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  ‘I don’t make a habit of going around killing cows,’ Jericho drawled. ‘Or women.’

  ‘Excuse me if I don’t make the assumption you and your crew are a bunch of angels.’

  Jericho felt his anger stir, and he quickly locked it down. Sexual stimulation and anger were a deadly combination. The last thing he needed was to go all nasty on the new constable. He caught another whiff of her soft scent and his arousal spiked, igniting an unexpected wave of lust and anger.

  * * *

  Lydia didn’t like the way Jericho had gotten quiet, his large body frozen in a way that didn’t seem natural. His eyes fixed tight on her and she blinked, wondering if it was a trick of light that his pupils had grown large, ringed with white. She swallowed, throat suddenly dry. The room felt too small, the air too thick to suck in. She bit her bottom lip nervously, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, narrowing. She tucked the blood-soaked patch back into her pocket.

  ‘Has the victim been officially identified yet?’ he asked, voice low.

  ‘Her name was Anna Lewis and she was a resident at Crystal Waters.’

  He nodded with a guarded look, and she sensed her news hadn’t exactly taken him by surprise. ‘Did you know her?’ she asked.

  ‘No. But I’m a friend of the manager of the centre, Karla Malthus. She asked for my help. Said that Anna had gone missing a couple of days ago. Said she’d done it before for attention, a day here and there. But this time was different and she’d been gone longer.’

  Lydia felt her eyebrows rise on their own accord. A hippie asking a biker to help find a missing woman? She sensed a lie when he’d claimed he and the Malthus woman were friends, but it seemed like an old, well-presented line.

  ‘Does Bowden have a suspect yet?’ Jericho asked.

  ‘The senior sergeant is still investigating.’

  ‘And you’re not involved?’

  ‘I’m helping where I can,’ Lydia replied briskly. She tapped a finger against her bottom lip, then gave him what she hoped was a relaxed smile. ‘Okay, how’s this. Maybe some of your crew had some drinks. Accidently killed this cow, decided to mess it up for a joke.’ Questioning 101. Get the suspect to admit to a lesser crime, to then lever them to the more serious one.

  Jericho lowered his eyelids a little, a smile playing on his lips. ‘Camden might not have much a nightlife, but we do have better ways of getting our kicks.’

  ‘It’s easy enough for things to spiral out of control.’

  ‘My crew don’t let things get out of control,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Could they have done this and not told you?’

  ‘My crew don’t do anything without my permission.’

  ‘Then you knew they were at the Tanner farm?’ Lydia shot back, aimed at tripping him up. But he was unhurried.

  ‘We see old Tanner, from time to time,’ he said vaguely. ‘Sometimes to help him in the picking season if the backpackers are light on and the jobs aren’t being filled. You see, we’ve been in Camden for a long time. This is our home and we have a very loyal community spirit. Maybe you should ask Bowden to bring you up to date.’

  ‘Maybe I will,’ she snapped, defensive, because she was starting to feel very stupid. What had she really expected from this little interrogation? Did she really expect the president of a nasty biker club to confess to anything to her?

  ‘Good,’ Jericho said. He shifted closer as he changed the subject. ‘You never told me how you’re finding Camden.’

  Lydia felt the warmth of his body wash over her and she had to make a conscious effort not to back up. Jericho leaned forward, coming closer, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. There was heat in his look as well, with his eyelids lowering suggestively. She realised with a jolt he was hitting on her. Her spine stiffened with anger. As if she’d give him the rope to hang her career with. She’d done that already with one man, thank you very much.

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter what story you tell me,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll be getting the blood report back soon.’

  Jericho’s smile fell, eyes widening. There, she thought with satisfaction, there it was. Worry. What she’d told him was a stupid lie, but it was worth it, just to see him rattled. To suggest his crew didn’t operate above the law.

  ‘I don’t see how you’d draw a connection between Anna’s death and what happened at the Tanner farm.’ He absently rubbed the palm of one hand and she spied angry red blisters on his hands.

