Chapter 6

He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get out of the way. In daylight she was even more ravishing. Sunlight picked up the golden glints in the rich sable color of her hair. Today it was plaited in a braid and hung down her back, tiny wisps escaping and framing her face. And what a face! High cheekbones stood out in flawless skin, and eyes so brown they were almost black looked out from thick fringes of lashes.

When her eyes met his, an arrow of heat shot through him with the force of a thunderbolt, and he stepped back as if physically bombarded. What the hell? For a long moment they were frozen in place, eyes locked, some invisible essence passing between them.

"Grey?" Denby's voice broke into his consciousness. "You coming?"

Jonah let out a slow breath, and touched the brim of his. "Sorry. I need to pay more attention to where I'm going."

"Me, too."

The soft sound of her voice reminded him of water siding over smooth stones. He had to concentrate to keep his cock from pushing against his jeans and giving him an embarrassing hard-on in public. Something was going on here and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what. He had a mission. That was his focal point. Not this woman. When he tracked the area around her cabin again he'd do well to remember that.

Then she was past him into the restaurant and he was out on the sidewalk with the two men.

"You can leave your truck at my office and then ride with me and Enoch," Denby said. "Or follow us. Suit yourself."

Jonah glanced at the sheriff's SUV. A barrier of mesh was fastened between the front and back seats, protection for when he transported prisoners.

"Thanks, but I'll follow."

A ghost of a grin traced itself over Denby's lips before he and Enoch Brazile got into their vehicle. Jonah started up his truck, pulled up behind them and followed them down Main Street through town.

The county car pulled up eventually at the end of a street near the edge of town. Jonah parked behind them, noting the neatly kept houses and the wide yard. Not expensive real estate but very well kept. And probably trouble-free with Deputy Brazile in residence.

He climbed out of his truck, followed the two lawmen through the gate in the cyclone fence and up onto the front porch. The man who answered the door was middle-aged and thin, but still muscular with leathery skin. And his blue eyes were still as sharp as any Jonah had ever seen. Good. This wouldn't be someone given to evading questions or brushing them off.

"Larry Forman." His eyes darted nervously from face to face but he shook hands with everyone and gave Enoch a half-smile. Then he looked at Jonah. "The writer, are you? I guess y'all want to come in and talk to me."

He led the way into a small, well-kept living room. After some foot shuffling John Denby took one of the armchairs. Jonah surreptitiously slid one hand into his jeans pocket to turn on his miniature recorder before sitting down on the couch. Enoch Brazile stood near the door. Guarding his neighbor's welfare, Jonah figured.

"Can I get anyone some coffee?" Forman fidgeted, looking as if he suddenly wished he hadn't agreed to this.

"No, thanks, Larry." Denby's smile was more strained than reassuring. "Why don't you just sit down and give us the short version of what happened here."

Forman shrugged and sat on the edge of the other armchair. He wet his lips and looked at Jonah.

"All right, then. Enoch and me were talking yesterday," he began, "and we finally decided to just tell you what happened and see what you thought. Being as you've been researching all this stuff. I mean, after those hunters were killed I got to thinking about my dogs..."

Jonah deliberately pitched his voice low. "Just say it as it comes to you," he encouraged. "Nothing fancy. I know you're still upset so take your time.

"I loved those dogs," he said. "Had 'em since they were pups. They were damn good dogs."

"I'll attest to that," Enoch added. "Never a nuisance or a minute of trouble."

"Did you always keep them outside?" Jonah asked.

"Inside and out. But always outside at night unless it was freezing. They were good watchers." A look of pain flashed across his face.

"So what happened that particular night?"

Forman rubbed a hand over his face. "I'd turned out the outside lights and headed off to bed. Must have been, oh, I guess about midnight. It was warm and I'd been just sitting out on the back porch a while." He looked at the deputy. "Chewing the fat with Enoch."

The deputy nodded. "It was quiet in the neighborhood. Most everyone around here gets up for work early so during the week it's lights out by then."

Jonah just nodded and motioned for Forman to continue.

"So I went inside. There hadn't been a damn thing stirring outside. Fell asleep pretty quick. Then the dogs' barking woke me."

"What time?" Jonah asked. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah. A little after three. I looked out the bedroom window but the barking stopped and I couldn't see anything. No moon that night."

The attacks were always in full darkness, Jonah reminded himself.

"Anyway, I got my shotgun out of the closet, opened the back door a little, looked out. Nothing. Couldn't even see the hounds." He rubbed his face again. "I cocked the rifle, figuring the sound alone could scare off someone if they was there. Tiptoed out to the porch." He closed his eyes. "Then I saw the dogs. Jesus, I'll never forget that sight 'til the day I die."

"He called me right away," Enoch Brazile said. "He was so upset he could hardly get the words out. But when I got over here I saw, sure enough, those dogs were dead."

"Throats punctured, blood drained." The pain in Forman's voice was like a sharp razor. "And their guts was yanked out lying beside them. I still have nightmares about it."

Jonah frowned. "How much time do you think passed from when you first heard the barking and you actually got downstairs?"

"I don't know for sure. Maybe ten minutes. It took me a little bit to wake up, then get the shotgun and load it. I don't keep it ready because this is a pretty safe neighborhood." He glanced at Brazile. "Especially with Enoch living here and all. Besides, when the barking stopped, I figured it was just some little varmint running through the yard."

So. Maybe fifteen minutes total. Time to get into the yard, kill the dogs and scram. What kind of creature could appear in a neighborhood like this and kill so quickly, then get away clean?

He looked a Forman. "Would you mind showing me your yard?"

