It was a blood bath.

She'd heard the phrase before, but even in all her years of dealing with the underbelly of the shifter world, she'd never really understood what the term meant.

Until now.

The stuff saturated the bed in a sea of red. It dripped from the walls, clung to the lamps and spattered the ceiling.

She shoved back her revulsion at the gory scene and focused her attention on the body. The torso, neck and stomach were ripped to shreds, but the face was perfectly intact.

Paulie, his nametag had read. He was the front desk clerk who had rented her the room earlier that day. His features were twisted into an agonized grimace that told her at least some of that torture had been inflicted while he was still alive.

Her stomach pitched and she pressed a fist to her mouth to hold back a hot rush of bile.

Christ, he couldn't have been more than twenty-three. Longish, wavy orange hair that had made her think of a golden retriever. He'd been preoccupied with his cell phone when she'd first walked in, and it had taken three rings of the desk bell just to get him to look up. Once he had, though, he'd been warm and pleasant. Had even told her about a trick to get the ice from the machine without paying a quarter.

Now he was dead.

And it was her fault. A critical error, thinking they wouldn't be looking for her here yet.

She didn't know how she'd missed it when she'd first walked toward the room...distracted by the Sheriff or off her game from all the drinks, but now? She could smell them now, as clear as day.

Two shifters. One an eagle, one a mountain lion. They'd come for her and, when they hadn't found her, they'd made sure to leave a message behind.

She didn't need to read the note to get the gist, but Sheriff Dan McCafferty read it out loud anyway.

"Come home, Mina."

Come home so we can punish you.

Come home, or more innocents will die.

Come home, or we will make your life a living hell.

The tequila that had seemed like such a stellar idea just an hour before blazed its way back up her throat and she ran outside onto the grass to retch.

She was still heaving when she felt a warm, large hand on her back.

"Shhh, shhh," Dan murmured. "It's okay. It's going to be all right."

A hysterical laugh bubbled to her lips as she swiped a hand over her mouth. He didn't know how wrong he was.

She straightened and nodded to let him know the sickness had passed, but couldn't bring herself to speak, knowing if she did, she might fall apart completely.

His gaze was steady and sure as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think you should have a seat while I call this in, all right?"

She allowed him to lead her to the stone bench a few doors down from her room and lowered herself to sit as he tugged a cell phone from his pocket.

He punched out a quick number and paused for a short moment before speaking into the receiver.

"Yeah, I need a couple uniforms over at the Dew Drop, pronto. We have a homicide in room one eleven," he muttered into the phone, his face a mask of weary sadness that only added to her misery.

The shock and subsequent vomiting had killed the last of her buzz, and she tried to wrangle her scattered thoughts.

More cops were coming, which would only complicate things if she wanted to disappear. So what to do?

If she stuck around, she was going to have to answer some questions she wasn't prepared to answer. But if she hightailed it out of Montana before the police had gotten a statement from her and cleared her to leave town, that would only make things worse. Hell, a murder like this was big and splashy enough to start a national manhunt, especially if she'd made herself look guilty of something by running.

And somehow she knew, deep in her heart, the Sheriff wouldn't shirk his sworn duty to solve this case by letting her walk away no matter how much he wanted her. Especially when the note clearly indicated that she was involved with some seriously bad characters, at the very least.

So it was settled. If she ran, she'd just have another very dangerous opponent on her tail. The last thing she needed when her cup already runneth over on that front. She had to stay put, at least for the time being. At least until she was cleared of any wrongdoing.

But after that?

She'd do what she'd always done, until tonight. Swallow her loneliness and misery and go it alone. She'd made the crucial error of allowing herself the comfort and camaraderie of others during a difficult time, but she wouldn't make that mistake again. She was an army of one. No more innocents would suffer because of her choices.

She cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill.

She wasn't going to think about the poor boy behind the desk. Not yet. Not until she was alone. Then, she'd lance that wound and let it bleed.

Maybe then, once she'd let herself feel the full brunt of the guilt, she'd be able to shake the intense despair threatening to drag her under. Maybe then she'd be able to focus on something far more satisfying.

Like vengeance.

A shadow passed across her face and she saw Dan standing over her.

He looked as weary and sick inside as she felt and she wished for the hundredth time in the past five minutes that she'd never set foot in this town. He struck her as a man who'd seen enough destruction in his life and she'd brought more to his front door. Between him and poor Paulie, she'd have a lot to atone for the next time she darkened the door of a church.

