by Julie Kenner
Fear coursed through her veins. “Is he hurt?”
Martin shook his head. “Let me bring you to him.”
Cate squinted. “Where is he?”
“Not far. But it’s not the where that is important. It’s the what.” He held out his hand to her. “Come, my dear. I’ll explain on the way.”
A PANTHER.
Martin had told her an unbelievable story, but his explanation couldn’t be true. It was impossible, absurd. And yet somehow, deep in her heart, Cate knew that what the butler had revealed was absolutely true—Luc had transformed into the sleek black panther that now paced the basement cage.
And she alone was the key to controlling his curse.
Hesitating just a little, she stepped to the bars, pressing her face against the cool metal. Basements were unusual in New Orleans, and from this vantage point she could see that this was new construction, specially reinforced to survive the boggy terrain. She wanted to ask Luc about it, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
It was just her and a sleek black cat.
She drew a breath. “Luc?”
Nothing.
“Dammit, Luc. Martin told me. He told me everything.” She felt like a fool speaking the words, not quite able to get her head around the fact that she really and truly believed it. She did, though. Hell, maybe she’d known the truth all along.
Now, though, she had to see it. Had to see him.
“Change, Luc. If you love me even a little, I need you to change.”
That did it. The cat rose from the ground, muscles rippling under its thick coat as it walked toward her, teeth bared. She stayed where she was, her hands clutching the bars, her face pressed into the space between. If the cat lunged now, she was surely dead. But she held her breath. And trusted.
And then she blinked, not sure her eyes were functioning. But yes, there it was again. A ripple. The cat’s body, changing. Shifting and pulling until—
Luc.
Crouched, naked on the cold concrete floor.
“It’s true.” She whispered the words, then crossed herself.
“You didn’t believe?” he asked.
“I did,” she said. “But to see it—” She drew a breath. “Oh, Luc. Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.
He stood and crossed to her. “Tell you what? That I am the man you seek? A marauder? The attacker of innocents? The cat who stalks in your dreams?”
A tear trickled down her cheek and she didn’t try to stop it. He was everything she’d sworn to fight against, but she loved him.
And, dear God, she could save him. She could end the curse and be with the man she loved.
But to do that, she had to turn her back on his victims. How could she do that, even for love?
“Oh, Luc.” The words were barely a sigh.
“You must turn me in,” he said.
She shook her head, not willing to accept that. Not yet. There had to be a way. “No. I love you. And I can save you.”
“Yes, but you would resent it. Perhaps not at first, but Cate, I’m the evil you’ve been stalking. You cannot tie yourself to me, not and live with yourself. It goes against everything you’ve spent your life doing, all the bad you’ve overcome. It’s not a sacrifice I can ask you to make. Nor one I can accept.”
No. With a sudden clarity she knew what she had to do. She loved him. Even more, she believed in him. For the first time in her life she’d believed in someone other than herself, trusted someone completely. And, so help her, she still trusted him.
And she didn’t believe that Luc was capable of those attacks, even when he was in his feline form. “Martin says you can’t remember,” she said.
“I don’t need to remember. I’ve seen the blood on my hands afterward.”
“You didn’t attack those people, Luc. There’s got to be another explanation.”
He just stared at her.
Damn the man, she wanted to throttle him. “Martin says you have control. That you wouldn’t attack, even during the change.”
“Martin is an old fool.”
She held one card, one secret about which Martin had spoken, and she played it now. “He says that Clarissa survived. That you stopped, and that she lived.”
Pain slashed his face. “I almost killed that child,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
She wanted to wince, wanted to cry, but she steeled herself. “Tell me.”
“It was after my parents’ death. I was dining at the home of friends and afterwards we were in the garden. I felt the change, so I made my excuses, determined to reach home and my cage before it happened.” He described the scene, his voice passionless, monotone. “Inside the house, though, it hit me. More abruptly than I’d expected. My friends’ little girl was in the house, and she was all alone, you see. All alone with the beast.”
“Martin says she survived.”
He nodded. “She did. Scared but essentially unafflicted.”
“You did have control.”
“I don’t know what caused me to stop, to not finish her. And it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been in a position to harm her anyway.” He licked his lips, met her eyes. “The next day I arranged for the donation of a black panther to the zoo, and began to spread the word that Luc Agassou would be traveling abroad.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears, still unwilling to believe what he told her. “No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt those people.”
“Cate. I appreciate the faith, but it’s misplaced.”
“No, it’s—” She stopped, something important tickling at the back of her brain.
And then she knew. Dear Lord, she knew, and she was right, and she could save him. This man that she loved, she could not only end his curse, but she could prove that he was innocent.
But to do that, she needed his help.
DAYS PASSED, and Luc paced his cage, knowing that Cate was somewhere above, making futile preparations to prove him innocent. He wanted to believe her. Wanted to buy into her eager and enthusiastic protestations that he wasn’t killing. That he couldn’t be attacking because she’d dreamed of the panther while he’d been locked in the cage.
