Catching the Cat Burglar: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 3)

by Cassie Wright

  Contents

  Catching the Cat Burglar

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Other Works by Cassie Wright

  Copyright

  Catching the Cat Burglar

  Honeycomb Falls Series, Book 3

  By Cassie Wright

  Chapter 1

  I scream as I slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel to the right. The massive dog standing right in the middle of the mountain road doesn't even flinch as I fishtail wildly onto the gravel shoulder, my beat-up but much loved convertible Mazda fighting for traction on the icy road and then losing the battle and sliding right into the ditch. Everything slams to a halt, a spray of snow blowing up before me, the engine still rumbling, and my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. I stare, wide-eyed, out at nothing. What the hell just happened?

  I turn and stare back at the dog. It's frickin' huge, as big as a pony, its black pelt ruffled by old scars, one of its ears missing. It turns to stare at me, crimson tongue lolling out, and my heart, which has just begun to calm down, seizes up all over again.

  That's no dog.

  It turns toward me, in no rush. Its fangs are each as long as my finger. Then, to my absolute horror, it begins padding toward me. I slam on the gas, and the tires turn in place, kicking up a spray of gravel and dirty ice and going nowhere.

  "Oh no," I say. "No no no. Come on!" I saw the steering wheel from side to side, but still nothing happens. The underside of the car is balanced on the edge of the ditch. I'm trapped.

  How can a wolf grow that big? Are there wolf steroids out there? It reaches my car, still in no rush, and I freeze as its giant head reaches the window. It's just like that scene in Jurassic Park with the T-Rex. An awful yellow eye gazes in at me with a terrifying intelligence. I feel ice run through my veins as I read amusement there mixed with predatory hunger. It growls, a low, vicious sound as powerful as my engine, and the hairs all along the backs of my arms and the nape of my neck stand up.

  I grab my cell phone, but then toss it aside. Even if Officer Bardwell drove flat out he'd never reach me in time. Cursing, I fumble for the glove compartment where I keep my canister of bear mace. I don't care what he says, I'm going to demand that Chief LaBonte give me a gun. A cannon. Anything! What's the point of volunteering nights as a patrolman if I can't defend myself? I'm gasping, barely able to breathe, and when the wolf rears back onto its hind legs and begins to cut through the fabric of my car top with its talons I can't help but scream again, just like one of those doomed teenage girls at the beginning of a horror movie.

  I snatch up my bear mace, turn and scoot into the passenger seat. I watch with sick fascination as the wolf works at the car, rocking it and tearing at it, trying to get at me. My hands are shaking just as badly as the car, and I can hear its growls and snarls as it tears open the canopy.

  I lift the bear mace and close my eyes, knowing the red cloud will fill the inside of the car when I spray just as a loud honk fills the air. I open one eye and see a large silver pickup truck flashing its lights and driving slowly right at us. The monstrous wolf drops to all fours and snarls at the truck, and then to my immense and everlasting relief it turns and darts into the woods. Like that it's gone, and I'm left wide-eyed and stunned, holding my can of bear spray with both hands, trying to process the fact that I'm not going to turn into some killer wolf's breakfast.

  The driver gets out and walks to the edge of the road, gazing after the wolf with narrowed eyes. I take a deep, shuddering breath and try to compose myself. Was I almost eaten by a wolf in Western Mass?

  The driver comes round to my window and taps on the glass with one knuckle, and when I look up I freeze all over again. Too much has happened in too little time. How am I supposed to handle the fact that my savior is an impossibly gorgeous guy wearing a black pea coat over a gray turtleneck? He's in his late twenties or early thirties, with dark brown hair cut short, searing green eyes flecked with gold and a hint of stubble that perfects his smokin' hot hunk look.

  I gulp and roll down the window, the cold air sharp against my face. "Thank you," I manage. "Thank you thank you thank you."

  He glances back over his shoulder at the woods and then his jade eyes are back on me. They're so intense, his gaze so direct and focused and alive. "Are you all right?"

