What the Cat Dragged In

by BA Tortuga

  He put on a burst of speed, knowing he could outpace a human in no time, but a bullet could catch up damned fast. The shots really didn’t come near him, which was good, because he liked all his parts right where they were, in the order they belonged and lacking holes.

  Random holes.

  Bullet holes.

  Shit, he’d messed this up good. Brock might just beat him. He tore around a stand of trees and changed direction. The clearing he passed through held a couple dozen footprints leading off in all directions, a precaution he and Brock had been pretty proud of.

  They were like superspies, him and his mate.

  Will you stop fucking around and get to the fucking truck!

  I am! They’re sort of shooting at me, you know! God, don’t be an asshole.

  Don’t you fucking get shot. Brock’s mental voice was a snarl. I swear to God, you’re a menace.

  It was Brock he was going to bite instead of the bear man.

  Just make it to the truck, would you? And try not to lead them here on the way.

  Connor wanted to go to the trees, but the bags were too heavy, too unwieldy, so he went down—under the fallen trunks, into the wet leaves, burrowing into the mess. It was filthy, but it would hide his scent.

  Good job, Ragbone. Do you need help with the bags?

  No. Stay at the truck. Be ready to drive. Connor no longer heard the men behind him, which was good. He was an ambush predator. Not meant for long runs.

  He gave it as long as he could, but the wet was soaking into him, and soon he wouldn’t be able to move at all.

  Connor burst out of the underbrush and found his footing on more solid ground, digging in for the last eighth of a mile. By now the sound of a big engine idling came to him. Brock. Waiting.

  By the time he got there, it was all he could do to jump in the truck bed and hide under the toolbox. Go.

  Brock gunned it, the pickup hurtling out of the clearing to fishtail on the dirt track, then skid out onto the state road. Connor couldn’t lift his head. All he wanted to do was breathe, the rain freezing on his fur.

  He covered his nose with his paws and hid from the awful day.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BROCK DIDN’T stop until he reached Estes. The snow on Trail Ridge Road was getting deep, and no fewer than three rangers tried to warn him off. The first got a polite thank-you. The others got the finger.

  Connor. He could hear the tiny sounds of Connor in his head, cold and miserable, but the safest place for him was where he was. If they got caught transporting a wild animal, they’d be in a world of hurt.

  Somehow he didn’t think Connor would take kindly to a park ranger drawing down on Brock. Connor was possessive that way.

  Jesus, what a clusterfuck. He couldn’t even blame Connor. That guy had stunk to high heaven of badness. Problem was now they were burned. They had good intel to pass on, but the poachers would be watching their six like fiends. They’d have to find another way.

  “Fuck!” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, the truck fishtailing wildly.

  Brock! Are you okay? Connor’s voice became far stronger, worry lacing it.

  Yes. Yes, just pissed off. I’m going to find shelter.

  Thank you. So cold.

  I know, babe. He did know. That wind and rain had to be horrifying, even with Ragbone’s thick coat. Brave fucking idiot.

  He needed to get Connor in and clean and dry. Fed. The important things.

  I got your phone.

  That’s because you rock. He didn’t dare use the Rodeway again. No establishing habits. He chose a place called the Silver Moon Inn. He’d memorized all the lodgings in Estes, and this place had a good rating, was right on the river, in case they needed a way out, and had parking around back off the main road. I’m going to get us a room. You stay put until I can sneak you in.

  I don’t think I can move, Fuzzy. I think I may be froze.

  Well, make sure the important parts still work, he teased. Fear rode him, moving him fast. What if Connor got sick? It happened, even if it was rare.

  Don’t fret. I’m golden.

  Yeah. Right. He’d feel better about that after grooming.

  “Hi there. King room with a fireplace? I’d love to be out back.”

  “Less noise that way, for sure.” The girl handed him a pen and a form.

  Brock filled out everything with a fake ID Fish and Wildlife had provided a few months back. “Thanks. Where’s the best food?”

  “We have free breakfast, but there are a ton of places just over on Elkhorn.”

