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  ‘Are you going to pull me out? Is that what’s happening here?’ the Hunter asked suddenly.

  Coulter’s hand paused over one of the photos for a second before he ripped it off, tearing away some of the wall plaster. ‘It’s time for you to be reassigned.’

  ‘But I’m established here. I have the locals’ trust. I even uncovered where the last witch is in town. She could be a problem, you know.’

  ‘Enough.’ Coulter turned from the wall and gave the Hunter a smooth smile. ‘You’ve been isolated here for a number of years now. This is standard procedure.’

  The Hunter frowned and sat down heavily at the dining room table. ‘It would be a mistake.’

  ‘That’s not your call.’ Coulter picked up one of the photos of Lydia he’d found. He didn’t bother asking why the Hunter had taken them. This time tomorrow, he’d be on a private plane, heading to one of the Association’s many headquarters around the world. Preferably somewhere very isolated, where he could do minimal harm.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ the Hunter muttered.

  Coulter gave him a cold smile. ‘Remember your training. You are not a sole individual fighting this war. You are part of a team, working towards a common goal.’ He eyed the tea on the table and decided against drinking it, knowing it would taste like dirt-water.

  Excusing himself, he made his way to the bathroom. Touching the photos had made him feel dirty and he washed his hands, thinking about Lydia. He was anxious to make contact and see if she’d inherited any of her father’s traits. It was a common practice for a Hunter’s genetics to be tweaked for optimal human resistance and strength, making their offspring ideal candidates for the Association. He didn’t think Lydia knew anything about Breed yet, and he mentally went over the script that recruiting Hunters used when introducing someone to their world.

  He wiped his hands on the towel, preparing himself for his return to the Hunter’s tense company. He’d be glad when this was over and he knew Lydia would be the perfect replacement. He also knew she’d been assaulted, and had read about the damage it had done to her, physically and psychologically. She’d come here to heal, he guessed, and perhaps to find another purpose. Something he knew he could help her with.

  Aside from fellow Hunters, Coulter didn’t have any other family, and Lydia coming back to Camden felt like a sign that she was ready to leave behind her policing career and join him. After all, it wouldn’t be hard to convince her. He’d seen the horrors the Breed had wrought in the past and knew within his soul that they were the personification of evil, cursed by God. His calling to the eradication of Breed was an act of divinity, and the peace treaty stood in his way of acting openly, with the full support of the Association at his back.

  The rumours about the Breed King coming to Camden had come through a reliable source, and if they were true he would be positioned to take the lead on a strike team

  Coulter paused to stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to ignore the new wrinkles on his face, the spreading grey hair at his temples. He was still young at heart, with righteous conviction running thick through his blood, and he would be the wrath of God here in Camden, soon, with Lydia fighting by his side.

  Chapter 5

  Lydia stood behind Bowden, trying to keep a distance from the body laid out on the examination table. The woman seemed even more fragile as she lay naked on the slab, a final indignity.

  Anglo leaned over the corpse, taking more photos, and while Lydia wanted to take a closer look at the body herself, she didn’t want to piss off the medical examiner any more than she had. Considering the snide remarks he’d already made about her presence there, it seemed her very existence was enough to annoy him, though she wasn’t sure why.

  Camden Community Hospital was small and the autopsy suite bordered on claustrophobic, with only half a dozen cold storages and a single examination table, walls lined by drawers filled with metallic toolboxes containing stainless-steel equipment. The room had the sharp stink of chemicals and a small sink sat behind her, the tap dripping no matter how hard she’d twisted it. An assortment of equipment was piled beside it, along with what looked like a defibrillator case, which she thought a tad optimistic, considering the location.

  ‘Small tattoo here.’ Anglo lifted one hip with gloved hands. ‘Help me move her, Frank.’

  Bowden grimaced, reluctantly stepping around the table. Both men turned the body onto its side and Lydia found her feet had moved without her being aware of it, coming to stand behind the two men. She peered down at what Anglo had spotted. Bowden braced himself against the dead weight while Anglo took more photos.