  "I - yes. I'm fine. A little shook up?" A little? I feel like I just got off the world's worst roller coaster ride. I need a stiff drink, and it's only nine in the morning. A stiff drink, and maybe a chance to get to know my white knight in GQ-inspired armor a little better.

  "Do you want a ride into town? It's probably not safe to wait here for a tow truck."

  It's official. I love his voice. It's confident and rich, quiet and strong. The kind of voice I could happily listen to reading me a phone book.

  "Thank you," I say, grabbing my purse and keys. I hesitate, and then shove the bear spray back into the glove compartment. "You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

  He opens my door, and he does something that's so natural and smooth that I simply go with it. He takes my hand. He takes it and helps me out as if I were emerging onto a red carpet entrance, his strength and poise such that he makes me feel graceful and elegant. It feels like time slows, my eyes locked on his, and when the corner of his mouth curves into a slight smile, I feel my heart step off a ledge and swoon into the abyss of instant crushdom.

  He's tall, a foot taller than my five foot four, and there's a delicious scent to him, something subtle and teasing, almost hard to make out but most definitely there. It makes me want to press my nose into the side of his neck and inhale. Instead I find myself fighting a furious blush as he helps me back up onto the road itself. I feel like I'm walking on a cloud. He still hasn't released my hand, and there's something knowing in his gaze, as if he's looking deep into my mind and recognizing what I'm thinking, feeling. I feel another blush threatening to sweep over my face. I'm a freckled and pale-skinned Irish girl, which makes hiding a blush as easy as hiding a forest fire.

  I take a sharp breath, release his hand, and realize several things all at once. For one, that monster wolf is still out there. Two, I'm even more horribly late for my event at the library, the very reason I was driving like a madwoman down this mountain road. Panic! I blink, and run to the trunk of my car. "Can you help me with this?"

  My handsome stranger steps up as I pop open the trunk, revealing over twenty gift-wrapped bundles in five different cloth bags. "There's an entire elementary school class waiting for me at the public library." I glance up at him, biting my lower lip. "Could you by any chance drop me off there?"

  "The library? Sure. That's actually where I was headed." He reaches in and takes three bags, then pauses, an amused glint entering his eyes. "The name's Chase, by the way."

  "Oh!" I feel mortified. I didn't even ask his name before I asked him to help! Smooth, Joanna, real smooth. "Joanna," I say lamely, and then grab the other two, and together we place them in the bed of the pickup.

  He opens the passenger door for me. "Do you work there? At the library?"

  "I do." I can't help but notice what a gentleman he is. Acting as if we're on a dat
e, courteous and considerate. I climb up into the cab. It's spotlessly clean, the leather seats soft, the dashboard free of all clutter. Completely unlike other pickups I've seen. "I'm a librarian there. Well. For now."

  "Oh? You planning to leave?" He climbs in and turns on the engine, which purrs powerfully to life.

  I hesitate. I haven't told my plans to anybody. "Maybe. The library's in bad shape. We recently lost our head librarian to the UMASS library down by Amherst. The Board took the opportunity to cut our hours when that happened, so we're only open three days a week now. Which caused Kimberly, our assistant, to quit and take a job over in Greenfield."

  We accelerate smoothly down the road. I realize that I'm incredibly self-conscious of how I'm sitting. I keep trying to sit naturally, and end sitting stiffly as a result. Keep sneaking sidelong looks at him. At his strong jaw. His lips. He's got a mouth like James Dean. It's too easy to imagine a cigarette hanging from them, though there's no smell of smoke anywhere in here.

  He glances over at me, and catches me staring. I immediately look away. "So you run it by yourself?"

  Is he really interested in the library, or just being polite? I take a deep breath as we leave my Mazda behind, still not quite believing what just happened. I'll have to call animal services and a towing company.

