Shades of Grey (12 page)

Who was he kidding? He’d heard that sound all right, no doubt about it.

He moved over to the window, wincing at the sound of his feet rasping against the floor, and slowly drew the edge of one curtain across, giving him just enough space to peer out to the ground below. The paddock was empty, the gate shut as he’d left it, and everything appeared as it should. A creamy moon glowed brightly, its light illuminating the area, showing him that no one lurked in those God-awful spooky trees running down the side of the field either.

So was someone in the house? Was that it?

Leaving the window, he walked to the door, looking back at Sarah to make sure she still slept. Her chest rose and fell, her hair spread out over the pillow, and he wanted nothing more than to get back into bed to nestle beside her. But keeping her safe was more important. Regretfully, he turned away and padded downstairs to the kitchen, picking up his discarded jeans and pulling them on. He put on his shirt, fastening the buttons as he walked over to the window, and stared out again.

No one there.

He searched the house, footsteps seeming loud in the stillness of the night, and came up empty. He returned to the kitchen, stuffing his feet into his boots then finding the key in a drawer in the sideboard. Sarah would be fine inside alone for the time it took him to search the grounds. He didn’t intend being a minute longer than he had to.

Outside, after locking the door and slipping the key in his jeans pocket, he circled the house, again finding nothing. He made for the tackle barn, wondering if whoever had come visiting had holed up inside. No horses nickered in the stables nearby and he gave a small sigh of relief. They’d be the first to complain if some stranger interrupted their night. Nevertheless, nerves skittered in his belly, and he pushed the heavy door open, bracing himself for an attack. Inky darkness bled into everything, and he couldn’t even make out the tool table to his right or the tackle hanging on the wall to his left. He cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight and took another step inside.

There. What was that smell?

He sniffed, long and hard, and caught an unmistakeable whiff of Clark. No wonder the horses hadn’t caused a fuss. They knew Clark, were used to him. So Travis had been right. The man hadn’t intended making him wait and fret for him to get back at him at all—he’d come right out fighting at the earliest opportunity.

But where was he?

He sniffed again, and another, stronger scent overrode the bastard’s. Rodney Dukes? What the hell would he be doing here? Travis’ mind went crazy. Had Clark brought Rodney with him so they could both take Sarah against her will? Or were they here because Clark wanted to make sure Travis was overpowered before he went through with his threats? Had Clark realised he couldn’t take Travis on alone? And everyone knew Sarah had a gun in each room of her house. Maybe that was it. Clark had brought Rodney along so it would be easier to distract Sarah from shooting Clark.

Walking to his right, going by instinct because his sight was obscured by darkness, Travis made it to the tool table. He patted the many surfaces of implements on top, pleased when his hand curled around a flashlight handle. He switched the beam on, arcing it through the air so the wide swathe picked up every nook and cranny.

No one was there.

What the fuck?

That tinkle sang again, and he turned to face the doorway, lunging through it and coming to a breathless stop on the dusty track outside. Rodney’s and Clark’s scents were stronger here—stronger than they’d been in the barn. So did that mean they’d been out here when Travis had been collecting the flashlight? He frowned at the thought. If that was the case, why hadn’t he heard them, sensed them? Why did his hearing work well one minute and not the next? Not knowing was driving him nuts, and he sniffed harder, concentrating to pick up exactly where those two men were.

A slight breeze gusted over him from ahead, bringing with it the unmistakeable smell of unwashed bodies—Rodney—and a sickly sweet aftershave unique only to Clark. Had they seen him in the barn and decided to leave? Shaking his head grimly, he clenched his jaw tight and followed the smell. It grew stronger the further he walked. Relieved that the men weren’t near the house and that Sarah was safe, Travis felt comfortable following the men’s trail and catching up with them, demanding to know what the fuck they’d been doing on Sarah’s land.

Travis walked quite a way. Nearly at the edge of Sarah’s property now, he made his way to the fence border and took a minute to rest. He leaned his arms on the fence and cocked his head. No sound but the wind and his own breathing. And not two scents now but only one. Clark’s. Maybe they had parted ways along here.

