Hunter's Arrow

By Lori Libby

Belen Cass is a reporter desperate to identify a killer and launch her career. A fourth body leads to the quiet Myles Hunter. Can she trust him?

 

Myles Hunter, private investigator, knows what links the victims. Can he catch a killer without being accused? What should he do about Belen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590884744

Book preview

Dedication

To Ted

all my love and deepest thanks for the support.

Cheryl and Maria

for never letting me give up on myself.

To Janelle and Kendra

who lay out the bitter truth when a scene doesn’t work.

One

DAMN BASTARD, HUNTER whistled through clenched teeth while moving at a dead run. Blood, metallic and pungent assailed his sensitive nose. Not much blood, he thought as he again sniffed the air. Maybe Tice was still okay. Always impatient.

Close, just not close enough. With quick agile moves, he stripped off his clothes to prevent them from tearing as his transformation began. Hunter’s muscles loosened, thickened, began to physically change. Pain shot through his adrenaline-driven body. He collapsed to the sidewalk, movement impossible as his body morphed. Muscles shortened. Power compacted to increase strength. Black silver tipped hair pushed through pores of sweat soaked skin. Hunter’s jaw stretched outward. Bones cracked like dry twigs. He howled in agony.

Damn. The single word emanated from his mouth a growl, primal and raw. Why didn’t he wait?

Hunter’s senses sharpened. Smells wafted toward him: bath water scented with roses, sweat from a couple screwing, and Tice’s blood. Eyes searched the night. The effort wasted for all he could see was the capital building. In the shadows of the marble and granite, adrenaline surged power through his system in a cool quenching flood. Again, bones rent and mended in a painful symphony. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes to wait out the change from a six-foot plus frame to wolf.

Impatience coursed through him as he waited. He would be too late. The stench of blood and death grew stronger. In his gut, Hunter had known Tice’s plan to catch the killer was weak and still he acquiesced. Hunter took the time, the precious few moments that now seemed a mistake, and called in the others from the Northern Pack while Tice snuck out so arrogant and self-assured.

Frustration and rage ripped through him, the transformation too slow this night. He howled a long mournful cry as the scent of death filled his every nerve. Tice lost his life to an unseen enemy. At a full run, Hunter followed his sensitive nose.

The lifeless mound in the middle of the park was a morbid statue to the fate of his friend. Hunter refused to run to Tice to affirm the obvious. Endorphins, sweat and fear mixed together in an evil concoction that belied the closeness of the killer. Hunter searched the night with sharp eyes. Nothing. Twigs snap a hundred yards away and feet pounded the earth. Vibrations traveled to his paws to give direction and speed. Head down, Hunter began to slip in and out of shadows in search of prey.

The natural instincts took over as Hunter settled into the natural cadence of hunting prey. Mindless as the process was for him, he wished for the rest of the pack, his friends, his family. Strength in numbers, power in loyalty, safety as friends watched for dangers one alone may miss. Endowed with the skills of the wolf, he was still human and prone to lapses in judgment. Hunter would answer to the pack for allowing Tice to slip out on his own.

The sound of sneakers on the ground at a dead run filled his ears. The distance between them closed as he ran on four strong legs. The man ran as if the devil himself were behind him. Hunter howled. The man in front of him froze. The scent of terror filled his snout and cheered his soul.

Hunter set his legs and bared his teeth. He studied the older man in front of him. Body odor smacked him in the face and he cursed his sense of smell. The man’s torn jeans and dirty red flannel shirt was far too warm for July, the man looked homeless. Sharp, intelligent blue eyes stared back at him. The man was terrified but no fool.

Nice doggie. Easy boy. The man backed away while facing Hunter. Nice doggie. Big doggie. Good boy.

Hunter released a low growl. Dark and dangerous, he moved forward. The man pulled out a gun as if that could ward Hunter off. He wanted to tear the man’s throat out. In human form, he is able to control the basic instincts of the animal part of him. As a wolf, those instincts intensified to dangerous levels. He found the urge to rip the man apart barely controllable. Patience. He would bide his time, fight the urge. The man before him held answers he needed. Answers the pack needed about the slayings of others.

Nice doggie.

Nice doggie? The voice floated in from Hunter’s right and he recognized Terry Keagen instantly. Asshole, you have no idea what can of worms you opened. Doggie doesn’t even begin to cover what you are about to witness. Hey, Hunter.

