Victoria‘s eyes widened.
He snorted as his evil offspring burst into giggles.
Victoria blinked, then gave her throaty laugh. "Little monster, you had me. Way to go." She turned to Calum. "I take it the first shift is nothing special?"
"Much like you‘ve seen. The major difference is a youngster‘s lack of control." He tried not to think about the children unable to trawsfur back, the ones that went feral, or those so overwhelmed and terrified that they ran themselves to death. His Jamie was level-headed. Smart.
She‘d get through it fine.
Jaw clenched, he turned away under the guise of removing the garlic bread from the oven.
He handed the basket to Jamie. "Let‘s eat."
As they sat at the round oak table, he saw Victoria glance at the fourth place-setting, and answered her unspoken question. "Alec usually gets off around—" Before he could finish, the back door opened and slammed shut.
His brother appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Damn, that smells good. Did you eat al—"
When he caught sight of Victoria, his words sputtered to a close, and he stared.
Bugger it. Having her here, in their home, had been a mistake. He was asking for pain for himself...and Alec...and even Victoria. He shoved out a chair with his foot. "Alec. Sit and eat before the food gets cold."
Alec took the seat beside Victoria. "I‘m in shock. We usually only have one lovely lady at our table."
Jamie giggled. "I invited her, Uncle Alec."
"Good job, kiddo." He served himself up huge helpings of salad and lasagna and added a piece of garlic bread. "Sorry I‘m late. Had to ticket a couple of city boys for looking ugly in a
‗no-ugly‘ zone."
Victoria‘s brows drew together. "Are you serious?"
"Weeell." Alec leaned back in his chair. "If I don‘t like the looks of someone, we just keep an eye on them, make sure they‘re not here to cause trouble. If needed, we‘ll give them a nudge to move along."
Calum smothered a smile. Alec had perfected the good-old-boy, we-hate-outsiders sheriff routine when he‘d lived in Texas.
"I keep forgetting you have a nasty side," Victoria murmured, looking more impressed than not. She popped a bite of lasagna into her mouth, stilled, and then hummed, her lids half-closing.
Lost in pleasure. Herne help me.
Calum‘s breath turned ragged as did Alec‘s. Their eyes met in perfect understanding. Want this female for us. But she was human. They both looked away.
"We"—Calum cleared his voice to remove the huskiness—"We encountered Victoria in the bookstore today." He smiled at her. "I noticed Thorson looks less unhappy. Did you talk more with him?"
She nodded. "He asked me to tell"—she glanced at Jamie and amended—"to talk about old times. He seems so lonely. Not many people come into his store."
"He misses Lachlan," Jamie said. "I miss him too. He was always fun."
"Does Joe have no one else?" Victoria asked.
Alec shook his head. "His sister died years ago, and she‘d had only two children. Lachlan is her daughter‘s child. When Lachlan‘s mother and her lifemate–um, spouse—were killed in a car accident, Thorson gave him a home. Technically, he‘s Lachlan‘s grand-uncle."
"No kids of his own?"
"None he knows about," Alec said. "He enjoyed the fight too much and never took a lifemate . "
Victoria stirred her fork around in the remnants of her meal. She‘d eaten heartily, Calum was pleased to see. "How old is he anyway?" she asked.
Jamie spoke before Calum could stop her, "He‘s gonna turn a hundred in two years."
Victoria choked, swallowed. "Very funny, you rat. You got me twice tonight. Really though, how old is he?" She studied Jamie‘s face. "You weren‘t joking."
Jamie shook her head.
Copper-colored eyes settled on Calum‘s face. "Another shifter thing?"
He nodded, hoping she wouldn‘t take it any farther.
No grace was given. "So how old are you?" she asked.
There was a reason very few humans were allowed to know about Daonain; this was one.
But he didn‘t lie. "Alec and I are in our late fifties."
"Damn." She eyed him and Alec, her gaze like dancing sunlight. "You carry your age well, guys. How long do shifters live then?"
"Around a hundred-twenty or so." Alec winked at her. "No immortality, I‘m afraid."
"There‘s a relief. A hundred—I almost got my butt kicked by a centenarian? Some bouncer I am." Her face sobered. "Speaking of being a bouncer, I‘m giving you notice, Calum."
