Wolf at the Door (20 page)

Although everyone followed Tate’s leadership
willingly, Brandt knew the man still had to fight not to call him
boss. Sometimes Brandt noticed him pausing over an order before he
gave it. And, while Brandt still would rather be the one calling
the shots, he trusted Tate. The other Hound wouldn’t let him
down.

Brandt got out of the car and followed Tate
up the front steps. The scent of musk and wolf lingered around the
place. Fear hung ripe in the air, so pungent it made Brandt’s
stomach twist. There was no mistaking the scent that was Wolfe’s.
He could smell the last victim, too, and the blood. But in a
neighborhood full of non-shifters, no one would have smelled any of
that. Brandt glanced at the houses on either side. No neighbors
unless they were squatters, too, and were hiding their cars.

Which made it even less likely Wolfe would
draw any attention.

“Got the right place,” Tate said grimly. “I’m
going to call for backup.”

Brandt grunted, but he’d already drawn his
weapon. He glanced off the edge of the porch and down the driveway.
“There’s the car,” Brandt murmured quietly. He looked back at
Tate.

There was a good chance Wolfe could be in the
building.

“I’ll watch the back. Might want to tell
backup to get a move on.”

Tate flashed him a thin smile. “Already on
it.”

Brandt stepped carefully off the front porch,
his boots quiet on the dirt and gravel combo of the driveway. It
was soft underfoot, and he continued to watch his step as he eased
around the side of the house. The windows were either boarded up or
covered with blankets. Someone didn’t want anyone to see in.
Considering the company Wolfe kept, it wasn’t surprising. None of
this was.

This neighborhood was so perfect for Wolfe,
Brandt wanted to bang his head against the wall for not finding it
sooner. There were countless other neighborhoods like it in the
state, and he knew it, but when the perfect place was this close,
he felt like he should have known.

Edging around the side of the house, Brandt
saw the collapsed deck. The wood had rotted and given way to time
and weather. The backdoor opened onto the deck. It was an easy shot
from the back door to the parked car in front of the garage. There
were enough trees and overgrown bushes back there to make the place
perfect for carrying bodies in or out. Brandt’s shoulders
tightened. At night Wolfe would be damn near invisible while he
moved things to and from his car.

Brandt took a breath and exhaled his tension.
If all went well, they’d have Wolfe in STE custody within the hour.
It was almost more than he dared hope for.

***

“Clear!” Tate shouted and Brandt’s heart
sank. Wolfe wasn’t here. He glanced at the Hounds next to him,
every one of them looking about as grim as he felt. They were
close, though. Closer than they’d ever been.

“We’ll get him,” Brandt said, rousing a few
tentative smiles.

Tate and the rest of the pack came into the
room. “We’ll need Crime Scene for the bedroom. No bodies, but
Brandt...you should see this.”

Tension rolled through him. Fuck. That didn’t
sound good. Jaw tight, Brandt followed Tate down the hall to the
back of the house. A kitchen led off to the back door and the
basement. Brandt had helped clear the main level, while the pair of
Hounds who came in after him had cleared the basement. They’d
called Tate down first, and for that, Brandt couldn’t help but be
proud.

They’d accepted the change of command easily
and professionally.

The scent of fear got stronger as they
descended the steps. Sex, sweat, and blood lingered in the air, a
thick and heavy blanket that would only fade after a lot of time.
Against the far wall Brandt saw the heavy chain connected to the
wall. A thick, collar-sized cuff lay on the ground. He knelt in
front of it, the scent of a female wolf reaching up to meet him.
Their most recent victim.

“Smells like our victim.”

“And silver,” Tate said. He tilted his head
at a nearby door. “He used the main bedroom in the house. Smells
like he slept there regularly. No sign of the women.”

Brandt had noticed that too. He glared at the
wooden door in front of him. But the victims had been raped. The
strongest smells came from the room in front of him.

Tate opened the door and Brandt saw the
wooden bed frame first. Saw the chains attached to the leg posts
next. “We think the women slept here,” Tate whispered.

