AlphaMountie (5 page)

The ROM, or Royal Ontario Museum, was one of Noire’s favorite
places in the city. She could stare at dinosaur bones forever, imagining the forests
of the prehistoric world.

“I didn’t know her or anything. But I think they were both from
up north or whatever. Somewhere in Algonquin.”

“Algonquin?” Noire said, shocked to hear this. Fawn had never
mentioned that the guy she’d been seeing was from back home—had she? And if not,
why would she leave that out? Surely she’d have known that Noire would’ve been happier
and thought her sister safe with a man from home, rather than the city.

Were there other things Fawn had kept from her sister? Had she
known this man before moving to Toronto?

Could her sister’s murderer be someone Noire herself knew?

“Constable Dawson?” It was Maddie, back at the reception computer.
“Steve Page checked out this morning.”

Noire’s heart sunk and she saw the deepening of lines around
Cam’s eyes, and knew he felt the same. They couldn’t lose their chance at this guy.
He’d killed at least two women, probably more—Cam had been following a killer from
B.C. They were sure that if he moved cities, he would kill again. Maybe another
young starry-eyed, naive girl like Noire’s sister.

“Is there an address with his reservation?” Cam asked. At the
hostess’ affirmative reply, he called it in to his team. Noire wasn’t optimistic—the
killer had been smart thus far—but any lead was worth following up on.

“Uh, dude?” Grizzly Adams’ more hirsute twin, a young guy with
a Canadian accent, caught Cam’s attention. “Steve told me this morning he was going
to MEC. He’s the crazy brawny guy, right? If you catch up to him don’t tell him
I told you, okay?” Adams was referring to Mountain Equipment Co-op, a large camping
and outdoor clothing and supply store located a few blocks from the hostel.

“I treat all my sources as confidential,” Cam assured him.

“Yeah. So I guess he was planning some big camping trip. Only
without a tent. Back up to Lake Opeongo.”

“Lake Opeongo?” Noire spoke again. “Cam, that’s right in the
middle of Algonquin Park.”

“So, we think he came from here, and he’s going back?” Cam asked.

“Maybe.” Noire chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think. “Why
would he go back? Surely he had his pick of girls here, more so than in the middle
of the forest.”

“I don’t know.”

By now, the chatter among the women had resumed and Noire almost
didn’t notice when Riko returned, a tall blonde woman trailing after her. The blonde
had dark circles under her eyes, smudged mascara from crying. Before anyone else
could move, Noire was at her side. “Hanna Jonsson?” she asked.

The woman nodded. Noire took her hand as Cam asked her about
her sister Linn. Hanna revealed that she hadn’t seen her all day; she was getting
worried because they were supposed to meet up for a pub crawl hours ago.

“May I ask you some questions?” Cam asked. When Hanna nodded
again, Cam asked the hostess for a private room and Maddie pointed them toward a
staff office. Hanna refused to let go of Noire’s hand, so Noire went with them.
Hanna’s fingernails were digging into her palm but she tried not to show any sign
of physical pain.

Once they were seated, Hanna’s silence broke and she rambled
on, clutching at Noire’s hand. She had a slight accent, but perfect English otherwise.

“I’m so scared. I told Linn not to sleep with that guy Page.
You know sometimes you can just sense evil? That was him. I guess he was handsome—Page
was made of muscle—but there was something in his beady black eyes that just gave
me the creeps. Not to mention how fast he moved on to Linn after his last girlfriend
left.”

Noire wanted to ask—did she mean Fawn? But instead she wrapped
an arm around Hanna’s back and held her close, letting Cam continue with the questioning.

“Can you tell me about his last girlfriend, Hanna?” he asked.

“Fawn. She was sweet. Way too young for him. Like Linn. I guess
he has a type. But Fawn was all doe-eyed and, like, sixteen shades of brown. Linn’s
like me—just like me.” Hanna was a blue-eyed blonde, at least five inches taller
than Fawn. “I guess it’s just young that they had in common. I dunno. And that sort
of wistfulness. Do you know? Girls who just drift off and stare at the sky
sometimes. That was Linn.”

“Fawn was the same,” Noire said quietly.