"What‘s that mean?" Jamie asked.
Calum forced himself to take a breath. "You‘re leaving me—us—Cold Creek?"
Her lips curved ruefully. "Yeah. I‘ve kept my promise to Lachlan. And my knee‘s healed up, good as new, according to the doc, so I need to get back to a real job."
Jamie pushed to her feet and threw her arms around Victoria. "I don‘t want you to leave,"
she wailed, giving voice to Calum‘s feelings as well.
Victoria hugged Jamie, blinking hard. "I know. But my people need me a lot more than your dad needs a barmaid. I go where I‘m needed."
To Vic‘s relief, the evening ended early. They‘d shared some wine in the living room, but Jamie was moping, Calum was quiet, and Alec… God, the unhappiness in his eyes wrenched her heart.
We screwed once, she reminded herself, as she went into the kitchen to get her coat. Once.
Hell, he‘d held a knife to her throat—what kind of relationship was that? She picked up her coat.
Besides, if he… She blinked. The dinner dishes were piled by the sink, the table wiped clean of all spills.
She turned in a circle, but the place stood empty. Nobody had done the clean-up; they‘d been in the living room. Surely Calum didn‘t have a maid. Not a crumb littered the floor, although she spotted a small bowl of milk and a tiny piece of frosted cake on a plate in one corner. Did werecats keep domestic cats?
"Do you really have to go now?" Jamie stood in the doorway.
"Yeah, I need to pack." Like she had much of anything to worry about. Vic nodded toward the corner. "I didn‘t know you had a cat."
"Oh, we don‘t. That‘s for the—" Calum‘s hand on Jamie‘s shoulder stopped the girl.
As he turned Jamie back to the living room, Vic sighed. Another fucking secret.
"Alec will walk you home," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. Oh, hell, he couldn‘t be unhappy too, could he? But she thought of the evenings they‘d spent talking, arguing over politics and books, the late night chess games. Simple pleasures. His quiet companionship had filled a hole she hadn‘t realized was there. Both he and Alec had made her realize how alone she usually was…and would be again.
Yeah, this was why people shouldn‘t get attached to each other—because it hurt like hell to leave.
Alec waited by the front door, tossing his car keys up, and catching them.
She just looked at him. Wanting. Those large hands had stroked her body, that clever mouth had… Inhale, Vic. "Alec, I can get home by myself." She shook her head at him. "I need a quiet walk, and you and quiet don‘t go together at all."
Jamie snickered.
Alec‘s smile was tight as he ruffled the kid‘s hair. "You are a nasty lass, little niece, and Vixen is a bad influence on you."
His use of his special nickname made her chest tighten. Without speaking, Vic stepped past him and out, closing the door behind her. The chill wind whipped at her hair as she went down the steps. Night had fallen and the fountain was silent.
Chapter Eleven
The next afternoon, Thorson ignored the tinkling doorbell as a customer entered the store.
He scowled at the paperwork on the desk. By Herne‘s Holy Antlers, he‘d added the numbers three times and gotten different sums each time. If he came up with a fourth sum, he was going to—
"Heads-up, dude." A throaty contralto. A spicy scent. The little, book-lov
ing barmaid.
Thorson spun his chair around. Vicki waved a travel cup in the air and offered it.
"What‘s that?"
"Coffee," she said. "I‘ve had yours; mine‘s better."
He rose to his feet, vaguely disgusted with his manners that he hadn‘t done so at once. What in Herne‘s name was wrong with him these days? "Fine, give it here."
She handed it over. Steam from the tiny drinking hole teased his senses with the rich fragrance of coffee. It definitely didn‘t smell like his normal bitter brew. He took a sip and felt every taste bud in his mouth start to sing in praise. Another sip and he eyed her over the top of the cup. "You trying to bribe me for some reason?"
Her low laugh reminded him of Lachlan, and his lips pulled into an unaccustomed smile.
"No bribe. It‘s a goodbye present." She turned to look at the long shelves of books. "I‘m going to miss this place...might even miss you a little."
His legs seemed to weaken—old joints, undoubtedly. He dropped into his chair. "Are you leaving us, girl?"
