Bad Blood Leopard (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3)

by Anastasia Wilde

  She was ready to scream with frustration.

  The only thing she could think might be causing this was their conversation at the overlook. She replayed it over and over in her mind. Why hadn’t she said she was his mate? Why couldn’t she tell him what he wanted to hear—that he was the one for her, forever and always?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to be. The idea of a forever mate—Sloan—was like an amazing dream.

  But she didn’t know if what she felt was the bond he wanted. All she knew was that when Sloan was unhappy, a part of her couldn’t rest until she’d made him smile again.

  Was that the mating bond? Or just her own insecurity? Was what she felt forever magic, or just infatuation with the first man she’d ever slept with—one who was kind and caring and thought she hung the moon? Or something else, born of the visions that connected them together?

  What if, once he was safe, her feelings for him went away?

  That made her feel like someone had gutted her with a knife. The thought of a huge hole inside her where her feelings for Sloan used to be, made her want to cry.

  If only she could trust her feelings. But that was the one thing they hadn’t taught her in Spookland. Snowy owls didn’t trust their feelings. Snowy owls weren’t supposed to even have feelings.

  And if this was the real thing, wouldn’t she just know?

  Thursday night was one of Sloan’s moody nights. It was a warm evening, and the crew had built a fire in the fire pit. Sloan fooled around on the guitar for a while, but Caitlyn could tell he was restless, drawing more and more into himself.

  She wished she knew what to do. Love wasn’t supposed to make you feel helpless and inadequate. Was it?

  Xander was watching both of them. He was in panther form, stretched out along the limb of a giant oak tree on the far side of the clearing, but she could see the green of his eyes glinting in the darkness.

  He’d been spending more time in animal form lately, hanging around the crew without joining in. That was another thing that worried her. She knew that her being with Sloan was still hard on Xander, despite his gift of the concert tickets. Being upset was not good for his already unstable cat.

  Finally Sloan stood up and said abruptly, “I’m going to go take a drive.”

  Caitlyn looked up, startled. “Can I—do you want me to come?”

  He shook his head, not looking at her. “Not this time, Caitie. I just need to clear my head. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Not okay. This crap had to stop, or it was going to drive her crazy. She followed him to his truck.

  “Sloan, talk to me,” she said, keeping her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “I know something’s bothering you. Something big. Is it Kayisha? Or Jared?” Or did he just not love her the way he’d thought he did?

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he could make her disappear. An icicle of fear stabbed through her.

  “Caitlyn, don’t,” he said. “Not now. Okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay!” she whispered fiercely. “Do not pull a fucking Jared on me, like I’m too stupid and unimportant to know about any of the stuff in your life that really matters. You said you loved me. Why the hell won’t you let me in?”

  He turned on her, grabbing her shoulders in a punishing grip. “Because I love you, okay? And I want to keep that look in your eyes.”

  “What look?” she asked, confused.

  He shook his head. “The one that says you still think I’m a fucking hero.” He kissed her, hard, and said, “Don’t wait up.”

  Then climbed into the truck and drove away.

  Yeah, Caitlyn thought ironically, forty-five minutes later. Don’t wait up. As if she could sleep.

  She tried to watch TV, but she couldn’t pay attention. Finally she switched off the set. She went to the fridge, but nothing in there looked the least bit appetizing.

  There was a churning in her gut, like she sometimes got before a vision. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just Sloan’s mood. She looked out the window. The sky was clear. There was no storm coming, but it felt like there was.

  She picked up her phone and debated whether she should text Sloan. He probably wouldn’t answer, and he’d just feel even more like she was crowding him.

  She got out her laptop and tried to distract herself with kitten videos on the internet, but all she could feel was her growing sense of unease.

  When her Skype connection rang, she jumped, startled. Then she hastily clicked on it, hoping it was Sloan.

  Fuck. It was Jared.

  She stared at it so long, trying to decide if she should answer, that the call cut off.

  A minute later, it started ringing again.

  She was not talking to Jared. She wasn’t. No.

  Her finger hovered over the trackpad, but again she waited too long. The call cut off.

  Then a Skype message popped up.

  If I were you, I’d want to find out who your animal boyfriend is meeting at the construction company.

  What? Sloan was at Bearcat? Who was he meeting? And how would Jared even know that?

  Because he was a spook.

  She went out to the porch. Sloan’s truck was still gone.

  She tried calling his cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. She texted, and got nothing back.

  Caitlyn hesitated, biting her lips. She thought about going to Flynn and asking him what to do, but she decided against it. That’s what Jared would expect her to do. He didn’t think she could handle anything on her own.

  And she didn’t want to drag the whole crew out on a false alarm.

  Her phone chirped. A text from Sloan. Everything fine. Drove further than I thought. I’ll wake you up when I get back.

  She hesitated again, thinking about Sloan’s moodiness the past few days. Had it been about her, or had she just been imagining that she was the center of his universe? What if he’d been worried about this meeting all along?

  What if he really did know where the artifact was?

  No. She wouldn’t believe it.

