WHERE TIGERS PROWL

by Karin Story

  The tingle passed over her again. It was a tingle of belonging. Of coming home again after a very long absence. That realization plucked a beautiful chord deep inside her.

  Home.

  Goose bumps spread over her body and a rush of emotion pulsed through her.

  A wave of guilt followed in its wake as she realized she'd actually allowed herself to forget about Tom for a brief moment.

  The clock read 10:47. No, wait, make that 10:48.

  Damn. Where was he? It was supposed to be just a brief phone call.

  Leaning forward in her seat, she tried to get a better view of the front of the store. It looked ordinary enough. No signs of anyone lurking about. She felt for the knife in her pocket. Firm and in its place, as always. Okay, she'd give him one more minute, then she was going in there to look for him.

  At that moment, he emerged from the glass doors and jogged slowly, still with a slight limp, across the snow covered street toward her.

  Leaning across the console, she opened the passenger door for him. She was driving on this last leg of the trip because she knew these mountains, knew these roads.

  He slid his tall body into the seat and handed her another large plastic cup and a straw. Bless him. In spite of the nearly cavernous distance that had spread between them, and the almost non-existent conversation they'd shared since leaving Washington, he'd been more than attentive to her needs. Including making sure she always had a caffeine fix on hand. The news from Sarah must not have been too awful if he'd still taken the time to think of her now.

  "Thank you," she said gratefully. She tossed the empty cup into the backseat and dropped the new cup into the console's drink holder. "What took you so long? I was getting worried."

  He shut the door, and she got her first real view of his face. Scratch that earlier thought. His expression indicated the news from Sarah hadn't been particularly good.

  "What is it? What did Sarah find out?" Oh, God, please don't let this be too bad.

  As they'd moved farther west, they'd managed to outdistance most of the news and police info that had dogged them back east. For the past few hours she'd almost hoped they'd outrun the whole nightmare. In her dreams, anyway.

  He swallowed hard and stretched his legs out in front of him, wincing as he did. They'd been cooped up in the Range Rover for way too long, and they were both exhausted. She'd managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, but although she'd driven several hours earlier in the day, Tom hadn't slept at all. He was tired, and it showed.

  "Why don't you go ahead and drive. I'll tell you while we're on the road." He didn't look at her. Not a good sign.

  Maris put the SUV in gear and pulled onto the street.

  He was silent as she passed through the small town and got back onto the interstate. She bit her tongue and tried as hard as she could to be patient, but it just about killed her. Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. "You obviously got through to Sarah."

  "Yeah."

  "Whatever it is, just tell me. We're in this mess together, remember? Whatever she told you affects me, too."

  "Well," he said quietly, "I guess the mystery of my identity is no longer a mystery."

  A gnawing pang of fear gripped her stomach. "Enlighten me."

  "It looks like I really am Trent Montgomery. Fingerprint match."

  "Fingerprints?"

  "Yeah, they found my fingerprints at your house, and again at the morgue. Sarah managed to ferret out the file the police ran through the national database. The fingerprints they found are the ones they have on record for Trent Montgomery."

  Maris let out her breath slowly. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it until now. "Okay…you're Trent. What does that mean?"

  "I don't know exactly." He hesitated. "Sarah still hasn't been able to get a whole lot of information on him—on me. She's still looking for more."

  He paused, and Maris could see with her peripheral vision that he was rubbing his eyes, so she didn't push him.

  "I'm supposed to call her again in twelve hours. She said she's working on something right now that should get her a little deeper into the system." He shrugged. "Whatever that means."

  They were quiet for a minute or two, and Maris let the news sink in. He was Trent Montgomery. Strange. You'd think that if Trent were really his name, he'd have some sort of recognition of it. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. Because if he really was Trent—and the facts indicated that he was—then Elise Montgomery, or whatever her name was, might actually be his wife. If she even existed.

  Stop! Stop it, Rhodes. Don't go down that path.

  "So, what else?" she asked.

  He stared straight ahead.

  "That's all Sarah told you?"

  "This cabin where we're going," he turned to her, and she felt his eyes boring into her as she drove, "how far is it?"

  "It's still quite a ways, almost to Grand Lake. What else did Sarah say?"

  "And you feel safe there? At the cabin, I mean?"

  "Tom, we've been all through this. It belongs to a guy I used to work with at Rocky Mountain National Park. I've never been there, but he's always told me I have a standing invitation to use it anytime I want to. No one's going to imagine in a million years that we'd go there. How could they guess it when I've never been there before?"

  He nodded thoughtfully. She could almost hear the wheels in his brain clicking along at top speed. Except whatever he was thinking he wasn't sharing with her.

  "Did Sarah say something else to upset you? Why aren't you answering my question?"

  No answer.

  "Tom! If you don't answer me, I'm pulling this friggin' car over and I'm not moving it again until you tell me what's going on!" She tore her eyes off the road to see if her tirade had made an impression on him.

  "There's nothing else to tell, Maris," he said flatly. "That's it. The fingerprints show I'm Trent."

  "That's it?" She didn't believe him for a second.