  “Awesome.” He would sneak Connor in, get him wrapped up next to the fire, and run get food.

  He could see the bright eyes staring at him from the black shadows, watching him.

  “You in there, Ragbone?” The last thing he needed was a feral bobcat situation.

  In here, mate.

  Gonna pull around back, then put you in a blanket, okay? He hopped back in the truck, water trickling down his nose and making him sneeze.

  It was time for all bad guys to go down for the winter, wasn’t it? The bears would indeed be hibernating, and even the bear shifters coasted through the cold weather with as little effort as they could.

  He ran into the room once he parked and grabbed towels and the extra blanket out of the closet. Connor first.

  That was becoming something he thought a lot, if he was honest. Maybe that was what it meant to be mates. Hadn’t Gus said something akin to that?

  He trotted back into the room with a sodden bobcat in his arms.

  “Jesus, Ragbone, you’re heavy for being so little.”

  Fuck you, Fuzzy.

  That would be weird. Us fucking when fuzzy. Not the same species….

  I have barbs. You should worry.

  Hello! Knobbage.

  Right. Excellent point. Connor chuffed, but that could have been a cough.

  Brock took them right to the shower. More wet, yeah, but this was hot water. He dumped Connor in the tub before making a quick trip to start the gas log in the fireplace.

  When he came back, Connor wasn’t fuzzy anymore, was washing himself, his heavy dreads, the water pouring steam. Thank God. If Connor was sick, he probably wouldn’t shift. The cat healed faster than the human.

  Brock stripped off his emergency clothes and slipped into the shower. “We’ll have to get laundry done.”

  “Uh-huh. We stink. Come here. Did they hurt you?”

  “Me? No. Are you okay?” He had to put his hands on Connor, check every inch of skin.

  “I am. That was a bear. A bad bear. I’ve never known a bad bear.” Connor reached up and soaped Brock’s hair, scrubbing his scalp, and that felt so good.

  “He stank of nasty for sure.” Brock had been just as stunned as Connor. Why was it Connor couldn’t keep quiet, though?

  “I didn’t make noise.”

  “Not until you broke that branch, but babe, you were out of control.” He soaped up Connor’s back. “I couldn’t hear myself think.”

  “Oh.” He felt the little rush of emotion—confusion and hurt, all flavored with shame—and then it faded. “Right. Sorry. I’ll do better.”

  “No. I mean, I’m not mad.” He cupped Connor’s cheeks. “I’ve just never seen you lose it like that.”

  “It was a bad bear. He’s why something’s lost.”

  “But you don’t know what yet.” He was going to have to leave Connor here when he met with Danny. He wanted to see Danny’s eyes when he shared the intel that the fucking poacher was a shifter.

  “Not yet. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I know you will.” Until Connor did, though, Brock couldn’t chance him getting hurt. His gift was a curse as well as a damned blessing. This whole thing was a disaster. Just a fucking disaster.

  This was the third job in a row he’d blown.

  “Brock. You need me.”

  “I do, and I’ll base my operation here with you. I can’t have you out in the field until
you know what you’re looking for. That’s only fair.”

  “But I can’t find what I’m looking for in a hotel.”

  “Babe, you can’t—no. I can’t. I’m too scared that something will happen to you, and I’m making bad calls.” Brock wanted Ragbone to understand.

  “Okay, Fuzzy. Relax. I’m not here to make shit worse, I swear.” The more tired Connor was, the more Texan he sounded.

  “I know that.” He rinsed them off, then turned off the water to grab big, dry towels. “I do. I want you with me. You know that, right?” Brock meant it. He and Connor were mates, but when Connor was on a lost-thing hunt, they couldn’t be work partners.

  “I know. Come on. Sleeping, huh? I’m pooped.”

  “You don’t want food?” He tugged Connor into the main room and pulled the down comforter and pillows to the floor in front of the fire. He’d put up the Do Not Disturb sign on his first trip in.

  “No.” And just like that, Connor went fuzzy, tongue going to work smoothing fur.

  Damn. Brock let his wolf come to the fore, needing some grooming too. Things were simpler as a wolf.