  She went to the dresser and pulled out her field pack. She’d liberated it from the storeroom at the Agency before she left. Up close, it looked like a small stuffed animal. From a distance, it looked like a dead one. She could carry it in her talons, and all anyone looking would see was an owl with its prey.

  But the stuffed animal exterior was just a skin. Inside it was hollow, and contained a few tools, a switchblade knife, and a lightweight compressible jumpsuit, so she wouldn’t be trying to confront Sloan and his contact naked when she shifted back to human.

  She went out the back door, Changed, and flew off into the night.

  Chapter 21

  Sloan got to the shop almost two hours early. Sniper rifle slung over his back, he took out his sidearm and checked the inside of the building for unexpected company, even though the security system was still on. Korchak was special ops, just like him—he was good enough to get inside without setting It off.

  He methodically went through the offices and storerooms, just in case Korchak had the same idea he did about getting here early. He made a few preparations of his own, including concealing additional weapons in strategic places. Then he shut the place down, leaving the alarm turned off, and tucked a key on the ledge above the front door, where he’d told Korchak to look for it.

  He found a vantage point for himself and his sniper rifle in the woods across the road, where he had the widest view of the building and parking lot, plus sight lines up and down the road in both directions.

  Flynn the paranoid had made sure they had security cameras on all four sides of the building. Sloan had left the one in back running and diverted the feed to his phone. Once he tapped into it, he had eyes on the building from all sides. No one could get in or out without him seeing them.

  He had to be prepared, just in case Korchak showed up with unfriendlies in tow.

  Or in case it hadn’t been Korchak on the other end of those mes
sages at all.

  Caitlyn waited in the trees across the road from the construction office. She hated the way it was surrounded by a parking lot and fields on all sides, with no cover for an owl within a hundred feet.

  Of course, that was probably one of the reasons Flynn had chosen it. It was like a medieval castle with all the shrubs and trees cut down for a bowshot in each direction. It made for a boring landscape, but at least no one could sneak up on you.

  But for Caitlyn, it meant she was much too far away. Too far to hear anything that was said. Maybe too far away to identify the person Sloan was meeting with, even with her owl sight.

  If the roof wasn’t so flat, she could have perched there, but Sloan, watching the building, would be sure to see her.

  She’d gotten here in time to see him come out of the building. At first she thought she’d missed the meeting, but then she saw him leave the key and jog across the street. His truck was still parked at the edge of the lot, though he’d changed the plates so it couldn’t be immediately identified as his.

  Alone, in their separate trees, they waited.

  Just after eleven, a nondescript car with muddy license plates drove into the lot. It parked near Sloan’s truck, but not too close, with the driver’s door facing away from the truck.

  Caitlyn knew the driver had done that deliberately. He’d want to make sure no one was hiding in the truck, but not make himself a target when he got out of his car. So he had some training, this contact of Sloan’s.

  A man got out. He was shorter than Sloan, and stockier, and looked older. He reached into the back of his pants and drew out a gun, and then cautiously checked out Sloan’s truck. When he was convinced there was no one in it, he made his way to the front door of the building, still moving cautiously.

  Reaching up and taking the key from the ledge where Sloan had left it, he let himself into the building.

  After a minute, Caitlyn could barely see a faint light go on in the office. A flashlight, or one of the desk lamps, well-shielded. He wasn’t risking putting on the overhead lights—they were too visible, and passers-by might notice.

  Minutes ticked by. Finally, she saw Sloan’s dark figure slip out of hiding further down the road. He was wearing night-vision goggles, and he carried his rifle.

  Sloan stayed under cover of the trees until he reached the closest point to the shop—almost directly under Caitlyn. Then he dashed across the road, bending low and moving in a zigzag in case anyone had him in their gun sights. Then he went, not to the front door, but to the shop door where she’d entered the first day they’d met.

  His contact would be expecting him through the front door.

  The minute Sloan disappeared inside, Caitlyn broke cover, flying high to check for anyone else in the vicinity. Then she swooped down to land outside the front door, staying in the shadows.

  Sloan eased into the building using the shop door. It was dark inside, but his goggles showed him enough so that he could avoid blundering into anything. He’d deliberately cleared this path earlier, as well as hiding the key to the office door where he could easily get to it.

  He slipped key in the lock as silently as he could, and cracked the door open.

  There was only darkness. Sloan frowned. He could have sworn there’d been a light on a minute ago. He couldn’t see Korchak. He strained his ears, but he didn’t even hear him breathing.

  There was something wrong. All his senses were screaming TRAP!

  He pushed the door open further. There was someone in there. He could sense them, even if he couldn’t hear them.

  He was about to step over the threshold when he heard a wet, squelching sound. Before he could figure out what it was, his leopard nose was hit with an unmistakable copper-tinged scent.

  Blood.

  Lots of it.

  What the fuck?

  He pushed the door open with his foot, ducked one shoulder and rolled into the room, coming silently to his feet, weapon at the ready.

  He could hear movement back near the hallway to the offices, hushed and startled—a footstep or two. A tearing sound like fabric being ripped apart, and a strange scent.

  Then… nothing. Nothing but the smell of blood.

