I pull my gun. “Lane! Get on the fucking ground, and we’ll take care of the wolf.”
Lane’s gaze darts my way.
“You heard me!” I bark. “On the ground now.”
He spins and kicks at Dalton, aiming for his wounded knee, and rage fills me, the kind of rage that let me shoot Blaine Saratori, the kind that had me put a bullet through Val’s head. But I learn. Each time, I learn because I can never pull this trigger and not question afterward. With Blaine, I have every reason to question. I made a mistake. With Val, I did not, but I still suffer for it, wonder if there’d been a way to protect Dalton without killing her.
This time, there is no question. Dalton isn’t in lethal danger—Lane is just really, really pissing me off, trying to literally throw Dalton to the wolves.
So I shoot, but it’s aimed over them. The gunfire startles Lane, and it warns Dalt
on, and between the two, Lane’s kick is aborted as Dalton dodges. Lane comes out running as he tears into the forest. The wolf starts to go after him, and my idiot lover leaps between them.
“No!” Dalton shouts, startling the wolf, which skids to a halt.
Dalton’s bigger than Lane, and he’s making himself bigger still, puffed up, gun out, shouting at the wolf. Personally, I’d let the damned beast go after the bastard, but this is why, no matter which roles we play best, the “good cop” is the guy in front of me.
The canine stands his ground but shows no sign of attacking. Storm is fine, and her attacker is gone, and the wolf himself seems all right. He approaches Storm, stiff-legged, and we let them do the sniff-greeting again. Of course, he’s hoping for a reward from his rescued damsel, but this time, as soon as he sniffs behind her, she snarls and spins away, and after one more halfhearted try, he lopes into the forest.
“Sorry!” I say. “No reward sex for you.” I turn to Dalton. “And definitely none for you. What the hell was that? Coming between a confessed killer and a wolf?”
He pauses and then says, “I was worried about the wolf.”
“Right answer.” I lift up to peck his cheek. “Even if it’s utter bullshit, and you just saw a dangerous situation and decided to play hero by leaping into the middle of it.”
“I didn’t actually leap in. I was looking for a way to break it up.”
“Refereeing a wolf fight?” I shake my head. “I don’t think the wolf would have listened. Hell, I don’t think either of them would have.” I look in the direction Lane went. “So I guess we’re stuck tracking him.”
“Is Storm okay?”
He bends to pet the dog, and I hand him the flashlight and point out the damage.
“I should stitch her,” I say, “but we have surgical strips in our packs at camp. That’ll do. We just need some way to mark this spot so we can pick up Lane’s trail after.”
Dalton digs into his pocket, and I’m about to point out that tying a marker to a tree won’t work at night. Instead he pulls out a package of surgical strips.
“The man comes prepared,” I say as I take them.
“Do I get reward sex for that?”
“You just might. Now hold her steady while I clean the wound and plaster it shut.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Once Storm’s fine, we track Lane. It’s easy at first. He doesn’t have a flashlight or a lantern. In winter, under a three-quarter moon, the reflection off the snow is enough. However, that leads to a quandary for Lane. More open land means better light but deeper snow. His choices are clear sight or easy movement. He tries both, racing through thicker woods, and probably tripping over an obstacle or two until he veers to less dense forest, and then staggers through knee-deep snow. Eventually he finds a happy medium. He’s still walking through snow, though, meaning we barely need Storm to track him.
At some point, he must realize that and he heads for the foothills. There he finds windswept rock to run across, and Storm earns her keep then. Ultimately, though, we lose him. Storm is wounded, and she’s been up since her wolf suitor came to call yesterday morning. She isn’t the only one flagging either. When Lane plays one too many tricks on us, we run out of the patience needed to keep Storm on target. We also run out of the will to push her when she’s so obviously exhausted.
Lane has confessed to killing Ellen. He’s a threat to Nancy, but … While I won’t say that’s the Second Settlement’s problem, I have no jurisdiction here. The dead woman was their friend. The killer is their resident. I have no right to keep investigating. I will, if they ask for help, but I have a baby momma to find, and solving this crime doesn’t get me any closer to resolving that one.
When Dalton came after me, he’d told Tomas to take Nancy home. That’s where we go, and it’s seven in the morning by the time we get there. It’d have been longer if we backtracked, but I’m blessed to be with a guy who doesn’t need to follow his own footprints to find his way in the forest.
Tomas and Nancy haven’t told the elders anything. They’re waiting to talk to us, and I fear that means they want us to cover for Lane. They don’t. He didn’t kill Ellen in self-defense. He has no excuse and no remorse, and he followed up one cold-blooded murder by attempting another, this time against the woman who raised him.
I can blame a twisted sense of loyalty to his uncle or the homophobic teachings of his settlement, but neither is an excuse for murder. Whatever his father and the settlement taught him, Tomas and Nancy raised him in a loving and open-minded home.
We speak to the elders with Tomas and Nancy. Lane will face their judgment. They’ll wait for him to return, protecting Nancy and the children, and if Lane doesn’t come back, then yes, they would appreciate our help finding him.