“Another couple of weeks. Then we’ll be getting the tigers.”
Cort studied Ken. The college student had been suspended from work until today. Cort remembered how he’d thought Faith had overreacted to the newspeople taking pictures of the cubs. Of course, four days ago he’d thought the “kittens” were the domesticated kind.
“Faith says you’re in charge of security,” Ken said.
“That’s right.”
“I saw the new gate and the fencing. So you work for the government? The CIA?”
“Not exactly.” He started back toward the office building.
Ken fell into step beside him, matching his gait to Cort’s slower limp. “You think there’s going to be trouble?”
“You planning to cause any more?”
The kid flushed. With his big frame, beard and long hair he should have looked tough. Instead, he looked like a boy being reprimanded for stealing candy from a local store.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said glumly. “I’m really sorry. I would never deliberately put the cubs in danger.” “Then follow the rules and keep me informed of anything unusual you see. Strangers coming by, people asking questions, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Okay. Anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.” Ken stopped and looked at him. “Thanks for letting me help.” He offered Cort a quick smile. “I’ve got to finish cleaning the cages.” He trotted off.
Cort watched him leave, then turned back toward the building. Had he ever been that young and enthusiastic? It had been so long, he couldn’t remember. Ken was impressed by the new gate and a little fencing. Hell of a lot of good that would do against someone determined. They were all sitting ducks out here. In the past he wouldn’t have doubted his ability to keep Faith and the cubs safe, but now— He shook his head. He wasn’t so sure. In four days he hadn’t remembered a damn thing about his last mission. What if he never remembered?
He walked a little faster, putting more weight on his healing leg. He tried lengthening his stride, but his calf muscle cramped and he almost went down. He stopped to rest for a second, then continued moving.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of black flying through the air. Before he could prepare himself, something plowed into him, and he hit the ground. Instantly he was transported back in time.
The explosion nearly deafened him. Below him, the wooden floor of the warehouse shook with the impact. Dust billowed around, filling his lungs. He tried to cough, but he couldn’t seem to draw in air. A burst of light split the night, illuminating the stacks of boxes. Where there should have been a wall, he could see through a gaping hole to the sea beyond.
He inhaled again and tasted the salty air. And something else—smoke. He tried to raise his head, but couldn’t. Still he could feel the heat of the flames, hear the snapping as the fire began to consume the wood building. In the distance, men screamed out in agony. His head. He reached up to touch the bump on his forehead and felt instead a warm, wet tongue.
As quickly as it had begun, the flashback receded. Cort dug his fingers into the dirt of the compound as if he could hold on to the past, but it slipped through his fingers like sand. He gritted his teeth. He had been in an explosion. He’d been unable to move. Someone must have pulled him to safety. But who? And what the hell had happened to Dan?
Chapter 5
Faith was standing by Samson’s cage when she saw Sparky leap up and Cort hit the ground face first. She dropped the buckets she’d been carrying and took off at a run. By the time she reached Cort’s side, Sparky was licking his face and grunting nervously. She pushed the leopard out of the way.
“Cort?” she said, dropping down beside him. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
He groaned and shook his head. “What the hell…?”
“Sparky jumped you. I think it’s because you’re still limping. He probably thought you were playing.”
“Great.” He pushed as if to sit up.
“Don’t move,” she said, touching his arms and then his back. “Anything hurt?”
“I just got tackled by a three-hundred-pound leopard. Everything hurts.”
“Don’t try to get up.”
“I’m not going to lay here and eat dirt.”
She sat back on her heels. “You must be feeling all right if you can complain.”
He rolled onto his back. Dust coated the front of his shirt and jeans. His hair hung over his forehead. “Thanks for the expert medical assessment.”
She bit back a smile.
He raised himself up on one elbow and glared at her. “That cat is a menace.”
“He’s very sweet and he likes you.”
Cort rubbed his head and shifted until he was sitting up, then brushed the grit from his hands. “I’d hate to see what he could do if he didn’t like me.”
She leaned forward and stared at his face. The cut on his chin had stayed closed and his eyes seemed clear. She bent over and ran her hands along his legs. She could feel his warmth through his thick jeans. As she touched him, his muscles rippled in response. She ignored the answering tightness in her stomach and concentrated on locating sudden swelling or lumps. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just long, lean legs.
“Everything seems in place,” she said, not quite able to meet his gaze. “Does anything feel broken?”
He stretched out his legs and rotated his ankles. “Nope.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Sparky. The leopard sat a short distance away. He looked like he expected to be punished. “You’re going to have to tell him you’re still friends,” she said.
Cort rolled his shoulders. “Friends? Are you kidding? That cat could play pro football. As a defensive tackle. I bet a lot of teams would be interested. You could go for the big bucks.” He grinned at her. The midday sun caught the gold in his short hair. His flecked eyes glinted with amusement. Despite the dirt on his work shirt and jeans, he’d never looked more handsome. Her hands still tingled from their contact with his body. She didn’t like knowing he affected her. It was easier when she thought of him as one of her patients, or simply as the guy Jeff had sent along to keep the cubs safe.