  Sloan strained with all his senses, but the building felt empty of life. What the hell? That was impossible.

  He moved in further, keeping low, scanning with his night vision goggles until he saw a heat mass on the floor, with puddles of more heat spreading out from it.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He turned on his head lamp. Korchak lay on the floor, face to the ceiling, eyes open and glassy in death. Blood seeped out from underneath him, and a blood-soaked military-issue Ka-Bar knife lay on the floor beside him.

  Sloan raced over and dropped to his knees, pressing two fingers against Korchak’s neck, knowing it was pointless. No pulse. His skin was still warm, as though with life, but his old comrade was dead.

  Sloan closed his eyes, battling with fractured visions flashing through his mind. He was too late. Again. Damn it, this had just fucking happened! Two minutes earlier, and he’d have been able to save Korchak.

  Thirty seconds, and he’d at least have fucking been able to catch the bastard who killed him.

  Sloan sat back on his heels. What the hell was going on? He’d cleared the building himself, and he would swear no one had come in except Korchak.

  And yet, here he was, dead on the goddamn floor. And he sure as fuck hadn’t stabbed himself in the back. Sloan pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to breathe, trying not to panic.

  It was like he’d been killed by a fucking ghost.

  Caitlyn dropped her field pack, Changed, and pulled on her jumpsuit as fast as she could. She needed to get to Sloan. She had a bad feeling about all of this—she’d had it ever since Jared sent her the message.

  She had her hand on the door when she heard engines approaching—too many, too fast. Before she could move, she was impaled by headlight beams.

  Half a dozen vehicles screamed to a halt. Spotlights lit up the whole parking lot, making her blink and squint.

  “Hands in the air! Hands in the air!”

  She raised her arms and turned slowly. Vehicle doors burst open and men piled out, radios crackling with orders and static.

  “Move away from the door!”

  Caitlyn stepped aside as a squad of operatives in black SWAT gear surrounded the building, bristling with weapons. One of them peeled off to cover her, and Caitlyn found herself staring straight down the barrel of an MP5 submachine gun.

  Chapter 22

  Caitlyn froze. Someone barked an order, and both doors to the Bearcat building were kicked in simultaneously.

  Flynn was going to be pissed about that.

  The teams moved in. Caitlyn’s heart pounded double-time and adrenalin surged through her, making it hard to catch her breath. What was going on? Who were these people? They couldn’t be regular cops—or even federal agents. They would have identified themselves.

  Were they Agency? How would they have known about Sloan’s meeting?

  Jared. Jared had known.

  But if he knew about the raid, why would he have specifically told her to come?

  “Excuse me,” she said to the man holding the gun on her. He was covered head to toe in combat gear, even down to a bulletproof tinted visor. It was unnerving, like he had no face.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on? I work here, and I was just coming back to get something I forgot. I—”

  “I’ll have to ask you not to speak, ma’am,” the man said. He shifted his weapon. From somewhere off to the side, a little red laser dot appeared on the front of her chest.

  A machine gun and a sniper? Holy shit. Okay, then.

  Her guard’s radio crackled. “We’ve got a body in here. Fresh. And a crap-ton of blood. We’re going to need the processing unit.”

  A body? Caitlyn’s stomach lurched and she felt the blood drain from her face. Not Sloan. Oh God, please
, not Sloan.

  The radio crackled again. “Premises clear. Subject is in custody.”

  Please don’t let the body be Sloan. Please let him be alive.

  Another car arrived at the scene, low, dark and anonymous, and parked near the command vehicle. The front door opened, and the driver got out to hold the door for the passenger in the back.

  The SWAT commanders straightened up into respectful poses and fell silent.

  A man in a long, dark coat got gracefully out of the car. He straightened up and looked directly at Caitlyn—scared, disheveled, and dressed in a thin field jumpsuit.

  “Hello, Caitie.”

  It was Jared.

  He walked up to her and gazed into her face, his expression dispassionate. But there was emotion flickering behind his eyes. Anger. Not hot rage, but cold fury.

  She’d defied him.

  And now she was going to pay.

  “Darling,” he said softly, ignoring the fact that there was a man still holding a gun on her. “I’m glad you got my message.” He smiled at her, a slow, terrifying smile. “It was the only way I could get you to come back to us. The only way to get you to come home.”

  “Jared, what are you doing?” she said. “Is Sloan all right?”

  “The animal?” he said. “Oh, trust me, Caitie, he’s not the one who was hurt. His kind always do the hurting.”

  “What are you talking about?” Caitlyn said.

  Jared said, “Why, your furry friend just murdered the last man left who trusted him.”

  “No!” Caitlyn lunged forward. “That’s impossible.” Sloan was loyal, gentle. He would never kill someone who trusted him in cold blood.

  One of the SWAT team caught her, restraining her.

  “Let her come in,” Jared said. “She’s a stubborn little thing. She won’t accept it until she’s seen for herself.”

  He took her arm, his fingers like steel, and led her inside. The lights were on now, and on the floor of the office, in a huge pool of blood, lay the stocky man she’d seen get out of the car less than ten minutes ago.