"Shouldn't he be in the hospital?” Cade asked, limping around to stand beside her. His shoulder brushed hers, and warmth jumped between them. She fleetingly wished he'd stand closer. Wrap an arm around her shoulder and enfold her in his heat, because right now, she was chilled to the bone, and it wasn't the weather.
"Yeah, he should,” she replied, as Ronan climbed stiffly out of his truck. She raised her voice a little. “So why isn't he in the hospital?"
"Because he has no intention of twiddling his thumbs in bed while mad women are running around trying to murder his workmates and best friend.” He shrugged into his leather jacket, his face pale but determined. “These bitches are mine."
"You and Cade have a common goal, then,” she said. “Fitting really, seeing you're both so goddamned stubborn."
A grin teased Ronan's lips as his gaze went to Cade. “She could teach both of us a thing or two about stubborn. You know that, don't you?"
"I'm beginning to discover it,” Cade said dryly, then touched a hand to her spine. The heat of his fingers soaked through the jacket and swept across her skin like fire. “We'd better get up there."
"So says the three-legged wolf who should also be in the hospital,” she muttered, but she knew she was only delaying the inevitable. She snagged the crime scene kit from him and slung it over her shoulder. “Steve, you want to grab the cameras from the back of Ronan's truck?"
"You carry cameras in the back of the truck?” Cade asked, as they began to make their way up the trail.
"Specially-made locked compartment,” Ronan answered. “They're mine rather than the department's. I'm a would-be photographic artist in my spare time."
"Really?” Cade's voice held a note of surprise. “What sort of cameras do you use?"
Savannah couldn't help smiling as the two men who were, other than her sister, the two most important people in her life conversed. Given all the hostility Cade had thrown Ronan's way yesterday, the easy way they talked now was something of a surprise—and a welcome one. But had anything really changed? Or was it simply a matter of common interest breaking down the barriers? After all, while she might love Cade, she knew nothing about his life or what he did outside his job, though he'd once told her his work was his life. But a man who lived for his work didn't go on alcoholic benders and smash up his place when a woman walked out of his life.
It was, she thought, a rather telling reaction to the feelings he'd refused to admit at Rosehall.
The trail ahead turned sharply to the left. If the hiker who'd found the body had his distances right, then they'd find the victim not far ahead.
Her stomach began to churn even harder, and she found herself silently praying that it wasn't Ike, that it was somebody, anybody, else. Which wasn't entirely fair, because that somebody else would have family, friends and loved ones, just like Ike did.
When she found the twisted pine the hiker had mentioned, she hesitated. Then she determinedly swept aside the drooping branches and kept on going. And there, on the dirt and rotting leaves not far off the trail, was the na**d body of a man. She stopped, her gaze sweeping his mutilated, spread-eagled body before coming to rest on his face.
It wasn't Ike.
It was Denny.
Relief ran through her, but it was swiftly followed by anger. Denny might not have been anyone's favorite kid, but he had been just a kid, and he certainly deserved more than this.
The three men stopped on either side of her. “Shit,” Ronan said softly. “Denny."
"Yeah. Even death was a bitch to the kid.” She hauled the kit off her shoulder and unzipped it. “So where the hell is Ike if Denny is here?"
"Hopefully, not a hostage.” Ronan glanced at her. “Have you contacted search and rescue? It's not their usual type of rescue but still—"
"I know. And Steve did."
Cade squatted on his heels, his expression pensive has he studied the scene before them. “This is different than the other two murders. This wasn't a ritual, just a murder."
Her gaze jumped back to the body, and for the first time, she saw the differences. “No stone ring."
"And while his penis and scrotum are sliced away, they didn't remove his heart,” Ronan added. “We have a different killer."
"Or a copycat,” Cade said grimly.
"It can hardly be a copycat when we've kept the murders out of the newspapers,” Ronan retorted. “And none of us has let the cat out of the bag."
"It's not a copycat,” she said softly, staring at the body. For an instant, it almost seemed like she could almost feel his struggle for life, taste that moment of stark horror when he realized what was going to happen to him. Could smell the thick smell of citrus and cigarette smoke as cold steel slid into his spine and pain flared like fire ... the sensations slid away and she shuddered.
"It was the same killer,” she said, glad her voice showed no sign of the shakiness growing inside. “Only she doesn't believe in the ritual. She just needs the thrill, the blood.” She hesitated. “It was Candy who did this."
Cade looked up at her. “What makes you think that?"