She got to her feet and held out her hand. When Cort took it in his, she braced herself and he pulled himself to his feet. She hated that she liked the feel of his fingers against hers. She hated it more that she didn’t want him to let go. For a second they stood there, staring at each other. She wondered if he would pull her close and. The erotic visions that filled her head frightened her. Deliberately, she pulled free of the casual contact and stepped back.
Sparky approached her and butted her thigh. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she told the animal.
Cort glared down. “She’s got that right, buddy.”
Sparky looked at him and coughed.
Cort shook his head. “All right, Sparky. Come.” He patted his leg. The black leopard stepped over to him and sniffed his arm. “I forgive you.” He grabbed the collar and tugged on it until the leopard looked at him. “Just don’t do it again.”
Sparky twisted his head so Cort scratched his ears. Faith grinned. Cort looked up at her. She tried to smother her smile, but he saw it.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, obviously annoyed at being observed making up with the cat.
“Nothing.”
“I know Sparky’s a wild animal. He was just reacting. I’m not a complete jerk. I wouldn’t hold it against him.”
“That’s why I’m smiling.”
Cort pushed the leopard away and started toward the main building. She walked beside him.
“I really understand,” she said. “That’s why I wasn’t upset with you.”
He stopped suddenly and stared at her. The emotion left his face as he once again became a cool professional. “What are you talking about?”
“The drive up here. In the truck. When you—”
“When I tried to kill you,” he said bluntly, cutting her off.
If anything, her explanation made him grow more still and distant. His mouth tightened into a straight line and all the light faded from his eyes.
“There is a difference,” he said slowly. “I am not one of your cats. I am a man. I wasn’t reacting; I tried to kill you.”
“Now you’re trying to scare me.” Unable to stare at the emptiness in his eyes, she lowered her gaze. The right sleeve of his shirt was torn and blood trickled down his arm. “You’re bleeding.”
“I hit a rock on my way down.”
She pulled open the tear. Dirt and tiny pebbles clung to the gash. “Why didn’t you say something? We’ve got to get this clean and bandaged.”
She hurried in front of him and held open the door to the office building. He hesitated as if he wasn’t going to accept the change in subject or her offer of aid, then he followed her into the examining room and sat on the metal table.
“You’ll have to take off your shirt,” she said as she washed her hands. She dried them, then reached for the antiseptic. After pulling a gauze bandage and tape from the drawer under the counter, she turned toward the table.
He’d done as she asked and removed his shirt. She stared at his broad, bare back. Despite his lean build, muscles rippled with each movement. The tanned skin looked warm and inviting and she curled her fingers around her supplies to keep from reaching out to him. Her throat tightened.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Even longer since she’d allowed herself to care about one. She let herself get lost in the day-to-day cycle of dealing with the cats and never thought about her owns needs. It was easier that way. She couldn’t get hurt. But sometimes the loneliness overwhelmed her and she ached for all she’d given up.
Faith drew in a deep breath and walked over to the metal table. The hair on Cort’s chest was slightly darker than that on his head. She forced herself to look no higher than his throat. She didn’t want him to figure out what she was thinking. A man like him would never be interested in a woman like her. He was wild and untamed, like her cats. Forgetting that would be as dangerous as walking into a wounded panther’s cage.
“This shouldn’t sting,” she said, sliding a towel under the wound and flushing it with the cleaner. “Even Sparky doesn’t flinch and, at heart, he’s a baby.” The liquid washed away the dirt and pebbles. When the wound was clean, she reached for the antiseptic.
As she uncapped the bottle, the smell of alcohol filled her nostrils. But it wasn’t enough to erase the musky scent of the man. Even without trying she could see the bare, broad expanse of his chest. As she worked, she almost brushed against him. She wanted to. Desperately. Between her thighs a hot ache came painfully to life.
“This one will hurt,” she said, damping a wad of cotton with the antiseptic. “But it’s the best I have.” She held his arm in one hand and ignored the warm feel of his skin and hard muscles just below the surface. Ignored how touching him made her want to be touched. “Deep breath. Now.” She pressed the treated cotton against him. He tensed once, then relaxed.
She set the cotton down and picked up the bandage. As she began to peel back the covering, Cort reached out and gripped her wrists. He pulled her until she stood between his spread knees.
“Look at me,” he growled.
She licked her lower lip, then slowly did as he asked. Past the waistband of his jeans, past his flat stomach, the hair of his chest. Past his broad shoulders to the cut on his chin and the faint shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. Past his straight nose to his oddly flecked brown eyes.
Something hot flared to life there. She wanted to respond, but she was afraid. He held her forearms tightly and shook her.
“I am not one of your cats,” he said.
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Why does it matter?” she asked desperately.
“What are you hiding from?”
