"The angle of the cut." She ran her nail over the wound. "According to the height of the killer to the victim, the wounds will be different. The depth of the cut at pressure points is significant. If the bartender was six feet, then your killer was a few inches taller. Perhaps six-three or -four."

"The coroner is still examining the body, but your Bureau director went over it as well. He didn't mention this," Grasse commented.

"He doesn't know knives like I do." Harmony handed the file back to her. "I would guess the weapon was a Special Forces K-bar."

The killer could in fact be a Breed. Or a Council soldier. Special training protocols were developed for the Breeds simply to be able to identify their kills.

Harmony pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and snapped one on before reaching down. She ran her fingers over the bloodstain before lifting them to her nose. The putrid scent of old blood was all she found.

Grimacing, she stood to her feet before narrowing her eyes on the stain.

"Did the crime unit find any evidence?"

"Nothing. Other than the blood and the body, we don't have jack." The sheriff sighed.

"We were hoping having a Breed check it out would give us a lead." Harmony shook her head. Whoever had made the kill had been careful, and especially careful to use her M.O.

"It's similar to several kills across the States in the past few years," Grasse pointed out then. "Suspected molesters that law enforcement officials hadn't been able to gather proof against. We could have a serial vigilante on our hands."

Or a copycat with an agenda.

Harmony lifted her eyes to Lance then, watching his head tilt, concentrating. What was he thinking? At times she could have sworn he was hearing something no one else could.

"This one is different," she finally answered. "The angle of the cut, the depth and the M.O. It's a copycat."

Grasse's eyes narrowed as Lance shot her a warning look.

"Like I said, I know knives." Harmony shrugged. "And I study the kills made with knives. Trust me, it's different. Your coroner will verify that if he cares to study the other killings closely. I don't know what you have here, but it's not a vigilante killing." It looked more like a setup.

Grasse breathed out tiredly. "The coroner has already begun going over the other killings at Director Wyatt's request. He was the one who suggested the possibility." Why would Jonas do that?

Harmony kept her head down, her eyes on the darker stain as she fought to make sense of the sheriff's comment.

"Are those copies of the crime scene pictures, Katie?" Lance asked then. "I'd like to keep them if I could; maybe Harmony can go over them later and spot something."

"Yeah, they're copies." She handed the file over. "I sure hope you find something. Bert Feldon wasn't liked much, but until he was convicted, he had a right to breathe." If he was innocent, he had a right to breathe, though Harmony kept the thought to herself. At this point there was no way to tell.

"Did you find anything in his home?" she asked the sheriff instead. Sheriff Grasse shook her head. "It was clean." She checked her watch then, breathing out roughly. "I have to head out, but if you need anything else just let me know."

"Thanks again, Katie, and tell Ben I said hi." Lance nodded as she lifted a hand in farewell and turned away.

"I'm ready to go," Harmony said as the sheriff moved to her vehicle. Harmony refused to look at Lance as she headed for his Raider.

"Would Jonas try to frame you, Harmony?" The question Lance posed didn't surprise her.

She opened the door to the Raider and slid into the seat. She pushed her fingers wearily through her hair.

"The hell if I know what Jonas would do anymore." She sighed. "But he didn't make that kill." He could, however, have ordered it.

Harmony remained silent through the ride back to Broken Butte, her head turned, her gaze trained on the scenery outside the window.

Being trapped inside the Raider with Lance was hell on the arousal tormenting her, and it made clear thinking next to impossible.

As Lance pulled the Raider to a stop in front of the house, Harmony jumped from the vehicle and stalked around it.

"I didn't make that kill," she informed him, the anger beginning to burn inside her. Anger and arousal, frustration and irritation—they were beginning to build along with the hunger that ate at her.

"I never imagined you did," he stated as he moved behind her. The house keys jangled in his hand as they started for the front door.

"And you came up with that one how?" she snapped, glaring back at him. "You think you're so good that I couldn't slip out of the house without you knowing about it? Trust me, Lance, I'm good enough to do it."

"Yep. You're good enough." He nodded, his expression serious, though if she wasn't mistaken she could see the amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"How would you know?" She snorted as they stepped up on the porch and Lance unlocked the door slowly.

He was too trusting for a sheriff, she thought. He should have been instantly suspicious of her, not instantly defensive.

She stepped into the house cautiously, her gaze going quickly over the entry way, kitchen/dining room and the lower level of the living room as Lance stepped in behind her.

"Security systems can be bypassed, Lance," she reminded him severely.

"But the winds cannot be."

Harmony whirled around as an old man stepped from Lance's room, his bowed legs encased in deerskin pants, a black Metallica shirt covering his upper body. Long gray braids fell across his chest, and his heavily creased face stretched into a smile as Lance caught Harmony's hand on her weapon.

"Settle down, wildcat," he said and sighed. "Meet my grandfather, Joseph Redwolf. Grandfather, this is—"

"The assassin." Black eyes crinkled with a smile as he shuffled forward slowly, his head tilting, his gnarled hands pushing inside the wide pockets of his pants. "She does not look like a killer, Grandson. Perhaps in this case, the winds have not whispered all the secrets to my old ears. What do you think?"

