Jonah sat in the coffee shop in Eagle Pass sipping the dark brew in his mug and watching the people around him. The little restaurant was crowded with people of all ages and shapes. His first morning in Eagle Pass he discovered it was a place where people gathered to exchange gossip and share news. Now he hung out whenever possible, letting the babble of dialogue wash over him, his enhanced hearing allowing him to eavesdrop. The conversation for the past three days had been focused on the bodies of the hunters and the deer and he listened quietly and carefully. And he'd listened to the old legends being hashed and rehashed, sometimes with fear, sometimes with the bravado of the locals who thought they could bring it down. But no one had a lead to follow. Nothing to hang a hat on.
Every so often he'd single out someone whose words hinted they might be amenable to an interview. His carefully constructed cover allowed him to poke and prod without standing out like a sore thumb. This was a close community and strangers were like onions in a sunflower patch. So he had with him credentials identifying him as a reporter for National Crime Magazine, which just happened to be owned by Stafford Enterprises. His story was that he'd been writing stories about the Chupacabra for some time and wanted information about the latest killings.
The past two days he'd been watching to see if the woman from the cabin came in here. He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. All he had to do was close his eyes and remember her and his cock hardened and his balls ached.
Great. He was supposed to be hunting a killer, not thinking about sex.
Of course, that was part of the problem with being a shifter. Lust always simmered just below the surface. His human genes helped him to control it so he wasn't indulging in orgies of mindless fucking, but that woman had roused something in him besides pure lust. Something he didn't have time for right now.
Trouble was, he knew he'd have to go back there because it was the last place he'd picked up the scent. And at the moment, he had no other leads. He'd tried interviewing the sheriff and the coroner but for the most part had been given the cold shoulder. Somehow he needed to talk to someone who had actually seen the fresh kill and get a look at the crime scene photos.
The big stumbling block was the reluctance of John Denby, the sheriff, to admit this could be the Chupacabra. As if just mentioning the beast would bring it to life right in their midst, but denying it could make it go away. The sheriff was torn between looking for some crazed killer and calling in the local game warden. Jonah was well aware he couldn't just hang around here indefinitely without drawing unwanted questions. He'd have to go to Plan B, which at the moment he didn't have.
He had just decided to order some breakfast when he saw Denby walk in with one of his deputies. The day after he'd landed in Eagle Pass Jonah had introduced himself to the sheriff as a writer following stories about the Chupacabra and asking about the killings. Denby hadn't been very receptive and had given him only what he'd passed along to the media.
Now the man looked around, waved and smiled at a few people, but when he spotted Jonah he and the other man headed straight for the table.
"Morning, Sheriff." Jonah nodded at him.
"Morning." He pointed to the man standing beside him. "Meet Enoch Brazile, one of my deputies. Okay if we join you here?"
"Sure." He studied Denby. "Something special on your mind?"
The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat opposite Jonah. Enoch Brazile took the chair next to him. No one said anything until the waitress had brought two more coffee mugs and served all around. Denby took his time stirring sweetener into his coffee, seemingly fixated on the contents of the mug. Brazile looked as if he'd like to make himself invisible, quite a trick for a man at least six five and built like a pickup truck.
Denby took a slow sip of his coffee and set the mug down carefully on the table.
"I'm still not near convinced that the dead hunters and the deer aren't the work of one of the feral hogs that run loose out there."
"You know the killer's not human," Jonah said, watching the man carefully.
Denby nodded. "A human would have left some kind of tracks. Also, I don't see how anyone could have gotten into that preserve without the owner knowing about it. He has men who patrol the area constantly while the hunters are out there, making sure everyone's okay."
"How long had it been since the last time anyone checked on those hunters?"
Denby made a face. "About three hours. The hunters go out while it's still dark to set up and the workers give them that much time before they start checking on them. Don't want to scare off the deer. But it's still unlikely a human could have scaled that ten–foot, steel fence and gotten out without leaving some kind of track behind." He took off his hat, rubbed his forehead and put the hat back on. "So. You say you've been chasing this thing called the Chupacabra for some time."
Jonah nodded. Had his cover sprung a hole and leaked? No, not possible. Craig Stafford never made mistakes. He waited to see what was really on the sheriff's mind.
"You asked if we'd had any other incidents like that around here recently and I told you no," Denby said.
"Yes, you did." Jonah kept his face blank.