Hanna’s frightened blue eyes focused on hers. “You knew her?”

“She was my sister,” Noire confirmed.

“Page claimed she broke his heart. She just left—didn’t check
out or anything. Apparently she even stole a bunch of his money. But if he was so
sad, why did he move in on my sister a few days later? It was like Fawn was just—poof—gone,
and now he was totally focused on Linn. Like, stalking her. We’d find him outside
of our room sometimes. Sniffing. I swear I saw him sniff the door once. I made Linn
lock up her suitcase every morning, just in case he came back while we were gone.
I definitely got the impression he’s a panty-sniffer of the first degree. Gross.”

As she talked, tears formed in Hanna’s eyes. Noire wiped them
off with the sleeve of her charcoal sweater and held the woman closer. Her mental
image of Page grew clearer. She knew Fawn would never have stolen any money, and
she knew that her sister was falling for the man and would not have left him without
saying goodbye. It was likely a story concocted so that Page (whatever his real
name was) could use pity to worm his way closer to Linn Jonsson. There was no doubt
in Noire’s mind that Page was the killer. But how would they find him? And when
they did, how would they prove it?

Cam was writing in a notepad he must have produced from that
bottomless duffle bag. “Thank you, Hanna. This has been very helpful. Can you give
me a description of what your sister was wearing when you last saw her?”

Hanna’s eyes went wide. “Did you find her?”

Cam gave her a small, pity-filled smile, but did not speak.

“She borrowed my shirt this morning—pink, cotton, long-sleeved.
Jeans I guess. Cute black boots with a heel for the snow. And this, of course.”
Hanna reached beneath her own green shirt and pulled out a pendant. It took Noire’s
breath away—it was absolutely beautiful, a small dolphin carved out of a bit of
turquoise, hanging on a silver chain. It matched Hanna’s eyes perfectly.

“My sister had one just like this,” Hanna explained.

Noire couldn’t take her eyes off the pendant. The dolphin’s grace
was captured perfectly; she could easily imagine him sliding over the waves, jumping
high as if he could reach the clouds.

“Do you live by the sea?” Cam asked. “Back home?”

“Yes.” For a moment, Hanna’s cloudy, tear-filled eyes seemed
to grow a little brighter. “We do. Did. I just want to go home. I miss the smell
of the sea like you wouldn’t believe. This wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even want to
come here, and now—Linn’s dead, isn’t she?”

“We don’t know that,” the Mountie said. “But I’m very sorry to
say we do have a Jane Doe that matches your sister’s description.”

Hanna began to shake under Noire’s arm. All Noire could think
was,
Thank God, he didn’t mention the state of the body. There’s no reason she
needs to know her sister was likely skinned alive.

Just like mine.

“Now, do you have any other family or close friends in town who
know Linn well?” Cam continued.

The blonde shook her head.

“In that case I’m going to have to ask for your help. We need
someone to take a look at our Jane Doe. Make an identification.”

Hanna nodded, and Cam thanked her. He pulled out his phone again
and made a short call to the station, asking for a detective to come pick Hanna
up at the hostel. When he was done, he asked one final question. “You mention it
was Linn’s idea to travel to Canada. Why did your sister choose Toronto in particular?”

Hanna explained that Linn had been posting online, at some message
board she couldn’t remember, for a few months now. She’d been so excited one morning,
talking about Canada—the girls had never flown overseas before. Hanna didn’t know
if Linn had been speaking to Page in particular, but she remembered that she got
the recommendation for the hostel from someone online. Perhaps it was him. It hadn’t
taken much to convince Hanna to take the trip as well. The sisters were nearly inseparable,
and Linn’s enthusiasm was contagious.

Cam asked if Hanna had friends she could wait with until the
detectives came to pick her up, and the Swedish woman returned to her group, dissolving
into tears and throwing herself onto Mel’s lap.

When Noire let the girl go, her arms felt empty. She thought
about how less than a week ago, Fawn’s own voice had filled the dining area with
laughter. She wondered what Fawn had told these girls that she hadn’t told Noire.

