Or was it simply the fact she was heading off with her usual lover, when by the right of the moon and the night, she should be with him?
Was he jealous?
Of course he was. She was his mate, no matter how temporary or unwillingly. And no wolf shared what was his.
"Bodee is on call. After eight.” She glanced at her watch. “It's barely seven."
"What about Denny and Club Grange?"
She bent, picking up her boots and putting them on. “I'll meet you there. And I suggest you put on a disguise yourself, because by now, half the town will know you're here, even if they don't know why."
With that, she brushed past him and walked out the door. He was tempted to drag her back into his arms and kiss her until the ice was erased from her expression and her body. But that wasn't practical or sensible. The moon fever would ensure she'd be back in his arms before long, and right now, there was work to be done.
He dressed and headed back to his room, or rather, his team's room. Anton was again sitting on the floor with the laptop perched in front of him, but he glanced up as Cade entered.
"Have you got your phone turned off, boss?"
"No, but I've had signal problems. What's up?"
Anton's expression suggested he wasn't buying the lie, but he kept his thoughts to himself. For which, Cade was extremely thankful. He didn't need any other problems right now.
"Hart faxed over the autopsy report on the second victim.” Anton picked up a folder and tossed it across the coffee table toward Cade. “MO is much the same."
"Note included?” Cade picked up the folder and looked through it. There'd been a note there, all right.
"As was stolen from me, so shall I steal from you,” Anton quoted, and met Cade's gaze squarely. “Savannah Grant is Vannah Harvey, isn't she?"
"Yes.” There was no point in denying it. Anton and Trista would have to know anyway, given the threats that were being left. “What made you suspect?"
"The notes themselves. I mean, why leave one at the head ranger's when she was never at Rosehall? Unless, of course, she was there under an assumed name.” He paused, brown eyes filled with annoyance. “When were you going to tell us?"
"That's what I came back here to do.” He handed over the evidence bag that had the tape in it. “Once you listen to that, her alter-ego would have been evident, anyway."
"Which is why you insisted on keeping this bag rather than me bringing it back here with the rest of the evidence.” Anton paused. “That's not good legal form, you know."
"This killer is never going to be brought to justice, and you and I know it."
Anton raised his eyebrows. “If you're telling me—"
"All I'm telling you,” Cade cut in, before assumptions could be made, “is that this killer has no intention of being caught like Jontee was."
"And why would you think that?"
"Because we didn't catch him the first time.” Cade walked across to the minibar and pulled out a beer.
"You're obviously not talking about Jontee."
"No.” Cade popped the top of the beer and took a long drink. “Jontee was behind the killings. We proved that, but I have always thought it was impossible for him to be working alone."
"There's nothing like that in the files."
"Because the man in charge of the investigations believed there was only one killer—the one we caught.” He shrugged. “The opinions of a raw recruit didn't matter."
"Sometimes the ramblings of the inexperienced hold grains of truth a more experienced eye has missed."
"Now you're sounding like your philosopher father."
Anton smiled. “Are your notes on file somewhere?"