  ‘What is that?’ Bowden asked,

  ‘Looks like a paw print,’ Lydia murmured.

  Anglo glanced back at Lydia with an annoyed expression. ‘Put her down now, Frank, I got it.’

  Bowden lowered the girl’s body down and Lydia shifted back a little, her hip bumping into a tray, the metal instruments rattling. She moved away, eyes studiously averted in case she copped more annoyed looks from Anglo. Eyes dropping to the tray, she examined the bullet that had ended the girl’s life. The piece of metal sat in a small tray, covered in blood. A straight shot, through her back and right through the heart.

  Ghosts of memories past tickled her mind, of her mother’s warning to never go into the woods at night. Her mother had been an absent-minded wildlife scientist who had sat in her study all day, sipping ginger tea and pottering about her reports and journals, detailing the local wildlife, especially the dwindling Tasmanian devil population. She had never been specific about what danger Lydia should be afraid of, but rather hinted at something that hid in the darkness, a monster that called the forest shadows home. Lydia had always thought her mother had been worried about the risk of getting attacked by wild pigs. Staring at the bullet, she wondered if rather her mother had fretted about another kind of monster. The kind that wore its civility like a suit, slinking around the woods at night and searching for prey with a loaded gun.

  ‘Lydia?’

  She gave a start, realising she’d been staring at the tray and the small bowl on it that contained the bullet that had killed the Jane Doe. A silver bullet, of all things.

  She looked up to see Bowden give her a concerned look and she saw that Anglo had retreated to his office, bent over a desk as he filled out paperwork. A chill shot through her. She’d lost time. It had been months since the last time, an incident that had nearly seen her slam her car into a parked Volvo at the local shopping centre. She couldn’t even remember what had trigged the event, just a memory of a black hole that had swallowed her whole.

  Her lips thinned. She’d be damned if she was going to start taking medication again. It had strung her out, made her paranoid. Okay, more paranoid. She hadn’t been sleeping much these days, and it had made her jittery. In the first week since she’d arrived at Camden, she’d slept nearly ten hours a night, then spent her days feeling like she was shot through with Novocain, wandering around her childhood house, trying to orientate herself with her new life. But then she couldn’t sleep at all, and if she didn’t get a good night soon she’d have to resort to sleeping tablets, the medication often leaving her thoughts sluggish the next day.

  ‘Lydia?’ Bowden’s voice was gentle. ‘Have you heard anything I’ve said?’

  ‘Sorry. I was lost in thought.’ She gave him a reassuring smile. She had to look in control. Didn’t want the senior sergeant to see her rattled in any way. After all, Bowden knew why she’d come to Camden and there had been more than a little hesitation in his approval of her application, but she had begged. Police work was what she knew and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  Anglo came out of his office, turning the light off. ‘I’ll send you my report tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks Jacob.’ Bowden gave a tired sigh. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate the need to figure this one out quickly, the whole town is spooked now.’

  The small medical examiner ran his fingers over
his moustache, eyeing Lydia. ‘You’re sweating.’

  Lydia tried to give him a bright smile. ‘I’m just tired.’

  ‘You sweat when you’re tired?’ Anglo exchanged a glance with Bowden and she wondered how much he knew about the reason why she’d come here. Surely Bowden hadn’t said anything.

  ‘I’ll be fine after some lunch.’ Her smile widened. She hoped she looked reassuring, but from Anglo’s suspicious look she doubted she was getting the job done right. ‘Maybe a strong coffee as well.’

  ‘You’ve read my mind, Lydia.’ Bowden winked at her. ‘Come on, let’s get this business at the Tanner farm over with, then we’ll head back to the station. I’m supposed to be watching my weight, but I know of a place that sells cream buns that put a spring in a man’s step, you know.’

  Lydia tried to laugh, but the sound was forced and when Anglo’s suspicious expression deepened, she stopped. Mumbling goodbye, she hurried after Bowden, following him out of the building.