It smelled like the victim they’d found this
morning.

“There’s a small bathroom off to the right.
Of course, it’s not up to code. It looks like whoever had this
house had tried renovation, got halfway through, and called it
quits.”

Brandt eyed the chains. They were barely long
enough for the victim to crawl up on the bed. They didn’t allow
room to move around at all. The silver lined cuffs appeared stained
with blood. No doubt from where they’d rubbed the victims’ hands
raw. He couldn’t imagine having to live in this hell, but these
women had.

Timber had lived for a year in one very
similar.

Brandt shoved a hand through his hair.
“Christ, but this never gets easier. Knowing bastards like this
exist.”

“Brandt,” Tate called and he whirled. The
world seemed to drop out from beneath him. He staggered for a
second and Tate moved to catch him, but he righted himself in
time.

On the wall there were framed pictures.
Timber
. His jaw went rock-hard. Anger burned hot in his gut,
a roaring, furious inferno. She was chained by a nightstand in one,
huddled in a ball at the side of the bed. Her eyes were closed in
sleep, but he could see her exhaustion in the pale lines around her
eyes. She looked defeated.

In another she stared up at the camera, eyes
wide but lifeless. If she’d been scared of the man holding the
camera in that picture, it didn’t show. Nothing showed. The woman
in that picture was simply gone, her soul in hiding.

Tate moved to step in front of one, but not
before Brandt saw her stretched out over the bed, strip naked.
Bruises peppered her thighs. “Shit,” Brandt turned away, his hands
clenched so hard his knuckles throbbed.

“Haven’t searched the entire house yet,
obviously, but so far every picture we’ve found is of Timber.”

And the pack had done an excellent job
keeping that from him. Brandt opened his mouth to say as much when
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “I need Brandt the
Hound
right now.
Not the man who loves her.”

Love? The word stalled inside him,
uncomfortable and foreign. He didn’t know if it was love. What he
did know was that Charles Wolfe was one hell of a lucky man. If
he’d been in STE custody right now, he’d have been dead already.
Brandt would have walked right over and put the bullet between his
eyes himself.

Hell. Maybe he wouldn’t have bothered with a
clean shot. Ripping his head off bare-handed sounded good about
now.

“Brandt.”

“Yeah. I got it.” He ground the words out.
But he knew his job, and he’d been doing it long enough to be good
at stashing his emotions in a box to deal with later. He blew out a
harsh breath and turned back to the wall of pictures. “He idolized
her. He viewed her as his mate when he was still human, so this
isn’t surprising. He’d have wanted mementos, souvenirs. And I
wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t find any pictures of the others.
They were stand-ins. In the beginning, they were a means to an end.
Wolves to change him so he could be what he wanted to be, so he
could be with his mate fully.”

“And the ones now?”

“He likes the kill. He likes the hunt, but
they’re not the one who got away. That makes Timber more to him.
She was his mate before and now she’s his ultimate hunt. He’ll
never give her up.”

Not unless he was dead.

Brant had never been more thankful to know
Shifter Town Enforcement would execute a shifter like Wolfe
immediately. They had all the proof now. Once they had him, Wolfe
would never have the opportunity to kill again.

“They’re in this room because he’s obsessing
about her.” Brandt tasted the bile at the back of his throat. “It
may also be that, in the beginning, Timber was in the room when he
hurt and killed his first twelve victims. She saw everything. In a
way, his mate participated simply because of her presence in the
room. He can’t have that right now, so he’s improvising.”

Tate winced. “Fuck. To have seen that
shit.”

Brandt realized he was trying to see into the
picture where Timber stared emptily up at the camera. She’d seen
everything, and part of her had fled deep into her mind to escape.
How long had she been in Wolfe’s clutches before she looked that
far gone?

“Thank you,” Tate said softly. “I wanted your
take on the room.”

Brandt nodded, an odd numbness creeping
through him. He needed space, somewhere far away from this room,
where those broken eyes couldn’t keep staring up at him.