One dream, however, wasn’t enough to convince him. She seemed to think she’d been seeing through the attacker’s eyes, but Luc knew that made no sense. Most likely she was seeing raw images, emotions mixed with dreams.
But she’d asked if he loved her, and he’d been unable to lie.
“If you love me, let me try this. Let me try to prove you innocent.” She’d smiled that smile he loved so well, and she’d looked at him with dark, professional eyes. “Let me do my job, Luc. And if I’m wrong, I’ll leave.”
Even though he knew she was wrong, he’d had to take the chance. Because he did love her. And, damn him, he wanted her to stay.
Now they were waiting. Waiting for the fickle workings of his curse to send him prowling the streets again. Waiting—
His soul rippled, and he drew in a breath. Now. It was upon him. Soon, Cate would know the truth.
And just as soon, Luc knew, he would be really, and truly, alone.
“I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH assistance I can be, Miss Cate,” Martin said.
“You’re doing fine. I’ll be doing all the important stuff.” She would have preferred he stay behind, but she did need help and, under the circumstances, asking Adam for assistance was simply out of the question.
At the moment, they were in her car, following a dot blipping on a screen. They’d tagged Luc with a transmitter, and now the wonders of technology helped them follow him as he prowled the streets of New Orleans. A great cat, loose in the dead of night. They intended to follow him, and, Cate was certain, the true culprit would appear. Another panther, stalking in the dark.
Luc didn’t believe her, of course, but Cate didn’t care. She was right. She was certain. And she’d prove Luc’s innocence.
“There,” Martin said, pointing to the screen.
Cate nodded, then maneuvered the ca
r into a space. “From here we go on foot.” She opened the glove box and took out the small pistol she’d prepared earlier. “This is for you,” she said. “Just in case.”
Martin looked at it, his face paling. But he nodded and clutched the gun.
Cate checked her own weapon, then got out of the car, the tracking device in one hand as they walked through the deserted streets near the offices of the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals.
“That alley,” Martin said, pointing to a service road alongside one of the buildings surrounding the imperious courtyard.
They headed in that direction, Cate’s gaze cutting across the open area as they walked. The homeless tended to huddle in the dark corners, finding shelter in the nooks and crannies of the deserted plaza that teemed with life only during working hours. Tonight, though, the place was deserted, and Cate couldn’t help but wonder if someone—or something—had scared off the squatters.
As if in answer, a scream ripped the sky, and she raced forward.
And there he was. A black panther, his muzzle and feet bloody, as his teeth and claws ripped at the leg of a man, mercifully passed out on the bloodstained concrete.
“No!” Her own scream cut through the sky, pure horror pulling the cry from her. The cat turned, ears cocked, copper eyes focused on her.
The nose flared, and she took a step backwards, the movement foolish, as it only provoked the beast. He lunged, soaring through the sky. She pulled her gun, taking aim, frantic to prevent the claws and teeth from rending her flesh.
She didn’t fire, though, because her target was knocked out of the air by a streak of black. As Cate scrambled backwards, she watched, mesmerized, as the two great cats warred, claws and teeth bared, fur flying.
“They’ll surely kill each other.” Martin spoke from behind her, his voice frantic.
He was right. The two panthers twisted, identical except for the collar on Luc. They rolled and grappled, and the rogue cat sank his teeth into Luc’s neck. Luc howled, a bone-deep cry of pain and terror.
“No!” Cate screamed. Any longer and the rogue would kill Luc. She could only hope that she didn’t kill him herself. She lifted her gun, aimed and fired.
LUC CROSSED TO THE BED, his neck bandaged where the panther had latched on twenty-four hours before.
He still couldn’t believe it. She’d been right. Not only that, Martin had been right. Luc had always had control. He had, in fact, been the only reason that the victims had survived and not been mauled to death by the panther who had attacked them.
His twin. His very own brother.
Just as Cate had felt a connection to Luc, Luc had felt a connection to his brother. He’d always been at the maulings because he’d been called there, following in his brother’s path. His feline self had been determined not to allow the carnage intended by his brother, who lacked the control taught to Luc by his parents.
His sibling was gone now. Cate had killed him to save Luc. The police had been called, of course, as well as zoo officials. The terror was over. The culprit caught.
He slid beneath the sheets, desperate to feel her warmth. “How did you know?” he asked. She’d told him already, of course, but only in bits and pieces. Now, though, he wanted to know the full story.
She curled against him. “I realized that since we were connected, the dreams must fit in somehow. It made sense that I was seeing things through your eyes. That scared me at first, because I thought it meant you were the attacker. But then I realized the truth. If I was seeing with your eyes and I was watching a black panther attack people—”
“Then I couldn’t be the one doing the attacking.”
