by Zoe Chant
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Gaby
Chapter Two: Derek
Chapter Three: Gaby
Chapter Four: Derek
Chapter Five: Gaby
Chapter Six: Derek
Chapter Seven: Derek
Chapter Eight: Gaby
Chapter Nine: Derek
Chapter Ten: Gaby
Chapter Eleven: Derek
Chapter Twelve: Derek
Chapter Thirteen: Gaby
Chapter Fourteen: Derek
Chapter Fifteen: Gaby
Chapter Sixteen: Derek
Epilogue
Chapter One: Axl
Chapter Two: Tara
Bearista
by Zoe Chant
Copyright Zoe Chant 2017
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Gaby
Chapter Two: Derek
Chapter Three: Gaby
Chapter Four: Derek
Chapter Five: Gaby
Chapter Six: Derek
Chapter Seven: Derek
Chapter Eight: Gaby
Chapter Nine: Derek
Chapter Ten: Gaby
Chapter Eleven: Derek
Chapter Twelve: Derek
Chapter Thirteen: Gaby
Chapter Fourteen: Derek
Chapter Fifteen: Gaby
Chapter Sixteen: Derek
Epilogue
A note from Zoe Chant
And keep reading for a special preview …
Chapter One: Gaby
Early morning shifts were the worst. Gaby Diaz tried to be quiet, tiptoeing around the dark apartment as she stuffed a piece of toast in the toaster, gathered up her clothes, tried to find her keys and transit card ... but then she stepped on a Lego, and it was all over.
"Ow ow ow! Fargin' bargin' muffin-biscuit frickety-frackety blarginfrack—" She let out a whispered string of fake swearing that would've done credit to a sailor—a sailor on the S.S. Lollipop, that is—all too aware of her five-year-old son and, worse, her mother in the next room. Clinging to the back of a chair, she massaged her foot until the string of fake swearing wound down with a muttered, heartfelt, "Fudge!"
When Gaby looked up, her mother was standing in the darkened doorway of the room she shared with Gaby's son Sandy. "Sorry, Mama," Gaby whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"Oh, no, I was already awake," her mother whispered back. She limped across the room to gather up the scattered toys and, along the way, paused to pick up Gaby's discarded cardigan and neatly fold it. She was recovering from hip surgery, but still tried to keep the place clean, always a chore with Hurricane Sandy running around all day. "If you have the 4:30 a.m. shift at the coffee shop this morning, you'll be home in early afternoon, won't you? That's nice; you and Sandy can go to the park before your evening classes. It'll do him good to get outside."
Gaby's heart twinged. "I'm sorry, Mama. I'm covering a shift for one of my co-workers this afternoon so I can pick up some overtime. But," she added, "I don't have classes tonight, so I'll be home for dinner. I can pick up something nice if I get good tips. Maybe I'll get some beef so you can make your world-famous carne guisada tomorrow."
Luisa Diaz kissed her daughter's cheek. "A girl your age should not work so hard. You need to find a nice man who will take care of you."
Yes, a man who'll take care of me and my entire family. That sounds likely. Not to mention, between all the overtime and the evening classes and being a full-time single mom, it's not like I have time for dating ...
"Well, let me know if you find one. Meanwhile—" She snatched up the folded cardigan and grabbed her shoes. "I'm going to miss my bus and be late for work. Love you!"
She hurried out the door, hopped on one foot as she pulled on her shoes, and was halfway down the stairs before she remembered that she'd forgotten her toast. Oh well, she could grab a bagel or a donut at work. The breakfast of champions ...
And she'd also forgotten the textbook she'd meant to take along to study for her accounting test during her commute. Gaby sighed and leaned her head against the window as the bus pulled away from her stop. Maybe she could take a nap instead.
She was so tired all the time. It felt like she was burning her candle at both ends, trying to be a good mom and keep the family afloat while still planning for her future.
My mother's right. I sure could use a nice man. I don't know about taking care of me, but a second income wouldn't hurt. Not to mention the fringe benefits ...
