Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,99

color. His fur is white. My wolf was gray.”

Justin’s knees actually buckled, and he grabbed onto her shoulders to keep from sinking to the earth. As he pulled himself back together, she stared at him.

“I was so worried it was him,” Justin said. “Any werewolf doing those things would have to be beyond reason.” His meaning was clear: he believed that his alpha was insane. Not just delusional, but mad. “This means somewhere out there, there’s another insane werewolf,” he murmured. “And we still don’t know who it is.”

Katelyn couldn’t remember most of the walk back to the Fenner house. At Justin’s insistence, she took a shower, watching the water run red as blood swirled down into the drain. Moving like a zombie, she changed clothes again. Someone had gotten rid of the bloody shirt.

“You need to get out of here,” Justin murmured, as she stood before him with her wet hair hanging over her shoulders. “Before he thinks about blaming this on you.”

She started to cry again, and Justin shook his head. He walked her to her car and made her get behind the wheel.

“No,” he said, “don’t do that, Kat. Stay strong, and go.” As if he could read her mind, he added, “I can’t go with you.”

As if she were watching a movie, she saw herself starting up the car and pulling out of the driveway. The morning sun rose in the sky, but the woods quickly smothered all trace of daylight. Alone with her thoughts, she struggled against breaking down again. All the talk of killing. The actual killing. Killings. Haley, Becky, the man from the Inner Wolf Center, and now Quentin Lloyd.

Death.

It was the dark specter that hung over all the lives in Wolf Springs.

And over mine, she thought with a shudder.

She pulled over to the side of the road and buried her face in her arms, clinging to the wheel. It was wrong to stop in the forest, but she was afraid she’d drive herself off the road.

It was him or me, she thought, but was she so sure of that?

She shook. Cried. Tried to stop, but the tears kept coming. And she couldn’t stay in the forest. She had to get as far away from Mr. Fenner as she could — and any of Quentin Lloyd’s loved ones, who might be looking for payback.

The images of Quentin Lloyd were replaced with those of her father, at his funeral. Open casket, with everyone staring at his body. His face coated with makeup. The police officers, the other attorneys, her mother on tranquilizers. Her grandfather had flown in, but at the last moment, he had decided not to attend the service, and stayed at their house.

The house that had shaken apart and burned to the ground five years later.

“The death of one’s child is a parent’s worst nightmare,” he had said at the reception, weeping as he accepted a shot of whiskey from Detective Cranston, who had been in charge of the case. “Whoever did this, I hope to God he suffers in hell.”

“We’ll get him,” the detective promised. But they never had.

On impulse, Katelyn pulled out her phone. Cell coverage in the forest was always dicey, but she saw that she had three bars. With trembling fingers, she dialed L.A. information and got the number for the Harbor substation of the Santa Monica P.D. She gave her name and asked for Detective Cranston.

And miraculously, he picked up.

“Katelyn, how are you?” he asked kindly.

“Um,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I — I’m okay.”

“I was sorry to hear about your mom,” he said, genuine regret tinting his voice.

Katelyn stared into the darkness through the windshield, clutching the phone in both hands. Hold it together, Katelyn, she coached herself as fresh tears stung her eyes.

“Thanks.”

“What can I do for you?”

She plunged on before she lost her nerve. “I — I was going through Mom’s things,” she said, which was a stupid thing to say because there were no things of her mother’s left. “Was there anything unusual about the — the bullet that killed my dad?”

There was a moment of silence. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

Not now, please don’t go into cautious cop mode now, she begged silently.

“Well, ah, I remembered overhearing something she said . . .” She drifted off, hoping it was enough. “Maybe to you. I don’t know . . .”

There was a long pause on the other end and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, hoping she