  The spring morning was fresh and clear, the sun casting a gentle glow over the green fields in front of her. The town’s main road was two blocks away, and the landscape was alien and familiar to her at the same time, like a piece of clothing she hadn’t worn in many years.

  Bowden inserted a key into the ignition, then paused. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  Lydia buckled her seatbelt. She wasn’t sure she was okay, at all. But there was no sense in letting him know that.

  ‘Just fine,’ she lied.

  ‘This isn’t … triggering anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

  Bowden nodded, not looking entirely convinced, then turned the engine on and drove out of the medical centre’s parking lot.

  Lydia wound down the window, letting the fresh breeze ruffle any curls that had come loose from her braid. Sooner or later, she was sure she’d be comfortable back in this uniform, staring at dead bodies of doomed women. But for now, she’d just take one day at a time.

  * * *

  Jericho leaned against the railing of the Diablo Dogs’ pine log clubhouse, listening as his pack brothers discuss Karla’s less than impressive news.

  Sitting at the back of compound, the clubhouse had only the most basic of furnishings inside: couch, large flat-screen screwed to the wall, pool table with one crooked leg and most importantly, a locked cage that held the centre’s medications, riot gear and weapons. The MC also owned a second residence twenty minutes’ drive from the compound, a cabin that acted as a quiet retreat for those who needed it. Of course, the place was more often used for wild parties Blades organised, full of booze and women for the Dogs and G1 men.

  In the distance, birds called to each other as the sun set and Jericho smelled rain on the breeze, for which he was grateful for. The Dog House had bore water, but relied heavily on the rainwater tanks that sat beside the kitchen. The compound itself was guarded by cyclone fencing, capped with razor wire, the main entrance protected by sentries and a retractable crash plate that could launch a thick barrier of steel in half a second. Inside the compound, cabins sat side by side: some for accommodation, others for meditation sessions. A makeshift gym sat to one side, full of truck tyres and outdoor equipment, and beyond it lay thriving vegetable gardens, a chicken shed, shipping containers full of parts and a rusty generator beside the work shed.

  A long workshop tucked at the back of the compound housed a dozen motorbikes, all in various states of repair. From where Jericho stood, he could see a couple of men inside, working on an enormous Triumph Rocket, repairing a busted tank. He had to admit it was a sweet machine, even if it wasn’t a Harley. The men were often put into pairs and given a beat-up bike to work on. Teamwork, discipline and fellowship could all be learned from building a motorbike, from creating a machine that flew you along the road, giving back a little slice of freedom and replacing what had been lost.

  A small silence fell and Jericho knew they’d all come to the same question he had: why would the Breed King take such a risk, coming to Camden?

  ‘I say fuck the King,’ Blades murmured as he lit a cigarette. ‘We need to be out tracking the missing girl. The King can be tomorrow’s problem.’

  ‘We need confirmation on the identity of the body first.’ Jericho mentally pulled up a list of what had to be done. ‘Regardless of whether it’s Karla’s missing girl, I want to check out the crime scene. If someone’s shooting unarmed citizens, we need to find them. The last thing we want is town folk suddenly hanging the crime on us.’

  ‘I’ll find who pulled the trigger.’ Blades settled back in his chair, blowing out a stream of smoke. ‘Count on it.’

  Jericho nodded. ‘You and Reaper come with me this afternoon. We’ll go check the crime scene out. I want both of you to see if you can pick up a scent or tracks that were missed. It’s a long shot, but we’ve got to try.’ He turned to Frost. ‘You’re going to get into the police system and search for any new hunting permits that have been handed out. And do a background check on all new residents in town. Anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘The cops really don’t have any suspicions about who shot her?’ Reaper asked, eyes trained on a piece of wood he was whittling with a knife, long raven-black hair falling forward like a curtain.

  ‘Bowden will call me when they identify her,’ Jericho said. His gut told him it was going to be the missing female, and he had even called Karla to insist she stop dancing around the issue and view the body to be sure. Karla had stiffly thanked him and hung up. No doubt busy trying to figure out how she was going to explain the death to the Breed Council.

  ‘If it is the female, we need the ballistic report,’ Frost said. ‘Confirm if she was killed with silver.’