  Connor pushed close, cleaning his whiskers, untangling his tail.

  Brock licked the tufted ears, the fuzzy cheeks. My mate.

  Connor chuffed softly, yowled for him.

  They would rest. Regroup. They could figure all the other shit out later.

  BROCK LEFT for his meeting with the bear, and Connor’s eyes popped open as soon as the truck disappeared. He grabbed his phone and dialed Sam immediately.

  “What is it?” Sam knew him. Sam got it.

  “I fucked up. Bad. I need to know how to make it where he can’t hear me anymore.” He could no more stop finding Brock than he could stop breathing, but Brock already found him a nuisance at best, a goofy kitty distracted by his instincts. At worst, Brock thought he was dangerous, a wild card.

  “What happened?”

  “There’s a bad bear, a little one who’s lost and needs to stay that way, but… that’s my business, not Brock’s. Do you know how? How to make it where he can’t hear me. He says I’m a distraction, and I don’t know how to stop thinking.” Connor dressed as he talked, packing himself a bag. He would go up into the park, find what he was looking for, and warn her—whoever she was—that someone else was looking for her too. Then once that was done, he’d hitchhike back to the pack and wait for Brock to come visit once Brock’s work was done.

  “Let me ask Gus. Distance does it for us. We only hear clearly over at most a mile, right, mate?”

  “Depends on the emergency, babe,” Gus said.

  “This isn’t an emergency. I just need to go, then, for now. I’ve got one thing to do, then I’m coming home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Brock will come later, closer to Thanksgiving, I bet. All the bad guys should be in for the winter by then.” He didn’t want to leave Brock, but they both needed to do their jobs, and he hadn’t known that he was a distraction, that his thoughts were so… unwelcome.

  He sort of loved his brain.

  “Well, try to just find where he is inside you, and… build a wall, maybe?”

  Connor laughed, tickled as all get-out. “Where isn’t he?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I can see that.” The wealth of sympathy in Sam’s voice warmed his cold spots.

  “I’m fine. It’s not like we’re breaking up. I’m just… giving him space to work.” And not being loud around Brock anymore.

  “Sure. You know we want you here.”

  “Is he coming home?” Gus asked.

  “You are, right?”

  “As soon as I take care of something. Give me a couple of weeks, and I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. The kids were sad when you guys left.”

  “Tell them I’ll be there soon. Brock should be there by the holidays.”

  “Got it. Don’t worry so much, bro,” Sam said. “The first months of a bond are always… loud.”

  He nodded. It didn’t help that Brock didn’t really want a mate either. Oh, Brock had accepted him, but everything Brock had built in his life was predicated on being alone, being solitary. It was important.

  Connor understood, and he loved Brock enough to step aside when he had to.

  Okay. He peered out the window. Blech. “I need to head out and search some, Sam. If I need a bus ticket….”

  “Tell me where to wire the money.”

  “And tell Brock I will kick his ass!” Gus yelled.

  “If I need to. I bet I’ll find someone.” Find someone. “Love y’all.”

  “Be safe.” Sam never told him to be careful. Kitties didn’t excel at that.

  “Will do.”

  He finished packing, leaving most of his things behind, since he was traveling light. Then he sat down to write a note with the pen and pad the hotel left them.

  Fuzzy.

  Love you. Going to find things and be loud where it doesn’t screw with your fu. Foo? Whatever. You know. Will head to Sam’s when I’m done. I will see you soon, there. Take care of all your parts and don’t get eaten by a bear.

  R.

  There. That was a damn good letter—not a goodbye, not an apology, just a see-you-soon type of deal. He liked it.

  He didn’t like the way his heart hurt, but leaving was never ever pretty.

  Not that it mattered. He had someone lost to find, and Brock had a ring of poachers to break up.

  They had jobs to do.

  The rest they could work out later.

  “WHAT THE hell happened, Brock?” Danny sat with his elbows on the table, a vision of lumberjack bear that was utterly ruined by the dainty honeycomb latte and plate of sticky pastry sitting in front of the man.