  She gave a small shrug. ‘Maybe the killer was warming up.’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong idea.’ Before she could react, one of his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her against his warm body. ‘And you’re hurting my feelings by suggesting such terrible things about my crew, Lydia.’

  ‘That’s Constable Gault, thank you.’ She tried to pull back, but he moved with her, until her back hit the wall. She lowered her hands to her belt. ‘Get off me.’

  Humour danced in his eyes and as she stared into their golden depths, she wondered if she had imagined the change in appearance earlier. She was on edge, after all. His face loomed closer still and she smelled a whiff of cigar smoke on his breath.

  ‘What if I don’t want to get off you?’ he asked in a soft voice. ‘What if I want to do what I fucking want?’

  His hands tightened, then slipped further down, massaging as he went. She smiled at him. Waited until he grinned back. Slipped her handcuffs from her belt, and with a sharp movement, snapped a bracelet around his wrist.

  ‘Then I’ll fucking arrest you for disorderly conduct.’

  * * *

  The cop’s warm, soft body and tantalising scent made Jericho slow to react to being handcuffed. He heard the snap of handcuffs and felt the cold metal around his wrists before he even saw her pull the cuffs from her belt. She was fast, the little minx.

  There was a second snap as she cuffed his other wrist in front of him, and the brush of her breasts against his chest sent a hot shot of wicked desire through him. He felt himself go rock hard. Her scent was so strong now, it almost overwhelmed him. Blackberries. It was more like blackberries. With a splash of spring rain through sunshine. It shackled his beast, drugged him with its sweetness. The handcuffs weren’t helping things.

  She was reading him his rights, but he was having a hard time concentrating on the words. The beast in him was quiet, listening intently as she talked, voice stiff with anger. The handcuffs were tight and he wondered how she thought she was getting him out of here. He could make out the pulse in her neck, drumming away double-time. She was scared, and the smell of it curled around her natural scent like a fine incense, overlaid with a steely note of determination. This was a woman who would not allow fear to control her. Of course, allowing anger to lead her by the nose was another matter entirely. He sensed a rage within her, vibrating just beneath the surface. That’s why she’d come here, putting herself at risk. Something dark had driven her to act recklessly.

  ‘I don’t think you thought this through,’ he said.

  ‘And I think you’re hiding something,’ she said. ‘A night in jail might help shake the cobwebs from your memory.’

  Her hand grasped his upper arm, trying to push him towards the door. He knew she could never force him to move. But what if she left and came back with Bowden? What if it was Bowden who had sent her in the first place? He had a good arrangement with the senior sergeant and didn’t want to jeopardise it. Best course of action? Play along. For now.

  ‘I understand,’ he murmured.

  She put her free hand on the butt of her Glock. ‘Am I going to have trouble with your boys out there?’

  ‘You might have to explain things to them,’ Jericho said. ‘Not often a cop shows up here and arrests someone. And this is the first time I’ll be frog-marched through those front doors.’

  ‘Let’s make some history then.’ She tried to shove him towards the door again. Jericho stared down at her, impassive, and she glared right back with her piercing violet eyes. With tha
t look, something shifted inside him: desire sliding to a roaring lust, chased closely by a shot of raw need. With effort, he relaxed his body, let her propel him towards the door. Back in the bar, he got Turk’s eye first. ‘I’m going to the station with the lovely constable. Keep a handle on things until I get back.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Reaper leaped up, chair falling back with a clatter.

  ‘Are you handcuffed?’ Blades lay a card down on the table. ‘You lucky man.’

  ‘You sure you’re alright, boss?’ Turk kept his seat, looking amused.

  ‘I’ll be back soon enough,’ Jericho drawled. ‘Count on it.’

