Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (21 page)

Morgan arched a brow. "That's a first."

"Funny." She smirked.

His eyes sparkled for a moment as he watched her.

"Besides," she continued, "it looks
like Jim could use a hand .. . unless you need me to stay."

"I can handle gathering the rest of the evidence.
You go with Jim. I'm sure he'll be more than happy
to walk you through the finer points of human dissec
tion. It'll
only take him an hour or four." He grinned, shaking his head. "You've
been warned."

"Don't listen to him," Jim said, his face
flushing a dark red that surpassed his hair color. "Some people just don't
appreciate the intricate details of human dissection."

"Can't wait." Red reached out to help guide
the biobag as she and Jim started to climb up the small hill toward the road.
She hadn't decided how she would broach the subject of her bloody clothing yet,
but she'd come up with something.

Rocks skittered under their feet, raining down where
Moira had lain. The poor woman had suffered greatly after breaking her leg. Red
prayed it wasn't at her hands. A twitch at the base of her neck shook her from
her morbid thoughts.

Red could feel Morgan's gaze on her back, if the heat
scrolling over her shoulder blades was any indication. The sand and pebbles
continued to fall, causing her to release the biobag to steady herself. She was
unwilling to believe that Morgan's attention had anything to do with her
sudden bout of clumsiness.

Red glanced back and caught the speculative expression
on Morgan's upturned face. His eyes met hers and the world of death and
destruction dropped away. It was only the two of them, and the burning need
that incinerated everything else.

Red's body clenched, remembering the scalding heat
she'd experienced the night before. His mere presence had fired her blood like
nothing on this
planet. How could she be
thinking about such things at
a time
like this? Where was her compassion, her pro
fessionalism? No matter how
wrong she knew it was,
Red couldn't dampen
the attraction building between them any more than she could revive poor Moira.

Morgan watched Red's sexy ass as she climbed the
hill
. His mind was in turmoil, but his body was
single-minded—it wanted relief. He had no choice
now but to allow her to stay on and help with the
in
vestigation, even though it would further complicate matters. It was
the only way he'd find out the truth.
But
he wasn't fool enough to believe that was the sole
reason for keeping
her around.

He wanted her, plain and simple.
This was the first
time, since his ex's
betrayal with Raphael, that he'd ever wanted anything for himself. Although
want
didn't truly begin to describe the
desire rioting through
him. He was more like crazed with need—thanks to
the moon's pull.

Morgan forced his gaze away from her. He had to focus
on this case, this scene—this murder.

Logically, he knew that there
was no reason to suspect Gina of the killings. She was down here investi
gating on her own time, but that didn't explain the
blood trace on her body. How had she gotten it?
Had
she somehow come in contact with the killer? The thought chilled
him.

So far he'd been unable to come up with a viable
alternative theory. Nothing made sense. Unless she was the murderer. If she
was, would he be able to do his duty and eliminate her? The thought of harming
Gina left Morgan nauseous. He grasped his abdomen as bile rose in his throat,
choking him.

A roar sounded as the engines of the hydrogen vehicles
came alive. He heard tires crunch as they rolled over gravel. Jim and Gina
would reach Nuria within thirty minutes, if they didn't stop anywhere along the
way.

A warm breeze streaked across
the sky, ruffling his
hair as he inhaled,
trying to dispel the odor of death and to smell Gina once again. It took a
moment, but Morgan finally caught her elusive fragrance. He closed his eyes.

The law might be clear in this circumstance, but his
emotions and instincts were not. Gina was special
to him and not just because she was an unattached fe
male in his
territory.

When was the last time a single female from the
outside wandered into his territory? He
considered the
question a second before the obvious answer popped into
his head.

Never.

Yet, Gina's nonexistent position
in the pack was not
what
made her distinctive in his eyes. Nor was it her
innate courage or confidence. The fact was Gina
cared. Any other IPTT officer would've walked away
after the case was closed, but not Gina. She
demanded
justice for those who could
no longer speak for them
selves.

Morgan ran his hand through his hair, refusing to
delve into exactly why that mattered so much. He wasn't prepared to face that
particular truth just yet, but he had to face another.

Now that Gina decided to stay there was concern for
her physical safety. Morgan knew Gina could take care of herself. She'd been
doing so for years on the tactical team, but that didn't change the customs
of his people, which clearly stated that any
unattached
female Other had to be claimed by someone in the
pack or run out of the Republic of Arizona. It
hadn't
been a problem when her plans were to stay a few days, but now
that she'd extended her leave, it could cause trouble.

The Nurians established the law long ago in order to
protect the pack from outsiders. It also prevented the pack from being torn
apart from strife on the inside, since unclaimed females tended to cause
fights among the males. The law had been necessary for their survival. Unfortunately,
the world had changed little since that time.

Morgan hadn't offered Gina protection because he
knew damn well she would have no idea what he was
talking about. But the intention was there nonetheless,
whether he'd
physically claimed her or not. He knew it and so did half the town. That was
one of the reasons he'd taken her to dinner the other night. Morgan
had hoped to curtail any strife. It had worked
thus far,
but there was no way of
knowing how long it would
continue.