"Why don't you wait in my car while we process the scene, all right?" He handed her a cold bottle of water he must have gotten from the vending machine and she took it with a nod of thanks.

As she unscrewed the top and took a long swallow, she could hear sirens in the distance. His backup was arriving and soon the scene would be buzzing with activity.

"Thanks," she heard herself whisper miserably before taking another sip of water.

The cold liquid soothed her aching throat and washed the sour taste of tequila and bile from her mouth. She pulled the bottle reluctantly from her lips and set it to the side.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff."

She hadn't intended to say that. She hadn't intended to say anything at all, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to stem the flow of words. "The second you saw me, you pegged me as bad news and you were right. I'm so, so sorry."

The sirens grew louder as he cocked his head and studied her, eyes narrowed. "What are you sorry for, Mina? Did you kill that kid in there?"

She shook her head and was oddly stung that he'd asked the question, even though she'd known it would have to be asked at some point or another.

"No, of course not. Why would I let you anywhere near my hotel room if I knew I had a dead body on my bed?"

"Then what are you apologizing for?"

She'd been so riddled with guilt she didn't realize that he wasn't actually accusing her of anything. He was trying to make it clear that, if she didn't commit the murder, this wasn't her fault. But just because the clerk didn't die by her hand didn't change the facts.

She was most definitely to blame.

That much would have to remain unsaid. She'd already said more than she'd meant to.

The sound of a door slamming in the distance broke the tense silence between them, and they both turned their heads to look towards the parking lot where two uniformed police officers were exiting a black-and-white police car.

The first was a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties with a brisk gait and a solemn face. Close behind him came a compact woman built like a gymnast with a pop of brassy red hair and a face that looked given to smile under normal circumstances.

But these were far from normal circumstances.

"The M. E. has been called, Sheriff," the lanky guy said as they approached. "He was on his way home from Bozeman after visiting his wife at the hospital, so it might be a little bit."

His gaze flitted from the Sheriff to Mina and back again as he slowed to a stop in front of the bench where she and Dan sat.

They both stood and the Sheriff gestured in her direction.

"Jim, this is Mina. Mina, this is Deputy Jim Andrews. And this here is Deputy Erica Ripley. The body was found in Mina's room." Dan jabbed a finger in the direction of her motel room door before continuing. "She was across the street at the bar until about thirty minutes ago. I can vouch for her whereabouts since ten, and prior to that she was there with Chuck and Lance."

His tone was brisk, and all business, but the redhead's entire body stiffened as he continued.

"She left the bar and I followed in my car to make sure she arrived back safely. When I walked her to her door and unlocked it, it became clear that something was very wrong."

The redhead's eyes narrowed on Mina as he finished. She could almost hear the gears turning in Deputy Ripley's mind. Was she trying to figure out what they had been doing for the thirty minutes between the time she'd left the bar and the time they'd gone toward her room, or was she wondering exactly what her boss had been doing opening the motel door for a stranger?

It was clear when she'd come to some sort of conclusion that didn't sit well with her as her top lip curled and her cheeks went ruddy.

"Should we start processing the scene?" Deputy Jim asked, Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

There may have been a lot of issues around this town lately, but, judging by the expression on his face, it was clear that Deputy Jim still hadn't gotten used to murder.

A motel door a few down from Mina's swung open and an old man popped his head out to see what all the commotion was.

Dan blew out a sigh. "You go ahead, Jim." He turned to the little redhead. "Rip, you contact the owner of the hotel and then start knocking on some doors to see if anyone heard or saw anything suspicious. Start with that guy," he jerked his chin toward the man in the open doorway, "I'm going to stay here and ask Mina a few questions while we wait for the M.E."

"Roger that." Jim moved toward the door without another word, but she couldn't help but notice the glare Ripley gave her as she stepped away to make her call.

Poor woman was in love with her boss. And didn't that suck the big one? Mina hadn't spent an hour with Dan and she already knew without a doubt that he was too honorable to sleep with one of his employees. Deputy Ripley didn't have a chance in hell with him. She felt a twinge of pity for the other woman before she squashed it.

She had enough to worry about.

"I'm not going anywhere, if you want to help them,” Mina assured the Sheriff. “I'll be fine waiting in the car."

There was a lot to be done, and with only a three-man force, it was going to be a long night. But he shook his head and pulled a tiny notebook from his inside jacket pocket.

"I know it's been a rough go and you're probably not all there yet, but we need to try to get as much information as we can while your memory is fresh."

