Beneath a Darkening Moon (23 page)

“I intend to, once I get out of here.”

“Good. Because I think she might be able to give us some clues.”

So did he. The trick was going to be resisting the moon fever long enough for her to answer his questions. He swung his legs off the bed, waited until the quick bout of dizziness passed, then stood and walked—or rather limped—over to the small wardrobe to retrieve his clothes.

“Boss, I don’t think getting up is a good idea.”

“Lying in bed while a killer runs loose isn’t, either.”

“Ranger Grant has left orders—”

“Ranger Grant’s orders don’t override mine.” He glanced at Anton. “I need your truck.”

Anton studied him for a moment, then handed over the keys. “Ranger Grant is not going to be happy.”

“Right now, keeping Ranger Grant happy is not my first priority. Finding this killer and ensuring we both survive
is
.”

The time to worry about happiness could come later. Until then, he wasn’t even going to consider the possibility.

S
AVANNAH PUSHED THE
diner’s door open, and was immediately assaulted by the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon. She breathed in deeply as her stomach rumbled a noisy reminder that she hadn’t eaten anything since the pizza yesterday.

“Now, there’s a smell that always makes me hungry,” Ronan said as he followed her inside. “How about we take a break? My treat.”

Savannah grinned. “My father understands the need for me to eat takeout when I’m working, but if I actually sit down to eat at a competitor’s place, there will be hell to pay.”

“What are people going to think,” he said, imitating her dad’s voice, “when they spot you eating at the competition? It’s just not good enough, Savannah.”

She chuckled softly. “It’s never good enough, apparently.”

“His trouble is that he runs his family the way he runs this town—autocratically.”

Her amusement died. “True. But he means well.”

Ronan propped his butt on one of the counter stools and gave her a look. “
Meaning well
almost caused Neva to lose Duncan.
Meaning well
drove you from town when you were seventeen.”

She shrugged. “That’s different.”

“It’s not, and you know it.” He picked up a toothpick from the small container on the counter and fiddled idly with it. “Are you ever going to confront him about it?”

“I have.”

“I mean for you, not for Neva.”

She grimaced. “It really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does when it stops you from jumping into a relationship you desperately want.”

She glanced at him sharply. So now even he could see it?

“But,” he continued, “that doesn’t answer the question. Do you intend to tell your old man about Rosehall and Cade?”

“Definitely about Cade.”

“But not about Rosehall?” He caught her hand and squeezed it gently. “You never were a coward, Savannah. Don’t start now.”

“I’ve always been a coward,” she refuted softly. “I ran from Cade ten years ago rather than face up to what we’d done. Instead, I came straight home and buried the wilder part of me deep, afraid of what others might think. And I’m still afraid of telling my old man about Rosehall and my time there.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“He won’t see it that way.”

“Maybe he needs to. Maybe if he realizes it was his rules that drove you from town in the first place, it might make him rethink his current views.”

“My dad? I don’t think so.” She laughed and glanced past him as a short woman with graying hair came through a doorway wiping her hands on a tea towel.

The woman smiled brightly. “What can I do for you two?”

“We wouldn’t mind a couple of eggs sunny-side up with that bacon you’re frying up,” Savannah said, deciding after everything she’d said that she was hungry enough to risk annoying her father. “And we’d like to speak to the owner or manager, if that’s possible.”

“Two bacon and sunny-side eggs, Frank,” the woman yelled, then rested her fleshy hands on the counter as she studied them. “And I’m both manager and owner—how can I help you?”

“Rangers Grant and Harris,” she replied, showing the woman her badge even though the uniform made it obvious who they were. “We believe you’ve had a young blond woman working the night shift for the last few weeks?”

The woman snorted. “Working isn’t exactly what I would call it, but yeah, she was here. Why? What has she done?”

“We believe she might be able to help us with an investigation.” Savannah hesitated. “Can you tell us a bit about her?”

“She said her name was Candy Jackson. And what mother in her right mind names their kid Candy, I ask you? No wonder the girl was a flake.”

Savannah resisted the urge to smile. “A flake in what way?”

“Always chatting up the customers, always asking stupid questions, never actually doing half the things she was supposed to.”

Savannah shared a glance with Ronan. Maybe they’d just gotten their first good lead.

“What type of questions?” he asked.

The woman shrugged. “About the different packs, who ran them, and who was on the council.” She hesitated and frowned. “You know, I heard her asking about you and your family, Ranger Grant. She seemed awfully interested in where you all lived and what you all did. Not that it’s hard information to find out. All anyone with half a brain had to do was pick up a phone book or check out the town’s website. You and your dad are fairly prominent.”

True, but whoever committed the recent murders obviously wasn’t overburdened with a logical mind. “Have you seen her recently?”

The woman shook her head. “She was supposed to report in last night, but she didn’t show. She’s officially fired if she does actually show her face. Help may be hard to find, but I’m not
that
desperate.”

“I don’t suppose you can give us her address?”

The woman considered them for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t owe her any loyalty. Hang on a sec, and I’ll get her records.”

She was back within a few minutes. “Someone’s been through my files,” she said, her expression angry. “Everything I had on her is gone.”

Savannah blew out a frustrated breath. They were
always one damn step behind. “I don’t suppose you can remember her address?”

The woman frowned, then leaned back and yelled, “Frank, where did Blondie live again?”

“Summit Street,” a rough voice replied.

Savannah exchanged another glance with Ronan. Summit Street happened to be where Lana Lee had died as her house burned down around her. Coincidence? Her gut said no.

