SavageLust (12 page)

Until about five years ago, that is—when he virtually
disappeared from the public eye. Information on his companies was released only
via PR staff. He gave no interviews, conducted no press conferences. Although
he still ran the ship from his corporate headquarters, it was rare to ever
catch sight of him.

And it didn’t take long for Garth to find out why.

Five years ago, Craig Stafford’s wife and daughter had been
killed by a wild animal. It happened when they were vacationing in the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, where they owned a cabin that, from its picture, Garth
figured cost more than most rich people’s homes. Apparently the mother and
daughter were out behind the cabin, waiting for Craig to finish a business call
so they could take a walk in the woods. According to the media, he heard their
screams, ran outside at once, but when he got there it was already too late.

Garth began to dig even deeper. When he found what he was
looking for, the icy feeling got even colder.

Craig Stafford—a sharp, university-educated, globally savvy
businessman—claimed his wife and child had been killed by the Chupacabra. He
insisted he’d seen it, that it was just disappearing when he flew out of the
cabin.

Of course no one believed him. Some of the more outrageous
and unethical publications, the tabloids that didn’t care what they printed,
gave the story a lot of play, even publishing some of the sketches of the beast
they’d been able to get ahold of. They wrote articles about a man so insane
with grief, he insisted on blaming the death of his family on a creature from
myth. They reported he’d tried to pressure law enforcement and scientific
agencies into searching for the legendary creature. And to warn others about
it. That the danger was very real.

When nothing worked, he withdrew from public life. Rumor had
it he was doing his own investigating. And Garth would bet his last
nickel—which wouldn’t take nearly as long to reach as Stafford’s—that the man
had put together his own team, his own “agency”, to hunt El Chupacabra.

His boss had dismissed the man’s call with a great deal of
irritation. Said people shouldn’t take up his time, or that of his people, with
outrageous ideas when there was real police work to do. That the Rangers didn’t
work with amateurs. There was something he’d said about a series of these
killings. About a pack of Chupacabras… No, wait. Pack wasn’t the right word.
Something else. Brad had vaguely mentioned…what?

Garth couldn’t call it up from his memory. Frustrated, he
ground his teeth, wanting to bang his head on the desk until he’d jogged his
brain into place.

Stafford had wanted to help. Offered his resources. With his
gazillion dollars, he had to be better equipped than the Rangers or any other
agency. Why not take advantage of that, even if in the end it only led them to
some native wild animal? They had to do
something
.

He knew the Rangers were a proud organization, confident
they could handle anything no matter what. Was Garth the only one convinced
this was shaping up to be something out of their depth?

Maybe he could convince the chief to at least talk to the
guy. If nothing else, it would get the governor off his back.

As Garth closed his browser, a stray thought tickled his
brain.

A couple years ago, when he was still with Company F in San
Antonio, before he’d been tapped to move to headquarters in Austin, he’d known
a Ranger named Ric Garza. They hadn’t been particularly close but he had worked
with him on a few cases and remembered having a lot of respect for the guy. As
did others in Company F.

If he recalled it correctly, Garza’s father had also been a
Ranger, killed several years ago in a hostage situation that went south. Garza
had quit the Rangers just before Garth moved to Austin. Something about his
mother being killed. An animal attack…

Jesus, if he could just pick up the fragments floating
around in his head.

Opening his browser again, he did a search for Ricardo
Garza, San Antonio. It took clicking through a few links, but there it was. The
story of his mother’s death. The two of them had been visiting friends at a
ranch in the Hill Country when she was attacked by what the report referred to
as an animal. There were no pictures but from the description the newspaper
published, it sounded a hell of a lot like what they had with Reed Fortune.

And then, as he stared at the computer screen, the last
piece clicked into his brain.

Garth had heard via the grapevine that a couple months after
his mother’s death, Garza had left the Rangers to work for some rich guy’s
security service.

Garth got that tingle at the base of his spine, the one he
always felt when the pieces of a puzzle were coming together. Would it be so farfetched
to think Ric now worked for Stafford? If so, it wouldn’t be some amateur,
fly-by-night organization.

