Unleashed Page 5

  Ranulf was holding something back, but Sandor knew from long experience that pushing wouldn't accomplish anything.

  "When are you going to introduce yourself to her?" the Viking asked.

  "As soon as possible. After being cornered by all those reporters, she's probably feeling a bit skittish. Kerry never goes more than three days without going out clubbing, so I'm betting she'll bolt for one of her favorite hangouts about sundown. Once she does, I'll ask her to dance."

  Ranulf snorted. "And do all women simply fall into your arms, or do you have to exert yourself?"

  "Jealous, Viking?" Sandor taunted. "Maybe if you didn't spend all your time hibernating up in the mountains, you'd have better luck with women."

  Suddenly Ranulf had a fistful of Sandor's dress shirt, and he shoved his face up close and personal, his eyes glacial cold. "Watch your step, Talion, because it's Kerry Logan's life on the line—not yours. If you spend all your time sniffing around her, she might end up dead. That would not please me. Not one bit."

  He shoved Sandor back, yanked open the passenger door, then stomped down the street.

  What the hell had brought that on? Sandor watched him until Ranulf disappeared around the corner. Couldn't the Dame see how unstable that son of a bitch was? Somebody needed to yank his leash—but if Sandor went after him now, he wouldn't be doing his own job.

  He settled back in his seat, fighting to restore his own self-control as he waited for Kerry Logan to make her move.

  Chapter Four

  Ranulf was seriously pissed off, but mostly at himself. It had been foolish to blow up over the image of Sandor holding the delectable Kerry Logan in his arms on a crowded dance floor.

  It was none of his business how Sandor did his job, and it made sense for the handsome Talion to approach her in neutral territory. Knocking on her apartment door and announcing that she wasn't really human would only convince her that Sandor was insane.

  Sandor was the perfect one to acquaint Kerry Logan with a subculture that she still didn't know existed. He'd use charm and tact to gently introduce her to her newfound family, the Kyth. And despite his glossy exterior, the man was a warrior in his own right, fully capable of protecting her while Ranulf hunted down and killed the renegade.

  He walked back to the Packard and called the arson investigator's number.

  "Cooper here." He sounded overworked and short on patience.

  "Mr. Cooper, I'm the insurance adjuster who stopped by earlier. I still would like to talk to you about the dance club fire."

  "And which company do you work for?"

  "I'm an independent. I've been asked to check into the circumstances of the fire." Hopefully the man would buy the story without Ranulf having to fabricate an elaborate cover.

  "I've got a couple of stops to make before heading back to the site. Should be there in about thirty minutes. If you want to talk, that's where I'll be." Cooper hung up.

  The man's attitude was infuriating, but Ranulf needed Cooper's cooperation more than he needed to rip the man's fucking head off.

  Ranulf checked the time. If he hurried, he could pick up something to eat at a drive-thru. Living up on the mountain meant never having fast food, and he had a real weakness for it. Two or three cheeseburgers with the works, an extra-large order of fries, and a chocolate shake should hold him until dinner.

  Forty-five minutes later, Ranulf parked three blocks away from the club to keep the investigator from seeing the Packard. Grabbing his briefcase, he headed down the street and was just about to turn the corner to the rear parking lot when his mental alarms went off big-time. He reached inside his bomber jacket for his Glock and stopped to listen. The ruins were ominously silent. Too silent if the arson investigator was inside poking around.

  Ranulf tasted the air and gagged on the smell of hot blood and cold death. This wasn't an echo of the injuries from the fire; this was fresh and pungent and raw.

  Moving cautiously, he eased around the building and through what had been the back door. It didn't take long to find Maynard Cooper's body—or what was left of it. The man's face was contorted, giving silent testimony to how much he'd suffered. Judging by the number of gashes on his arms and legs, his murderer had played with him for a while. Then the killer had gutted the poor bastard and left him to die in a pool of blood, the deep red standing out in stark contrast to the soot-blackened carpet of the dance club.