Got here as fast as we could, A second voice, Kevin Trace, filled the night Damn Tice for being so hot headed. Knew he’d end up killing himself.

Hunter began the transformation back to human form. Painful as the process could be, it fed him rather than sapped energy. He forced himself to relax and the pain lessened. There was a time when shifting had been foreign and scary, but that was years ago before control was achieved. Hunter watched the man who waved the gun around a bit too much for his liking. Hunter’s vocal cords changed enough for words, Gun.

Sorry, Trace said as he stepped forward to take the gun from the man who suddenly smelled like urine. The gun fell from the man’s hand. With lightening reflexes, Trace caught the firearm before it hit the ground. Hey, dude, if you can’t hold onto your weapon maybe you should stay out of the game.

Tell us who you’re working for, Keagen stated with a cold hard edge that proved to be the last straw. The man fainted.

Boss, he stinks.

Yes he does. Got my extra clothes? It’s late but not too late that someone could come along and I’m a bashful man.

Here. Keagen tossed a small pack to Hunter who promptly pulled the jeans and sweatshirt on.

Tice was supposed to wait for all of you to get here, Hunter replied as he looked back over his shoulder to where the body lay.

He was young and full of himself. Can’t blame yourself for that.

I should have known.

We can debrief later. What are we going to do with Mr. Courage here? Trace asked.

I’ll give him credit, Keagen replied as he poked the man with his boot. He had guts enough to face Tice. Even in human form Tice was a force to be reckoned with.

So he is dead?

Yes. Checked him myself.

Okay let’s take this bastard back. We’ll have to question him there. We’ve been out in the open a bit to long for my liking, Hunter said as the wails of sirens were heard. What did I tell you?

That’s why you are the boss, Trace replied with a quick nod of his head.

Age has its advantages, Keagen added.

Hunter closed his eyes and drew in a long slow breath. Easy, there. You want to challenge me? Bring it on. I will whip your young ass.

I’ll pass. I don’t have a death wish.

See to it that you never forget. I wouldn’t like it but I would take you down.

You get no argument from me. Keagen bent his blond head and stepped back in submission.

Hunter sighed. He hated that who he was necessitated such harsh rebukes. Keagen’s a good man and an even better friend. The beast within each of them, however, demanded both to test and defend the limits of the natural order. Friendly banter could turn to a bitter battle without much provocation. Hunter maintained the balance and stepped on any of his friends who crossed the line even by an inch.

The sirens, Boss, Trace called his attention back to the present.

The sirens were too close to allow them to pick up either Tice or the man lying in a heap. Leave him. With the gun and Tice, the police will arrest him. Probably lock him up for a 72-hour observation in the mental ward anyway. He’ll be spouting off about werewolves in the park.

Let’s go, Keagen replied without looking into Hunter’s eyes.

Hunter smiled. While they always discussed all pack matters together, he was Alpha. None of the younger men tried to make a claim as Alpha, but it would only be a matter of time. As human as they were, instinct of the wolf still made the rules. At thirty-five, Hunter still had a few good years left in him. Years he didn’t want to give up yet.

BELEN SAT AT THE COMPUTER in her cubicle and pushed her light brown hair behind her ear. The small chair on wheels squeaked as she pulled herself into typing position. The small confining space too much like a coffin, closed in around her. She sighed as she stared into the electronic sea of data the computer attached her too. Belen sat at the messy desk and searched for information, for the key out of special interests to the front page, from the cubicle to the corner office. She graduated with a BS in English from the University of Maine just like Stephen King. Belen worked her tail off and kissed all the right butts to land her squarely in the cubicle she rotted in now.

I’m done kissing butt, she muttered under her breath. She looked at the scrapbook that had been kept on her desk of all the articles she’d written. Her father’s face starred back from the small picture frame by the phone. I know. I’m 27 and all I have to show for it is this? I’m going to make it no matter what you said.

She looked again at the screen in front of her. The statistics were clear. Maine was not a hot bed of violence and mayhem. According to the statistics page, Maine had 39 murders in 1989. The most murderous year since 1960, a serial killer is a fantastic possibility. Maine’s first and only brush with a serial killer had been a couple of sightings of Andrew Kunanan’s Toyota pick up out on I-95.