Yeah, he definitely had to speak to the chief. If he could
talk him past his prejudices, maybe they could catch a break on this. Because
this was no animal killing, at least not the kind they were used to. If they
didn’t follow up on this the way they should, a lot of people could still be at
risk. Because no one could predict where the beast would strike next.

Picking up his phone, he dialed Stella.

“The boss still in his office?” he asked.

“Sure is,” she told him. “And acting like a bear with a
thorn in its paw. Whatever Leo said to him didn’t make him happy and now he’s
calling that guy the governor knows.”

“Okay. Good. Then I definitely need to see him.”

“Just don’t do anything to make this worse,” she warned.

“I’m hoping I can make it better. Once I get him to listen
to what I have to say,” he added. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

The little dog raced along the wire fence, safely separated
from the cattle moving restlessly on the other side. On the far side of that
particular area, the two-legged beasts it sought sat astride creatures even
larger than those in the herd. Some of them pawed the ground with impatience,
sending the dog into a fit of barking, as if noise alone could frighten them
away.

It was tired of running back and forth over the uneven
ground, ducking into the trees and dense foliage when one of the huge creatures
got too near. It wanted food but when it had tried to sneak between the wires
to investigate the piles the monsters were feeding on, one of the creatures
gave a sound that vibrated right into the dog’s core. It yipped and ducked back
under the fence again.

And it was tired of being in this shape. It wanted its own
shape back. It didn’t like the short legs supporting its body or the fact that
it was limited by what it could do. The craving was building again, deep inside
its body. It needed sleep and shelter before it could seek out its next prey.
One of the large two-legged ones.

As the day wore on, the dog exhausted itself seeking to
isolate one of the two-legged creatures. The urges it felt were rising and
threatening to consume it. Finally, needing to rest, it sped along the fence
line, startled to discover as it emerged into a meadow, the existence of a
small wooden building that sat squarely in the midst of a copse of trees. A
human would have said it was a line shack, a rudimentary structure erected to
shelter cowboys caught in a sudden storm while riding fence line or herding
cattle. That it had a fireplace, running water and not much else. That the site
was chosen probably so the trees themselves could provide additional
protection.

As the dog settled back on its haunches and watched, a
two-legged creature approached from the far side sitting astride one of the
huge beasts the dog feared. It swung down to the ground, securing the beast to
a tree and stepping into the cabin. In a few minutes it emerged again,
remounted, and was off toward the surging tide of dark-russet flesh.

Having had no luck separating one type of creature from the
other in the places it had already been, the dog wondered if the task could be
accomplished here. Could it scare away the one to reach the other?

Tired from all its exertions, it loped away to its hiding
place, processing the information.

* * * * *

Regan had made one last pitch to convince Dante to take her
with him on his trip to collect her things. He’d managed to convince her that
the media might still be hanging around, and sneaking two people into a house
instead of one was a lot more difficult. So he’d left her in the war room with
Ric, who put her to work at one of the computer stations, plowing through a
list of topics he wanted to run searches on.

When he drove down her street, he saw that the mob she’d
mentioned had dissipated. But two or three vehicles were still parked
suspiciously at the curb, far enough from the house that it might not look as
if they were watching but close enough to get to Regan in a hurry if she showed
up. If she pulled into her driveway, by the time she got the garage door open,
they’d be right on her tail.

Okay then.

He drove around the block as she’d suggested and parked in
the driveway of a house with a For Sale sign in front. Hopefully anyone
watching would think he was a prospective buyer. He circled to the back of the
house, glancing around casually. When his neck didn’t itch from unseen eyes, he
made his way along the thick row of hedges down one side, climbed through to
Regan’s backyard and got to the porch without, he hoped, anyone seeing him.

Anger roiled through him when he saw that the shrubbery and
plants close to the house were bent or broken, many completely destroyed. The
fucking media, he guessed, trying to peer in her windows and catch her
unawares. He was doubly glad he had taken her to the ranch—and he had every
intention of keeping her there. The damn assholes ought to be glad they weren’t
climbing all over her place now and that he wasn’t as quick to use his gun
anymore. He wouldn’t mind shooting a few.