  Chase looks back at the road, and I resist the urge to smooth down my hair, to adjust my shirt. "Only temporarily. I know that the Board is looking for a new head librarian, though he'll have to be part-time. And I heard that our new assistant is supposed to be starting today." I pause. "Wait. Why are you headed to the library?"

  He's driving with effortless ease, eyes on the winding road which curves back and forth as it heads down into Honeycomb Falls. "Today's my first day working there."

  "Oh!" I sit up. "You must be the new assistant!" I can't tell if I'm disappointed or excited - or both. Not that there's anything wrong with being a library assistant - it just doesn't take much to qualify for the position, and the college kids we hire usually aren't all that interested in doing a good job. He's a little older than most of our assistants, however. "Are you still in college?"

  He shakes his head, a subtle smile pulling at his oh-so-kissable lips. "Nope. Not in school at the moment."

  At the moment. A grad student, maybe. I nod, and smooth down my pencil skirt. It's felt gray, and hugs my hips beautifully. I'm a curvy gal, but I'm happy to rock my curves with the right outfit. I smooth the fabric over my thighs, and I'm amazed by how I suddenly feel more confident around him. If he's the assistant, then he'll be doing a lot of the menial work I've been forced to do this past month since Kimberly left. And on some level, the fact that he'll be stacking shelves and checking in drop-offs makes him less imposing. Less attractive? No, he's still damned hot. But less mysterious. It quantifies him. Ah, well. It will still be lovely to have such gorgeous eye candy hanging around.

  The road levels out, takes one last turn, and joins with Conway Street. Chase drives smoothly, and I realize that we've made surprisingly good time. Just how fast were we going there? I check my phone. Five minutes late already. Not the end of the world. "There, across the bridge. Just off Bridge Street. It's close."

  He nods, relaxed, navigating the sparse traffic smoothly. I see that the customary line is already in place outside Anita's new bakery. Well, is it still new three months in? Either way, I smile at the sight of it, and then we rumble over the bridge onto Bridge Street.

  "What's the event?"

  I take a deep breath, and a wash of sadness passes over me. "Today's the last day Mrs. Palomino is bringing her kids over for story hour. End of the semester. So I've arranged for Anita - she's our new baker - to drop off muffins and orange juice, and I'm going to throw a little party and give each of the kids a copy of their favorite book." Story hour with these fourth graders has been the highlight of an otherwise grim winter. Each week my hour reading to the kids has been like a splash of sunshine and joy. Even that's coming to an end now, though perhaps that's for the best. It makes my leaving all the easier.

  We pull up before the library, a small stone building that looks more like a fort than a place of learning, with massively thick walls, narrow windows, and a history as old as the town's. Mrs. Palomino is waiting outside with her gaggle of kids, the school van parked close by, and to my surprise I see Mr. Elon standing with her. The director of the Franklin County Library Board. What's he doing here?

  "Oh god," I groan. "It's Elon."

  Chase pulls up the parking brake. "That a problem?"

  "No. He's just the most self-important man I've ever met. Always acting as if he's running for office. I'm surprised he doesn't kiss random babies on the off chance someone takes a pic."

  I lower the car visor and quickly smooth back my curly red hair. "OK. Welcome to the job, Chase. Grab the bags and bring them inside, then arrange the tables in the middle. You can find tablecloths in the cabinet behind the check-in counter. Got it?"

  He just gives me a bemused smile, and then I jump out of the pickup and hurry over. Eight minutes late. I wince. And of course Mr. Elon is here to witness my tardiness.

  "Joanna!" Mrs. Palomino smiles broadly at me, and several of the kids run over to grab my hands, beaming up at me as I try to both smile at them and appear contrite. "Good morning, Mrs. Palomino! Hello, Mr. Elon. I'm sorry I'm late. I had - well - car trouble on the way down. I managed to get a ride, though."

  "Ah," says Mr. Elon, completely ignoring me. "Just the man I came to greet." I blink and turn. Is he looking at Chase? Why has the head of the school board come to welcome the new assistant?