It was only when Cam placed a steadying hand on her shoulder
and said, “You can’t stay here,” that Noire was able to rise, gather her pack from
her room and leave the hostel.

When they left the hostel, Cam used his cell to call a cab, then
the police department. He gave a detective Linn’s username and email address,
which Hanna had jotted on the corner of a newspaper. Perhaps someone would be able
to track down the message board where she’d been posting online.

As they waited for the taxi, Cam turned to Noire and clasped
her in a tight embrace. She hugged him back, shivering a little. He pulled a sweater
out of his duffle bag and passed it to her. She had her own pack with her and could
have worn one of her own, but was touched by his concern. She pulled the sweater
over his head, inhaling the scent of it. “Thanks,” she said. As he zipped up
his duffle, she spotted a silver glint in the dim hostel porch lighting. Handcuffs.
“Kinky,” Noire observed. She could have sworn the Mountie blushed as he pushed them
back in.

“Those are for criminals, but maybe we can try them out. How
are you doing?” he asked. “That’s a dumb question, I’m sorry.”

“I’m holding up,” she said. He cupped her chin in one strong
hand and studied her eyes. “Really, I’m not going to have a breakdown. I promise.”
When he tried to lean in to kiss her, Noire pulled back self-consciously. “I said
I’m fine—really.”

She saw hurt and confusion in his eyes. She inhaled deeply. She
was being an idiot. Yes, she was upset about Fawn, so why couldn’t she just let
it out and have a good cry while this gorgeous man held her?

Because she couldn’t stop picturing his red-uniformed arm wrapped
around Hanna or Mel or one of the other gorgeous young women inside.

In a sudden movement that surprised her, Noire leaned forward
and captured Cam’s mouth with hers. She sucked at his bottom lip, claiming him for
her own, savoring the taste of him, as his hand worked its way up her cheek and
wrestled with her hair. His mouth opened and she leaned in, but he pulled back
before she could touch his tongue with hers. She let out a small sigh of disappointment.

“While I think we should definitely continue this back at my
hotel,” Cam said, “the cab will be here any minute.”

“Right,” Noire said, though she didn’t understand what that had
to do with anything. She wanted to taste him again. Now.

“I have to ask you more about your sister. This is still an investigation.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. But do you know where she learned about the hostel?
Was it from someone online, like with Linn and Hanna?”

“I don’t know.” She turned away from him. She felt like an idiot.
Here he was trying to catch her sister’s murderer before he could kill again, and
Noire was behaving like a jealous, lovesick schoolgirl. And she didn’t want to admit
it, but she knew very little of Fawn’s life over the past few years. “I don’t know
that much about the guy, either—she told me he was older, and that she thought he
was her soul mate. He understood how hard it was for her to balance her dreams as
an actress with how much she missed her home and the forest. I guess my own perspective
was that if she missed home so much, why not just come home?” She chewed on her
bottom lip, still tasting Cam. “The last time we spoke, it was a fight.”

“I’m sorry.” Cam clasped one of her hands tightly and waited
for her to continue.

“We argued about it. She’d say, ‘Oh Noire, it’s so hard being
here, I need you to visit—I miss home so much!’ She loved the city and felt she
had to be there for her acting career, but she would also phone me sometimes with
panic attacks because she felt boxed in, missed nature. I guess I told her kind
of bluntly, if you miss home, Fawn, then
come home.
” She closed her eyes
but held Cam’s hand between both of hers, drawing his warmth in as if it could reach
down to her soul and thaw her out. “That was almost three months ago, and the last
time she phoned me with a panic attack. I thought maybe it meant she was getting
better—getting used to the city, not having the attacks anymore. I asked her about
it once. She told me that since I was so judgmental, she wasn’t going to burden
me with them. She said that she’d met someone online, and finally someone else understood
what it was like being split between two worlds, the animal world and the human
world.”

“You mean—she told him her secret?” Cam looked shocked.

“At the time I thought she was being dramatic. But maybe that
was it.” Noire felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. “Do you think my sister
meant that the guy was a shifter too?”

“It’s possible.”