Guilt slid down her back like a thief to steal her revelry. It wasn’t cool to her that people died. Three dead men, all found in rural woodlands. One was found in Durham, one in Winthrop, and one in Wales. None of them were killed where they were found. The bodies, carefully placed, were not discovered until the police received a call with an exact location. With a few clicks of the mouse, she brought up the web articles on the murders to read yet again. The stray strands of hair again slide down into her line of vision. She shoved it back behind her ear.

Glen, her police contact and ex-boyfriend gave her a heads up whenever the calls came in. A smile crossed her face at the thought of Glen falling all over himself as he tried to get back into her good graces. He didn’t have a chance but, not assigned to the crime beat, she needed the help. In between her assigned stories about church potluck suppers, craft fairs, and the thrill of the occasional fair, she investigated crime on the side. She pushed her glasses back up her nose and closed her eyes; they ached from the hours she spent in front of the monitor. She lost all sense of time in her little cubicle. The clock in the corner of her computer read 12:18 AM. She needed to go home, to get some sleep.

William Tell’s Overture shattered the low hum of computers and keyboards tapped by bleary-eyed reporters. Belen reached to the cell phone beside the computer.

Belen Cass.

Hey baby. How’s it going, Diana? Glen asked in that fake ‘I care about you’ tone that did nothing but prove the only mistake she made was not dumping him quick enough.

Hi, Glen. Got something for me? Belen didn’t even try to hide the annoyance that flooded her words. Born Diana Belen Cass, she preferred Belen to Diana. He liked Diana better and refused to use Belen. That fact in hindsight would be enough to send a normal woman running for her life.

Well, that all depends. Seems that the cops found a body in Capital Park after a citizen called in some wolf howling. Wolves in Maine? I don’t think so. Maybe way up north. I think the ones they reintroduced here a couple of years ago have all hightailed it back to Canada. Anyway, it’s probably a coyote. Now there is a critter that can be found anywhere. Got friends in West Gardiner, about ten miles from Augusta, who hunt the stupid things every chance they get. You wanna go out Saturday?

I’d rather shoot myself, Belen thought as she grabbed a pen and her notepad. What about the body? Is it another victim?

No one’s saying, but the FBI is flying up to Augusta at break neck speed. The body’s fresh and he was killed there. If our boy killed him, it’s the first murder scene they’ve had. Kind of funny that the police station is down there off to the right, huh?

Glen, please just tell me about the murder.

Anyway, the guy has no visible wounds just like the other victims. The bodies all look like they are sleeping; only they’re dead. They have asked for the coroner.

Anything else? Belen recoiled at the callous tone in his voice.

They are taking a man to Augusta General. He’s lost it. Keeps saying something about werewolves. Back to the howling, huh? Some people are so off their rocker it’s hilarious, Glen paused to take a breath. Diana, don’t go up there. You won’t get close enough to get anything. I just thought you would appreciate the heads up. Maybe take pity on the foolish man who didn’t know what he had until it was gone.

I didn’t hold a gun up to your head and make you screw those other... never mind. Hey look, I’m going to let you go. Keep me informed. You have my number. Belen hung up the phone.

Augusta, here I come. Belen gathered her stuff, turned off the computer and ran for her car. She needed to beat Steve Langdon, the official crime beat reporter. This was her break, the one chance to prove to everyone that she could make it on her own.

CAPITAL PARK WAS RIGHT in front of the domed building that housed the legislative branch for the state. The park, while normally dark without lights in or around it, shined bright as day. Belen parked her car in the vacant lot beside the state building and walked across the street to the chaos of the crime scene. Cops stood around the yellow tape while others worked the scene with an efficiency that surprised her. The state crime lab people didn’t have much practice for their skills, yet they worked as a thorough team.

Belen slipped her press credentials around her neck and approached the yellow tape with a confidence she prayed covered her nervousness. A cop met her half way.

Excuse me, Miss but you can’t be here. There is nothing to see. We have everything under control.

I’m a reporter. I have my pass right here. She waved the plastic id to draw his attention to it. What happened?

Shit, the cop swung back to face the suits. Press is here.

Bloody hell, came a sharp retort from an older man in a gray suit coat at least twenty years out of date. He came forward to greet Belen. How did that happen so quickly?