  "Mr. Elon," says Chase, three bags in one hand, two in the other. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

  "Here," says Mr. Elon, reaching out to help Chase with the bags. "Let me help you with that."

  My eyes keep getting wider. Why...? What?

  Mr. Elon turns with a smile to Mrs. Palomino and me. "I see you've already met Joanna Kilmarten. This Mrs. Palomino, a good friend of the library."

  Chase smiles and extends his free hand. "A pleasure. Chase Xavier."

  "Our new head librarian," beams Mr. Elon.

  Kill me now. I wait for the ground to open up and swallow me whole, but it fails to oblige. Chase turns and smiles politely at me, but his eyes are gleaming with quiet amusement. Oh! He set me up! My mortification turns into anger. He totally set me up! I splutter, but before I can say something foolish he hands me the bags.

  "Can you take these inside and set up, Ms. Kilmarten? I believe you'll find the tablecloths in the cabinet behind the check-in counter."

  I take the bags weakly. Oh god. What did I say to him? I wince as I recall my comments about Mr. Elon. On the future of the library. My stomach twists into a knot, but before I can say anything the corners of Chase's lips curl up, and he turns back to Mr. Elon, who takes his arm and leads him off on a tour of the premises.

  Jerry, Mike, and Susan, my three favorite kids, immediately begin jumping up and down around me asking to help, so I give them a bag each and then unlock the library door. Thank god for the kids. It's impossible to do anything but be one hundred percent present with them, which saves me from thinking about my new head librarian, and how I've just embarrassed myself with him. Luckily Soren, Anita's hunky werebear boyfriend, shows up with the ordered baked goods, and I manage to busy myself enough that I don't have to think about how embarrassed and angry I am for a good ten minutes, which then leads into the party with the kids. We play music, eat muffins, I hand out gifts, and the cries of excitement and happiness do more to ground me and light me up than anything in the world.

  I read them a collection of their favorite fairy tales, and then finally Mrs. Palomino announces that it's time to go. There's a massive crush of group hugs, and when the kids are finally herded out the front door, I feel exhausted, happy, sad, and wistful. I begin picking up frosting-smeared paper plates, and then stop.

  Someone is watching me.

  I turn and see Chase leani
ng against the check-in counter, pea coat gone, arms crossed over his chest. I blink. The turtleneck does little to hide the muscles in his arms, his broad pecs, his whipcord lean waist. He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms, and looks all kinds of cool and casual and hot and elegant. He's obviously the kind of guy who always looks good, no matter how ruffled he is or how little effort he's put into his looks.

  I remember that I'm mad at him, and draw myself up haughtily. I prepare a withering line, something that will make him properly ashamed of having let me make a fool of myself, but he interjects first. "Those kids really like you."

  I pause. "Yes, well. I really like them."

  "I can tell. Are you sure you want to leave the library? You seem at home here."

  Dammit. He's making it really hard to be outraged. I stare down at the little plates in my hands and shrug one shoulder. "Maybe if Honeycomb Falls was larger. Maybe if there was more to do. But I need a full-time job."

  He nods and pushes off the counter with his hip. A few steps and he joins me at the tables, where he begins piling up books. His hands are capable and dexterous. It's distracting. I keep wanting to watch how he touches things. It reminds me of the grace of a magician I once saw, that fluid, effortless agility. "There are other libraries."

  "Yes, well, there's only one Honeycomb Falls. And - well." I find myself on the brink of explaining everything to him. How my father was a retired New York City cop, and how he impressed upon me over the years the value of civic service. Of protecting good people. Of making a difference. Being a librarian fed my passion for books and learning, for education and culture, but if the library is on the way out...

  "Hold on." I step up and poke him in the chest. "You're not getting out of it so easily."

  Chase raises one eyebrow, looking down at my finger then back up at me. There's a gleam in his green eyes, part amusement, but something else that I can't quite identify. Whatever it is, it makes me start thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts. "Getting out of what, exactly?"