  Ranulf cursed until he ran out of words. He stepped back, careful not to disturb the scene. If he called the police, he would lose countless hours answering needless questions. At this point, all he could do was tell them how he'd found the body. And while his credentials would hold up at first glance, they might not if the police looked at them too closely.

  The investigator deserved better than to be left lying there, but Ranulf couldn't afford to get entangled—not with a murderous Talion to be brought to justice.

  One thing struck him as odd: it would appear that Cooper had walked into the site empty-handed. At the very least he should have had a notepad or a camera, or some other tool to help him evaluate the crime scene.

  So the killer had walked away with whatever Cooper had brought with him—which meant that Cooper had known something that would identify him.

  Ranulf started cursing again. If he hadn't stopped for junk food, he might have gotten there in time to save the human. He might even have had a shot at taking out the renegade Talion and ending this whole mess.

  Just as he was about to turn away, he noticed a small piece of paper sticking out of Cooper's clenched fist. Ranulf carefully teased the paper free and unfolded it.

  It was a pencil sketch of a man's face—one that he immediately recognized. Cold rage churned in his gut. This particular betrayal might just be the killing blow for their fragile leader. For Bradan Owen was one of Judith's most trusted Talions, and Sandor's closest friend.

  After murmuring a prayer for the dead, Ranulf left, vowing retribution against the vicious animal who'd stolen another life and might be on his way to take another.

  Ranulf reached Kerry's street just in time to see her step outside to pick up her mail. The sense of relief that washed over him surprised him with its intensity. She was safe. He'd still keep watch, though. Where the hell was Sandor? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her.

  To find out, he hit Sandor's number on speed dial. When he got routed to voice mail, he disconnected and tried the Dame's number.

  She answered on the first ring. "Ranulf? Where are you? I had expected you to report in person."

  "I'm parked outside of Kerry Logan's house— right where I expected Sandor to be." He let a little of his temper show.

  "We both thought that Miss Logan would be safe enough during daylight hours, while he followed up on another lead. Sandor will be back in place in time to follow her if she does go out for the evening." She paused. "The real question is why you are there instead of tracking down our renegade."

  He hadn't planned on breaking the news to her about Bradan over the phone. But then, he hadn't been thinking about much of anything except making sure Kerry Logan was safe. "I went back to the club to talk to the arson investigator. I found him all right, but he was dead. He'd been murdered."

  There was a sharp intake of breath over the phone. "Dear God! I hope he didn't suffer."

  Ranulf had never lied to Judith before and wasn't going to start now. "He did, but that's not the worst of it. The arsonist isn't just a Kyth; he's a Talion."

  He braced himself to tell her the rest. "I have reason to believe it was Bradan Owen who started the fire and then killed the investigator."

  It took Judith a few seconds to respond. "What is your proof?"

  "I'm sure the killer took the investigator's records, but he missed a pencil sketch in the man's fist. It's a picture of Bradan, and I can't think of any other reason why Cooper would have had it. He died protecting it."

  The silence from the other end of the line was painful, as he waited for his le
ader to cope with such a betrayal.

  "Find him." The terse command was steely.

  "I will. Bradan will make another mistake, and then we'll have him. He's already made a couple. He let himself be seen and recognized on the night of the fire, and then he missed that drawing."

  "Shouldn't we return that drawing to the authorities?" Judith asked. "It's always been our policy not to interfere with their investigations."

  "We couldn't even if we wanted to, because my fingerprints are all over the paper. There would be no explaining that without having to admit that I stole evidence and also failed to immediately report Cooper's death."

  "I don't like it."

  "Neither do I—but at least now we know who we're looking for. It was worth bending a few rules to speed up our investigation. If they found Bradan first, it would only complicate things. He needs to die, not rot in a human jail."

