"But the road is straight. What if he managed a controlled slide most of the way down and just sideswiped the trees at the bottom?” She certainly hadn't noticed any sign of damage, but she hadn't been looking for something like that.
Which was just more proof that Cade's presence was rattling her more than it should.
"With that sort of impact, he'd still be down there."
She shook her head. “Depends on how bad the slide was, how fast he was going, and how quickly he was able to recover once he hit the main road.” Her gaze met his. “But even a small bump might have left paint."
He nodded. “Go check. I'll call Anton and get him up here with some plaster."
She resisted the urge to salute and continued down the hill. The road dropped sharply away from the viewing point, and soon she was alone. The wind that teased her cheeks with its icy coldness moved through the pines lining the road, making them sway, whisper. Yet, beyond that, the day seemed hushed. Intense.
Too intense.
She sniffed the breeze, sorting through the scents of balsam and pine and the oncoming storm. Mixed within those came two other aromas that bought memories back with a rush.
Ginseng and sandalwood.
Jontee's scent.
The small hairs on the back of her neck rose. Jontee was dead, so he couldn't be out there now, following her. Watching her.
But someone most definitely was.
Chapter Five
As soon Vannah left, Cade felt the wrongness. He glanced up and scanned the trees, half wondering if it was nothing more than missing her presence, the warmth of her body so close to his—missing her exotic, erotic scent teasing his nostrils, fueling the fires already raging in his body.
They were going to have to do something about the moon fever. Neither of them could afford to get distracted by desire when there was a madman running around. But to ease the fever, they had to make love, and that could be just as dangerous.
She knew that as much as he did. He'd seen it in her green eyes when he'd all but dared her to break the promises they'd made last night.
Which wasn't the sanest thing he'd ever done, but he hadn't exactly been in a calm, rational frame of mind. Where in hell did she get off accusing him of mind-rape? He'd been well trained in probing a suspect's mind. He had been so damn good at it that even the men who'd trained him hadn't been aware of him rummaging through their thoughts.
He hadn't raped her mind, though he most certainly had read it.
And in doing so, he'd caught his killer. He couldn't be unhappy about that, no matter what she thought of his actions.
Something flickered through the trees to his left. A fragment of green darker than the pine needles that swayed and dipped in the gathering wind. He frowned, watching, and almost instantly realized it wasn't a tree or bush set deep in the forest, because the movements were too furtive, too human.
Anticipation shot through him. Could it be their watcher from last night?
It was certainly a possibility, though surely the person who'd watched them yesterday without discovery would be a little more circumspect than this person.
He watched the green patch for a moment longer, then shifted shape and padded after it. The hush of the pine-filled forest enclosed him, and the dappled light and deeper shadows provided good cover for his dark brown coat. He pricked his ears, listening to the soft steps ahead as he nosed the air, tasting the scents riding the cool breeze. The man smelled of stale cigarettes—an easy scent to follow in the crisp mountain air.
He increased his pace, loping quietly through the undergrowth and shadows, drawing ever closer to the stranger. The man didn't appear to notice his approach. He was too busy peering through the trees and following the soft sound of steps coming from up ahead.
Vannah, Cade thought suddenly. The man was following Vannah.
A red wave of anger surged through him. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he charged out of the shadows and straight at the stranger.
The man swung at the last moment, his squawk of surprise becoming a grunt of pain as Cade hit him from the side. As the man hit the ground, Cade shifted shape, grabbing the stranger by the throat and pinning him down. The growl that rumbled up his throat was all wild wolf, and the force of it shook his body. For several seconds, he knelt there, his teeth bared and his breathing harsh as he fought the territorial need to rip open the stranger's neck. To protect what was his.
"Wait, please,” the man gasped, blue eyes wide and frightened. “I meant no—"
Cade tightened his grip on the man's throat, cutting off the rest of his words. “Tell me who you are and what you're doing here. Nothing more, nothing less."
He relaxed his fingers a little, and the stranger gasped. “Alf Reeson, reporter from the Ripple Creek Gazette. Who the hell are you?"