He stumbled from the weight, and I watched in silence as he righted himself. He walked to a police cruiser, opening the door to release a K-9 officer. A quick pat on the shepherd’s head, and we started down a narrow trail, forcing two people to walk shoulder to shoulder.
I’d chosen to walk beside Lincoln, who I was willing to guess wasn’t an agent of anything. He didn’t carry himself like one, and his freshly polished shoes with dirt crusted to the soles told me he hadn’t been prepared to observe the dogs at their secret training facility, as indicated earlier. His shoulder brushed against mine, and I turned to study the way he tensed at the slight touch.
I felt an electric current that only came from being near one of my kind. Lincoln’s gaze hadn’t wandered to me, but his posture had gone stiff as he walked surefooted through the overgrown path. If he’d felt it, he played stupid rather well.
We rounded a corner, and my foot slid through some mud, sending me precariously close to the edge. Lincoln grabbed me, pulling me against him to keep me from toppling over. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded from our proximity. His hands slowly released my waist, fully aware of the guns on my hips.
Silver eyes flashed with intrigue, but he simply fixed his coat and tie before starting forward again. He didn’t seem fazed by being surrounded by hunters, which was worrisome. Only someone suicidal or one who knew they’d survive the encounter wouldn’t show some flicker of worry. I wasn’t sure which would be worse. Suicidal people were unpredictable. Knowing Lincoln could escape meant he was powerful, and I had no idea what the hell he was. I also didn’t think he was out here alone. I’d sensed someone watching our movements the entire time we’d been on the trail. It had little to do with my team flanking us, or the scouts hidden in the thickly treed forest.
A babbling brook and water falling against rocks could be heard through the trees ahead of us. Insects chirped, uncaring of the hunters in the woods. The sounds of the dog’s feet clumsily crunching brush alerted me that other creatures were also within the area. The K-9 officer leading us wasn’t padding through the thicker terrain, indicating coyotes or wolves were being drawn in by the scent of the corpse. Predators wouldn’t care what their meal was made of, as long as they got to eat.
An eagle sounded above, and I glanced at the sky, seeing the hawk of our hunter, Clara, flying beside it. It squawked twice before diving lower to avoid conflict with the eagle. I turned to find Lincoln observing me closely, and I released a sigh of relief, knowing that other teams were out looking for the trail our killer had taken.
“You don’t seem all that upset about identifying your father’s remains,” he uttered in a thickly accented voice, which he hadn’t used until now.
“Allegedly,” I informed coolly, smirking at the disgruntled sound he made in his throat. “For all we know, it could be a hiker that wandered off the trail.”
“And yet you identified your dad’s wallet, which was found yards away from the deceased,” he pointed out crassly, scrutinizing my reaction.
Lincoln wasn’t hard on the eyes, and his height gave him an advantage over most men. His hair was light-colored, and the sharp angular lines of his features spoke of Norwegian descent. He didn’t have the woodsy scent that werewolves carried or the rich, exotic smell of a vampire, I noted, still trying to identify his species. He lifted his hand, checking his watch, exposing tattoos that covered his forearm from the wrist up.
“My dad loved hiking this canyon. He could have dropped it here during one of his treks,” I offered after a moment. “We don’t have the most honest citizens in the world, but they’re not the worst, either. I prefer to hope and believe he’s out there alive somewhere, and not a burned and bloodied corpse.”
“Hope is nothing more than a false narrative derived by dreamers to strengthen their resolve against the brutal truth, Miss Anderson.” Lincoln didn’t bother to hide the heavy accent that reminded me of Leif Knight, which meant he was probably Norwegian by birth, just as I had suspected.
“Is that Norwegian or Danish origin I detect?” I asked, unwilling to discuss hope with a total stranger.
“You have blue eyes. Should I assume you’re Norwegian?” He was blatantly ignoring Tanner, who was still rattling on about the woods. “No, because they’re cosmetic, and you wear the contacts to hide the fact that your green eyes are not human.” He smirked, fluidly changing his accent to Middle Eastern, shifting my attention to his full mouth. “The simplicity of your face and form give you away, hunter. You move gracefully and are defensive. Your senses are greatly heightened, which is why you have yet to stop tracking others through the forest by sound alone.”
I peered around the trail, realizing we’d been left behind while I’d been distracted by the puzzle Lincoln presented. I pulled my handgun on him, but he’d done the same. My chest rose and fell as I cleared everything else from my mind, focusing on him and the situation.
A gun barrel pressed against the back of my head, and his lips twisting into a smile until a pistol was pressing against his as well. I grinned, holding my gun ready as no one made a sound or moved a muscle. The noise of feet crunching beneath brush had sweat trickling against my temples.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded coldly.
He snorted, never looking away from me. “I could ask the same of you.” Lincoln, or whatever his name really was, wasn’t afraid to be shot, appearing to believe he could survive it. That was never a good sign.
The sheriff broke through the trail, swearing as the scene came into view. One of Lincoln’s people aimed his weapon at him, forcing me to point my other handgun at his man. It was a stalemate, and we knew it, but Jeffery didn’t.
“Which agency are you with?” Lincoln changed tactics.
“Who says I am with any agency?” I fought the strain it took to hold two guns pointed in opposite directions. Sweat trickled down my neck, and the tension between us was thickening, which meant sooner or later, someone was getting shot.
“Let’s all calm down,” Jeffery demanded, holding his hands in the air.
My gaze slid to the tattoo on Lincoln’s wrist, and a smile twisted my lips. “E.V.I.E. huh?” I asked, watching his stare zeroing in on my bare arms. My tattoos weren’t visible unless I wore a backless shirt.
“You?” he asked, glaring at me with the look of a killer. “Hunters guild?” he questioned, tilting his head.
“Indeed,” I replied carefully.
“Same team then, little girl.”
“Not entirely,” I stated, as we lowered our weapons. “I should call Rhys Van Helsing and have you sent packing for being in our territory.”
“Rhys doesn’t lead E.V.I.E. anymore, Miss Anderson,” he growled, nodding at his people to lower their guns.
A quick jut of my chin had my hunters following suit. One of Lincoln’s men still pointed his weapon at Jeffery, causing my hackles to rise.
“The sheriff is one of ours. Lower your fucking weapon, now,” I hissed, watching a pair of crimson eyes slide toward me. “I will not ask you again.”
“Do as she said,” Lincoln ordered. “I take it you’re in charge? You’re a little young for the role, aren’t you?”