Night of the Wolves. Heather Graham

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      He had to stop the death toll. Now.

      She was waiting, leaning against the wall, a wicked smile upon her face as she waited with supreme anticipation. He stared at her for a moment, realizing with a sick feeling that she wasn’t the intended victim at all.

      “Excuse me?” she said, surprised when she saw Cody, and not the young man with whom she’d been flirting.

      “Good evening,” he said.

      She smiled and shivered, though it was far from cold. “Lovely night, actually. I’m Vivien La Rue. How do you do?”

      She stretched out a hand, and when he took it, she allowed her fingers to wander over his flesh.

      “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, playing along. “There’s a killer loose in the city.”

      He glanced toward the door. The young soldier had yet to emerge, but it might not be much longer until he showed. This would have to happen quickly.

      “Are you interested in other sorts of … entertainment?” he asked softly.

      She laughed and sized him up. “What might you have in mind? And what are you offering?”

      She moved closer and slid her arms around his neck, gazing up into his eyes. Something she saw there seemed to startle her, and she started to pull away.

      He didn’t let her. She let out a hissing sound and threw back her head, lips receding, teeth extending. She started to aim for his throat.

      But he was ready. And he was extremely strong. He slit her throat, instantly severing the jugular. Trying to avoid the spilling blood, he worked relentlessly, sawing, finally dropping both the body and the head to the ground as he made the final cut. In moments, nothing was left but a pile of ash.

      Grateful that the soldier had not yet made an appearance, he hurried out of the alley and straight to Aldridge’s office, where the lieutenant had promised to wait for word.

      Cody informed him that the killer had been found and, as he’d predicted, been killed.

      “Where’s the body?”

      “I’m afraid you won’t find it.” Suddenly, Cody realized Aldridge was looking at someone who was seated behind him, and he cursed himself. He should have sensed the other presence.

      He turned quickly to see a lean, dignified man of middle age. Cody recognized him as Brendan Vincent, a one-time brigadier general in the Union army, discharged on medical grounds, who had made his reputation in the Mexican War and was now honored by both sides in the current conflict.

      Vincent stood as Aldridge made the introductions and smiled grimly as he shook Cody’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, young man. I need you desperately.”

      “Oh?”

      “We’ve been having some trouble out West. In Texas.”

      Startled, Cody looked at Aldridge.

      Aldridge nodded grimly. “Yes, Texas, still a Southern state. But murder is murder, and Brendan is my cousin. He’s made Texas his home since his discharge, and … well, I’ll let him explain for himself.”

      “We’ve had a few … incidents recently. Whole towns disappearing, and I think we’re looking at the same kind of killer my cousin tells me you’ve now defeated twice. I’m desperate, Mr. Fox. I need you to come with me.”

      Cody winced, looking downward for a moment. Did he really want to go back there? Out West? Where he’d been conceived?

      “All right,” he said after a moment. “When do we leave?”

      “First thing in the morning.”

      “Exactly where are we going?” he asked.

      “We’re going to Victory, my boy.”

      At first he thought Vincent was trying to be poetic. Then it hit him.

      “Victory, Texas,” he breathed, and the other man nodded.

      Cody swore under his breath, cursing fate.

      If there was any place he hated, it was Victory, Texas.

      THE DREAM CAME UPON Alex as if she were watching a play. It was as if velvet curtains opened and stage lighting slowly illuminated the scene, a scene she went from watching to starring in. She was lying in her bed at first, but then she rose.

      The moonlight outside the window was so tempting. Or it might have been the shadows, like wings, like beckoning arms.

      They’d been warned to keep everything locked, but it was such a beautiful night. The outlaws were long gone, had ridden out of town, and the sound of the breeze against the windows was enticing. She wanted to feel the wind. Feel it lift her hair and caress her cheeks. It would be soft and balmy, as gentle as the moon glow. The breeze would lift the soft cotton of her gown, and she would feel its cool sensation on her flesh.

      For a few moments she hovered by her bed, but then, almost as if she were floating, she moved toward the French doors that led out to the balcony and pushed them open.

      And there was the moon. Not yet full, but it was a cloudless night, so perhaps that was why the moonlight seemed so strong. From her balcony, she could see virtually the entire town, except she couldn’t really see most of the houses, only the lights here and there where someone was keeping a lantern burning through the night.

      She saw the trees, the branches that had created the beckoning shadows she had been unable to resist. Though the breeze was gentle, the branches bowed and waved as if they were in fact greeting her. She slid her hands over the rail at the balcony’s edge and felt the wood beneath her hands, warm and supportive, as if it were something living. The air moved around her, and she blushed, even though she was alone, at the way she was seduced by the erotic feel of it. The fabric of her gown, like the shadows, seemed to touch her, to stroke her with arousing fingers.

      She needed to turn away.

      To go inside, to lock the door.

      To close away these feelings.

      But even as the thought gained a foothold in her mind, the shadows continued touching her, their touch palpable, sensuous. It was as if they had substance, as if they could take her and whisk her away into the night. The shadows were taking form, as if they were giant birds, or even bats, as if they had talons and could pluck her up from where she stood and fly with her, their prisoner, into the night.

      Into true darkness.

      A scream froze in her throat. The dream had become a nightmare. She reminded herself that she was strong, that she knew how to fight, how to shoot. But she had no weapon, and even if she did, shooting a shadow would be of no avail, and fighting the wind was a futile task.

      And then he was there.

      Just as suddenly as he had appeared that day. The tall man in the railroad duster and the hat dipping low over golden eyes.

      He stood СКАЧАТЬ