She studied her reflection in the big mirror above the vanity for a moment, groaning at the dark circles visible under her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised. She hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep in forever. Holding her hair back from her face ponytail style, she turned on the faucet and cupped water in her hand.
While she rinsed her mouth, she thought about the meeting she and the guys had with Jennifer Lloyd at her office that morning. They’d gone there to discuss her schedule and daily routine, hoping to start working out the details of how they were going to keep her safe, but while the prosecutor had said all the right things about appreciating their help and doing anything to help make their jobs easier, she’d seemed kind of cavalier when it came to the threat she was facing, vetoing every suggestion Zane made regarding even simple changes to her itinerary. Maybe Jennifer was so focused on taking down Alton Marshall she couldn’t think about anything else, even her own safety. It was hard to keep someone safe when they refused to believe they were in danger.
Rachel just finished rinsing her mouth when she felt something behind her. She couldn’t say if it was a sound she’d heard, a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, or merely her inner wolf sensing a presence, but whatever it was, she quickly spun around ready to defend herself. She didn’t see anything in the hallway just outside the door, so she tiptoed over to peek out. Her bedroom was empty, as was her living room—at least what she could see of them from where she stood. Holding on to the doorframe, she stepped into the hallway and sniffed the air, trusting her sense of smell to tell her if there was anyone in her apartment.
There wasn’t.
There never was.
Even so, Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. It was an unnerving sensation, and she swore the temperature in the apartment dropped ten degrees as goose bumps chased over her body.
Shivering, she turned to go back into the bathroom.
And froze.
Instead of her own reflection, a clown stared back at her from the mirror. Not just any clown, either, but the clown who’d tried to kill her in the graveyard that night.
Rachel screamed and stumbled back, fear gripping her even as she instinctively reached for a sidearm she wasn’t wearing right then. She whirled around, sure she was about to be attacked from behind, but no one was there. She was just as alone in her apartment as she’d been five seconds ago.
That didn’t stop her from thinking about running into the bedroom to grab her service-issued .45 caliber from her bedside table. But she quickly dismissed the idea. What the hell good would a gun do in a situation like this?
Telling herself she was seeing things, she slowly turned to face the mirror again, bracing herself for what she’d see there. The clown was gone and all she saw was her own reflection, fangs and claws extended, eyes bright green. She hadn’t even realized she’d shifted.
Rachel took a step back, only a little relieved the clown was nowhere in sight because that confirmed she was insane. On top of the bizarre scents she kept picking up, the glimpses of shadows out the corner of her eye, and the terrifying nightmares, now she was having waking flashbacks. She was losing her already-tentative grip on reality. How much worse was this going to get?
She glanced at the mirror one more time before heading out of the bathroom and through the living room to the kitchen. She made coffee, impatiently waiting for it to brew and thinking about the monster that still haunted her dreams—and now apparently her bathroom.
Horace Watkins, the man who’d tried to kill her in the cemetery, reallyhadbeen a clown. First on the rodeo circuit in the eighties, then in a traveling circus through the nineties and into the early two thousands, and finally, in an old folks home of all places. Horace had also been criminally insane, at least according to his court-appointed lawyer. Rachel figured he was, especially when the guy had actually demanded the judge allow him to stand trial in his clown makeup.
The judge had said no, and the people with doctorate degrees had decided Horace wasn’t insane. Or if he was, at least he was still aware enough to face a jury. Thank God. Because that meant the man ended up with a thirty-year sentence in Riverbend Maximum Security Institute versus an undefined stay in a mental facility. Never mind that Horace claimed he didn’t remember anything about that night or what he’d done.
Yeah right.
Rachel had a crazy urge to call the prison in Nashville right then to make sure the demented clown was still there but quickly pushed that ridiculous thought aside. The man who’d made a mess of her head was still locked up and would be until he was old and gray.
Pouring coffee into a mug, she added sweetener and cream, then headed across the living room toward the balcony, opened the door, and stepped outside, letting the chilly night air caress her exposed skin. Since she was only wearing shorts and a Captain America tank top, she probably should have grabbed the throw from the couch, but the cool air felt good. It was like a shock to the system she hoped would clear out the remnants of whatever the hell just happened in her bathroom.
She leaned against the balcony railing to do a little stargazing from the second-floor deck when two scents that were becoming overwhelmingly familiar hit her. It was the same combination of scents she’d picked up this morning at the compound.
But this time it wasn’t some slight trace carried on the breeze. Instead, it was thick and heavy, like whoever the scents belonged to had been standing on the balcony mere seconds ago. It struck her then that this was the first time she’d attributed the smell to a person. Before now, she hadn’t been quite sure.
Hand tightening on her mug, she swept the street below her apartment with her gaze, taking in every car parked on the curb and row of buildings on the other side of the street, following the smell with her nose. It was strongest in that direction and she inhaled deeply. The scents were richer and fuller than she’d sensed before. And they definitely belonged to a man. Of that she was sure. The scents possessed a subtle hint of something so tantalizing that Rachel found her eyes going slightly unfocused as she fixated on it. She’d never smelled anything so…perfect.
Suddenly, she caught sight of movement across the street, buried in the shadows of the alley that ran alongside the organic food store. She turned all her attention in that direction, her eyes shifting so she could see better. That’s when she saw a man’s silhouette in the darkness.
As if sensing her gaze on him, the man retreated farther into the alley, and while she couldn’t see him, she could tell he was still there somewhere.
Setting her cup on the small table in between the two chairs, Rachel gripped the balcony railing and vaulted over it to the ground below. Her bare feet hit the sidewalk hard, but she ignored the discomfort and took off running across the street, chasing after the shadow.
The rocks and stray pieces of glass in the alley dug into her feet, but she refused to let that slow her as she ran as hard as she could. For a werewolf like her, that was pretty damn fast. But the man ahead of her was fast, too—too fast to be a normal human.
Crap, she was chasing another werewolf. She almost stumbled to a halt at the realization, shocked she hadn’t recognized the unique scent until now. How was it possible she hadn’t known it for what it was? Maybe because it had changed since she’d first smelled it all those weeks ago. The werewolf part of the scent seemed new.
Growling, she picked up speed, her body partially shifting as she ran faster, refusing to let the man ahead of her get away. It took a while to corner him, but when her prey turned down a dead-end alley, she knew she had him.
He didn’t stop running until he reached the brick wall at the end of the alley. Then he stood there and stared at it as if trying to figure out how to go through it. Dark-haired, he was tall with broad shoulders and sleek muscles filling out the T-shirt he wore. He looked left and right, breathing hard as he searched for an escape route.
“You’re not getting out of this alley,” Rachel told him, not even trying to disguise the anger in her voice. This guy had been stalking her for weeks. He was lucky she didn’t rip him to shreds first and ask questions later. “Not until you tell me who the hell you are and what you want with me.”