If anyone thought to challenge
him on his decision
to
give her free rein, Morgan would be forced to leave the mark of the alpha upon
her. He wasn't happy about the prospect, but there was no way in hell he'd
allow
anyone else to claim her.

Morgan reeled at the turn his wayward thoughts had
taken, yet even surprise didn't mask the truth curling around his chest,
fluttering his heart. The primal part of Morgan wanted someone to step forward
in challenge just so he could bare Gina's neck and mark her.

A growl rumbled out of his throat
before he could
stop it. No one would
dare try to take her away from him. He would kill him if he did.

If he bit her, Gina would carry his mark forever,
whether she chose to stay by his side as his mate or return to her life with
the IPTT. Morgan understood
what the
ramifications of that act would mean to him
and to the future of his
people. If Gina left, he'd never be able to claim another, since the wolf in
him wouldn't allow it. Not that he'd want to—but that would mean he'd never
have an heir.

He only hoped that it didn't come down to staking a
claim. Morgan glanced around the crime scene, re
membering the savagery of the attack. With his mark upon her neck, he'd
never be able to kill Gina, even if
she turned out to be the murderer.
In the end, he'd die, too, trying to protect her. Morgan's lips canted. There
were worse ways to go.

Red
followed Jim Thornton back to the dissecting lab
. She hadn't
exactly
been lying when she said
that she was interested in the inner workings of his job, but she hadn't told
the whole truth. She needed his help.

She considered various ways to subtly approach him
about her shirt, but in the end decided to be direct. She watched as he drove
his vehicle around the
side of the
building. He backed the wagon up until its
rear nudged a small ramp, and then he stopped, killing
the
engine.

Red did the same, positioning
her hydrogen car be
side him. She grabbed
the sack containing her shirt,
then exited
her vehicle. The heat from the sun hit her
like a blast furnace. Sweat
dotted her brow and soaked her clothes. Thirty minutes ago the temperature had
been tolerable, but not any longer.

Jim guided Moira's body up the ramp until he
reached the top, stopping at the door. He pressed
sev
eral numbers on a keypad and a second later a panel opened with a
hiss. Cool antiseptic air rushed out to battle the desert warmth, causing waves
of heat to flutter before Red's eyes.

She followed Moira's body as it glided into the
building on a cushion of air. The room was more
spacious than what Red had expected. Steel tables spaced
approximately five feet apart dotted the area.
Lights hung above each workstation, illuminating dismem
bered remains. Mulch-gathering drains lined the
floor, waiting for human waste. On the far side of the room a
white tarp
covered a still form.

That was odd, considering everyone else was exposed.
Red opened her mouth to ask why, but the ghostly movement of Moira's body
distracted her.

The fresh corpse came to rest on
the bare table closest to the door as if her destination had been predeter
mined. The bag encasing Moira
disintegrated with a
gasp on contact,
leaving her tattered remains behind.
Bone
protruded from her wounds like white twigs jut
ting out of a branch on a
dead tree.

The stench of fear and animal feces lingered on her
sparse flesh, accentuating her horrified expres
sion. The fetid odor effectively blotted out the clean
ing fluid
used in the lab.

An eerie silence swept the room, hushing everything
in its wake. Whatever had occurred out in the desert remained permanently
etched on Moira's delicate features. Death had not come quickly.

Red's stomach flipped and she swallowed hard. Moira's
face branded her mind's eye until she was convinced she'd never be able to
extract it from her memory.

Memory, what a joke!
She'd always prided herself
on her recall ability, but not anymore. Bitterness filled
her. Red couldn't remember a thing about a large
por
tion of last night. It was as if
someone had come in and
removed select images from her mind, leaving
only what they wanted her to see behind.

What was happening to her?

Was she physically capable of ripping a woman apart
with her bare hands? Red glanced down at her knuckles and noted a few scrapes
that she couldn't immediately account for. Her fingernails appeared chipped and
jagged. The thud of flesh hitting the waste dispenser this morning when she'd
vomited echoed in her mind.

Was she becoming a monster?

If she could do that to Moira
and not remember a
thing,
then what else was she capable of? The thought
terrified her. Red pictured Morgan's handsome face and her heart did a
free fall to her knees. No one
around her
would be safe until she found out the truth.
It was now or never.

Red faced Jim, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"Mr. Thornton, could you do me a favor before you get started on your
examination?"

He turned and smiled, until he
noted her condition.
Concern immediately
replaced his jovial expression. "Are you okay?" he asked, removing
the gloves he'd
worn on the scene. He
dropped them into an evidence
bag, then donned a new pair with a smack.

"I'm fine, just cold." Her teeth chattered
as if on cue. The sound was followed by another tremor wracking her body.

"It takes awhile to get used to the temperature
change from outside to in here. I don't even notice it anymore." He
pointed to a cabinet on the other side of the room.
"I
have
extra lab coats in there, if you want one."

"That won't be necessary, but thanks."

"Suit yourself." He nodded.

"About the favor," Red said, reminding him.

"Yes, of course, what did you need?" he
asked, shoving a finger between each digit to ensure the gloves were in place.

"I have something I'd like you to take a look
at." She clenched the clear bag one last time, then held it out for him to
inspect.

"What's this?" He frowned, bushy brows
enveloping the tops of his glasses. "Is that blood?" he asked.