She leaned on the counter, resting her weight on her arms—maybe her legs were shaky too.
"My knee is healed, so I‘m going back to the job I had before. It‘s overseas, and I travel light."
He drank his coffee and studied her without speaking. If she‘d been a shifter, he‘d have put money on Calum and Alec snagging her for a lifemate . Even for a human, she was all right.
Her eyes met his steadily in the way he‘d come to respect. No back-down in the girl. Plain-spoken. He‘d have called her cold if he hadn‘t watched her with Jamie. Or seen her trying not to cry when she told him about Lachlan. "I might miss you a little too," he managed.
Her lips curled into a half-grin. "Well, let‘s not get all mushy here." She bent over and with a grunt of effort set a...thing onto the counter.
"What the—what is that?"
"This is your goodbye present. It‘s a coffee-maker and it grinds the beans too. The cup of coffee was just to show you what you‘re missing."
"You expect me to use that?"
She shoved the behemoth toward him. "Yeah. Listen, Joe, in the cities, every corner has a Starbucks. Since there‘s nothing like that in Cold Creek, I figure people might come in here on these freeze-your-ass-off days—like today—just to have a decent cup of coffee."
Not a bad notion, really, but… He frowned at the machine. "And they‘d want me to make them fancy-pants latte or mocha or some such?"
"Naw. The mountains don‘t have helpless city folks. Just put out good coffee and have extras like chocolate syrup and whipped cream and all that sitting on the table. Let‘em make their own."
He could see it. Maybe change the fireplace chairs to comfortable ones. Have this contraption over there. People would straggle in all day long. His store wouldn‘t be so lonely.
That was what she‘d planned, wasn‘t it? "Pretty sneaky, girl."
Looking a little lost for such a spirited female, she touched his hand. "I think Lachlan hoped I‘d stay. He said...‘ Tell Grandpa I gifted you...and you"re my gift‘. Kinda like he entrusted you to me or something. I have to go, so I thought this…" She moved her shoulders, gave him a wavery smile, and hurried out into the cold and rain.
As he stared after her, silence closed around him. He‘d thought of Lachlan as a gift from the Mother. But then the boy had died. Now apparently the gods were taking this gift also.
Damn but it sucked saying goodbye to people, and maybe she‘d grown old, because it seemed much harder this time around. Vic figured she hadn‘t hurt this much since she‘d lost her buddy, Shanna, in Afghanistan.
And I don‘t even like that old man.
Icy fingers of rain drizzled down her face bringing back the chill feel of Shanna‘s hand as her blood drained into the sand. Vic closed her eyes to force the memory and the pain away. That was then; this was now. Move on.
Always moving on. Would she ever stop?
She crossed the street and looked into the grocery store. Maybe she should pick up some diet Cokes for the road. The bright lighting made it a cheerful oasis under the gray sky. As Al waited, Mrs. Neilson piled the counter with canned dog food for her poodle, so old and fat it could hardly walk. Vic tried to smile. Failed. Damn, she‘d miss this place.
Forget going in the grocery. Go back to the house. Finish packing. Leave. There, she had a plan.
Behind Vic, the door opened, and Mrs. Neilson instructed Al, "And don‘t forget to order the food for senior dogs next time."
Vic looked over her shoulder. The stout woman patted her thick wool coat closer like a chilled bird ruffling her feathers. Farther down the sidewalk, a man turned abruptly to look at the hotel window.
The hotel didn‘t have a display. What kind of idiot stood in the rain, staring at nothing?
The muscles in Vic‘s shoulders tightened. A person‘s subconscious—or monkey brain—
noticed the oddest details. Something out of place, behavior that didn‘t make sense. Too many people where there should only be a few. She resumed walking, brushed straggling wet hair away from her face, and spotted two men across the street, paralleling her course.
She faked a stumble and knelt to retie her shoe so she could scope out her six. Behind her was the hotel window loiterer and an additional man. All wore dark coats with scarves or pulled-up collars, rendering them anonymous in the steady rain.
They walked with none of the animal grace displayed by Calum or Alec—or even Thorson.