  Chapter 9

  The car ride back to the station was silent. Lydia was determined not to let Jericho’s silence bother her. She knew his type. Dark and brooding. Able to crook his finger and women came running. He was a handsome bastard and the scars on his face only served to enhance his dangerous appeal. She found herself almost asking about them, but shut the question down quickly, settling for glancing at him in the rear-view mirror, seeing him stare blankly out the window. The third time she looked up, his eyes met hers. She turned quickly back to the road, not wanting him to know she was curious about him. What she’d seen at Dusty Roads didn’t have the feel of a motorcycle club. For starters, where were the women? There wasn’t a trace of a hard-nosed Old Lady or two. Then there was the fact the men had an ex-military air, like a bunch of mercenaries who’d come to Camden to open a bar and retire. But an organised MC gang with all the trimmings? Something didn’t fit. She wanted to ask Jericho questions about the club, but held her tongue, knowing now wasn’t the time.

  She pulled up at the station, seeing its windows dark and the outside night-light burning bright. Seemed The Jaw had finally gone home to the dubious sanctuary of his wife or girlfriend. Pulling an air of confidence tight around her, she got out and opened the passenger door. The night air had a frigid bite in it and she shivered. ‘Let’s go.’

  Jericho raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘Does Bowden know you’re bringing me in?’

  She leaned her head into the car. ‘He will soon enough. Now move it, tough guy. I don’t want to have to drag you in and mess up your pretty hair.’

  His eyes dropped and it took Lydia a moment to figure out he was eye-level to her breasts and her very hard nipples. She backed up without thinking, but refused to cross her arms like an embarrassed teenager. She was pretty sure hers weren’t the first pair of breasts he’d copped a look at. His eyes shifted away and a muscle worked in his jaw.

  ‘You gonna move?’ she asked in a cold voice.

  His breath blew out in a loud gust. Then he shrugged his shoulders and ducked his head, stepping out of the car. Escorting him to the front of the station, she palmed her keys and unlocked the door. The clock on the wall told her it was late and her stomach growled, reminding her it was well past dinnertime.

  The darkness inside the station was cool and the only noise was the ticking of the station clock, counting down the night. She clicked on the reception lights, then guided Jericho to the back office, unlocking his cuffs outside the station’s single cell.

  ‘There’s someone in there,’ Jericho said softly.

  ‘What?’ she frowned, at first not understanding what he meant. Turning on the lights, she gave a start when she spied Novak lying on the cot, face illuminated by his phone as he read something on the screen. He sat up with a curse, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights.

  ‘What are you doing here, Gault?’ he snarled.

  She took in the grey tracksuit and the overnight bag under the cot. ‘Are you sleeping here?’

  Novak ran a hand over his face, anger twisting his mouth down. When he spied Jericho, his eyes popped. ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘Trouble with the wife again, Novak?’ Jericho asked. His face was straight, but Lydia could tell he was thinking this night was becoming more and more entertaining. She had to kind of agree. Novak was staring at her like she was nuts.

  ‘Why is he here?’ he demanded again.

  ‘I’ve arrested him for disorderly behaviour.’ She shut down the trickle of fear Novak had planted in her earlier. She hadn’t left her nightmares behind her to allow a small-town bully to intimidate her. She knew even if bringing in Jericho was a bit shady, she couldn’t let Novak push her around. Not by a single inch. ‘So it looks like you’re losing your bunk. Why don’t you just go home?’

  ‘Does Bowden know you’re arresting people off the clock?’ Novak was nearly shouting now. ‘That you bought him here?’

  ‘Lower your voice.’ Lydia kept her tone level. Reasonable. Like she knew what she was doing. Like she hadn’t just potentially made a huge mistake.

  Novak grinned. ‘When Bowden finds out about this, he’s going to haul your ass over hot coals. And I’m going to watch.’

  ‘What do you care?’ Lydia bit back. She was tired and irritated. Too tired for Novak’s games. Let him try to throw what he had at her. She’d just discovered his dirty domestic laundry, so maybe that evened the playing field a little. After all, she was sure Novak didn’t want Bowden to know he was camping out here rather than face whatever issue he had going on at home.

  ‘Why don’t you run on home, little man.’ Jericho’s voice was an amused rumble.

  Novak face twisted and he stepped out of the cell to thrust a finger against the biker’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me, scumbag.’

  ‘You touch me again and I’ll break your finger.’ Jericho’s expression didn’t change and Lydia stepped between them, hands raised.

