Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) by J.R. Ward

Lydia pictured the footprints underneath her windows.

So that was what they’d done while they were on the property, she thought. They hadn’t gotten inside; they’d tagged her car.

“You need to come with me,” she asked roughly.

“No, I have to stay here. If he wakes up, we’ve both got a problem, don’t we. Just give me my phone and I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

Lydia tossed his cell over and then palmed her own. “I’ll call the sheriff to come get you.”

“I don’t care what the fuck you do. Just as long as it’s from your car and it’s moving. Go—before he regains consciousness. Which is going to be in another minute, maybe less.”

Lydia started to pant, as if she had already begun to run off. “Hold him here. And I’ll go to the sheriff—”

“Don’t tell him we went into that barn. Don’t get me involved with that.”

“Eastwind will be at Peter’s now. He’s who will answer the call the newscaster made.”

“Well, good for them both—like I care? Just please fucking leave. Go!”

“I’m calling the police,” she said as she turned away.

“You have a sheriff, remember,” he tossed back.

On that note, she started to bolt over the springy ground cover. She glanced back only once. Daniel was staring at her as he knelt beside the soldier, a grave expression on his face. Like maybe he was wondering what the fuck he’d gotten himself involved in.

Join the club, she thought.



Daniel watched Lydia run off, her footfalls drifting into silence along with the soft rustle of her loose windbreaker. Her car was about five hundred yards away, too far for him to catch the sound of her engine turning over.

So he gave it four minutes. And as he waited, he picked up one of the guns he’d taken from the guard. There was a full magazine in it.

When a groan rose up from the incapacitated man, Daniel sifted through the various weapons and ammo on the ground. Extracting a cylinder from the pile, he attached the hollow tube to the muzzle of the auto-loader by screwing it on.

Double-checking that Lydia hadn’t changed her mind and come back, he listened. Looked around again.

Then he put the suppressor to the other man’s forehead and discharged a single bullet right into the frontal lobe of the brain. No sound from the gun, but the body jerked, the extremities rising for a beat and landing back down in a flop.

Daniel collected all of the weapons, pocketing them. Then he rolled the man over and patted down the back. No ID, no kidding. Cell phone, however, in a rear pocket of the combat pants.

Whoever it was looked more military than law enforcement with all the equipment and the no badge’ing—and that was why Daniel was sure it was a private guard of some sort. But working for who?

Getting to his feet, he tucked the ball cap into his pocket, grabbed a hold under the armpits, and hefted the body up into a fireman’s hold. With careful feet, he made his way deeper into the forest, away from the execution site.

Daniel had no particular plan of where to hide the remains. So he did what he always did. He relied on his environment to provide him with the solution to his needs. And sure enough, as if the forest was happy to lend a hand, a shallow cave appeared and he muscled the body into the dark, dank confines. He was careful not to disturb anything more than absolutely necessary, moving as if he were in the middle of a crime scene.

Ha-ha.

Hey, maybe Lydia was right about his sense of humor.

Nah.

Taking out his cell, he triggered the flashlight. Damp stone walls gleamed, but the dirt on the ground ate up the illumination.

The soldier’s knife was just what he needed.

As Daniel bent over the man’s face, he put his cell in between his teeth so the beam was where he needed it. Then he peeled open the right eye with his thumb and forefinger. The silver blade had a surgical tip to it, and inserting that pointy-pointy into the far corner—

He popped the orb free of its socket, the optic nerve a mess of delicate wiring in the back.

After he repeated the removal on the other side, he took out the bandana in his ass pocket and wrapped his little prize up. Then he killed his light and backed out of the cave in a crouch, straightening when he was sure he was free of the overhang.

Glancing around again, he put the bundle into his jacket and strode off.

As he returned to where the execution had gone down, there was a disturbance in the ground cover, obvious even if you weren’t looking for anything. It went without saying that there would be some blood, too.

He looked at the gray sky. “Come on, rain. I could use a little backup, if you don’t mind.”

Kneeling down, he dug through the leaves and needles, going into the dirt. It took some sifting with his bare hands … but he found the bullet. Thanks to a granite shelf about ten inches down, the lead slug hadn’t penetrated very deep.

There was nothing he could do about the strike mark on the stone but cover it up.

At least he wasn’t worried about local law enforcement. Small towns like these didn’t have bloodhound professionals who were going to deconstruct an area the size of this clearing just on the outside chance they found something.

Especially when they had two eyewitnesses who said a man had been choked out, instead of killed.

With one last look, and a few kicks with his boot, he turned away and headed for the path, the lane … the county road that had pavement.