Hour of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  Of course, it might be fun to be a cougar with big teeth and claws and run into the Ice Queen or Cleavage. Hooyah, she‘d give a whole new meaning to nasty feral. Now if bitch one and two were the only ones she might attack, she‘d do that trawsfur thing in a heartbeat.

  But apparently a feral didn‘t choose its victims. No one could hate Helen, yet Fergus had tried to kill her. And if I attacked Jamie? The thought of hurting the child, slashing, biting was gut wrenching.

  Hell, the kid was probably already hurt. She imagined Jamie‘s face at finding the note and cringed inside. Coward much, Sergeant? God, she‘d never imagined how enormously she‘d miss the munchkin. So bouncy and loving.

  Was I ever that carefree? Saying just what she thought, screaming with laughter, hugging people? No. Growing up in the Mid-East as a hated American had set an early curb on her tongue. Her mouth tightened. Her father had doled out love, praise, and hugs only when she‘d proven useful in some way, like putting on a diplomatic dinner or returning with interesting market gossip. Maybe that‘s why Jamie‘s—and Calum and Alec‘s—easy affection was so disconcerting.

  Dammit, she wasn‘t going to think about them. Her throat tightened as if a garrote drew tight around it. The sex had been…wondrous, but what she really missed was how the men touched her so often. So lovingly. The way Calum would run a finger down her cheek, or Alec tuck an arm around her waist and pull her close. As if she belonged beside them. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears, then bent her head and concentrated on the trail. Footstep after footstep.

  On reaching the summit, she stopped to catch her breath. Fat puffs of snow had started falling, and the dark clouds warned of more to come. As her eyes rested on the forested slopes and the white-covered peaks, quiet wrapped around her.

  Once she‘d stopped crying and listened to the silence, she‘d started to feel the strength that existed deep within the wilderness—and her connection to it. Like going into a firefight, and knowing your teammates had your back.

  She shook her head. As she‘d walked, miserable and trying not to cry, she‘d felt it, pulling her in. Somehow this place was...was like a part of her. Like she‘d found a piece that had been missing.

  But she‘d also acquired something else. Closing her eyes, she could see in the dark of her mind, that fucking door. It glowed now around the edges, like light seeped through from some other place. Five years ago, she‘d gotten stranded in the desert. Drank the last of her water. By the time she‘d reached the military outpost her entire body had craved fluids, and then a soldier had held out a canteen.

  She wanted to open that door even more than she‘d wanted that canteen.

  Not gonna happen. She deliberately turned away from the inner door and opened her eyes.

  She sighed, her breath a puff of mist in the air. There was no way to win this fight. “We have done with Hope and Honour, We are lost to, Love and Truth, We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung.”

  Tears blurred the trail in front of her as she started down the other side. Toward a life she no longer wanted.

  *

  The brothers and Jamie had returned a few days ago…without his little barmaid. Still residing in Calum‘s guest room, Thorson opened his book and tried to concentrate on Dumas‘s Three Musketeers, but D‘Artagnan wasn‘t holding his attention. He returned to fuming.

  Vicki had not only turned down his grandson‘s gift, she hadn‘t stopped to see him. Damn the girl, she was supposed to have come back—she was his family now. He‘d finally figured out what Lachlan had wanted. The boy hadn‘t had a chance to mature to wisdom, but his perception of people had been unrivaled. Knowing he was dying, he‘d sent Thorson a substitute grandchild.

  Thorson smiled a little. Being Lachlan, he probably hadn‘t even considered that Thorson might go feral upon his death. No, he‘d just wanted his grandfather to have someone to love. He closed the book with a thump and rose from the soft chair, scowling as pain lanced into his shoulder. Pulling the curtain back, he looked out. Snow hissed against the window and formed drifts in Calum‘s garden.

  Had he lost another child before he‘d even known she was his?

  A knock pulled his attention away. "Enter."

  Calum appeared in the door, his expression angry. "I—"

  "First, tell me. Is she still up there?"

  Calum knew exactly who he meant, and the lines in his face deepened. "Her car remains at her house."

  Was she lost in the mountains? Dying alone?