She clamped her knees together and tried not to think about those fringe benefits, ones she hadn't enjoyed since breaking up with Sandy's deadbeat dad before her son was even born.
But unless the love of her life just happened to walk into the coffee shop, she was pretty much screwed—or not screwed, that's the problem—for the near future.
Oh well. Since she didn't have her textbook, she got out her phone, opened up a notepad app, and started making a shopping list for tonight. Napping could wait for a time in her life when she wasn't trying to support her family on minimum wage and earn a college degree.
But she did take a moment to twist her hair up and secure it with a clip so she didn't look quite so much like she'd just run down the street to catch a bus.
If Mr. Right picked today to walk into the coffee shop, at the very least she didn't want him to turn around in horror and walk right back out.
***
Gaby's stop was a few blocks down from the coffee shop, so she always had a bit of a walk. In the summer it wasn't bad, although for these morning shifts it was still dark, so she clutched her purse to her chest and walked swiftly.
As much as she hated having to drag herself out of bed for the 4:30 shift, especially when she'd been up late studying the night before, it was interesting to watch the city starting to wake up around her. The businesses were all still closed, except for an all-night convenience store on the corner, but delivery trucks were out and about. In little cafés and fast-food restaurants, some of the lights were on inside, sleepy-looking employees moving about as they prepared for the morning breakfast rush.
At the credit union a block down the street from the coffee shop, an armored car had pulled up onto the sidewalk, flashing its hazard lights while workers in brown uniforms swiftly unloaded it. Gaby paused to watch; she'd never seen that much money in one place before. At least, that's what she guessed was in those deceptively small canvas bags. One guy stood in the back of the truck and tossed the bags to his co-worker, who was—
—tossing the bags into the open door of the large black sedan parked on the curb behind the armored car.
... wait a minute.
Just as Gaby realized that she wasn't looking at a delivery but a robbery, the guy catching the bags looked up, straight across the street, at her.
Gaby's brain stuttered in sheer panic.
He was a huge guy with a blond crew cut and ice-pale eyes, pale enough to startle her even from across the street, lit only by the street lights and the growing light of dawn in the sky. And that bulge under his jacket definitely didn't mean he was happy to see her.
The guy tossing the bags realized his catching buddy wasn't catching anymore, and now they were both looking at her. Bag-Toss Guy dropped his bag and reached under his jacket.
Gaby turned and ran.
There was nothing open on the whole street. The coffee shop was the nearest place to go, but she would have to stop and unlock the door. Instead, she ducked down the alley behind the row of shops. Usually the coffee shop's owner and chief baker, Polly, would already be at work, which meant the back door would be unlocked and Gaby could get in without having to stop and fumble with her keys.
She heard pounding feet and a shout behind her. In the darkness
of the alley, she stumbled into a garbage can, and despite knowing she had to run, she couldn't resist looking back.
The big guy with the pale eyes was framed in the entrance to the alley; she recognized him by his hulking size and the halo-like glow of the street light on his blond hair. He tore off his jacket and flung it aside. Underneath, he wore a gun, but he wasn't drawing it. Instead he leaned over and—
Gaby stared.
His big shoulders humped up enormously. His shirt tore off. And as he leaned forward, it wasn't human hands that thumped to the pavement, but the massive front paws of a—polar bear?
A tiny squeak of terror escaped her. The bear's huge head went up, covered in fur so white it seemed to glow.
Gaby was afraid to take her eyes off him. She stumbled backward, groping at the wall, trying to find the door to the coffee shop. Her hands closed on the familiar metal handle that she opened a dozen times a day. It was unlocked—Oh, thank you, Polly. Gaby tore it open and stumbled into the kitchen, slamming it behind her and throwing the deadbolt.
The kitchen was brightly lit, and Polly, a big woman with masses of curly hair pulled back in a hairnet, stared at Gaby over the rows and rows of baking sheets she was laying out. The warm air in the kitchen was fragrant with cinnamon and hot grease.