So they probably weren‘t shifters. Well good. She‘d rather fight humans than werecritters any day of the week. As adrenaline upped her pulse and tightened her muscles, she rose and continued down the sidewalk. They followed.
Yep, she was being hunted, pretty aggressively too. Wasn‘t life just full of surprises? Were they buddies of that asshole Swane? Seemed logical. How the hell had they found her?
Think about that later. If she continued going straight, she‘d leave the downtown area, and in this weather, the residential streets would be pretty empty. Undoubtedly the men‘s plan. Need to turn around.
She stopped. After pretending to rummage through her pockets and not finding what she wanted, she retraced her path. Past Angie‘s Diner, the hotel, Baty‘s Grocery. The one guy remaining on that side saw her coming and ducked into the store. Vic crossed the street and felt the net of men contract. They planned to grab her in the middle of town? Damn.
She was moving fast as she went into the bookstore.
Thorson looked up. "Forgot someth—?"
"Where‘s your back exit?"
His brows lifted. "Rear of the storeroom." He pointed to a door behind the counter.
"Stay out of this," she snapped, darting behind the counter and through the door.
Darkness. She tripped over something. Dammit. She fumbled for the penlight on her key ring. The tiny beam showed her a huge room filled with boxes and a winding path to the exit.
She‘d just reached the exit when shouts broke out in the store. A yell of pain. A growl. Oh, fuck, why had she picked Thorson‘s place instead of somewhere else? That junk-yard dog wouldn‘t sit quietly while thugs tried to follow her. She yanked the knife from her calf sheath and dashed back across the storeroom.
The knob was already turning, so she waited until the door opened a crack, and then gave it a hard kick. The heavy oak slammed into the guy‘s face with a thud she felt in her bones.
He dropped like a rock, a tranq gun clattering to the floor. One down.
She whipped through, jumped over the body, then paused to map out the situation. One bastard just entering. One had closed on Thorson, and she grinned. Joe would take the poor sucker apart.
The third rushed her, saving her time. She sidestepped, then kicked him and took his knee out. As he fell, she used his greasy hair to whack his head against the counter and winced as his skull fractured. Two down. Nice of Thorson to use solid oak for his door and counters. She glanced at him.
His opponent had pulled a
knife. Thorson knocked aside his arm, plucked the blade from his hand, and jammed it into his chest. The man crumbled into a heap. A gleeful grin appeared on the old man‘s face, then the sharp retort of a pistol split the air, and Thorson staggered backward against his desk. The splattering blood turned his paperwork a garish red.
No! Vic spun around. The gunman stood just inside the door. With a snarl, she flung her knife.
With a choking sound, he dropped his weapon to grab frantically at the blade in his throat.
Blood sprayed across the wooden floor as he went down to his knees. Spasming, he fell forward.
"You play rough, little female." Thorson was standing, one hand pressed to his shoulder.
Blood streamed between his fingers.
"Jesus, I thought he‘d killed you!" Giddy relief soared through Vic, and she grabbed his grizzled head to plant a kiss. One second of joy, then she dropped her jacket on the floor to strip off her T-shirt.
Wadding it up, she shoved the makeshift bandage against the bullet hole. "Does nine-one-one work here? Are you allowed to go to the hospital?"
"Yes and I am." Thorson‘s knees buckled, and he dropped into his chair.
"Stay," she ordered like he was a dog, which was just wrong. She pulled her jacket on over her bra before grabbing the desk phone. As she punched buttons, she watched the door. If she‘d have planned this, she‘d have someone designated as a backup. More bad guys might be coming.
"What is the nature of your emergency?" came the voice.
"A robbery at the bookstore in Cold Creek. The owner got shot."
The operator gasped—were they allowed to do that?—and then returned to her monotone,
"I‘m sending the police and ambulance. Please stay on the line until they arrive."
Near the storeroom, the man she‘d hit with the door groaned and tried to roll over. She dropped the phone long enough to walk over and slam his head against the floor.
A grin appeared on Joe‘s face, pushing aside the lines of pain. "You were pulling your punches during our bar fight. I knew it."
How could a guy remind her of her father, a drill sergeant, and her teammates all in one?
Hour of the Lion Page 14