Climbing over the fence, Travis buoyed himself up for a long trek into town where Clark lived. He cast his gaze all around and, finding nothing untoward, decided to strip and shift. The faster he apprehended Clark the better. He draped his clothes over the fence, butted his boots against it, and let the wolf encompass him. The shift was quick, a
pop-snap-pop
of bones that heralded his body changing shape as he became the animal Sarah suspected him to be. Down on all fours, the crisp air cooling his tongue as he panted, Travis scented the air and took off in the direction of Clark’s place.

Shit, he loved this, running free, the wind in his fur, his paws pummelling the soft ground. His head usually cleared of all unsettling thoughts when he became his wolf, leaving him refreshed and ready to fight another day when he returned to being a man. Not tonight, though. No, he had Sarah’s safety on his mind—and catching up with Clark to find out what the fuck the man was playing at in the middle of the goddamn night.

As the silhouettes of town houses on the horizon grew closer, Clark’s scent came from another direction. Travis turned to his left, head tilted as he processed why the bastard’s smell would be coming from over there. His stomach churned with realisation.

Gordon’s Creek was that way.

Fuck. Fucking shit!

At full speed, Travis took off, galloping over the fields, his intent to reach that creek paramount. If Clark hadn’t killed that hiker and dumped him there before, what the fuck business did he have even being at Gordon’s Creek tonight? The man didn’t strike Travis as the type to take a midnight dip, though God knew the jerk needed to wash the stench of that cheap aftershave off his skin.

Panting hard, Travis reached the creek and came to a stop. The mouldy smell of the water disguised Clark’s aroma a little, but it was still there all the same. This section of the creek was narrow, the width the same from right over there in the distance, but about three minutes’ walk to his left, the breadth widened, opening up to a deep pool that stretched on for a mile or so before it tapered again. He wasn’t exactly sure where the hiker had been found or why the dead man nagged at his mind this way, but he decided to obey his instincts and follow the creek where it was still narrow. He thought he recalled mention of the hiker being on a steep bank where bushes grew thick and fast, his body hidden beneath.

The dark shapes of bushes loomed to his right, maybe two hundred metres away, and, as he turned to walk that way, he growled at his instincts being correct.

He could smell Clark stronger now.

He loped towards the bushes, the feeling creeping inside him that Clark was inside them or behind them, ready to pounce. The man had drawn him out here, he was sure of it, to kill him like he had the hiker.

Oh, fuck. Is he really capable of killing someone, though?

As he drew nearer to the bushes, Travis squinted at the odd, dark shape in front of them. What the hell
was
that? He padded closer. Caught the scent of blood. His stomach muscles clenched, and he fought back the urge to retch.

Oh, no. Please, God, no…

He walked on, steeling himself for the worst, and when he reached the mound he almost threw up. A female body rested there, naked, legs splayed, breasts hacked off. Blood spatter streaked her belly and legs, recent if the stench was anything to go by. Long hair covered the woman’s face and, unable to be of much help in wolf form, Travis shifted. The change seemed to take longer than usual, but he realised that the awful slow motion of suspended time in situations like this had taken over. In his human form—absurdly conscious of standing naked beside a corpse, knowing it was inappropriate but unable to do anything about it—he sucked in a few deep breaths to calm his fast-beating heart. He hunkered down, legs wobbly, and reached out to check the woman’s wrist for a pulse.

He didn’t find it.

Panic set in. His teeth chattered and his throat tightened. Pausing to still his racing mind, to remember what he should do in an instance like this, he struggled to form a cohesive thought. The discovery of her, the sight of her, the smell of her had leeched all sense out of him. Touching her wrist and finding out she was dead had been the final thing to tip him over the edge.

Focus! This isn’t about you. It’s about this woman and finding who the fuck killed her. Clark. It was Clark… Had to be.

He took one last, huge breath then lifted her hair from her face.

Macy Jo stared back at him.

Travis sprang back, landing on his ass, a shout of surprise barking out of his mouth. What the hell? Why the fuck would Clark want to kill Macy?

“Hey! You there!” someone shouted.

Travis turned to where the voice had originated, his eyes misty with tears of shock, his heart thumping way too wildly for his liking. Two figures barrelled towards him, and, despite being naked, Travis scrambled to his feet, relief pouring into him that help had arrived.