"Sure. No problem. Nothing to see there now, anyway."

He was right. The backyard was medium size and well kept. No flowers but some natural shrubs that looked as if Forman tended to them regularly. Jonah let his gaze roam over the entire landscape, including the houses on either side and the one whose backyard touched Forman's. A nice peaceful scene. And no dogs.

"Were you the only one here who kept pets?" Jonah asked.

Forman shook his head. "No, but after this happened the few people on this street who did have them started keeping them in the house."

Jonah stepped off the porch and prowled the yard, conscious of everyone watching him. Six months after the fact he didn't even know what he expected to find. Not even a trace of a scent remained.

Damn.

"Mind if I take some pictures?" he asked

"Help yourself," Forman told him. "Nothing to see, though."

"Thanks. I promise not to identify the place to the public."

He pulled a miniature camera from his shirt pocket and snapped a series of shots. He'd have to go back to the cabin in the daylight and do the same thing there, too. If he could lay out all the pictures together maybe he could get some idea of how the creature approached so undetected and got away so quickly.

When he was finished he climbed back onto the porch and shook Forman's hand. "Thanks. I appreciate this."

"I didn't find any animal prints," Forman blurted out. "Neither did the sheriff. So how the hell does some animal get in here, kill this fast and get away without leaving a trace?"

"That's something I'd like to know, too," Jonah told him.

"No one wants to admit it's that devil beast," the man said. "Seems as if just saying it makes it real. And making it real scares the shit out of everyone."

"I understand that. Maybe with my research I can help the police either catch it or kill it. We'll see."

Yeah, right. If anyone does the killing it will be me.

"Let's go on back to my office and put our heads together," Denby said. "I'm anxious to see what you've got."

Jonah swallowed a comeback. At least now they were willing to share.

But two hours later they didn't seem to be much farther ahead. Jonah brought in the folder of pictures from his truck that Night Seekers had provided for him, along with descriptions of several crime scenes. In return John Denby gave him copies of the recent crime scene photos and of the reports themselves, including the gruesome autopsy.

"The thing that's similar in all of them," Jonah said, looking up from the conference table where they had everything spread out, "is the complete ability of the killer to appear and disappear without a trace. It's definitely an animal of some sort, because no way could a human do this without leaving something."

"I agree." Denby sighed. "I've done my damndest to keep a lid on the Chupacabra gossip. Scares the shit out of people and drives them to do stupid things."

"From what I've dug up, this animal supposedly appeared first in Puerto Rico," Jonah told him. "But I've got other reports from all over the place. South America. Here. Other states. It's either real or it's a legend grown beyond all proportions."

"What do you think, Sheriff?"

"I think I wish it would all go the hell away. But that's not gonna happen. So I'll say okay, it's some kind of animal. But what?" He spread his hands out. "Is it some strange species we don't know about yet that's found in more than one place? Is it a common animal like the coyote that's grown into something else because of the stories and superstitions? I wish to hell I knew."

"Who found the hunters?"

"Man who owns the hunting preserve. One of his men was riding a four wheeler checking on the blinds. He had about a dozen hunters out there."

"But these were the only two attacked."

Denby rose, poured coffee from the pot on the sideboard into a mug, refilled Jonah's and sat down again.

"I don't know if you've found this in the cases you've studied, but from what I know about the Chupacabra, it zeroes in on its kill, satisfies itself and leaves. There's no mass slaughter or anything like that." He sipped at his coffee. "Which leads me to believe it's not a pack but a single animal. Maybe two at the most."

"Nothing I've read or learned indicates there's more than one of these," Jonah told him. "And the original legends only refer to one animal."

Denby shook his head. "I know, I know. That's one of the reasons I've tried to keep a lid on this whole thing. It's a lot easier to let people think a pack of coyotes went on the attack than to give credence to this stupid goatsucker story and have everyone frightened to death there might be more of them. This whole county would be in chaos."

"I have to agree on that. But you and I both know this wasn't the work of coyotes. Not the hunters or the deer or the dogs."

Jonah spent about fifteen minutes giving the sheriff the bare bones outline of what his research had turned up so far, then gathered his things up from the table. He wasn't ready yet to tell Denby about the triple killings in each place. All that would do was stir up a pot he wasn't ready to mix yet. "Think you could arrange for me to talk to the man who owns that hunting preserve?"

"Sure. Give me your cell number and I'll let you know when it's set up." The sheriff sighed. "Only because I figured out you aren't from one of those sensational rags and won't be doing scare stories about this."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." Jonah actually carried a satellite phone, cell reception being spotty in many areas where he went, but he rattled off the number.

"If you go poking around in the area you'd better watch out if you run into that woman out there, though," Denby warned.

Jonah tensed. "Woman?"

"Crazy female who lives in a cabin next to one of the preserves. Dakota Furcal. People around here buy her herbs and potions but otherwise give her a wide berth."

Crazy? Great. Just what he needed. A lunatic who made his balls ache.

"What makes her crazy?"

Denby spread his hands. "Just...everything. She's a loner. Her mother was from the Kickapoo reservation and rumor has it she was crazy, too. Chanted spells and stuff like that. Her father was a drunk killed in a knife fight."

"Sounds like the town turned its back on her," Jonah commented.

"More like she turned her back on us. Anyway, we give her a wide berth."

"I'll keep that in mind." Jonah stuffed everything into the briefcase he'd carried inside with him and shook hands with the sheriff. "Thanks a lot for your help. I'll be hanging around here for a while, doing more research."

"I'd be obliged if you'd share with me whatever you find out."

"No problem."

As long as it doesn't interfere with my investigation. This beast is mine when I run it to ground.