  "Yes, he does. This is going to be very hard on Sandor when we break the news to him. And Ranulf, I want you to find a way to get Kerry Logan to accept you as a bodyguard."

  He sat up straighter. "That's Sandor's job."

  "And now it will also be yours. Even Talions must sleep sometime, so it will require both of you. Bradan's going to be hunting for Kerry because she messed up his plans. And if he has any idea that she's one of us, he'll be brutal if he finds her."

  "What about Sandor?"

  "If he has a problem with my orders, tell him to see me."

  "Okay, but we both know he won't like the change in plans."

  Not that it would stop Ranulf from marching up and knocking on Kerry's door. Honesty made him admit that he'd been looking for an excuse to meet her ever since he'd touched her arm last night during the fire. Tasting the afterburn of her energy in the empty shell of the dance club had only whetted his appetite for more.

  "Aren't you worried that we'll overwhelm her? If she feels trapped, she might reject both of us," Ranulf said.

  "Judging by what I've uncovered on Miss Logan, she's off the scales bright. Once she understands the facts of the situation, she'll accept them. And once we've taken Bradan out of the picture, she'll be free to do as she likes."

  "Then I'll go introduce myself now."

  "I'll be interested to find out if I'm right about her. Report to me here after you've spoken with her."

  Right about what? The line went dead, so he shoved his cell phone into his pocket and reached for his briefcase. It was showtime.

  A sharp rap at the door startled Kerry out of her concentration. She'd been sitting with her eyes closed, trying to chase down an idea that hovered just out of reach, one that she knew would pull the entire ad campaign together. Now it was gone, maybe for good. Muttering under her breath, she marched to her front door, ready to rip into whoever was on the other side.

  She yanked the door open. But as soon as she got an eyeful of the mountain of a man standing there, she scrambled to slam the door shut, to get the chain back on, to put every possible barrier between them.

  But his big foot was already in the door, keeping her from barricading herself inside. Where was her cell phone? Was there time to call 9-1-1 before he broke in?

  "Miss Logan, please forgive me. I didn't mean to frighten you."

  The behemoth made no move to come any farther, and his voice was calm, even soothing. She backed away far enough to snatch her phone off a nearby table and keyed in the emergency number, keeping her finger poised to hit Send.

  "What do you want?" Her voice cracked, but she held her ground.

  He looked like one of those warriors on the covers of the historical romances she liked to read. She'd always thought they made for a good fantasy, but this guy was all too real. It was very easy to imagine him with a sword in his hand, ready to charge into battle. Or to save a damsel in distress.

  Oddly enough, she suddenly realized that despite his size and fierce appearance, she didn't feel threatened by him. Snapping her phone shut, she set it down.

  "Can we try this again?" She offered him a small smile as she opened the door wider. "You obviously know my name, but we've never met." She let her eyes travel from his face down to his scuffed boots and back up again. "I would have remembered someone like you."

  He looked mildly insulted, but he stayed where he was. "Actually we have, although under the circumstances, I'm not surprised you don't remember. My name is Ranulf Thorsen. I was there last night. At the lire."

  She started to shake her head, but then images of the mysterious stranger looming up out of the smoke to help her flooded into her mind. With them came an odd buzzing sensation on her arm, right where he'd grasped it the night before. Rubbing the spot, she forced a smile.

  "Oh, yes, I remember. I apologize for not recognizing you, Mr. Thorsen. With all the smoke, I never got a clear look at your face. What can I do for you?"

  "Under the circumstances, I'm amazed you remember even that much." He lifted his briefcase to bring it to her attention. "If you don't mind, I have some questions I'd like to ask you."

  Disappointment flooded through her. She'd hoped he… well, she wasn't sure what she wanted from him. "I've answered all the questions for the press that I'm going to, Mr. Thorsen. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

  "I'm not from the press, Miss Logan."

  "Then take your questions to Maynard Cooper. He's the one investigating the fire, and Fin sure he can answer them better than I can."