  "Joe, she filled her backpack with everything she‘d need to survive." Calum scrubbed his face and admitted, "I‘m worried too. If she doesn‘t show up by tonight, I‘ll call out the clan to look for her."

  "Thank you, Cosantir. Now, what‘s happened to anger you?"

  "Alec called. Angie found Irma Neilson‘s dog injured in the park. Pretty dehydrated as if it had been there a while—and Irma‘s missing."

  "She‘d never leave that fat sausage," Thorson muttered.

  "Exactly."

  "You think she got taken? Kidnapped?" Thorson scowled.

  "Possibly. Just in case, people are searching the forest around the park. But…" Calum‘s face tightened. "Alec has a list of recent rentals from one realtor and is trying to reach the other. The deputy is taking part of the list, but I‘m going to check the ones outside town."

  Thorson frowned. With the power of Herne ramping up his senses, the Cosantir could probably tell—smell—if Mrs. Neilson was in a house. But still… "The old woman is human, Calum."

  "She lives in my territory."

  And he protected anyone in his territory, clan or not. Herne hadn‘t chosen wrong when he made Calum McGregor the Cosantir for the North Cascades. Thorson bent his head in acknowledgment…and respect. "How can I help, Cosantir?"

  "I‘d like to leave Jamie with you."

  Jamie peeked around Calum, her face puckered with worry, and Thorson pulled his features into a smile. "I‘d be delighted to have company, especially if she‘ll play chess with me."

  "I‘d rather play poker."

  Calum straightened. "Gambling? With Jamie?"

  "The stakes are M and M‘s," Thorson said, knowing his tail was surely caught in a trap on this one.

  But when Jamie boasted, "I beat him last time," and laughed out loud, Calum‘s expression changed. Lightened. The child had been a solemn ghost since returning from Elder Village. None of them had realized how much she‘d come to care for Vicki…how she‘d craved a female‘s attention.

  "A card shark, indeed." Calum shook his head with a small smile. "In that case, try not to win all of Joe‘s candy. He might cry."

  Jamie snickered and trotted into the room, kneeling to get the cards from the nightstand.

  Thorson sighed. At one time, her head would have come level with the top. How fast they grow.

  How soon they shift.

  As though Calum heard his thoughts, he said, "Call me if there‘s any signs she is starting—

  well, if you need me for anything."

  *

  In the driver‘s seat of his van, Swane smirked as he stuffed his cell phone into his pocket.

  "We caught a break—McGregor drove out of town a few minutes ago. The kid‘s at home alone."

  "Good info you got from the old woman," Perez commented as he and Tank started gathering their gear.

  "Seems like." Swane grinned. "If this doesn‘t pan out, she‘ll live long enough for me to ask more questions."

  Perez laughed, although Tank looked a little green. The pussy didn‘t like hurting bitches.

  "Let‘s make sure the cop‘s too busy to come home for lunch." Swane punched in a number.

  "Cold Creek Police," said a woman.

  "Listen up, cunt. I just wanted you to know, I planted a bomb…"

  *

  Two more rooms to go. As Alec strode down the hall to the next classroom, he could hear the school children laughing and shouting outside the building. For them, the early dismissal had come as an unexpe
cted treat.

  Alec wasn‘t laughing. Hell, his heart was thudding inside his chest like a stereo‘s bass turned too high, and sweat trickled down his back. When he‘d joined the force, he‘d accepted the possibility of getting shot, stabbed, even dying in a car wreck.

  Being blown into tiny bits hadn‘t been on the job description.

  He visually checked the door for wires before cracking it open. Stepping into the classroom, he was engulfed in the scents of books, crayons, and glue. Splashy bright paintings covered the walls, a plastic skeleton hung in one corner and—he sighed—the room held lots of little desks.

  He‘d have to inspect each one, over and under for the bomb. The alleged bomb which was probably some asshole‘s idea of a joke.

  Moving around the room in the prescribed methodical fashion, Alec growled. Once he got out of here, he‘d go after this bastard who had disrupted the school and terrified his dispatcher.

  Poor Bonnie had looked white as snow when she‘d burst into his office, babbling, "He says he put a bomb in the school. It‘s supposed to explode at one o‘clock!"

  Involuntarily, Alec glanced at his watch. A half-hour to go. Hopefully. Could he assume a bomber would be able to tell time?

