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  ‘To go where?’ The Hunter’s voice rose sharply. Coulter shot him a warning look.

  ‘You’ll get a briefing once you’re in the air.’ He stopped and tried to erase any tension from his voice, though his fingers tightened around his cooling mug of tea. Extraction might prove a delicate business with such a fractured mind.

  The Hunter’s eyes darted away and skipped across the assortment of backpackers wandering about, chattering happily. Coulter tensed. He knew that look. It was a man trying to decide his next move, a man weighing up his choices. Then his head dropped a little and Coulter loosened his grip on his mug, certain the man would obey. He reached out to pat the Hunter’s back and, though the gesture was awkward, he hoped it helped somewhat. After all, they were still both bound by a common bond and fellowship of the Association.

  ‘Do not forget you are who you are and who you work for,’ Coulter told him. ‘Our kind must always travel to where the world needs us most.’

  The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. ‘And who will take my place?’

  Coulter tried to think of a lie that sounded plausible, but took too long and understanding dawned in the Hunter’s eyes.

  ‘The cop. Your niece. You’ll ask her, won’t you. That bitch is replacing me, isn’t she.’

  ‘No,’ Coulter lied easily. ‘She wouldn’t be suitable at all.’

  The Hunter turned away, fingers picking and tearing at the beer-bottle label until it was just scraps of paper. Coulter wasn’t sure his lie was believed, but there was nothing he could do about that. He sipped his drink, grimacing when he found it cold. It didn’t matter what the man thought, just as long as he was on that plane tonight, before he could do any more damage.

  Chapter 10

  The roaring tide of rage receded from Jericho’s mind and he grasped tight that steel core of well-honed discipline inside of him. He was in control. Not the anger. Not the beast.

  He sucked in a shaky breath and let his body go limp. With each blink, the cloudy haze retreated even more, until he could hear his own breath, could feel his limbs. Normal. Calm. He was just a man. He struggled to sit up, limbs feeling weak, and realised someone was helping him. Talking to him. Working out it was Lydia, he tried to focus on her words, but couldn’t shake the ringing in his ears.

  His eyesight cleared up and he saw her leaning over him, saying something he couldn’t make out, and then she disappeared. He rubbed his eyes, trying to piece together what had happened. That fucker, Novak, had hit him with something. He remembered the sound. A taser. He’d been fucking tasered. Jericho stretched his fingers, feeling the telltale stiffness, the faint buzzing in his ears. He’d been close to reverting. Something had happened when that dumb fuck had zapped him. Something that had overridden his control and jump-started a reversion. It was just fortunate for both of them he had the strength to control it.

  ‘Here.’

  He looked up to see Lydia offering him a glass of water. He took it gratefully and drained the glass, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. When he was finished, he passed it back with an unsteady hand.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Her voice was soothing, spreading over the leftover fragment of his beast-raged thoughts, cooling the fury. ‘I think you had a fit of some sort.’

  ‘Not the first time.’ He looked around the empty station. ‘Where’s Constable Jerk-off?’

  ‘Ran off.’ She helped him to his feet and he took the assistance gratefully, feeling the strength in her body, even though he caught a trace of fear in her eyes. He guessed his little near miss had rattled her somewhat. He wondered how far he’d gotten to reverting, how close she’d come to being torn to shreds by his own hand, and the thought made him sick.

  ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you.’ He checked his clothing, saw rips along the seam of his shirt where his shoulders had begun to change. It had been close. Very close. Anger licked hot through him. He was going to find Novak and personally let him know the consequences of fucking with him.

  ‘I think we need to at least call a doctor,’ Lydia said. ‘Get you checked. I need to make sure you’re alright.’

  ‘I don’t want to see anyone—’ He stopped, the way Lydia was cradling her left hand snagging his attention. He reached towards her, and she flinched. He stopped and pointed at her hand.

  ‘Did I do that?’ He tried to make the question casual, like her life didn’t depend on her answer. But he already knew what she would say.