  An odd expression flickered over his face, and when he spoke again, there was a trace of an accent that hadn't been there before. Northern Europe, perhaps?

  "I'm sorry, but it's you that I need to talk to. I promise that it's important."

  Nothing short of a bulldozer would move him out of her doorway, and she sighed. "All right, you may come in for a few mintues. I was working when you interrupted me, and I need to get back to it."

  She gestured toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to get something cold to drink. Can I get you something?"

  "Whatever you're having will be fine." He sat down on the far end of her oversized couch, yet took up most of it.

  She escaped to the kitchen, glad for the brief respite. She wasn't used to men invading her space. On her rare dates, she'd never invited the man inside her home. Most of the time she met her escort at the theater or restaurant, preferring to keep her home as a refuge. The sooner she answered this man's questions, the sooner she could send him on his way.

  After popping the tops on a couple of longneck beers, she filled a bowl with some tortilla chips, opened a container of humus, and set it all on a tray. After adding two small plates and napkins, she picked it up and headed back to the living room, feeling a bit foolish. Since when did she do the happy hostess routine?

  "I hope you like dark beer. It's all I have."

  "I like it just fine." He took a long pull from the bottle before reaching for a handful of chips. "I didn't mean for you to put yourself out, Miss Logan."

  "That's okay. I was ready for a break. Now, Mr. Thorsen, why are you asking questions about the fire? Maynard Cooper is in charge of the investigation."

  That pained look was back in his eyes, and in an instant he went from relaxed to full alert. Her open and airy home suddenly closed in on her, the air seeming too thin to breathe. He knew something, something so terrible that he was reluctant to share it.

  "Well?"

  He looked past her toward the workstation in the corner. Sketches littered the counter and the wall surrounding her computer.

  "Sometime during the fire, you saw someone— someone who frightened you." His blue eyes came back to focus on her. "You drew a picture of him for the investigator."

  Wrapping her arms across her chest, she shivered at the memory of the arsonist's sick smile. "He was in the alley watching the fire. But if you already know that, why are you asking me about it?" That look was back on his face. "What's wrong? You have talked to Coop, haven't you?"

  His gaze shifted past her to the wall behind her. "Yes, I tal
ked to him very briefly."

  "Then what's the problem?" There was one; she would have bet her life on it.

  "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Miss Logan, but Maynard Cooper is dead. He was murdered this afternoon, I suspect by the arsonist— the same man you saw outside the dance club last night."

  The seconds ticked by as he watched her process the bomb he'd dropped in her lap with no finesse. Sandor would have found a way to soften the blow, but this woman had already proven herself to be surprisingly strong. She could handle the news.

  She stared down at her hands for a long time, a statue carved out of living flesh. Her high cheekbones stood out in sharp relief from the soft curve of her lips and the heartbreaking beauty of her dark eyes.

  When at last she spoke, her voice had an edge, high emotion coloring each word. "Who are you, Mr. Thorsen? And don't lie to me. I can tell."

  "I wasn't lying about having questions about what happened during the fire." He chose his words carefully. "I am hunting the man who set the fire and killed Maynard Cooper."

  "Are you with the police?"

  "No, I'm not. I am an investigator in the private sector. My people prefer to operate out of the public eye." To the point of being paranoid about it.

  "So what do you want to know?"

  "I'd like you to start when the fire broke out and tell me what happened. The more detail you can give me, the better. If you noticed anything odd, don't hesitate to tell me."

  As she forced herself to replay the evening's events, her growing agitation hammered at his senses. Closing his eyes, he reached out to bathe her with a pulse of calming energy, putting her in a trancelike state. It took more effort than he expected, more proof of the purity of her Kyth blood.

  If necessary, he could force himself into her mind to watch a replay of the fire and its aftermath, experiencing it as she had. But as strong as she was, such an invasion could very well do permanent damage. Besides, his personal code of ethics prohibited such an intrusion except in the most dire situations.