Neva raised her eyebrows. "But if it is linked, you might hold some clue that could catch this fiend."
"It's doubtful. I didn't really see much, and to be honest, the rangers annoy me more than your father."
Neva smiled. "Then tell me, and I'll pass it on to my sister. That way, if there is nothing interesting, you don't have the hassle of talking to the rangers."
Betise hesitated, then nodded. "Ask away."
"What did he smell like?"
"Why would that matter? It's not admissible in a court of law."
"Well, no, but it could lead the rangers to our killer."
"I was under the impression they didn't find any scents at the murder scene."
"According to the papers, no. But they did find one at the hospital."
Betise raised an eyebrow. "Hospital?"
Neva couldn't see any point in holding back the information, especially since the head nurse was dating the current editor of the Gazette. It was a pretty sure bet it would be the lead story tomorrow morning. "We think the killer may have tried to get to Savannah."
"So you were there."
"Yeah. I sensed Savannah was waking and came down."
A smile touched the older wolf's pale lips. "I wondered why Duncan had let you out of his bed. Normally, he'd keep his mates occupied day and night."
Heat touched Neva's cheeks. "Yeah, well, he actually didn't know I slipped away."
Betise considered her for a moment, then said, "My attacker smelled like old sweats."
Not a smell anyone was likely to forget in a hurry, and not the scent she'd chased in the hospital. It was a strong smell that would not dissipate easily, and while the wind had been strong last night, it had been almost nonexistent in at least two of the other attacks. Surely the rangers would have picked up such an unusual aroma. "What did he look like?"
Betise shrugged. "As I said, big. Silver. I was too busy defending myself to take much notice."
"No identifying marks? Scars?"
"None that I saw."
"Eye color?"
"Yellow."
Which was the standard eye color of a true wolf, not any of the packs that lived in Ripple Creek. Were they dealing with an outsider? Perhaps a wolf that had drifted in from one of the other reservations?
"Was his coat silver or gray?"
"It wasn't an old wolf. He was young. Virile."
"So he tried to ... you know?"
Betise looked away, her face suddenly pale. "Thank the moon you and Duncan were so close. You scared him off."
They'd scared him off but couldn't smell him. Not even on Betise. Odd. Unless she was lying. Or unless, for some strange reason, she knew her attacker and was protecting him.
Which is exactly what Duncan had thought, even if he hadn't come right out and said it.
She put her half-finished coffee to one side and stood. "You're right. I don't think it's the same person."