  She shifted her hand out of his sight. ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m more concerned with getting you checked out.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Jericho tried to ignore the cold sweat that had broken out down his spine, the fear that had clenched around his stomach. He’d seen the marked flesh well enough.

  Bite mark.

  A violent storm assaulted his thoughts, riding the horror of what he’d done. If she was infected, she had maybe forty-eight hours at most to live. Then, at some point, Lydia’s pulse would accelerate, her skin would begin to bleed and sweat. The fine, delicate bones in the hand would break first, back muscles pulling and knitting tight around their new formation as the rest of the body was torn into its new form. Unprepared for such a transformation, it would simply shatter her. It was impossible for an adult to live through the process. Death was the kinder choice and he knew it would have to be dealt by his hand.

  He reached towards her, trying not to think about what he had to do. One hand curled around the gentle curve of her neck, knowing a quick break would be best. Just a quick snap and it would be over. Then he would dispose of her body, like he had others. He readied himself, knowing that to put it off would only make it worse.

  ‘Jericho?’

  His hand paused. She watched him with those sweet violet eyes, uncertain of what he was doing, but unafraid. She wasn’t afraid and somehow, that knowledge undid him.

  She reached up to brush her fingers against his hand, the contact sending a jolt through him. ‘Are you feeling dizzy?’

  He dropped his hand, unable to do his duty. He licked his dry lips, thinking hard. Typically, only a fully turned Breed could pass on the virus. Since Lydia hadn’t run screaming, perhaps he hadn’t reverted enough to pass on the virus. Maybe she’d be okay. Maybe.

  ‘Just dizzy. But I think I’m good now.’ He dropped his hand. ‘Hope I didn’t break the skin.’

  ‘It was an accident. Just forget it.’

  He watched her as she looked about the station, clearly weighing up her options. He hesitated, then walked into the cell and sat on the cot, the springs creaking in protest. He needed a chance to collect his thoughts, try to get a plan together. Short of knocking Lydia out and dragging her unconscious to the Crystal Waters underground medical lab to see if she’d contracted the virus, he didn’t have much of an idea of what to do. And the thought of doing anything violent against her repulsed him. He couldn’t bear to see her cringe in fear at the sight of him. He could only hope she wasn’t infected. It was tenuous, but it was all he had.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Novak doesn’t like you very much.’

  ‘That obvious, is it?’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘But I get the feeling he doesn’t like anyone.’

  ‘Why don’t you find yourself something to eat, then ask me your questions,’ he suggested. ‘Your stomach rumbled the whole trip here.’

  * * *

  One of Lydia’s hands twitched over her stomach. He was right. It had been growling on and off in the car and obviously loud enough for Jericho to hear. She thought about it for a second before conceding that food was a good idea. Her adrenaline rush from dragging Jericho from the bar and then breaking up Novak’s attack was wearing off. She was likely to fall asleep on her feet if she didn’t eat something soon. She stepped out of the cell, and considered locking it.

  Glancing back, she saw Jericho close his eyes and lean against the wall. She frowned. He had the demeanour of someone who knew she had nothing on him. Worst of all, he was right. She’d be lucky to get th
rough this night without being threatened with a lawsuit or losing her job. She locked the door with a defiant twist of the keys, ignoring the small smile that appeared on his lips.

  Retreating to the station’s cluttered kitchenette, she grabbed a stray packet of crisps and clicked the kettle on. While she waited, she rinsed her hand under the sink, examining the bite Jericho had given her. He’d broken the skin in places, and it ached like hell, but there was no way she was going to the medical centre. Then she’d have to tell them how it happened and then her stupidity would be written down in a report for all to see and Bowden would be furious.

  She dried her hand and grabbed a Band-Aid from the first-aid kit under the kitchen sink and covered it the best she could. If her hand started to swell, she’d go see a doctor, she reasoned. Until then, she’d just tough it out. The kettle boiled and she made two black coffees, using her good hand. Crisps tucked under one arm, she took the two hot drinks back to the cell, placing everything down awkwardly while she unlocked the door.