His tone was gentle but firm. He wanted answers, and she couldn't blame him.

"I'm going to cut to the chase and assume that you want this handled as quickly as I do." He pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket and gestured for her to sit, lowering himself on the bench to sit next to her. "So who is it? An ex-lover? Husband? Who's looking for you, Mina, and why?"

She'd been without friends or family for so long, she would've thought the urge for human connection would've faded by now. That she would finally get used to being a country of one. But she found herself wishing more than anything in the world she could tell him the truth. That the Council was after her and they would stop at nothing to find and punish her for what she'd done. That she had no ex-lover or husband, or anyone in the world who would want to find her besides her enemies. If she thought she could tell him the truth without him winding up exactly like that kid on the bed in there, she would.

But she wouldn't put him any more at risk than she already had, no matter how alone she felt right now.

She nodded slowly, relaying the story she'd cobbled together in her mind over the past fifteen minutes in preparation for exactly this line of questioning.

"My ex. His name is Vincent Sullivan. Or, at least that's what he called himself when we were together. He was a smalltime gangster in Denver, we met about a year ago. It was fast and furious, pretty much over before it started, but he wasn't ready to let go. I've been on the move for the past six months, but this is the first time he's caught up with me."

The lies rolled off her tongue like butter, and she hated herself more with each word. But sending the Sheriff and his team off on a wild goose chase would keep them busy long enough for her to figure out her next move, and keep them safe while she did it.

And right now? That was all that mattered. She couldn't handle another drop of blood on her hands.

She looked up to find his eyes locked on her face as he skewered her with his all-too perceptive gaze.

"So you mean to tell me that you've been on the run for the past six months?"

She didn't need to see the doubt etched on his handsome face by the light of the neon motel sign. It fairly dripped from his voice.

Her brain whirred as she thought back to their short time together and she realized instantly that she'd made a critical error. She definitely didn't come across as a runner. Hell, they'd known each other barely an hour before she'd gone toe to toe with him in this very parking lot without hesitation. Either she'd underestimated how smart he was or she underestimated her talent for lying.

Maybe a bit of both.

She forced herself to stay calm and keep her tone neutral.

"He was mentally ill. I didn't want him arrested or to play out some big drama with violence and restraining orders. I just wanted him to get the help he needed. I figured if I left, it would be out of sight out of mind." She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slowly. "I was wrong."

He took a long moment to digest her words and then jotted a few notes on his pad before looking up to meet her gaze again.

"And you say 'he called himself' Vincent Sullivan? Does that mean you know for a fact that was an alias, or is that just a hunch?"

"I can't say for sure. I stayed at his house a few times and had seen several pieces of mail with different names on the envelopes, but he didn't have a roommate. I can't recall exactly what they were, Richard something and then another one with the last name beginning with a Z... Zelinski? Or something like that." She shook her head as if frustrated with her inability to remember. "By then, I already knew it was over, so there was no point in grilling him about it. I'd caught him in several lies, and had found a stash of drugs he'd been selling to some neighborhood kids. I just wanted a clean break."

His eyes narrowed on her face and his moving pen paused. "You didn't live together?"

She thought back over the previous few minutes and realized instantly why he was asking the question.

Come home, Mina.

Sheriff Dan here was good at his job. Already he'd caught her in two lies, and they hadn't been talking for more than a minute. She couldn't imagine what he would be able to do with her alone in a room on a single chair with a bare light bulb hanging overhead for a few hours.

She swallowed past the thick knot in her throat.

"No. But he was pressuring me to, and when other people asked, he told them we did. Told them we were getting married, made up this whole engagement story. He was delusional."

It was weak, but entirely possible considering good old Vincent's history of mental illness. She hoped...

The Sheriff wrote that down as well, and, to her relief, seemed to accept it as truth. It had become abundantly clear, though, that she was digging herself a deeper hole with every passing word. She needed to cut this interview short, and fast, before she said something that couldn't be fixed.

She waited a few more minutes, answering questions about what type of car her fake ex-boyfriend drove, and what he looked like, but she responded as briefly as possible and then trailed off suddenly, clearing her throat.

"I'm feeling really nauseous again. I know we have to continue but you think I could sit in the car for a few minutes just until my stomach calms down a little?"

He flipped a glance at the door of the motel room behind her before nodding.

"Sure. I'm going to put out an APB based on this info and then I'll have Rip come out and sit with you for a few minutes. She's good with people."

For one absurd moment, Mina wanted to laugh.