  “The ringleader is a bear shifter, Danny. Did you know that?” He put on his stern business face. He wasn’t here to talk about Connor.

  “We don’t poach our own kind,” Danny rumbled.

  “No, which was why this guy caught us off guard. Shit, you know as well as I do that bears have fifty times better senses of smell than mine, even. He knew we were there without us making a sound.”

  “Fuck-a-doodle-goddamn-do. Okay, I need to know everything. What he said, what he looked like, everything. Did he see you guys?”

  “I don’t think so, but he has our scent. We left our tent behind.” Brock sighed. “He was big and dark. Shaggy, but I wouldn’t say grizzly. He reminded me of that Asian bear at the Denver zoo.”

  “A foreigner? He wouldn’t be welcome anywhere. We have to fight for our territories with each other, much less with bears that aren’t native.”

  “I dunno, man. You’re the expert. All I know is he showed up, looked at all the bears in the cages, and said no. None of them were right. He’s going to release them, but they’re all starting to get grumpy. He wants to expand the search past the park to here in Estes and east.” Brock spread his hands. “He wants every single bear rounded up. That’s not poaching—that’s war.”

  “Jesus. You think he’s trying to take over the territory?”

  “Maybe. Either that or he’s looking for something very specific. One way or the other, you have bigger problems than me blowing my surveillance.”

  “We need to call in reinforcements, and fast.”

  “Do we?” Brock asked. “All the bears are heading to hibernation, aren’t they? No poacher’s going to be that insane.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Brock pursed his lips. “No. Damn it. What do you need from me? I’m already on his radar, but I can free the bears already caught. I also know some people.”

  “What I need from you is to see if they’re still up there, still holding the bears, or if they’ve moved camp. I need to understand what they’re hunting.”

  The temptation to pop off with “bears” was huge. That must be Connor’s influence.

  Instead, Brock nodded. “I can do that. I’ll report in as soon as I find them.” He could sniff out even the coldest, wettest trail. That
was his job, after all.

  “Thank you. You’ll be well-compensated for your work. This is very distressing.”

  “No shit.” Brock paused, not sure if he should tempt fate. “Do you have anyone special up here? Someone you’re protecting? I need to know if you do.”

  “I have a family, but that’s not unusual. My sister is in college at Fort Collins, but she’s the only one.”

  “Okay. Just checking.” He started making lists in his head. “I’ll have to head south and go the long way. They’re closing Trail Ridge Road as we speak.”

  “Winter’s early this year. Looks to be harsh too.”

  “When do you pack it in?”

  Danny snorted. “I get three weeks at Christmas and New Year. The rest of the time, I have to be the big Alpha. It’s a real bear, lemme tell you.”

  Brock blinked, then cracked up. “I bet. Okay. I have to gather supplies, but then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Tell your little conspicuous cat that I hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

  “Me too. Thanks, Danny.” He hated the idea of leaving Connor here when he went back across the mountain, but he had no idea what else to do. “I’ll call.” He grabbed his latte and stopped at the counter before he left to order two apple fritters for Connor.

  It wasn’t much of a consolation prize, but it was the best he could do.

  He raced back to the hotel, the sound of the river roaring in his ears. Odd, but he couldn’t hear Connor at all. He unlocked the door and peered in.

  “Ragbone? I got you doughnuts!”

  All of Connor’s things, barring a single backpack, were packed and put at the end of the bed, along with a scrawled note. He hadn’t even known Connor could write. Weird.

  Brock read it through, his lips pressing into a hard line. God damn it. Connor was alone, on foot, and searching, and it was his fault. Worse, he didn’t have time to hunt Ragbone’s ass down. He had to get on the road.

  He had to save those bears, track the poachers.

  Had to.

  “Dammit, you asshole! How come you couldn’t just stay where I put you?”

  Brock rolled his eyes. He grabbed his pack and started stuffing shit inside. Ragbone had gotten along just fine without him before they met. He would beat that ass when he got back to Sam and Gus’s place, though. This was so far from over.