  Jericho’s eyes cracked open and he looked at her with grin. ‘Is that an olive branch I smell?’

  ‘I wish you’d let me get you checked out.’ She handed him the coffee, the gesture a strategic move more than anything else. A measure of an apology. She wasn’t too proud to admit she’d made a mistake and knew Jericho could make plenty of trouble for her. She’d done the wrong thing in a fit of anger by dragging him here, and Novak had made it so much worse.

  Jericho reached up to take the steaming mug of coffee from her, rough fingers brushing over hers. She knew the touch had been deliberate. She probably looked like great sport to him. A game called Screw the New Cop. She leaned against the wall, exhaustion tugging at her body. Jericho watched her over the brim of his coffee, eyes flicking once down to her throbbing hand. She wondered if she could milk it so he felt guilty enough to confess and almost snorted aloud at the idea. A big, bad biker like Jericho wouldn’t care about much, except his club brothers. Right now, all she could hope for was that he would answer her questions and then go home like a good little biker and they would never mention this night again.

  Jericho lowered his mug. ‘You should sit down before you fall down. You look tired.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She sipped her coffee and winced as the bitter drink burned her tongue. ‘I hope you don’t mind black.’

  ‘I think I’d enjoy anything you gave me.’ His voice was a deep purr. ‘But you’re going to sit down.’ He spoke in a way that told her he was used to being obeyed. Her lips tightened with irritation, but she found her knees bending without her consciously deciding to sit. She leaned her back against the wall by the doorway, head throbbing with tiredness. Against her better judgement, she undid her duty belt and placed it beside her. It felt like a colossal weight had been lifted, but she quickly clamped down on the thought. Being a cop was what she did, was who she was. She couldn’t imagine a life outside of the force. Didn’t want to. She opened the crisp packet and ate a few, feeling some of her weariness subside. Jericho put his coffee down on the floor, watching her eat.

  ‘Are you going to share?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Maybe.’

  His eyes were bright and unnervingly perceptive. He wasn’t a dumb thug, she was pretty clear on that, and that made him more dangerous. Even though she didn’t quite believe the Diablo Dogs MC was a typical outlaw biker gang, that didn’t mean they weren’t involved in anything shady. She leaned forward, offering Jericho the packet, and he took a few chips then sat back.

  ‘Do you really think I had something to do with Anna Lewis’s death?’ he asked, picking up a chip and licking it.

  Lydia chose her words carefully. ‘I think you know something that could help me find her killer. And I know you were in the Tanner farm. I want to know why.’ She paused, then said, ‘Sorry, but can you stop doing that?’

  Jericho’s tongue paused. ‘Stop doing what?’

  ‘Molesting that potato chip,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Just put it in your mouth and chew.’

  He deliberately licked it again. ‘I like the salt.’

  ‘You’ll make it soggy.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It’s gross.’

  ‘It would be gross if I put it back into the packet and you ate it.’

  ‘This is how you eat chips.’ Lydia picked one out and crunched down on it, accidently sending a scattering of crumbs down her shirt. ‘Okay, scratch that.’ She wiggled her fingers down her shirt, trying to get a few stray pieces. ‘Just forget it.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Jericho watched her. ‘I think you’re right. I like the way you eat chips much better.’

  She rolled her eyes at him, managing to pull the offending crumbs out. A short silence fell as she studiously put the chip packet aside and drank her coffee, wondering where to go from here. Jericho remained silent, still watching her. She figured he was trying to work out what her angle was. Maybe he thought she was trying to shake him down. She hoped not. Her actions had been foolhardy, but she didn’t take payoffs, though she’d seen plenty of it on the force in the past. Promises of protection. Arrangements to look the other way. Though she knew it was a way of life, it never felt right to her.

  ‘How did you get the scars?’ She nodded towards the marks on his face. A flicker of something crossed his face, so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

  ‘An old accident,’ he said, voice making it clear it wasn’t a topic of conversation. He shifted on the cot and changed the subject. ‘Do you have any suspects for Anna’s killer?’

