“You should go home, Cassa.”
She was getting really tired of being told to go home.
“Rather than what?” she asked quietly. “I’m here to find out what happened to Banks, not to turn tail and run because no one wants to talk.”
“There’s no fucking story,” Myron bit out angrily. “Banks was a crazy bastard that liked to drink. He’s probably drifting in the current of that damned river somewhere and just has yet to surface. Give the fucker time, he’ll show up.”
The wealth of hatred in Myron’s tone had Cassa staring back at him, more than surprised now. She was shocked at the fury that brightened his gaze and flushed his face.
“He was mayor here for eight years,” she said quietly. “Voted in and supposedly loved by all the citizens of the county. Then he just disappears and the sheriff can’t get so much as a dozen citizens together to search for him.”
“ ‘Good riddance’ is pretty much what we thought about it,” Myron grimaced. “Cassa, dammit. No one cares if he’s dead or not. No one cares and you shouldn’t either.”
“Why shouldn’t I? He’s not the first casuality here, Myron, and you know it. People are dying in the mountains here and no one seems to care.”
Myron stared at her silently for long moments. His expression flashed with such bitter pain that Cassa actually felt the hurt herself for a moment.
“People have always died in these mountains,” he finally said softly. “No one cared then either.”
Breeds had died here. The information she had stated, more than one had died here, and many had suffered at the hands of the Deadly Dozen, once they were captured.
“Why did Banks stay here?” she asked. “If what you say is true, then he couldn’t have had much peace.”
“He had what he wanted.” Myron shrugged. “His nice house on the hill, his guns and his hunting buddies. Banks didn’t give a damn about much else.”
“Did his hunting buddies give a damn about him?” Cassa moved closer to the warm car. The engine was still running; the warmth flowing from it eased the chill that raced over her on the outside.
Myron leaned against the car door as he turned to look at her.
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” he asked.
Cassa grinned back at him. “You know better than that, Myron. Might as well help me.”
“You lost your senses somewhere,” he accused her. “Even I’m not following up on this story, Cassa. As much as I hated Banks, I’d still like the answers to what happened to him. But things happen here in these mountains, and a smart man knows when to back off.”
That internal reporter radar went off like a siren. The blood was suddenly pumping through her veins and curiosity was slamming in her head. Of course, that surge of adrenaline was causing other, less comforting sensations as well, but she could handle those for the time being.
“I don’t know of anyone who knows you that’s accused you of being smart when it came to backing off on a story, Myron,” she reminded him.
“Naw, Cassa, that was you,” he sighed.
Her lips parted to ask more questions when a black-and-white sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot on the other side of Myron’s car.
Cassa lifted her brows as Myron’s head lowered and another rough breath passed his lips.
What the hell was going on here and just how many people were involved in it?
She watched as the sheriff, an older female, stepped out of the cruiser and settled her official hat on her head.
Danna Lacey. At forty-five years old, her short black and gray hair framed her slender face and emphasized her dark green eyes.
“Myron, how are you doing?” The sheriff’s eyes were curious as her gaze went between Myron and Cassa.
“I’m doing fine, Danna,” he stated with a tinge of mockery as the sheriff moved around the car. “You?”
She nodded slowly, her gaze staying on Cassa now.
“Doin’ good. I noticed your car over here and thought I’d stop by and let you know that Patty was looking for you earlier.”
Myron frowned at that, as he pulled his cell free of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “She didn’t call.”
Danna’s smile was a bit rueful. “She lost her cell phone again, Myron. She’s at the diner. I told her I’d let you know if I saw you.”
Myron rolled his eyes. His expression was a cross between impatience and impotence.
“Time for me to go.” He opened the car door as Cassa straightened from the car and glanced back at him. “Tell your Bengal hello from me, Cassa. Make sure I get an invite to the joining, wedding or whatever the hell they’re calling it this month.”
The reference to the different titles given to mating ceremonies had a frown flashing across Cassa’s face. There was a hint of knowledge in Myron’s tone that shouldn’t be there. As though he knew more about the ceremonies, and the joining, than he should.
“Yeah, I’ll make sure to make a note of that,” she promised mockingly, as he got into the car and slid it smoothly into gear.
He drove off as Cassa turned and lifted a brow in the sheriff’s direction.
Sheriff Lacey grinned at the look. “Patty’s my cousin,” she stated. “She’s been having a hard time lately. I didn’t want rumor circulating that Myron was seen having a nice little visit with a strange woman.”
At least the sheriff was honest.
“Cassa Hawkins.” Cassa extended her hand to the other woman. “I’m a fellow reporter. Myron and I went to college together.”
“He’s mentioned you actually.” The sheriff nodded with a smile. “You were there with him during the first interview with Callan Lyons, when he revealed the existence of the Breeds.”
That historic occasion was one that Cassa had nearly missed. s.” ssed The notice had gone across the nation that a breaking story in Ashland, Kentucky, was going to blow the top off a top secret private and military experiment that had been over a century in the making.
Cassa and Myron had met up in West Virginia and driven in at near breakneck speed. They had questioned Lyons, gone over the medical evidence and seen the truth for themselves, along with dozens of other reporters.
“I was there,” Cassa admitted.
That had been more than a decade ago. Hell, it was probably closer to twelve years before. So much time had passed. So many lives had been lost as well as created in that time.
So many years, and still the Genetics Council that had created the Breeds, then tried to destroy their creations, was hampering their freedom.
The Council funded pure blood societies, incited those groups against the Breeds and, in some cases, recaptured their creations and finished the destruction.
“There were a lot of us that threw a party the day Lyons revealed what was going on.” Danna nodded. “I was part of the Breed Freedom Society,” she revealed. “The battle isn’t over, but reporters such as yourself and Myron have definitely made the world safer for them.”
The Breed Freedom Society had disbanded a few years after Sanctuary, the Feline Breed compound, had been created.
They had created themselves as a group dedicated to the lives of the Breeds who managed to escape and to finding them. They hid them in the mountains and in their own homes, or smuggled them to other states. Whatever it had taken to protect them.
“Lyons coming forward made it much easier to protect them,” Cassa agreed. “The battle isn’t over yet though.”
“No, not quite,” the sheriff agreed as Cassa fought back a cold shiver.
The temperature felt as though it had dropped on the outside, while on the inside she was beginning to burn with disastrous results.
“The Breed Freedom Society is almost as legendary as Lyons himself,” Cassa told her. “Your group was together for more than two decades trying to protect the Breeds that came here. You did a wonderful job.”