It took him only seconds to open the lock with the key she
gave him and then he was inside with the door closed. He’d paid very little
attention to the house when he was there the day before. His mind had been filled
with the latest Chupacabra killing and unsuccessfully fighting the attraction
to Regan that exploded with incendiary force. Now he took his time, standing
still for a moment to soak up the personality of the home. Get a feel for who
and what she was behind closed doors.

The place was not large but it was still spacious and airy,
with big windows looking out on both the street and the decent-sized backyard.
At least they
would
, if Regan didn’t have the blinds tightly shut. She
loved both pastel colors and bold ones, maybe symbols of two sides of her
personality. The living room sported the couch and chair he barely remembered
sitting on, both in soft colors of blue and green and purple. A colorful throw
was arranged on the back of the couch, its pattern in the same colors as the
room. In front of the large back window sat a graceful dining room table that
looked like an antique. Nothing about the room said modern or contemporary.

He took a moment to sit in the big armchair and just absorb
the aura of the place, as if he could feel Regan there. Could sense her
presence. Their instant and combustible connection had really kicked him in the
ass and he wanted to know as much as he could about this woman who invaded his
mind and his senses.

The air held a faint scent, pleasant but elusive. Something
familiar but he couldn’t pin it down. Something like cinnamon. Whatever it was
seemed so right for Regan. Looking around, he spotted fat candles of varying
sizes in decorative holders, not a lot but strategically placed. He also sensed
a tension that permeated the atmosphere. Did that relate to her situation as a
shifter? Did she burn the candles in an effort to find some kind of peace and
relaxation?

There were framed photos of her on tables and shelves with a
man he knew was her brother. More pictures of the same guy with another woman,
who was usually laughing. The fiancée. Ric had found pictures of her too. The
photographs had all been taken with a talent for composition, an indication of
Regan’s artistic eye. But the only pictures in the room were of the three of
them. He knew they’d lost their family—their pack—but did she have no friends?
And what did she do with her time besides work? There was no evidence anywhere
of any hobbies.

The team members who were shape shifters hadn’t ever really
discussed their personal lives, at least not in detail. Never shared the
problems they must have faced or how they dealt with them. Those who were
paired off had obviously been very lucky in finding a mate who accepted them
for who they are. Did Regan hold herself back from relationships because of who
and what she was?

It suddenly struck him how much courage it had taken for her
to share the truth about herself, and it humbled him. Whatever he was feeling,
deep inside himself, she had to be feeling the same thing to have taken that
chance.

For the first time, he was truly grateful for the makeup of
their household. It had given him the opportunity to connect Regan with others
like herself in a welcoming environment.

Glancing at the walls, he saw framed sketches he hadn’t
noticed yesterday. Some were in pastels, some in vivid colors, but all depicted
ranching, both past and present, and the iconic cowboy. There was one in a
darker wood frame of a cowboy astride a horse, slightly rumpled perhaps after a
long day of riding herd, surrounded by an implied aura of fatigue but looking
off into the distance with a hint of a smile. Dante was impressed with how the
sketches came alive and drew him right into each scene.

Pushing himself out of the chair, he wandered through the
rest of the house—the pleasant kitchen with its gleaming appliances, the
smaller bedroom that she obviously used as her office. The rest of the house
sported the kind of decorative touches he would expect of an artistic
person—unusual pieces of sculpture, some interesting watercolors, a sketchpad
on the nightstand with pencils beside it.

He barely remembered Regan’s bedroom from the day before. He’d
been so busy getting her clothes off and plunging into her body that it could
have been a mess, for all he knew. In a limited way, it was, the bed still
unmade after their frantic coupling. He’d been so anxious to get her away from
here, he’d hustled her out without giving her a chance to straighten up.
Something for another day, he decided. There were more important things to
attend to right now.

He started to turn toward her closet when two things caught
his eye—the pattern on the rumpled comforter and a framed drawing on the wall.

The drawing was a sketch of a wolf, alert, head raised as if
listening, against a background of mountains. Had her brother posed for that
drawing? Had she used a photo of herself? Out of nowhere, he wondered what
color wolf she would be when she changed.

