"It's part of the job,” he repeated, and shoved the reporter toward the road.
* * * *
The scent led Savannah through the pines, deeper and deeper into the forest. Though there was little to be heard beyond the sound of her own breathing and the whisper of the wind through the aspens and pines, the sensation that she was not alone in the dappled semidarkness was as strong as the aroma of ginseng and sandalwood. As strong as the memories they evoked.
She'd never loved Jontee, but she'd certainly enjoyed making love with him. At least until Cade had swept her off her feet with his bristling ideals and overwhelming machismo.
But Cade wasn't the only reason she'd begun to distance herself from Jontee in their last weeks at Rosehall. She'd seen a change in him, a darkness she couldn't explain and hadn't liked. When she'd talked to Nelle about it, her friend had merely laughed and shrugged, reminding her that it wasn't as easy as it looked to run a commune.
And maybe it wasn't, but over the days that had followed, she'd watched Jontee and realized something was very wrong. Not with the commune, but with Jontee himself.
And it was that information that Cade had pulled from her mind.
Suddenly realizing she was surrounded by silence, Savannah stopped and glanced around. The wind had momentarily dropped, and the shadows seemed thick and threatening.
Imagination and memories, she thought, and rubbed her arms against the chill that raced across her skin. Still, it had been nothing short of stupidity to come so deep into the trees alone, especially given the threat left on her windshield. Ronan would be disappointed at her thoughtlessness, and Cade would be just plain furious. Still, she was a ranger, and she'd be damned if one little threat kept her housebound like some Nervous Nelly.
"Vannah.” The voice was soft, drawing out her name, accentuating the “a” sound.
She resisted the surge of fear that would have had her stepping backwards, or worse, retreating, and said in a curt voice, “Stop playing games and show yourself.” Not that she had any hope of the person doing so.
"You will pay for what you did, Vannah."
The voice was neither male nor female, just ... odd. And it came from her left. She took a cautious step in that direction. “I didn't destroy Rosehall. Jontee's own actions did that."
"You were the key. You gave Jontee away."
Gave him away? How, when all she'd really known was that something was wrong? Never in a million years would she have guessed that Jontee was the force behind the eighteen murders that had happened in and around Wichita.
She stepped closer. The tang of ginseng and sandalwood got stronger, but oddly enough, she could find no trace of man. Or woman, for that matter.
"Jontee was a killer. He deserved exactly what he got.” She couldn't see anyone hiding in the shadows beyond the trees. Yet, they had to be there, somewhere.
Didn't they?
Suspicion snaked through her.
"He took you in, Vannah,” the strange voice continued blithely. “He taught you, loved you. And you repaid his kindness with betrayal."
She stepped past the pines, into the deeper shadows where the voice seemed to be coming from. There was no one there. Just a ratty looking tape recorder sitting on the ground. She blew out a frustrated breath. She was being played; there was no doubt about it.
"I will kill you, Vannah, just as I will kill your lover. But it won't be a fast death. You will suffer, as Jontee suffered."
Imagine that, she thought, even as a chill ran down her spine. The voice on the tape fell silent, and the wind seemed to spring back to life, as if it had been holding its breath while the message played. Behind the small machine, something silky and yellow fluttered.
She squatted in front of the recorder. Ginseng and sandalwood swamped her senses, and memories rose. Jontee's teasing smile as she'd come to him on her allotted nights. The warmth of his touch, so good and yet so distant. Cade's thunderous expression every time she left him to be with Jontee.
Frowning, she took a pen from her pocket and carefully pinned the yellow strip of ribbon to the ground. There was no message on the part she could see, but a good half of it had been buried under the soft soil.
She dragged the ribbon sideways with the pen, gently pulling the rest of it out of the soil. The dirt fell away, revealing a beaded bracelet. The fear that had all but disappeared returned tenfold, because she knew the bracelet. Recognized the emblem sitting in the middle of it—a yellow rose entwined around the peace symbol. Rosehall's signature.
Jontee's bracelet.
One that should have been buried with him.
He couldn't be alive. Cade had assured her of that, and she believed him.
So why was this bracelet here? How did it get here?