Cam’s cell rang. It played an excerpt from the theme song to
the show
Due South
, and Noire rolled her eyes. Secretly, though, she kind
of loved it. Combined with the Dudley Do-Right patch on his bag, she realized that
stalwart Mountie Cam Dawson was a bit of a dork.

When he was finished with the call, Cam explained that the detectives
had found activity from Linn’s username on a message board for a popular author’s
books. The books include vampires and shapechangers, and fans often spoke as if
they were the mythical creatures themselves. Another user, BearTooth99, had frequently
posted in response to Linn.

“Subtle name. What did he post?” Noire asked.

“Apparently, rather unsubtle suggestions that Canada, with all
its wilderness, is rife with shapechangers. He pretty much guaranteed Linn the chance
to meet with some if she visited. Then he recommends the hostel by name.”

“You think Linn was a shifter too? Like my sister?”

“It makes sense. Perhaps even Hanna was. They share DNA, and
those necklaces.”

“Dolphins. I’ve heard of selkies—seal shapeshifters—so I guess
it’s not impossible. Who knows what’s out there?” Noire mused. “But wait—if Linn
was a dolphin, what about those feathers at the crime scene?”

“Just what I was wondering. Is there a chance we were mistaken,
and they’re native?” Cam asked.

“There’s always a chance. But loons this far south, this close
to the city? It’s doubtful.” The gears in her mind churned and Noire tried to piece
it together. A killer that targeted shifters, to the point where he tried to recruit
them from other countries. Bite marks from different animals on each body. A bear,
a deer. Feathers from a loon near Linn’s body. Each animal, Noire realized, was
native to Algonquin Provincial Park, which they now had reason to suspect the killer,
alias Steven Page, also hailed from.

Darkness pressed at her mind. Something she’d heard before, perhaps.
Something she didn’t want to remember.

The cab pulled up then and Noire and Cam got into the backseat,
tossing Noire’s pack and Cam’s duffle into the trunk. Cam gave the driver the name
of his hotel—a large, rather swanky place down at the waterfront. Clearly, the RCMP
had more money than Noire on her own. She wasn’t sorry to leave the hostel.

The streets were deserted now and it was almost three a.m. As
they drove, Noire remained silent, thinking to herself. She broke the silence briefly
to borrow Cam’s cell phone (they rarely worked up north, so she hadn’t bothered
to carry one of her own) and started running Internet searches from half-remembered
thoughts.

As they drove, she continued her Internet sleuthing. Noire discovered
that back in Algonquin Provincial Park and the surrounding areas, at least seven
women had gone missing over the past ten years, supposedly victims of black bear
attacks. Bear—like the bites found on the first body.

She did quick background checks and felt pretty confident that
none of the women had been shifters. Several were completely inexperienced tourists,
which was why their deaths hadn’t been investigated thoroughly. They had been on
canoeing or camping expeditions for the first time, and were extremely inexperienced.
All were tourists; none were from anywhere near where they were killed. Most interestingly,
the deaths had primarily happened in different sections of the park, spread out
over the years, so that no one warden would have investigated the same potential
murder.

“That explains why they were so easily picked off from their
groups—most of the women, it seems, wandered off alone. And more than the past ten
years—some of these deaths go back over a hundred years.” She shared this information
with Cam as she worked and he grew more enthralled, leaning up against her shoulder,
watching the cell phone in front of them. From time to time he dropped small kisses
down her neck. She found them horribly distracting but in no way wanted to ask him
to stop.

They pulled up at the hotel. It was beautiful—all fancy chandeliers,
shades of gold, doormen in uniforms nearly as red as Cam’s waiting at the front.
She wanted to gawk, but turned her eyes back to the cell’s display and
continued working. The next time she looked up, they had reached the elevator.

Cam pressed the button for floor fourteen and it lit up—gold
again. The elevator was covered in mirrors and Noire spared herself a glance—wild,
near-black hair escaping in every possible direction, a pale face with large eyes,
doe-like, resembling her sister, but darker. A stark contrast to the man beside
her in the pristine uniform.

She went back to the phone and clicked on a newspaper
article.

“Look,” she said excitedly. “This one here. Bree McGregor. I
knew this woman—she was a were-hawk.”

“What?” Cam said, taking the phone from her.

