his mate for killing herself. Doc said it was part of the grief process, but Darien hated himself for not controlling his feelings better. Remorse, that’s the only feeling he should allow himself. “I’m beginning to assume I didn’t know a lot about my mate.”
Jake glanced back at their usual table. “If it were me, I’d tell the woman what I thought and send her packing. Things could get out of hand if she hangs around. It appears the other women think she wants to be your mate to replace her sister.”
“That would be the damned day,” Darien growled, yet a twinge of need wreaked havoc with his feelings, and his brother looked like he didn’t believe him one bit.
Not far from the tavern, Lelandi heard the door creak open and shut. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Tom taking great strides to reach her, his eyes and mouth lit in a smile.
Great. Just great. How in the hell was she going to put Plan B into effect and break into Darien’s house to search for clues about Larissa’s death while he was drinking at the tavern if one of his brothers shadowed her?
She cast him an annoyed look. His lips curved up even more and his eyes sparkled with way too much interest. She headed for the Hastings Bed and Breakfast, figuring she’d slip out the window of her room if Tom took up residence in the lobby.
Before she reached the brick building, Tom joined her, standing so close that the heat of his body reached out to her. “You’re Lelandi’s sister, aren’t you?”
“Larissa’s,” she corrected.
He bowed his head slightly. “I wasn’t certain until I heard you speak. You sure shook Darien up. But he needed to be rousted from the pit of hell he’s been wallowing—”
The familiar sound of danger, a clicking sound made when someone switched the safety off on a gun, caught her ear, and she whipped her head around. In a heartbeat, she wished she’d brought her gun in her purse. But it was hidden under the mattress until she needed it. And she was afraid she needed it now.
Tom seized her arm. “Wait,” he whispered.
Her skin prickled with fresh concern. He’d heard it, too. She’d hoped she’d been mistaken.
“Nine-millimeter,” he warned, his voice hushed.
Before they could move, a shot rang out, Tom yelled and shoved Lelandi behind him, but collapsed to his knees. “Run! Go back to the tavern!”
Ohmigod, the bastard had shot Tom! Seizing his arm, she tried to move him, but he was dead weight as he slipped to the asphalt, passed out. Blood streaked down his face. The bullet had struck him in the temple.
The shooter moved out of the shadows, blocking her path to the tavern. A pleasant face to look at if the murdering bastard weren’t wearing such a scowl. His scruffy black beard, unkempt hair, and rumpled clothes made it appear he’d been living on the run for a few days. Amber eyes looked almost wolflike, but being upwind of him, she couldn’t tell if he was human or lupus garou.
He aimed his gun at her. Silver bullets or regular?
“What do you want?” Her heart racing, she tried to buy herself time.
Had anyone in the noisy tavern heard the shooting? She couldn’t tackle the gunman from this distance. If she dashed for the inn, he might shoot Mrs. Hastings, or the twin girls who kept hanging around the lobby, although Lelandi sure wanted to get her gun.
Where the hell was Ural, now that she could use his help? If he was in his wolf form like she suspected, his wicked canines could take care of the menace. Taking time to strip and shapeshift into the wolf herself wasn’t an option.
Out of choices, she did the only thing she could think of to rouse help for Tom and maybe scare off the hesitant gunman. She screamed.
The shooter’s eyes widened, his lips curved down, and he pulled the trigger, firing once, twice, three times. The impact of the bullets ripped into her chest, throwing her against the brick building, and she nearly collapsed. At first, no pain registered as she struggled to stay on her feet. When she didn’t immediately expire on the spot, he stared at her as if she was the devil incarnate.
Then the pain struck hard and for an instant, her thought processes threatened to shut down. When he raised his gun, her brain caught hold.
She dashed toward the forest skirting the town, intending to double back as soon as she could and get help for Tom. She’d give the shooter a real run for his blood money. Thank god the bullets didn’t burn like silver ones would. She’d live, if she could find refuge and allow her body time to heal.
“Bloody hell!” Her assailant took chase.
Stabbing pain streaked through every inch of her now, and she could feel the hot blood seeping from the wounds. Every second her heart pumped more blood out, and she felt her legs weakening.
Run, damn you, Lelandi. If ever she had to push herself, this was the time.
Branches broke several yards behind her as she dove around trees, scrambled over fallen, rotting trunks, clawed through thick brush. As much noise as the gunman was making, she again assumed he was human. Good. He couldn’t see the trail of blood she was leaving, nor could he smell her scent. Then again, the breeze was shifting so much, it would help to disguise her location. Oh hell, as much perfume as she was wearing, probably even a human could follow her. She tried to remain downwind of him.
Tried—was the key word, because her senses were failing—one by one.
She no longer heard the birds singing in the trees, or the wind whistling through the firs, just her heavy breathing and the blood roaring in her ears. Her eyes blurred and she misjudged the lay of the land. The ground seemed to give way. And she fell.
Striking branches and brambles, she grabbed for anything to stop her tumble down the steep incline, skinning and cutting her hands. She lost her hat first, her glasses next. A branch scraped off one earring, then the other. Her hair tangled on every branch in her path, yanking at her scalp, the branches and twigs giving up their hold as she rolled. Downward… downward, banging against rocks and stumps, her whole body bruised and battered, she gritted her teeth against the pain.