  ‘Go home, Novak,’ she said. ‘I’ve got everything under control here.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing under control here, you loopy bitch.’ Novak reached around Lydia to thrust his finger at Jericho again. But when he made contact with the biker this time, there was a small crunching sound. Novak face went white, mouth open in a silent howl of pain. He snatched his hand back, outraged.

  ‘You broke my finger,’ he gasped.

  Lydia glared at Jericho and his honey eyes dropped to hers, impassive.

  ‘You heard me warn him,’ he told her. Before she could answer, she saw Novak move from the corner of her eye, snatch up an item on his desk, then lunge at Jericho. She tried to stop him from doing anything stupid, but wasn’t fast enough. Then Jericho was there, pushing her aside, and she stumbled back. Managing to keep her balance, she turned just as Novak shoved the knuckleduster taser into Jericho’s side. Electricity crackled and spat, and the biker roared, stumbling to his knees.

  She tried to catch Jericho as he fell. But he was too heavy and tumbled out of her grip, falling to the floor. Novak went after him, but Lydia blocked him and swung a fist, knuckles crunching against his nose. Blood spurted and he dropped the weapon with a yelp.

  ‘You goddamned bitch.’ He backed up, one hand pressed against his nose, the other cradled against his chest.

  Lydia opened her mouth to threaten Novak right back, adrenaline making her bold. A choking sound stopped her and she turned, seeing Jericho begin to convulse, body shaking, froth forming at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Shit.’ She dropped to his side, checking his pulse. It was racing—too fast. His body jerked violently and she heard cloth tear. She tried to hold him, tried to remember her first-aid training.

  ‘Call an ambulance,’ she called to Novak. But all she heard in response was running footsteps, then the front door slamming shut. She looked up and swore. The Jaw had fled, like the coward she knew he was.

  She snatched out her phone and begun to dial the emergency number, when it was knocked from her grip. A hand grabbed her wrist in a painful hold.

  Her breath hitched as Jericho held her with a guttural growl, eyes glowing a reflective silver, twin mirror chips focused on her. His grip tightened painfully and, with a cry, she tried to twist free. But he was too strong and, losing her footing, she tumbled against him.

  Primal instinct kicked in, her pulse galloped, her body cha
rged with red-hot adrenaline. She’d played the victim once, and she’d be damned if she’d play it again. She struck out with her free hand towards Jericho’s throat, but aimed too high and her fist glanced off his chin. Sharp pain shot down her arm, then she was free. More sounds of cloth tearing. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. All she knew was that something was terribly wrong with Jericho. She glanced at the marks on her left hand. And the bastard had bitten her.

  * * *

  Coulter stared into the cup of tea he’d been served, ignoring the rowdy crowd around him. Another foul brew of tea, muck from a cheap tea bag because the hostel didn’t have anything else. He should have known it would be close to impossible to get a decent cup this far from civilisation.

  The Swag, a thriving backpacker hostel, sat on the edge of town and the bar inside was exactly how Coulter had imagined: a jostling landscape of young, drunk tourists and backpackers comparing war stories, hiking boots stumbling over floors sticky from cheap beer and indifferent staff. He sighed and took a sip of his drink, wincing at the appalling taste. The Swag was filthy, but at least at this time of night it was unlikely anyone would pay him any attention; the residents were either too used to unfamiliar faces to think his presence unusual, or too intoxicated to care. The Hunter appeared beside him, beer in hand, and sat down with a smile.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re shipping out tonight,’ Coulter told him. ‘From here, I want you to go to the hanger, where the plane is waiting for you. It will take you to your next posting.’

  The Hunter’s brows snapped together. ‘What about my things? My belongings?’

  ‘Irrelevant,’ Coulter said. ‘A good Hunter needs no material things. Remember your training.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ The Hunter stared down at his beer, fingers working at the label. ‘Why am I being shipped out? You mentioned the Breed King might be arriving. If that’s true, you need me. I know the area, I know the locals.’

  ‘The decision has been made.’ Coulter watched the man, seeing his chin shift to a stubborn angle. ‘You’re to be on that plane within the hour.’