  ‘No one around here’s got that kind of ammo,’ Blades pointed out. ‘You think a Hunter’s arrived in town?’

  ‘We can’t rule anything out at this moment,’ Jericho said. ‘But why? To kill an unarmed female Breed? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Sure it does.’ Reaper looked up. ‘Their paths crossed, he couldn’t help himself and killed her. Now we find and kill him.’

  ‘There has to be a reason he’s here,’ Turk said. ‘If you were a Hunter in Camden, what would your directive be?’

  ‘Not to let the witch curse kill me?’ Blades offered. ‘Isn’t that why Hunters don’t come here? They’ll get cursed with warts or something?’

  ‘Maybe that’s not enough anymore and they’re testing boundaries,’ Jericho said, though he wasn’t sure to what extent he believed in the fabled curse that struck Hunters down. ‘Hunters only act on the authority of the Association. If one is here, I’ll wager it’s got something to do with the King coming.’

  ‘So we’ll find him and interrogate,’ Frost said.

  ‘Hunters only speak lies. We just kill him.’ Reaper shook his head. ‘The only trustworthy Hunter is a dead one.’

  ‘True enough,’ Blades agreed, dropping his cigarette and running a boot heel over it.

  ‘Anyone got other business?’ Jericho asked, suddenly impatient. He wanted to get going. Two Breed deaths in the space of a few days did not sit well with him and a part of him hoped that by finding Anna’s killer, the weight of Lance’s death would lighten, if only a fraction.

  ‘You said the King’s Enforcer had business with you,’ Turk said. ‘You think he’ll come here?’

  Jericho shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If he does, you gonna be okay with that?’ Turk stared towards the canteen, avoiding the scars that ripped through Jericho’s face. ‘Considering the past.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Jericho deliberately ignored what he was really asking. After all, the past with Vaughn was exactly that. The fucking past. His fingers twitched, wanting to rub his left kneecap that had never healed right from the night he and his king had been ambushed. For the safety of his crew and the Dog House, he’d always held fast that there was no grudge, though he doubted anyone bought that. Hell, he didn’t believe it. He clenche
d his hands into fists, trying to shove aside the dark memories of that night and the burning desire to even the score.

  ‘And Karla wouldn’t say what was wrong with her brother?’ Frost looked as skeptical as Jericho felt. Whatever ailed the Breed King, it had to be big to leave the comfort and security of his large mansion in LA. Jericho wondered idly if the issue was something else entirely, like being involved in social scandal, something the full-blooded clans would feast on for months. He’d heard when Karla had refused to divulge the parentage of her baby, the gossip had raged years until she’d been banished here. That had been years ago, and Jericho now sensed she was looking for a way out of Camden and back into her family business. He also got the distinct impression she wanted to tie him into those plans, something he was not interested in, at all. His place was here.

  ‘The King and his Enforcer can come here and hide out with the women.’ Reaper shot him a fierce look. ‘But we’ve got your back if either show up here.’

  Reaper’s meaning was clear: the pack stood with him. All men patched into the Diablo Dogs had dirty reputations, but together as brothers they stood strong, even if it meant standing against the King they were supposed to claim fealty to.

  Chapter 6

  The radio was tuned to a golden oldie station and Lydia found her foot tapping to an old James Brown song as she stared out the car window. Bowden had driven them out of town and they now rumbled along a partly surfaced road hedged with sweet-potato farms, and fields spotted with grazing Jersey cows. Bowden’s mood seemed light, considering what they were heading out for.

  ‘How are you getting on with Greta and Dominic?’ Bowden asked. ‘Have they got their caravan ready to roll yet?’

  ‘I think so,’ Lydia said, though she really wasn’t sure. After the death of her mother by a hit-and-run when she was thirteen, she’d moved to the mainland to live with a cousin. The family home had stayed in her name, rented out to Dominic and Greta Solberg, a German couple who had moved into the small workers’ cottage out the back and turned the four-bedroom home into a successful bed and breakfast for the last ten years.