  *

  As Vic stumbled through the drift, a root caught her boot and sent her sprawling. Hell. After shoving to her feet, she wiped off her face. At least the snow made for a soft landing; she‘d had worse.

  As she brushed herself off, she squinted against the flakes slapping into her face. Fucking A, this was almost a white-out. The trees broke the wind, but in every clearing, the snow piled deeper. Thank God, she was near town.

  Looked like the slope had leveled off. She couldn‘t see the town through the blizzard, but she smelled it. Wood smoke, a hint of cooked food—Italian maybe, a touch of gas fumes. Her nose was definitely more sensitive these days.

  She hefted her pack onto her shoulder and started the last leg of her journey.

  *

  Calum found nothing suspicious at the first two rentals. One had a family with children. The second held three young men, and he could smell drugs in the house. He‘d sic Alec on them.

  After pulling his car over to the side of the road, Calum looked at the third house through the blowing snow. The ancient mobile home sat on a few acres of land.

  No vehicle in sight. He left the car and sniffed the air. More than one male had passed recently. But using human senses, he couldn‘t tell if anyone remained.

  Detouring to a clump of trees, he stripped and shifted. As he prowled around the house, he sniffed at the windows and doors. Nothing. Then at a bedroom window, he caught the faint scent of blood. Urine. Sweat. A female. Human. Old.

  Here.

  *

  Did three of something beat four in a row? Jamie bit her lip and glanced across the card table she‘d set up in her new grandfather‘s bedroom—her Grandpa Joe.

  He‘d been so sick and lonely after moving in, so she‘d told him he had to be her grandfather if he lived here, no matter how long. His face had looked funny for a minute—and she‘d worried she‘d messed up bad—and then he‘d nodded and tugged on her hair. And her daddy had smiled like he did when he was proud of her.

  His finger tapped his cards which meant he had something good. But if she could get the ten of clubs, then—

  Grandpa Joe cleared his throat. "Remember what I told you about a poker face? That‘s not it."

  She made her face go all blank, and he gave a boar-like snort. "You look older when you do that."

  "Good. I guess."

  He studied her for a minute, making her squirm. "Are you able to see the door yet?"

  Closing her eyes, she looked inside her mind and saw it clearly before it disappeared. She barely managed to close her mouth over the "Fuck" that Vicki would have used. She opened her eyes and nodded. "Then it goes away."

  "Soon."

  "I s‘pose," she sighed and examined her cards again. They hadn‘t improved. "Hit me."

  "You got it." He slid a card across the table to her.

  As she picked it up— ugh, an eight—someone knocked loudly on the outside door. She jumped up.

  "Go get it." Grandpa Joe made a shooing motion as he headed toward the bathroom.

  The person pounded again. Like something was really important. But people always came here needing her father.

  Or maybe Vicki had come back? Jamie flung the door open.

  Two big men stood on the landing, both in dark parkas. One man‘s face had little holes in it like he‘d had pimples when he was her age. The other one had a shaved head and mud brown eyes.

  When they smiled at her, she got a creepy, spidery feeling and retreated a step.

  The guy with the shaved head held up a shiny badge, and she saw tattoos all over the back of his hand. "We‘re with the FBI, Miss. May we come in?"

  The government. This was bad. And the rules set down by Uncle Alec were never to be broken. "My dad isn‘t here. I‘ll call him and you can—"

  They pushed into the house, forcing her back. The tattooed one looked at her with cold eyes,

  "Are you Jessica McGregor?"

  What was she supposed to do? "Yes. I need to call—"

  "Later." He pointed toward the office. "Perez, check out the place. I‘ll handle the girl."

  "On it." The one called Perez disappeared into Daddy‘s den.

  "Sit." His hand hurt her shoulder as he shoved her onto the couch. "I‘m looking for Victoria Waverly. She worked at your dad‘s tavern. Where is she?"

  Involuntarily, Jamie glanced at the window. The mountains had disappeared in the snowfall.

  He followed her gaze. "Is she in the forest? Where? A town?" He put his face too close to hers, his breath ugly with coffee and onion.