“And then I had the dream while you were in the cage, and I knew there had to be another. Someone that you were connected to. And you’d said you had a twin…” She trailed off with a shrug. “I’m a cop. I trust my gut.”
“You were right.” He leaned over, capturing her mouth with his. “You believed in me, Cate. Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe in yourself,” she said.
“I love you, Cate.”
Her smile lit her face. “I love you, too.”
He held her close, just listening to the beat of her heart. “And, you know, I suppose I should also thank you,” he said after minutes had ticked away. “You saved me, after all.”
“I’m your mate, remember? That’s what I’m supposed to do.” She smiled. “Besides, I’d say we saved each other.” She stroked his arm, then snuggled closer. “Will you miss it?”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. There was a freedom in being feline, a different perspective on the world. But no, he would not miss it. Now Cate was his world, and that was all that he wanted.
“No,” he said simply.
“Good.” Her grin turned mischievous. “Because I intend to keep you rather occupied in the bedroom. If you did miss it, I’m afraid you’d be out of luck.”
He affected a look of shock. “Are you suggesting, my dear, that you would use me for your sexual pleasure?”
“Indeed I am, Mr. Agassou,” she said. And then she slid under the sheet and began to show him in excruciating, erotic, magnificent detail, just what exactly that sexual pleasure entailed.
Touch Me
Susan Kearney
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CLASSIFIED
For Your Information.
Read and Destroy.
The Shey Group is a private paramilitary organization headed by Logan Kincaid whose purpose is to take on high-risk, high-stakes missions in accord with U.S. government policy. All members are former CIA, FBI or military with top-level clearances and specialized skills. Members maintain close ties to the intelligence community and conduct high-level behind-the-scenes operations for the government as well as for private individuals and corporations.
The US government will deny any connection with this group.
Employ at your own risk.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
PROLOGUE
DRAGGED NAKED FROM A filthy cell, undercover agent John Cameron dreaded what would come next. Hands tied behind his back, blindfolded, his body ravaged from lack of food, he nevertheless kicked and elbowed his captors. His flesh might be weak, but his spirit remained firm, stoic, resolved.
He couldn’t avoid the electrodes taped to his most sensitive places. He couldn’t avoid the volts of searing electricity that cramped his muscles and fried his nerves in agonizing attacks. But he could endure and burrow deep inside his mind where his captors couldn’t follow.
John retreated behind the thick steel walls he’d built with painstaking care. As long as he still breathed, he would never give them the information they sought. Good men had died to protect thousands of innocent Americans lives. He would do no less.
John didn’t welcome death. Nor did he fight the pain. He embraced it. He let it flow through his body as he thought of more pleasant times. His childhood sailing on Lake George. Winters skiing Gore Mountain. The clean scent of falling snow. Rain on the roof of his first Corvette. The crisp scent of frying bacon.
Time and pain tangled in a vortex without edges. In the world he’d created to escape his tormentors, there was nothing but a ribbon of rainbow colors, a string of melodic voices, spinning threads anchoring him to reality.
Although John had retreated to a place all his own, he possessed an uncanny awareness of time. The session suddenly, mercifully, had stopped short. His grateful body sagged, cramped muscles spasmed.
A familiar voice sliced through the darkness.
“You’re safe, John. We’re getting you out of here.”
CHAPTER ONE
Two months later
THE MIAMI HEAT SCORCHED, but thanks to John Cameron, the view sizzled. His powerful shoulders and long, tanned limbs churned a frothy wake in the clear blue of the infinity pool, which blended perfectly with the cool azure of the Intracoastal waterway. Swimming with smooth, coordinated strokes, he rotated both arms in perfect synchronization with the forceful dolphin kick of his muscular legs. When he flipped from effortless butterfly to graceful backstroke, a tangle of anticipation and desire sluiced through Dr. Bonnie Anders.
With his glossy jet hair slicked back from a high forehead, Bonnie could see his sensual face, defined by a ruggedly bold nose, carved cheekbones and a square jaw that caused a serious, swooping pull of pleasure inside her. With her swimsuit cover-up clinging to her body like shrink-wrap under the blazing Florida sun, she couldn’t wait to join him.
And not just because John’s case fit right into her psychiatric specialty and piqued her interest. Although she needed to touch John to engage her special gift and help him to overcome his mental block, she’d never had a patient who made her fingers tingle in anticipation.
Her presence at the end of the lap pool caused him to stop swimming midstroke. Standing, he revealed a broad chest with glistening black curls that made her palms dampen and her pulse flutter buoyantly. Water trickled down his symmetrical face and spiked long black eyelashes, a smoke screen for eyes that were compelling, magnetic and slightly puzzled. Then as if solving the mystery of her presence there, his full lips widened into a welcoming smile, flashing straight white teeth.
“Hi there, gorgeous.” His voice, a deep baritone with a slight Midwestern accent, tantalized her like a sweet caress, yet still vibrated with a hint of vigilance. “Did Logan Kincaid send you?”
