"Let's not get into that argument again,” Cade said, knowing from past experience the two of them could debate the subject for hours. And the fact that Trista came from one of the biggest reservations—and one of the two threatened by the encroaching human population—while Anton came from a small, barely surviving reservation only inflamed the situation. Cade threw the report back onto the table and paced the small room. “What are your thoughts on the lap marks?"
"Either our copycat wasn't aware of the procedure in the first murders,” Anton said, leaning back and crossing bare brown arms behind his head. “Or he likes the taste of warm blood from the body."
"Why are you both so convinced it's a copycat?” Trista asked. “So okay, Jontee is dead, but didn't he have twelve mistresses?"
"'True believers,’ he preferred to call them,” Cade said. “There were four wives and eight mistresses, all of whom he shared with the enlightened.” And one of those mistresses had been Vannah—which is the other reason Cade had targeted her. That and the fact that he'd wanted her from the moment his boss had dropped twelve photographs on the desk and told him to pick one.
"Couldn't it be one of them, then?” Trista asked
"Two wives and six mistresses took lie detector tests, as well as being read by psychics either before or after we'd caught Jontee. None of them knew anything about the murders."
"What about the other four?” Anton picked up a folder and flicked over several pages. “Nelle James, Fee Mays, Vannah Harvey and Joanna Noles. Did you manage to track them down?"
Cade stopped near the window, studying the still darkness. “No. We had Jontee, and since the murders had stopped, we called off the search. But a warrant remained in place for three of them."
Outside, the sliver moon was rising, riding low in the clear night sky. The heat of it seared through him, and his body ached with desire. He wanted Vannah—wanted to hold her, caress her, and lose himself deep in the hot, wet warmth of her body. Wanted it now, not in a few hours. He scrubbed a hand across his rough jaw. He couldn't stay in this room. He had to get out, had to walk, before the fever became too obvious.
"Three?” Trista said. “What happened to the fourth mistress?"
"Vannah Harvey was my entry source into the commune,” he answered. “She knew nothing."
Which wasn't exactly true. She'd known enough to give him Jontee. Known enough to almost get Cade killed.
"You want me to do a check on the other three? See if I can find anything new on them?” Anton asked.
"Already done it. There's no record of any of them after they disappeared that night."
Which wasn't really that much of a surprise. Half the people living in the commune weren't using their real names. Vannah, for instance.
And that was the reason he'd never been able to find her on the odd occasion curiosity had gotten the better of common sense.
"Was everyone at the commune wolves or half breeds?” Trista asked.
"Yes,” he said, spinning away from the moon and the night to resume his pacing.
Trista arched a brow. “Interesting."
He glanced at her. “Why?"
"Because if Jontee was killing in revenge for his mother's rape, why was he killing full blooded wolves and drinking their blood?"
"He never drank their blood."
"Then why did he collect it?"
"You've read the reports."
She grimaced. “As an offering of peace and restoration to the Goddess herself. Did you ever believe that?"
"Not in the least."
She studied him for a moment, her pale eyes too knowing. “So what's our next move?"
"Tomorrow you can grab one of the rangers and start visiting all the hotels, motels, et cetera, to collect the names of anyone who has checked in during the last two weeks."
"Why new?” Anton asked. “There's nothing to indicate this isn't being done by a local."
No, but if a local had been at the commune, surely Vannah would have mentioned it. After all, that person would be the obvious starting point for questions.