“I’m having the pack watch this house. I want
to know if Wolfe comes back. But I need someone back at HQ. The
medical examiner should have her prints. I want them run. We need
to identify this victim.”

“Got it,” Brandt said and Tate visibly
relaxed. Brandt shook his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to be
here any more than you want me hovering over you.”

With that, Brandt went upstairs and out the
door. He was shaking, his body tight with rage. He needed a few
minutes to get himself under control before he drove back to STE
headquarters. He took a deep, shuddering breath, just as something
slammed against the back of his head. He grunted in surprise and
staggered. Pain lanced through his skull a second time, and his
knees slammed into the gravel.

And the world went black.

Chapter Nineteen

Timber
heard someone knock from her spot in the kitchen. She was slicing
the watermelon Shay had stuffed in the fridge. Shay scooped up a
chunk from the cutting board as she hopped off the barstool where
she’d been ‘supervising.’ Timber had taken that to mean watching
her do all the hard work so she could help herself to the fruit of
Timber’s labor.

“I’m coming,” Shay called, her mouth half
full of watermelon.

Timber wiped her hands on the dishrag and
followed. Shay stood on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole
before she opened the door. Tate, one of Brandt’s Hounds, stood on
the front steps, his hands stuffed in his front pockets. He rocked
back on his heels, looking nervous, edgy.

Shay must have seen it, too, because her
normally playful tone of voice instantly turned serious. “What’s
up?”

Tate glanced between the two of them and his
shoulders sagged a little. Something was wrong. Timber could feel
it, a dark coil that seemed to knot through her. She wrapped her
arms around herself.

“Nice hair,” Tate said.

“What’s wrong?” And why was he here instead
of Brandt?

Tate didn’t answer her. Instead he looked
back at Shay. “Was Brandt here last night or today?”

“No. Why?”

“Sent him to the office from a crime
scene—”

“There’s another body?” Timber asked before
he could finish.

“We don’t know who she is yet.”

He was obviously trying to focus on Shay,
which made Timber think he wanted to keep something from her. She
opened her mouth to say something when finally Tate looked at her.
“We found where Wolfe has been staying.”

She reached out to touch the wall, grounding
herself, because her knees had already begun to wobble. “But he
wasn’t there?”

“No.” Tate shifted uneasily on the front
steps before turning back to Shay. “Can I come in? I’d like to ask
Timber a few questions.”

Timber leaned into the wall. “Questions about
what?”

Silence seemed to stretch between them, a
lingering, dark presence that only seemed to intensify the longer
Tate avoided answering her. “There were pictures. In the room where
he kept his victims.”

The world around her faded out, blurring, and
Timber’s legs shook. She didn’t fall, though. She made it to the
couch and sank down into the plush cushions, just trying to
breathe, trying to think past the memories suddenly swarming
her.

God, how she’d hated that camera.

He’d always shoved that little red box in her
face, the flash flickering bam-bam-bam. It was hard enough reliving
those days in her nightmares, it was worse to remember he’d
documented them. That anyone could flip through a slide show and
see her at her worst, her most desperate and defeated.

“Timber...” Tate sat on the couch next to
her. “Did he ever take pictures of anyone else?”

“No.” She closed her eyes so she didn’t have
to look at anyone. The only problem was, there was never any real
hiding. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the images of
her past in vivid color and detail. “It was always me. Did Brandt
see them? How bad were they?”

“You don’t want to do that,” Tate whispered.
“Don’t go there.”

She’d seen a few pictures. Charles had framed
them, hanging them where she could see. Her stomach twisted. She’d
already gone there. She just hadn’t thought Brandt would have
to.

“I want to burn them.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. They
were part of an active investigation. They were evidence. The whole
pack had probably gotten a look.

“Have you tried contacting Brandt?” Shay
asked, bringing them back to the present.

“Yeah. We tried tracking his phone, too. It’s
off. That’s not like him. Brandt’s always reachable. But I figured
after yesterday he needed space. That he’d either go home or come
here. Apparently he didn’t do either.”

“I want to see the place.”

Tate frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good
idea...”