  ‘Bowden thinks it was a hunting accident.’ Lydia crumpled up the empty packet of chips, then went to lick her fingers. She caught Jericho grinning and quickly dropped her hand, wiping it on her trousers.

  ‘How was she killed?’ Jericho asked, surprising her. She had been expecting a lewd comment about salt and licking.

  ‘I gave you something,’ Lydia said. ‘Now you give me something back. Tell me what happened at the Tanner farm.’

  ‘I’ve already heard about Bowden’s idiotic hunting trip theory.’ Jericho raised one eyebrow. ‘And I didn’t realise we’d made a deal.’

  ‘It was good information,’ Lydia blustered. ‘I showed you mine, so now you show me yours.’

  Interest sparked bright in his eyes. This was a man who liked to play, she realised, and absently wondered if he’d be like that in bed. Teasing, playful. Or maybe he would be possessive, demanding. She swallowed. It had been a long time since she’d taken a lover and Jericho certainly wasn’t the sort she was usually drawn to. She liked uncomplicated guys, ones who had sensible jobs and career goals. Bad boys were nothing but trouble and she was too old and tired for that kind of ride. Jericho blinked, his head cocking to the side.

  ‘Someone’s here.’

  She listened, but couldn’t hear anything. Getting to her feet, she dragged on her belt just as the station’s door opened with a click. She glanced at Jericho, wondering how this was going to play out.

  ‘Look,’ she said, suddenly feeling awkward. ‘Maybe I was a little out of line, hauling you in here. You’ve got every right to file a complaint against myself and Novak.’ She paused, collecting her thoughts and not wanting to seem like she was begging for him to forget about tonight. ‘Is there really nothing you can give me?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ Jericho stared into his cup. ‘But whoever killed Anna Lewis will pay. You can be sure of that.’

  ‘Lydia?’

  She swore as Bowden’s voice broke the quiet. ‘In here,’ she called.

  Bowden approached, wearing a flak jacket, navy pyjama bottoms and unlaced boots. A beanie was pulled low on his head and he looked annoyed as he took in Jericho sitting on the cot. He grabbed Lydia, pulling her out of the cell. ‘What is he doing here? What were you thinking?’

  She pulled her arm from his grip. ‘I bought him in for disorderly conduct.’

  ‘What were you doing there in the first place?’

  ‘My job.’

&nb
sp; Bowden closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking like he was counting to ten. Lydia watched him warily, wondering if he was going to give her an official warning. The thought of it made her want to laugh. A warning. She’d never had to be disciplined before. She’d always been a good cop. A careful cop. Always followed procedure. But that had been before. In the after, she felt disconnected from her judgement, unsure. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself, or her reasoning. She could see Bowden calculating the damage she’d done and wondered again about the details of his arrangement with Jericho.

  ‘I’m going to drive him back to the bar,’ he said. ‘Then you and I are going to have a long chat.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You can’t sweep into town and start to push people around, constable.’ Bowden’s voice rose. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Look. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. But you’ve got to understand, this isn’t a big city. We do things different here in Camden and you’d better get used to it quick smart, or you’re not going to last.’

  Chapter 11

  By the time Jericho got back to Dusty Roads, the night crowd had well and truly settled in. The trip back with Bowden had been in a tense silence and Jericho wondered if it was because the senior sergeant was worried Lydia had done damage to their arrangement. He didn’t bother saying anything, didn’t see the point in reassuring the man. In fact, it was probably best Bowden came down hard on his new constable about sticking her nose into the Diablo Dogs’ business.

  Of course, none of it mattered if she was on borrowed time and the virus took hold. If she was infected, it changed everything. He tried and failed to push all thoughts of Lydia aside, not wanting to think of her fate and his role in it. He hadn’t fully reverted and that had to count for something, and while he wasn’t a religious man, his hard-working single mum had been, and in the quiet of the drive Jericho found himself silently making deals with a God he wasn’t sure he believed in.