"I think I'm ready for a drink," Lance said and sighed again. "A very long, very stiff drink. Anyone want to join me?"

CHAPTER 11

"She is a beautiful woman, Grandson. The earth has done well for you," Joseph commented as Lance poured his second drink and wondered when the hell this day was going to end.

"Don't start, Grandfather," he growled.

Joseph chuckled, a rough rasp that reminded him of his grandfather's age. He turned back to the old man, watching him closely. Joseph hadn't been moving around much lately. He'd been spending a lot more time than usual at home.

"Ah, it is good to see you finally settling down." Joseph nodded firmly. "The earth whispers her name with yours, and the music of its pleasure bodes well. The journey you travel together will be one that will challenge you."

Lance snorted at that. He was glad one of them could make sense of the whispers in the wind, because he sure as hell wasn't making any headway.

"But it is one that brings danger." Joseph watched him closely now. "It whispers death but not of blood. There are times the winds are not as giving as others." It was one of the reasons Lance had fought the messages carried on the winds. There were never answers, only more questions.

"Do you still fight the secrets it would bring you, Grandson?" Joseph finally asked sadly. Lance sighed wearily. "I'm trying, Grandfather." He stared back at the old man. "But, like you said, sometimes the winds aren't as giving as others."

Joseph nodded slowly. "But you can hear what is important. You know she is your woman, and that danger follows. Heed them and they will see you through this."

"Or see me dead," Lance muttered before tossing back his drink.

"I hear no cry of your death." Joseph shrugged. "Should you end up dead then it will be at your own ignorance, not the will of the earth."

That was his grandfather, sympathetic to the end.

"It's nice to know something is still left in my hands," Lance growled in frustration. "I was starting to wonder."

His grandfather chuckled at the comment.

"I wished only to stop by and meet your young woman," Joseph said then. "I know now why I heard the cries in the winds though. She is a woman wounded, yes?" Wounded was a mild word for what he felt inside of Harmony. Sometimes, he could sense her nightmares, sense the pain that drove her and her fear of ever needing anyone.

"Yeah. She is." He smacked the glass to the bar before grimacing tightly. "Jonas brought her here, and I have a feeling he's playing a very dangerous game with her."

"Ah yes, Jonas Wyatt." Joseph sighed. "He is a difficult one, that young Lion. He fights what he is, and what his soul yearns for. When a warrior fights such an elemental part of himself, he is bound to often hurt others. It is his destiny to learn his lessons the hard way."

"At the end of my fist if he keeps this up," Lance snapped. "I'm growing tired of his games. Especially this game he's playing with Harmony."

"There are many forces I think that would see her taken from you, Grandson. Not just Jonas. The question is, will you allow them to take what is yours alone?" Joseph asked him then. "Understanding is a fine quality in a man. But sometimes a man must show his woman he is indeed a man strong enough to match her. Sometimes, it teaches the woman what she must know when danger comes whispering her name. Perhaps you should think on this."

Lance stared back at his grandfather, once again cursing, albeit silently, the riddles Joseph Redwolf was prone to talk in. He couldn't just come out and tell you anything. Everything had to be a lesson, or a puzzle to figure out.

"How about dinner?" Lance suggested as a way to lighten the mood. As usual, the answers would either come to him, or life would kick his ass with enough force for him to see the point his grandfather had been trying to make.

"Dinner is good, but I promised Megan I would eat with her and her young Breeds after seeing you. She worries for you. Staying away from you at this time is not easy for her, but I understand now why you have asked this of her. The emotions trapped within your young Lioness would overwhelm her."

"Yeah. They would." Hell, they nearly overwhelmed him, and he wasn't empathic. "Give Meg my love, Grandfather. Tell her I'll see her soon."

"I will do this." Joseph nodded as he moved for the front door. "And you keep your young woman close to your side, Lance. Do not give the danger stalking her a chance to strike. She has no true friends other than you. Yet."

And with that final cryptic comment Joseph made his way to the front door and let himself out. Lance poured himself another drink. It was going to be a long evening. _________

There were times when Harmony blessed her animal senses, and there were other times when she cursed them. Walking into the house and realizing she had missed the presence of Lance's grandfather was one of the times she cursed herself. There were some people who should be avoided at all costs, simply because they were so much a part of nature, of the land around them, that the earth spoke to them. The Lion part of her recognized that in Joseph Redwolf. He was a child of the earth, completely in sync with it and, as such, able to see beyond what others couldn't. Like his granddaughter, Megan Arness, and yet unlike her.

Harmony hadn't detected the subtle shift of power around her that normally warned her that a psychic was present. But she also knew that there were those who saw things, knew things, without ever tripping her defenses. She had a feeling Lance's grandfather was one of those people. She was beginning to wonder if Lance was, because he kept finding ways beneath her defenses. A look. A touch. A certain tone of voice. She had a terrible feeling that if she ended up staying there much longer, then walking away was going to kill her. It wasn't her way to form attachments or friends. The potential for heartache only grew. And within a week, the potential was getting seriously out of control here.