“I don’t suppose she mentioned anything about her personal life? Friends? Family?”

The woman screwed up her nose. “Not really. I think she was from Merron, but she never mentioned kin or anything. Though when she wasn’t out here chatting, she did seem to spend an awful lot of time on her phone.”

Meaning they had better try to get hold of her phone records. “How come you didn’t fire her earlier if she was so bad?”

The woman handed them their meals. “Bad help is sometimes better than no help. And she did bring the men in. Customers are customers.”

Savannah nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime, rangers,” she said, and left them to it.

Once they’d eaten and paid for their meal, they headed out. “So what next?” Ronan said. “Do we cruise over to Summit Street and hope to get lucky?”

“Candy was driving a blue truck last night. If we don’t find that, we can knock on doors.” She paused. “And perhaps we should revisit Rex and see if he ever saw a blonde visiting Lana.”

“You think there’s a connection between the two?”

“Yes—although there’s no logical reason for thinking so at the moment.”

“Well, we’ve all learned to trust your illogical hunches. I mean, all of us except Ike, but he’s still green.”

His words sent a chill running through her. For a moment, it felt as if death itself had reached out and caressed her soul. “Has Ike reported in yet?”

Ronan shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He hesitated, eyeing her—his expression suddenly concerned. “You want me to call the station?”

She nodded. “If he hasn’t reported in, get Bodee to drive around and see if he can spot him. I’ll call his mom.”

She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Ike’s home number. “Maureen,” she said, when his mom answered. “Is Ike home?”

“No,” she said, her concern evident. “He didn’t come home at all last night.”

Oh fuck …

She closed her eyes and tried not to panic. Ike, for all his faults, was a ranger. And he
could
protect himself. “He was working late last night. He’s probably fallen asleep somewhere. Tell him to call me as soon as he gets home.”

“Will do, Savannah.”

She hung up and swung around. And saw two things.

Cade was limping toward them, and a big blue truck was hurtling down the street.

Not at Cade.

Not at her.

At Ronan.

“R
ONAN
!”
SHE SCREAMED
. “Watch out.”

He swung around at her warning, and in one of those snapshot moments where everything seemed to stop, she realized he’d never get out of the way in time. The truck was too close, and going too fast.

Her best friend was going to die if she didn’t do something to stop it.

“No,” she screamed—to the driver, to fate herself. She dropped her phone, the protective plastic casing smashing as it hit the pavement, the tiny shards glittering like tears as the sun caught them. She picked up the nearby metal trash can and, with a grunt of effort, heaved it at the approaching truck.

The trash can spun in the air, spewing rubbish everywhere. In extreme slow motion, like a dreamer caught in the middle of a nightmare, she saw the brown-haired driver’s mouth drop open and her fingers clench and haul at the wheel. She watched the trash can smash into the windshield, sending hundreds of spiderlike cracks webbing across the glass. She heard the squeal of tires as the truck turned sharply. She saw the fender hit Ronan. She heard his
grunt of pain. She watched him fly backward like a broken sack.

Then everything snapped back to full speed. The truck was gone, people were screaming, and all she could see was Ronan lying on the pavement.

Not moving.

No, no, no. God, no! He can’t be dead. He can’t—

Someone grabbed her shoulders. She blinked and looked up. Cade, white-faced and terrified.

But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that. Not yet.

“I’m fine.
I’m fine
.” But Ronan wasn’t. She knocked away Cade’s hands, ducked under his arms, and ran to Ronan. Dropping to her knees beside him, she touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there—racing, but strong.

Relief ran through her, leaving her momentarily weak. She closed her eyes and took a breath. But that didn’t do much to ease the sick churning in her stomach as she said, “Someone get an ambulance.”

Her voice sounded so calm, so official. Odd when she felt so fragmented.

A hand touched her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She knew who it was without looking. The heat of him—the scent of him—filled her senses, even as strength seemed to flow from his fingertips.

She looked up and smiled. His expression was as stony as his eyes, and it only took her a moment to realize why. Her reaction had reinforced his belief that she loved Ronan.

Which she did, but not in the way he suspected.

But before she could say anything to Cade, Ronan groaned and opened his eyes.

“Forget the ambulance. I’m fine.” He rolled onto his back, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. “Well, except for the fact that it feels like a hundred elephants have been racing up and down my body.”

“You’re lucky,” Cade said, moving around to squat opposite. “If Savannah hadn’t thrown that trash can, you probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Ronan’s gaze met hers and he smiled over the wail of the approaching sirens. “I owe you, then.”

“Anytime, my friend.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently, more to reassure herself than him. “But you are, however, going to the hospital to get checked out, and then Steve is going to escort you home and watch over you while you rest.”

“Steve? God, he smells worse than a distillery these days.”

“He doesn’t drink on the job,” she said mildly. “And it’s either Steve or you get out of town.”

“I’ll take Steve.”

She figured as much. Ronan wasn’t one to leave a job half-done. Or her unprotected.

“But,” he continued, “you’d better follow up on our lead.”

“I will.” She glanced up at Cade. “The blonde who bribed Denny went by the name of Candy Jackson, and she apparently lives over on Summit Street.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. It seems the other blonde goes by the name of Lonny Jackson.”

“Sisters?”

“They could be.” He glanced past her as the approaching ambulance came to a sudden halt. “Except, according to records, Lonny doesn’t have a sister.”

“Merron doesn’t always register half-breeds, or
even their get,” Ronan said. “So if she’s not a full wolf, maybe that explains why there’s no record of a sister.”