"Hon? You okay?"
"No," Gaby gasped. "We need to call the police. I—I just—"
And then she stopped, because she could hear, on the other side of the door, the sound of snuffling and the shuffling of big paws.
Gaby scrambled away from the door, grabbed Polly's arm, and pulled her out of the kitchen.
"Where are we—"
"Shhhh!" Gaby pulled her down behind the counter and tried to get her phone out, but her hands were shaking so hard she dropped her purse, spilling its contents on the floor behind the coffee-shop counter. All the lights were still off in the main part of the shop, but she didn't feel safe at all, not with those huge picture windows looking out at the darkened street. A bear could smash through those in an instant. "Call the police. There's a robbery happening at the credit union, right now."
Polly didn't panic or argue, just pulled out her phone with a plastic-gloved, floury hand and started dialing.
Gaby crawled along the counter and peeked back into the kitchen. It looked just as they'd left it, just as it looked every morning. It didn't seem like the bear had tried to break in after her.
But it knew where she had gone.
A moment later, she heard the wailing of sirens. Gaby screwed up her courage enough to tiptoe through the darkened coffee shop to peek out the window, looking down the street.
The armored car was still there, but the dark sedan behind it had gone. Flashing red and blue lights were visible at the end of the street, and a moment later, police cars pulled up onto the sidewalk.
Polly joined her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, hon. You're shaking like a leaf. What an awful thing to see. You must be terrified."
More than you know. Had she really just seen a man turn into a bear? How could she tell the police the truth? They were going to think she was nuts.
But she had to tell them. If she didn't, they were going to get killed when they tried to arrest him.
And he'd seen her. He'd smelled her. He knew which door she'd fled through. He could come back and find her anytime he wanted.
Clinging to Polly, Gaby burst into tears.
Chapter Two: Derek
Derek Ruger was already up when his phone vibrated to indicate an incoming call. He'd just come in from his morning run and was toweling off. The run had helped settle his thoughts and his bear after the nightmares that had jolted him awake a couple of hours earlier.
He rarely slept through the night, but last night had been unusually bad. He was still tense, even after running until his muscles ached. At least his bear was no longer clawing up the wallpaper of his soul.
And now this. Derek grimaced at the sight of Lt. Keegan's number on his screen and thought about just going back to bed. His old friend never called just to say hi. With a sigh, he picked up the call.
"We had a shifter-related incident this morning," Keegan said, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Hello to you too." Derek reached for the coffeepot and dumping out the dregs into the sink. "One of these days we could just get drinks or catch a game on TV. But no, it's always work, work, work—"
"The Ghost might be involved."
That got Derek's attention—and his bear's attention, too. He could feel the grizzly inside him bristling, its ears going flat and its hackles standing up. He stood frozen with the coffeepot in his hand, and for an instant he was back in the mountains, with the giant polar bear stalking him, its claws tearing into him—
Water spilled over his hand, jolting him back to himself. He cursed under his breath.
"Ruger?" Keegan said. "You there?"
"So the Ghost's in town," Derek said harshly. Maybe that was what had riled up his bear.
"Unless it's some other enormous polar bear shifter. But we have a witness who ID'd him from a photograph."
Derek set the coffeepot down and leaned on the edge of the sink. Shit just had a way of following him home. "What'd he do this time?"
"Robbed an armed car, with an accomplice."
"Really? That doesn't sound like his style. Guess working as an assassin for gangsters and warlords doesn't pay so well anymore."
"Solving the crime is our end," Keegan said. His voice dropped slightly. "Here's why I'm calling you. The witness, Gabriella Diaz, saw him shift. And he also saw her."
"So he'll be coming after her," Derek said softly.
"Almost certainly. I'd put a regular protection detail on her, but we're stretched pretty thin and anyway, putting a human cop up against the Ghost would be like slapping a bandaid on a spillway during a flood. Nothing against my guys and gals, but he'd go right through them. You still do private security work sometimes, right?"