"Well, Enoch here reminded me that about six months ago two of his neighbor's dogs were killed the same way." He shifted his eyes to the deputy, then back to his coffee. "At the time we chalked it up to coyotes. Despite what you might think," he added defensively, "we do have coyotes around here and they do kill small animals."
"I don't disagree with you, Sheriff. But the Chupacabra kills in a specific way. Puncture wounds in the neck, blood drained from the body and often the body ripped open and the entrails lying outside the body cavity."
He had to school himself to keep his voice uninflected. Every time he revisited this description it called up the image of Jenna lying on her backyard lawn, savagely destroyed. He didn't think the pain of that would ever go away.
"I hate to admit this to a civilian," Denby said in a tight voice, "but I'm at a loss here. We've checked and rechecked the scene where the hunters were found. Took a zillion photos. It looks like a coyote kill but no paw prints around the bodies." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "No prints at all except the hunters and the deer. And the bodies were destroyed the same way the dogs were. And no prints."
"We thought with the dogs it was because we hadn't had rain in a long time," Enoch broke in, "and the ground was too hard for impressions. But like the sheriff said, it was the same with the latest kills."
Both men looked as if they'd swallowed vinegar. As a former lawman himself, Jonah knew how difficult it was to admit to a civilian you could been mistaken and that person might have something to contribute.
"That's been pretty much the situation with all the cases I've researched," Jonah told him in an even voice. Excitement bubbled up deep inside him and he clamped a lid on it. They'd been right. This was definitely a kill by the devil beast. All the signs pointed to it.
"Well," Denby went on, "Enoch was talking to his neighbor last night and now we're wondering if it might not have been that damn Chupacabra after all." He shifted in his seat. "Anyway, we were wondering-Enoch and me, that is-if you might like to talk to his neighbor. If you've been writing articles about it you might be able to give us some more insight."
"Yeah." Enoch finally entered the conversation, his tone slightly defensive. "Sorry we gave you such a hard time the other day."
Jonah just tipped his head politely. He'd been too many years in the FBI not to know how lawmen felt about nosy civilians, and he had no intention of telling these people about his background. That would completely defeat his purpose. When billionaire Craig Stafford formed Night Seekers, pulling people from every aspect of law enforcement-public, private, state, federal-one of the caveats for each of them was to bury their past. The eight men and women, who each brought different skills to the team, moved forward as private citizens, hunting for the kill. The eradication of the devil beast.
As a shifter, like several of the other Night Seekers, he was able to hunt at night as the wolf. But so far that had proved fruitless. He'd lost the scent and hadn't been able to pick it up again.
He shook himself mentally and dragged his mind back to the conversation. John Denby was looking at him as if he expected an answer to something.
"Yes. I'd like to talk to the man. If you can arrange it, that would be great."
Denby took another swallow of his coffee. "I...um...wouldn't mind showing you the photos of the bodies. If you're still interested."
Yes! At last!
"Thanks, Sheriff. That would be a big help."
"And if you have any information you'd like to share, we'd appreciate it." Denby shifted uncomfortably. "You know, from some of your research. I know you writers do a lot of digging around."
Aha! So that was it. They had no answers and were hoping he could give them some. Denby looked as if he'd swallowed something unpleasant. He hadn't impressed Jonah as the type to ask anyone for anything. This was his territory and he was going to run things whatever way made him comfortable. Obviously giving credence to the Chupacabra was not high on his list. A sort of "deny it and it goes away" philosophy.
But the gossip in town had been escalating. Jonah picked up the rising undercurrent every day in the café so he was sure Denby was getting unwanted pressure.
He studied the sheriff, curious about his remark. "You think I could have found something you didn't?"
"You said you'd been digging up information on other so-called cases. Maybe there's something there that could be helpful to us." He frowned. "Unless you have some reason for not sharing it with us."
Jonah smiled. He could feed them just enough to keep them interested and on track, but the rest he'd keep to himself. "No problem." he agreed.
"How about if we do this right now?" Enoch asked. "My neighbor's home and said he'd talk to you and I don't want to take a chance he'll change his mind."
"Then let's get to it." Breakfast could wait.
Jonah picked his Stetson up from the chair and clamped it on his head, dropped some bills on the table for his coffee and followed the two men toward the door. He was about to step out onto the sidewalk when he nearly bumped into a customer coming in.
"Sorry," he murmured, then looked up to see who it was he'd nearly mowed down.
Her! The cabin woman!
Shit!