"Rip" might be good with some people, but something told Mina that she'd only traded one hell for another. Because Rip? Had hated her guts on sight.

"Thanks."

The Sheriff led her to the front seat of his car and radioed Ripley, who came a few minutes later and waved him off.

The Deputy climbed into the driver's side and slammed the door closed, without a word. Her aura was chaotic, writhing like a pit of angry vipers. Mina remained tense, at the ready, wondering how this was going to play out. It took awhile. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen passed before the silence was broken.

"You can rest easy, you know," Ripley said, her tone low and measured. "Dan is amazing at his job. He's going to get to the bottom of this and make sure everyone involved gets what they deserve."

On paper, it was a kind gesture. Something that, if Mina relayed it word for word back to Ripley's boss, would sound like a reassurance. But both women knew better.

It was a warning.

A threat.

A declaration.

I see you. And even if he doesn't yet, he will soon.

The thought didn't sit well, but she wasn't angry at the Deputy. Not only had Ripley realized that something was off about Mina, she also had balls. And balls were something to admire on a woman.

"I hope you're right," Mina replied, and burrowed more deeply into the seat.

They fell back into a stony silence, which was fine with Mina. It gave her a chance to think. By the time the M.E. arrived an hour later, she had smoothed out the rough edges of her story and felt confident that she could handle anything they threw at her.

Dan came back to the car and asked her if she was all right to come back and sit on the bench while they finished up. She nodded and she and Ripley exited the car to trail behind him.

The next couple hours went by in a rush of activity as the small crew bustled in and out of the motel with tagged bags of evidence, and looky-loos were ushered back into the rooms.

Things finally started to wind down and Jim was plastering the door in yellow crime scene tape while Dan and Ripley chatted with the M.E. in the parking lot. Mina stared at the motel through gritty eyes, wondering how far another was. There was no way in hell she could sleep at the Dew Drop tonight, even if it was a new room.

She'd just resigned herself to catching a few winks in her rental car if she could when the Sheriff and his female Deputy approached.

"We're about done here for tonight," he said, his face grim but determined. "We haven't gotten a lead on Sullivan yet, but I'm confident with your description and the estimated timeline the M.E. gave us, he can't have gone far. Until then, you'll have to stay with me. I don't expect it to be long, but we don't have a safehouse and I can't have you alone and at risk. My place is small, but we can manage for a couple days, or more if need be."

If looks could kill, she'd be deader than poor Paulie the desk clerk as Ripley's poison gaze drilled into her. For once, they were on the same page. The last thing Mina wanted was to be in close quarters with the all-too perceptive Sheriff for days on end.

She opened her mouth to argue, but the Deputy beat her to it.

"My place is closer and has the guest room no one is using, boss. She's welcome to it," Ripley said, turning her full attention to the Sheriff. "Besides, her stuff is in the room and since the suitcase had blood on it, it's all been bagged and tagged for evidence. At least at my house, she can get a change of clothes and all."

Master of the art of the subtle jab, Ripley sent a quick, disapproving glance at Mina's outfit.

Great.

So far, her options were staying with a guy who made her tongue-tied enough to the point of carelessness and a woman who hated her guts on sight. She said a silent prayer that Deputy Jim would trump them with some compelling reason that his place should be the makeshift safehouse, but he stayed silent.

Dan shut down the conversation with a clipped shake of his head. "Nope. While I can't imagine this guy would be crazy enough to come after her again tonight, I'm not willing to put any one of you at risk. My property is the hardest to find and the easiest to defend. We'll pick up some clothes if this isn't settled tomorrow. In the meantime, she can sleep in one of my shirts."

A prick of pity stabbed at Mina as she took in the sick expression on Ripley's face. Just what a woman in love wanted etched in her brain. The image of another woman sleeping in her man's shirt.

"I'll be fine in this," Mina mumbled, but no one was listening. They'd already begun making plans to meet up in the morning and continue their interviews.

She waited quietly until they were done and Dan gestured toward the car.

"You ready?"

She nodded and stood, following him through the parking lot.

Had it been only a few hours before that she'd been giggling like a schoolgirl, weaving between cars so she could get the drop on him? She felt like she'd aged a hundred years since then.

And now, instead of climbing into bed and falling into a blessedly deep, restorative sleep, she was going to be elbow to elbow with the compelling Sheriff for the foreseeable future.

A trickle of panic snaked down her spine and, for a moment, she found herself wishing she had been in the room when her assassins had come. At least then, her hell would be over.

Now?

She had the distinct feeling it had just begun.