“She was a hawk. I swear, I’ve seen her shift. She was one of
the women who took Fawn under her wing. Uh. So to speak. Her family said she’d been
killed in an accident, but they never mentioned a bear. According to this, she twisted
her ankle, couldn’t make it back, and they found her at the bottom of a cliff. But
I knew her—Bree—she was smarter than that. She’d lived in the forest all her life.
It says here they know she fell off the cliff because her back was all scraped up,
to the point that her shirt had been torn away and her skin was missing. Scraped
off by the cliff wall.”

“Or by our killer,” Cam said.

“Yes. You think she was the first shifter he killed?”

“How old was she?”

“Seventy-five. At least. I remember her, just barely, from Fawn’s
childhood. She knew Fawn’s dad, I guess? He was the shifter; my mom just carried
the recessive gene. But I remember the hawk lady, Bree. She was wrinkled like an
apple doll’s face. And she had the most beautiful deerskin moccasins. Fawn was afraid
of them until Bree let her touch them. And then she never left her side, the entire
day. I guess that was the last time we saw her.”

“So he started with random hikers,” Cam observed, “and then he
moved on to shifters—but vulnerable ones, the elderly, then young women who desperately
wanted to find someone who understood.”

Noire was impressed by his insight even as she wanted to argue.
Couldn’t Fawn have talked to Noire? Didn’t she understand?

She supposed she didn’t. She could never be just like her sister,
because she could never be a shifter. You had to be born with it. Born with the
shifter gene from both parents, and then at puberty, your animal chose you. One
animal—that was it, for life.

Wasn’t it?

That darkness in her mind crept forward again. This time she
let it. She embraced it.

“Skinwalkers,” Noire breathed. The elevator doors opened.

“They don’t exist.” Cam shook his head. He stalked through
the doors, turning left down a narrow hallway. Noire had to jump-skip to keep
up, his legs were so long. It wasn’t something she was used to.

“What if they did?” she asked. Noire had heard of the legends
of Native men who were born shifters—and those who weren’t. Those who weren’t often
grew jealous and looked for magical ways to increase their own power. Out of myth
then came the skinwalkers. These were men who stole shifters’ pelts. Wearing the
shifter’s skin and performing the right ritual could turn an ordinary human into
a coyote, a hawk, a deer—or whatever he wanted, providing he had the right pelt.

“These bear attacks continued for years, then the sudden switch.”
Cam had taken the phone from her now and was searching related news articles,
his head buried in the phone as he strode through the hotel hallway.

“So he was a bear at the start, and got greedy. Wanted more skins.”

“Maybe.”

“He killed my sister for her pelt. She was a deer—that’s not
exactly powerful. Why kill Fawn?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard stories that in skinning the animal,
the skinwalker absorbs its life force. You said the original attacks went back decades.”

“You think it’s immortality.”

“Or close to it. Kill enough animals, take their life force,
and add it to your own. Take their pelts too, and if you get enough, you can become
anything, anywhere. It’s the perfect way to hide. Forever.”

“Immortality.” Noire stopped and leaned back against the wall,
waiting for Cam to join her. Her shoes sunk into the plush maroon carpeting.
“Let me see.” She took the phone back. “These attacks were pretty spread out,” she
said.

“They’ve occurred in every section of the park so far,” Cam noticed,
“except one.”

“There are over three thousand square kilometers of forest in
Algonquin. That’s an insane amount of territory to cover. What do you think
that means?”

“I don’t know. If he killed where he lived, it means he moved
a lot. But there’s only one section with no deaths.”

“So either the murders were missed by the authorities or…” Noire
grew excited. She didn’t want to finish the thought in case she was wrong.

Cam finished it for her, “Or that’s where he lives. Where he
stays in between killings. We think he’s a black bear, right? So—”

“So that’s his den. And with all that gear he was buying today,
maybe he’s going back. We have to track him.”

“We?”

“Yes. You and me.” Her enthusiasm faltered. “I’m a part of this
too now.”

His look was sympathetic but final. “You’re not even a cop, Noire.
You’ve contributed an amazing amount to this investigation so far, but it’s not
yours to finish.”