It’s Maine. These bodies are the biggest news since the dead whales floated up onto the coast. She smiled sweetly. Her grandmother’s words echoed in her ear. You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Look. We don’t know if this death is related to the others or not. Go home and we will have a press release as soon as there is something to tell. The man turned his back dismissing her as if she were a child.

What about the man you took to the hospital? He was screaming about werewolves. You got a call from a person who reported howls. Care to comment?

No. Now please let me get back to my job. Parker, keep her back. Better yet escort her to her car.

Yes, sir. The cop adjusted his hat and extended her arm in the direction she came from with a smirk on his face. Shall we go?

Belen stepped back in capitulation and nodded to give the officer a false since of security. Suddenly, she turned on her heel and darted under the under the yellow tape. Grateful that the time in the gym had lent itself to more than fighting a slowing metabolism, she stood at the body before any of the police could stop her. Belen gasped. The man was young, barely out of his teens. Dead blue eyes stared right at her and through her. The body lay on the grassy park grounds. Nothing stuck out at odd angles. No bleeding could be seen from anywhere. The creepiest fact for Belen was that if the eyes were closed, he would look asleep. The creepiest fact for Belen was that if the eyes were closed, he would look asleep.

Miss, you are trampling on a crime scene, a male voice, deep and resonate, drew her attention. She turned to find a very tall man wearing jeans and a plaid button down shirt standing beside her. He waved off the officer who was about to escort her from the scene.

I’m a reporter. I have a right to find out what is going on here. The man smiled but in the eerie half-light of the police cars, his eyes were cold and black.

Yes, you do, the man replied in a voice so soft she could barely hear him. But John Doe here has a right to talk first. We need all the evidence we can gather from him. Maybe, just maybe he can lead us to his killer, if there is one. It’s also probable that that Mr. Doe wasn’t murdered.

But it’s a vacant park. The others were left...

In desolate places not a city park. Now if you leave me your card, I’ll get back to you soon. Let me do my job. I’ll help you do yours.

What’s your name?

Trace, Kevin Trace, coroner for the state of Maine. He smiled to reveal perfectly straight white teeth. And you?

Belen Cass, reporter for the Portland Register.

I’ve never heard of you. I thought Steve Langdon covered crime. A shiver slid down her spine as his soft voice almost caressed her, almost touched her.

Ah, well, he does normally but I was in the office tonight and came up here right away. I guess I should go and phone him... Tell him about what I’ve found out... I’ll be waiting for you to live up to your end of the bargain. But don’t keep me on hold too long. The people have a right to know.

His dark hair and eyes made him look devilish as he stared at her, studied her, and almost seemed to look into her mind. The sharp lines of his jaw twitched as she broke eye contact.

Oh Miss Cass, you can rest assured I’ll keep my end of the bargain. I’ll deal with you shortly.

Two

HUNTER PACED HIS SMALL office. Regardless of Trace and Keagen’s assurances, guilt ate at his soul. Tice was just a kid, barely twenty. Hunter understood the power youth wielded over those who thought they couldn’t be hurt. He understood the risks taken by the young, foolish chances that should be a learning experience in one’s own mortality, not the final solution.

He sat in his leather chair behind the desk full of paper work. A month of Sunday’s couldn’t touch the pile. Stella, his assistant, on his dime, had taken a well deserved vacation and would be back on Monday. An organizational freak, she would whip the office back into shape in a matter of hours.

The current cases, Hunter passed off to his other investigators. He wanted to track down the person behind the murders the papers dubbed the Slayer. The speculation that the killer was a woman going through menopause turned his stomach. Hunter believed the killer might be female, but why blame it on hormone imbalances? His mother popped to mind. Her face covered in a perpetual smile and eyes as bright as stars. Hormones had never ruled his mother or his

sisters. Assumptions never sat right with him.

He stood again to start pacing the floor. He moved to the single window overlooking the street. Why was someone killing shape shifters? The other three victims weren’t from Maine. They were dumped here as a message to them, to him. But why? Ed Tice was a victim from Maine. Unintended? Hunter couldn’t be sure. Was the killer working from a list?

The phone rang and his thoughts scattered like mice to their holes.

Hunter Investigations.

Knew you’d be there. Don’t you ever go home? Trace asked as the connection faded in and out until it unceremoniously died.

Hunter hung up the cordless and dialed Trace back on a secure landline. What?