  Go away! Jamie looked at the bedroom. Was Joe out of the bathroom? "Grandpa Joe!"

  "Shit! Who else is here?" The man grabbed her wrist.

  She saw a gun holstered on his belt, and her breath clogged in her throat.

  The bedroom door opened, and Grandpa Joe appeared, holding his chest. "Jamie? What—"

  He stopped. "Who the hell are you?"

  "FBI. Stay put, and we‘ll get to you."

  "In a pig‘s eye." Grandpa Joe came forward.

  As the man turned to Joe, Jamie yanked free. Daddy needed to come now! Quiet as a mouse, like Alec had taught her, she snuck toward the phone in the corner.

  "Give me your name. And your badge," Joe snapped.

  "You‘re not Calum McGregor?" The man circled around Grandpa Joe like Daniel did when he was buying a cow. "Nah, you‘re too old. Nice scars you got on your arms there, dude."

  As Joe‘s face darkened, Jamie picked up the phone. No dial tone. Her hands shook. She hit the OFF button. Then, TALK. Nothing. She repeated, over and over. The phone was dead.

  Grandpa Joe glanced at her, and she shook her head „No," before setting the phone down. He jerked his head at the door and stepped in front of the man. "Listen, asshole—"

  Heart pounding, Jamie darted across the room. She had the door halfway open when the guy slammed it shut and yanked her back by the hair.

  Tears burst from her eyes at the pain. She screamed, but a hand over her mouth muffled it.

  With an arm around her waist, he turned, dragging her with him.

  The other man had jumped in front of Grandpa Joe, keeping him from Jamie. Growling, Joe hit him in the face and knocked him down.

  As Jamie kicked harder, the one holding her gave a mean, horrible laugh. "Jesus, he‘s at least sixty, Perez. Finish it already..."

  Head down, the Perez man lunged, hitting Joe in the stomach like a football tackle. Joe grunted and turned white.

  That man hurt Grandpa. No. No no no. She struggled frantically, tearing at her captor‘s hands with her fingernails.

  "Little wildcat, eh? I love ‘em young." He pushed his body closer, rubbing against her bottom, and her stomach cramped like she was going to throw up.

  Inst
ead of pulling away, she turned in his grip and kicked hard at his leg. Her foot slammed into his shin.

  "Fucking bitch!" Letting go of her mouth, he yanked her back by her hair and slapped her.

  Pain seared her cheek, and she yelled.

  Grandpa Joe jerked around, and through the tears blurring her eyes, she saw Perez punch him. In the chest. He groaned and grabbed where his wound was, and red covered his hands. The man kicked him in the stomach. Joe fell back and the sound of his head hitting the coffee table was horrible. Blood pouring from his head, he didn‘t get up.

  "Grandpa!" Jamie screamed.

  He didn‘t move.

  "Nooo," Jamie moaned, her legs crumpling beneath her. She held her hand against her burning cheek, choking on sobs. She tried to crawl to him, but the man grabbed her collar, shook her like an animal.

  Like an animal.

  She closed her eyes, and there it was, the door, glowing an angry mean red. Calling her. She yanked it open and stepped through...into wildness.

  She was on her hands and feet—no, on her paws. The world looked different, and she screamed in terror, only it came out a snarl. Tipping her head up, she saw the men, backing away from her, and the scent of their fear made her want, need something. Her pants bound one leg and she bit at the cloth and ripped it free. Snarling, she stalked forward and slashed at the one who‘d hurt Grandpa Joe. She caught only his jeans, tearing them, but he jumped away from her grandfather.

  The tattooed one grabbed for his gun. Fear. She charged at him, trying to get the gun. He screamed, jumping back. His shirt was in shreds, and blood started to pour from horrible slices on his stomach and chest. His face and arm were all scratched. The men bumped into each other as they ran out the door.

  I bit that man? Clawed him? She hadn‘t even known she‘d moved. She‘d hurt him. I want to hurt him again. The fur on her back felt twitchy. Standing up. No, that was bad. Daddy. I need Daddy.

  She padded over to Grandpa Joe and snuffled his face, but the smell of blood made her insides feel funny, and she backed away. She wasn‘t supposed to enter a house. Not as a cat. She needed to turn back to human.

  But what if they came back?