Part of her noted he hadn’t answered her question, so she wouldn’t answer his. She knew exactly what she was hiding from. Him. Pretending he was just like one of the cats made him safe. It was dangerous to think of him as a man, because he tempted her. He made her think of family and forever, and she’d learned long ago she didn’t have what it took to inspire a man to want either.
His grip on her loosened, and she jerked away. She thrust the bandage at him. “Here. Finish it yourself.” Then she fled the room.
*
William Thomas paused outside the news reporter’s dressing room. On the drive over to the TV station, he’d planned several different ways to approach the man and get the information he needed, but he had dismissed them all. It would have been easiest to simply pull out his gun and demand he tell him everything. But if he didn’t waste the reporter afterward, the jerk was likely to blab the entire incident to someone, and then Thomas’s advantage of surprise would be lost. No, he would have to come up with a plausible story. He adjusted his jacket to make sure his gun was concealed then knocked once on the door.
“Come in,” the reporter called from inside.
Thomas took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. “James, my man. How’s it going?” he said as he pushed open the door. “It’s been a long time.” He walked forward confidently and held out his hand.
The handsome reporter stared at him. Instinctively James Wilson took the offered hand and shook it, then frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember meeting you.”
Of course not, you little twit, Thomas thought. We’ve never met.
“Harry Williams,” William Thomas lied. “Work for the Times. We covered that big scandal downtown together.”
Keep it vague enough and they’ll believe, Thomas reminded himself. People are basically stupid and trusting. If you say you know them, they’ll do their best to remember you. Thomas was banking on the fact that in Los Angeles “downtown” could mean anywhere from the West Side to East L.A., and that a scandal could have occurred in city politics, at one of the big universities, or in the movie business. Surely James had covered at least one story like that.
“Of course,” James said suddenly, his brow clearing. “The bribery case.”
“Bingo,” Thomas said jovially. “Been meaning to look you up. We were supposed to grab a drink some night, but hey, you know how that is.”
“Sure,” James said, eyeing Thomas’s cheap sports coat. “I’m afraid I’m working the four o’clock news so I can’t—” Thomas gave a hearty laugh. “That’s not why I stopped by.” The laughter turned genuine when he saw James’s look of relief. He knew the newsman’s type. The big dressing room with a long vanity and a closet full of suits didn’t hide the truth. James might like expensive clothes, whiskey and women, but underneath, he was a wimp. Wouldn’t last a day on the streets. “I saw that piece you did on the tiger cubs.”
“What a disaster that day was.” James shuddered and turned back to the mirror. “The woman in charge is crazy.”
Thomas pulled a notepad out of his pocket and pretended to consult it, even though he’d had the information memorized for three days. He’d wanted to come to Los Angeles and confront the reporter as soon as he’d heard about the newscast, but James had been in Sacramento covering some hearing.
“Faith Newlin,” he said.
“That’s her.” James looked at him in the mirror. “Are you doing a story on the way station?”
“Kicking it around. Probably for the Sunday magazine.”
James shook his head. “Don’t bother talking to that woman. Do you know she threatened to shoot me?”
Thomas clucked with artificial concern. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t blame the woman one bit. He wouldn’t mind shooting the yuppie reporter himself.
“I checked with the station’s attorney.” James picked up a brush and
smoothed his perfect hair. “I wanted to sue her for distress, but they said that since there hadn’t been any actual damage, it might not look good for the network.”
“But you got a great story.”
James grinned. “Pets and kids get ’em every time. I don’t usually like either, but those tiger cubs were something else. Still…that woman.” He shook his head. “I won’t be going back there again.”
“She’s up north, isn’t she?” he asked casually, as if he really knew but couldn’t remember. He’d checked up on the foundation that supported the way station to get an address, but all they listed were a post-office box and some attorney’s office in L.A.
“Outside of Bowmund.” James grimaced. “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? She’s dangerous.”
“I’m sure.” It was find the cubs or die. Not much of a choice.
James looked through the clutter of papers on the vanity. “I’ve got the address here, somewhere. They’re having their annual fund-raiser at the end of the week. The station was going to send me back, but I told them that woman doesn’t deserve the free publicity.” He pawed through a stack of invitations until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is.” He read off the address, then tossed the invitation into the trash.
Thomas thanked him. James glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s almost time for the broadcast. I’d love to talk some more, but—”
“No problem,” Thomas said, pocketing his small notebook. “Thanks for the information. I appreciate it. I’ll give you a call in a couple of weeks and we’ll get that drink.”
“Sure.” James stood up and the two men shook hands.
Thomas left and quickly walked down the hallway. He ducked into a supply closet and closed the door behind him. The news sound stage was on the other side of the wall. He could hear the crew getting ready for the live broadcast, then the call for silence. The broadcast began. Several minutes later, he heard James’s voice droning on about some bill up for passage in Sacramento. He cracked the door to make sure the hallway was empty, then walked purposefully toward James’s dressing room.
Tempting Faith Page 8