Snippy, aren’t you? You spend too much time in that office. You need to get laid a little more.

I don’t need advice from you. It’s a wonder your dick hasn’t fallen off from some disease. Hunter laid his forehead onto the cool glass of the window. The conversation comforted his mind as he tried to piece the puzzle together. .

Hey, I’m enjoying every little bit of tail I can get. I’m thirty-two, not eighty. Trace paused for a little laugh at his own comment. Anyway, Tice has the tell tale pin prick in his neck. I’d say he was onto something with the Blind Date web site. Could be our killer is indeed a woman. I can’t be official about the cause of death until the autopsy tomorrow, but odds are that wolfs bane extract will be in his blood stream.

I’m surprised that the reporters haven’t jumped on to that little tidbit.

Hey we cops like to keep things out of the press. Helps sort out the crazies.

You aren’t a cop Trace.

Close enough. Trace said.

Hunter raked his fingers through his black hair. A nervous habit whenever he worried. Facing the Tice family was not going to be easy. He blew out a breath in exasperation.

You okay? Trace broke back into his thoughts. We didn’t get a chance to debrief before I had to take off. Tice was young, dumb and full of cum. You can’t blame yourself. He went off half cocked, like Custer to the slaughter.

What if the killer isn’t a woman, but pretended to be one to lure out the man and then do him in? Hunter asked more to himself as an attempt to change the subject. Tice’s angle on the killer was an Internet dating service. Again his mind drifted back to the killer being a woman.

Maybe, but there’s no way that man in the park was connected. He didn’t know about us. His reaction to your shift was proof enough for me, Trace added with a sigh of pure frustration.

True. I don’t know. Why shape shifters? Our bloodlines have never been the monsters of legend. We have always tried to live our lives as normal people. Hell, we don’t have to change if we don’t want to. I don’t get it.

Whoever our killer is, she or he is getting closer to us. Tice proves it. Who would want to get us? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe the person is after shifters?

We’ll need to be more careful. No one answers a personal ad without letting someone else know all the particulars. Whoever did this is smart and now aware we’re onto him or her making our suspect far more dangerous.

Understood. Hey, I’m going over to the hospital in a minute to check on our blithering idiot. You were right, he did go on and on about werewolves. Even pointed me out to the police as one of them. No, no one believed him so quit worrying about that. It comes in handy to be the coroner.

Do we know someone who can get me into the ward to talk to the guy?

Might scare him to death. Then we’ll be back at square one.

He wouldn’t have the guts to die before he tells me what he knows, Hunter said through clenched teeth as he tried to beat down the anger over the whole situation. His mind searched for some clue as to who hated shifters enough to kill them.

Heather, Heather Baxter works first shift over there. She loves the Trace man. If I promise her a night of hot sex, she’ll let you in to see him. It’ll work for me too. Trace laughed. I’ll set it up for tomorrow morning. I’ll call you with a time.

No. Come over here with the details. I should kick your ass for even calling me on a cell phone. You know there is no privacy on those things.

You shouldn’t be so leery of technology. Techno stuff good.

"I’m a firm believer in technology. Computers are a

huge help, but when I want something private, cell phones aren’t the way to go. Hunter defended himself from Trace’s tease. Anyone with a scanner can pick up what we are talking about. None of us wants to announce our existence to the world."

Sorry. I almost forgot a reporter showed up earlier. Cute little thing with brown curls and large doe’s eyes and smelling all feminine and flowery. Anyway, she barged into the crime scene. I have to go talk to her. I think she is trying to sneak onto the story. Steve Langdon usually covers crime for the Register. Might have to try a piece of her too.

The press got there already? Hunter sat down. Careful. She may be our killer.

I think she has a snitch on the force. Her name is Cass, C-A-S-S. Oh, she backed away from the cop who approached her. She even bowed her head in a bit of a nod.

Stop trying to set me up. I’m not looking. He rubbed the back of his neck. I’m happily single.

I’m telling you instinctually she submitted like all our kinds mates.

Trace...

Okay, but I don’t think you’re happily single. I think you are still hiding because of what happened with Katie.

Well I’m not. Hunter shot out with far more denial than he intended. Even you would be a little gun shy if you were in my shoes.

I was there too, man. Don’t forget, I was there too.

"Okay. I’ll run her name through the databases