“Fucking hell! Thank God you’re here. Macy Jo. Someone killed Macy Jo. Help me, will you? You got a cell? Ring for the police.” Travis looked back down at Macy, unable to comprehend the young woman’s death.

“One of us
is
the police, asshole.”

Clark.

Travis whipped his head around, eyes clear now. Clark came abreast of him, grabbing Travis’ wrist in a harsh grip.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Travis demanded. “And get your goddamned hands off me!” He tried to break free, but Clark held him strong. Had the shock of finding Macy rendered Travis weak? He tugged some more, ineffective in his efforts to make the guy let him go. It didn’t make sense, Clark being able to constrain him like this.

“You hear that, Stephen?” Clark asked.

Travis glanced away from Clark to the other man. The bombshell of seeing Stephen here as well had Travis’ mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out for a few seconds. He managed a quiet, “What the fuck?” before Clark butted in again.

“What did I tell you, Stephen? I said I saw him coming out here with no clothes on, didn’t I? Fucking freak bastard.” Clark winked at Travis. “And oh, Lord, there’s Macy Jo, dead like that hiker last year when
he
strolled into town.” He jerked his head at Travis and smirked.

Travis tried to yank his arm away, but it felt heavy, useless. He stared at Stephen, who stared back, eyes glazed, his face that of someone under the influence. Had Clark brought him up here
drunk?

“Stephen?” Travis said. “Macy Jo is dead. I found her here just now. Don’t listen to that prick!”

“But he’s naked, Stephen,” Clark said. “You see that? Big ole cock hanging there for all to see. Killing women in the nude. Whatever is the goddamn world coming to, I wonder?”

Travis’ mind sparked, the fuzziness shifting some. “If I killed her, why aren’t I covered in blood? She was hacked up, for fuck’s sake. And get. Your fucking hands. Off me!” He pulled free at last, going back down on his knees beside Macy Jo, stricken by the sight of her but wanting to do something to help. He called over his shoulder, “One of you give me your fucking coat so we can cover this poor woman up.”

When no coat sailed through the air towards him, Travis lost it. He jumped up, striding towards Clark, who stood his ground, that infernal smirk still in place.

“What the hell is wrong with you two? Ring for the deputy. It’s clear Stephen’s in no fit state to deal with this!”

Clark hawked then spat. “You hear that, Stephen? Guy here says you’re a shitty sheriff. That you can’t do your job. Reckon you’ll be wanting to arrest him, right? I mean, we found him up here with a dead body. What the fuck is that all about, huh?”

Travis lifted one arm to throw a punch at Clark, but the other man raised his forearm to block it. Stephen came up behind Travis, yanking his arms behind him to apply cuffs.

“Oh, so you’re with it now, are you?” Travis snarled, struggling so Stephen couldn’t constrain him.

Clark went around the back of Travis and helped Stephen out. With Travis bound, Clark kicked him in the backs of his knees, sending Travis sprawling to the ground.

“Go and see to the body, Stephen. Do your job and call the deputy.”

As Travis staggered to his feet, off balance without his arms by his sides, he watched in horror as Stephen obeyed. The sheriff knelt and brought out his notebook.

“What the fuck have you done to him, Clark? You given him something?”

Clark leaned in close. “That’d be telling, wouldn’t it? Just like it’d be telling if I said the brew you’ve been drinking during tea breaks with us at the ranch has messed with your senses a little. Didn’t feel that little prick from a needle in your arm just now either, did you?”

“You fucking asshole!”

Travis kicked out, but Clark stepped back just in time. Travis’ leg kept going, the momentum sending him full circle, fucking with his balance. For the third time since he’d arrived here he was down on the ground.

The small hairs on his neck prickled.

Oh, Jesus Christ…

The shift began, his arms painful as his body tried to change in the usual way. His wrists thinned just in time, and he slid the cuffs off, bringing his hands in front of him. In a matter of seconds he stood in wolf form before Clark, baring his teeth and growling a warning.

“Holy fuck!” Clark sprang back, eyes wide, hands held up in surrender.