Smoothing out the comforter, he saw he had guessed
correctly. The same image was reproduced there. Who had made the comforter? Had
she taken the sketch from the fabric or the other way around? Whichever it was,
they were good indications that here, in this room, her very private place, she
felt comfortable being who she really was.

Now he was anxious to make her feel at ease enough with
him
,
secure enough in their situation to change for him. His blood pumped in his
veins at the thought and his heartrate accelerated. It struck him that in
twenty-four hours, his life had once again turned upside down, although this
time perhaps for the better. He’d met a woman who made him feel alive again—and
he thought nothing of the fact she was a shifter. Was anxious, in fact, to see
her in wolf form. He shook his head in amazement.

Beneath the window was a bookcase, the shelves jammed with
books. In addition to the allotment of romance novels he’d expected to find
(Felicia had been addicted to them as well), he found a mixture of thrillers
and mysteries, action and suspense. And an entire shelf devoted to the subject
of shape shifters and werewolves.

He crouched down to skim the titles.
Werewolves and Other
Shapeshifters in Popular Culture. Werewolves, Witches, and Wandering Spirits.
The Book of Werewolves. The History of and Essential Guide to Shapeshifters.
The entire shelf was crammed with volumes. Dante pulled one out at random and
flipped it open.

“
Shapeshifters are Awakened animals who have the
ability to assume human form. In general, though some shapeshifters mingle with
metahuman society and even work as shadowrunners, most shapeshifters prefer to
live in wilderness areas, apart from civilization.”

Desolation Ranch certainly fulfilled that description. But
the shifting Night Seekers had all been living as part of society before being
tapped by Craig.

Okay, he really needed to get into this. If what he and
Regan had was the beginning of a relationship, he needed to study shifters a
lot more than he had up until now.

He took that book and two others that looked promising and
put them on the dresser for the moment.

In her large walk-in closet, he found the oversized duffel
she told him about and pulled the list she gave him from his pocket. Very
methodically he went about packing the items she requested. Everything was
where she’d said it would be, including the delicate undies that felt like bits
of froth in his hands. He couldn’t resist holding them to his face for just a
moment, inhaling the fresh scent she washed them in.

He noticed that the colors she used carried through to her
wardrobe but in more vibrant tones. Here the purple was a deep violet, the blue
the color of the ocean, the green reminiscent of freshly bloomed foliage after
a rain. Everything shouted her combination of softness and strength.

He shoved the books he’d set aside into the duffel, along
with the cosmetics bag he’d found in the bathroom, and zipped it shut. In her
office, he found the briefcase she’d told him about and filled it with her
laptop and her sketching materials. Then, walking through the house to take a last
look around, he eased out the back door, locking it and making his way across
the yard. His eyes scanned everywhere, looking, watching, but he made it back
to the car without anyone stopping him. A few more seconds and he was down the
street and gone from the area.

And as he headed back to the ranch, he thought about the
woman sharing his bed and invading his mind. And the changes she was no doubt
about to bring to his life. Was
already
bringing. And wondered if he was
really ready for them.

* * * * *

“Well, I think the damn dog has finally disappeared.” Ron
Hammond pulled his horse up next to his father’s, took off his hat to wipe his
forehead on his sleeve and stuck the hat back on his head.

“I sure hope so,” Dan said. “It was getting to be a pain in
the ass.”

“Before I saddled up this morning, I called the county
building to see who had construction jobs going on around here. There aren’t
that many so it was easy to get a list. I gave it to Jacie and asked her to
make some calls while she’s nursing that cold of hers. Figured she’d be the
best person, being in real estate and all.”

Dan chuckled. “I’ll bet she hates being locked up in that
house. Your wife almost never sits still.”

“You got that right. At least it keeps her occupied. She
said she’d ring my cell if she found out anything.”

Dan told him about the animal carcasses Russ had found. “So
it may not be someone’s pet who got lost. But it won’t hurt to check. I’m
pretty sure it didn’t find its way out from town. That’s a very long way for a
stray to come.”