"Right." Despite the pressure of the bear snarling in his chest, Derek had to grin. Keegan might be a cop now, and he might be a badass panther shifter, but he actually had an engineering degree. It was always a little disconcerting to hear construction metaphors dropping out of his mouth.
They'd met in South America when Derek was working for an international security company and Keegan was scouting dam locations for a development firm. And because Keegan had known him then, Keegan also knew what had happened the last time Derek tangled with the Ghost.
Right now his bear was in full battle mode, itching for a rematch with that polar-bear-shifting asshole.
"We're not going to be able to pay you," Keegan said. "At least not much."
"Forget the money. I'm willing to do this as a favor to you. I probably owe you a lot more than that. And anyway—" Derek could feel his bear inside him, straining to come out. "—I definitely owe the Ghost a thing or two."
"Yeah, well, just remember your first priority is the witness. Miss Diaz is at a coffee shop on Fifth called the Daily Bean. Good luck with it."
***
Derek parked on the street outside the coffee shop. The city was starting to wake up around him, businesses opening up and commuters going to work. Just down the street, police cars and uniformed officers were clustered around the armored car parked in front of the credit union.
Derek went to the armored car first. The witness could wait. He needed to get a good sniff before the forensic team trampled all over everything, if it wasn't already too late. One whiff of the perp's scent would tell him whether he was really dealing with Ghost or not.
A uniformed cop stepped into his path, giving him a distrusting look. Derek knew he wasn't the most reputable-looking person, with a beat-up leather jacket flung over his T-shirt. "Buddy, this is a restricted area," the cop told him, and nodded to the gun on Derek's hip. "You got a permit for that?"
"I sure as hell do. Give Lieutenant Keegan a call. I'm doing some consulting for him."
Just then h
e caught sight of Keegan on the far side of the armored car, talking to the police photographer. Keegan noticed him too, raised a hand in greeting, and loped over.
The lieutenant was slim and dark, giving off an air of barely contained danger. He'd had that even back when he was an engineer; now that he was a cop, it was honed like a blade. "I don't remember inviting you to stomp around my crime scene, Ruger. The witness is at the coffee shop."
"I need to check something." Derek touched his nose. Keegan was a shifter; he'd understand. "Where were the suspects when the witness saw them?"
He saw comprehension flicker on Keegan's face. "Back of the armored car. There was a getaway car back there too, but it's gone now."
Derek's sense of smell wasn't nearly as sharp in human form as if he'd been able to shift, but he leaned close to the open back door of the armored car, getting a curious glance from the forensic tech who was dusting for prints. There were a lot of overlapping smells back here, but there was also a faint, elusive trace that he'd last smelled in the Andes Mountains, years ago.
Inside him, his bear uncoiled in fury, a thousand-pound killing machine gearing up for action.
He's here!
"Ghost?" Keegan asked, very softly.
"Ghost." It emerged as a low growl.
Keegan's hand closed over Derek's arm. His fingers were strong as steel. "Keep your mind in the game," the lieutenant said quietly. "Your job is to protect the witness. This isn't about revenge."
Derek took a slow breath, pushing down his bear and his temper. The scars on his side seemed to pulse with a sudden memory of pain. "I'm not gonna do anything crazy," he said, as much to his bear as to Keegan.
Keegan released him, and Derek strode up the street, his bear straining on its inner leash. His bear wanted to go to the witness as badly as it wanted to take down the Ghost, which was a surprise. Maybe the bear knew that where the witness was, Ghost was likely to follow.
Derek paused outside the coffee shop. There was an OPEN sign hanging in the window, and a few people carrying cups of coffee and paper bags of pastries brushed past him as he hesitated. He'd never actually been inside a place like this before. Five-dollar coffee drinks with whipped cream on top and pumpkin spice pastries with sprinkles really weren't his style. He liked his coffee strong and black, and his donuts four for a dollar, and the only thing he wanted to find pumpkin spices inside was a pumpkin pie.