  "That's it. I told you, I'm supposed to call her again in twelve hours."

  She had the uncontrollable urge to scream. But she didn't.

  Damn, what was he doing now? This was her problem, too. She was just as wanted as he was. Yet he definitely wasn't telling her everything.

  "Fine," she ground out.

  "How long until we're there?" he asked, and her ire raised another notch at his calm, controlled voice.

  "An hour and a half. Maybe more, depending on how the weather cooperates."

  He nodded, then tilted his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes.

  She waited as seconds stretched into minutes. He didn't say another word, and he kept his eyes closed tight. She knew damn good and well he wasn't sleeping, but he clearly wasn't going to talk to her.

  Stubborn ass!

  * * *

  Before they entered the cabin, Maris scrambled through the snow following Tom as he checked out the small detached garage that sat about twenty-five yards away. They peered in through a window and saw an old Ford truck parked inside.

  "You sure no one's around?" he asked.

  "It's safe. I think my friend Regan keeps the truck up here for hauling wood."

  Tom grunted an unintelligible reply, and stalked away, leaving her to stare at his back. He was still obviously in his snit.

  The cabin itself, once they jimmied open the front door lock and got inside, was much nicer than Maris had imagined it would be. It had two bedrooms and a full bathroom. The decor was cozy and quite luxurious with polished wooden floors in the living area and bedrooms, and heavy oak furniture. The kitchen, which was part of the large main room, had blue tile countertops, matching tile floor, and gleaming silver fixtures. A large gray stone fireplace filled one wall of the living area, and a sheepskin rug had been attractively arranged in front of it. A vision of Tom and her making love on the soft rug in front of a roaring fire sprang into her mind, but she brutally shoved it away.

  Tom went from window to window, pul
ling and tugging at each one, checking the locks, until he was satisfied they were secure. Then he slid the deadbolt on the front door into place.

  Maris had been looking in the cupboard to see what canned goods might be on hand, and nearly banged her head on one of the oak cabinet doors when he said, "You haven't had any decent sleep since we left your place in Connecticut. Why don't you go to bed."

  Aside from his question at the garage, it was the first time he'd spoken to her since their impasse in the Range Rover. She turned to him, still holding a can of applesauce in her hand, and studied him. He was dead tired, could barely keep his eyes open from what she could see. He was the one who hadn't had any sleep all day, but he thought she should go to bed?

  His arms were crossed over his chest in a defensive gesture that said "don't even think about trying to break through my armor."

  She sighed loudly. "We haven't had much sleep. Why don't we both go to bed?"

  His tiger-eyed stare burned into her.

  "What?" she snapped.

  His voice deep and succinct, he repeated, "You should go to bed, Maris."

  Her hand holding the applesauce nearly became a presence of its own. She had to fight hard to keep from throwing the can at his head.

  Instead, she slammed it onto the countertop. "You know, you are being a total jerk to me and there's no reason for it. All I did in the car was ask you if Sarah had told you anything else, and you shut me out. You've been shutting me out ever since we were at Sarah's. Like the way you two were all chummy-chummy, talking about some deal you'd made. You acted like I wasn't even there."

  He didn't respond. His gaze continued to bore into her, unsympathetic and hard. Which only fanned the flames of her frustration into full-blown anger.

  "In spite of what you might think," she spat, "I am not some lowly peon in your grand universe. I've saved your butt more than once since you stumbled into my backyard, Tom, or Trent, or whoever the hell you really are. But apparently that's not good enough for you to trust me. What do you want from me? Do you want me to lay open a vein and write in blood that I'm not your enemy?" She dragged in a ragged breath, but it didn't calm the throb of anger that still pulsed in her. "Damn, I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you and your superior attitude!"

  She stormed across the room, grabbed the duffel bag with one hand, and threw it as hard as she could into one of the bedrooms. It slid across the floor and hit the bed with a solid thunk. But somehow the physical action didn't purge the toxic stew that festered in her. So she snatched up her backpack and threw it into the bedroom, as well.

  When she caught sight of Tom, still not moving, watching her with narrowed eyes, a new wave of fury slammed into her .

  She stomped back to the kitchen, needing to lash out, hurt something, do some damage. She spied the can of applesauce on the counter. Without conscious thought, she grabbed it and threw it as hard as she could onto the tile floor. It hit with a bang, and exploded. The gooey yellow mess shot out all over the floor and sprayed up onto the wooden cabinet doors.

  Still not enough! "Arrrgh!"

  She flung open another cabinet in search of something else she could jettison. But just as her hand closed around a jar of spaghetti sauce, she was grabbed roughly from behind.

  Tom's grasp was strong. Far stronger than she'd ever imagined it could be.

  She struggled against him, trying to kick at him and elbow him, but she couldn't gain any ground. "Stop it! Let me go!"

  Her only response was the tightening of his grip around her.

  She tried to bite him, but he managed to keep his arms far enough from her mouth that she couldn't latch on to anything. Without even so much as a grunt of strain, he physically lifted her off the floor until her feet were dangling, and dragged her away from the cabinet.

  "Let—me—go!" She finally sank her teeth into his right forearm and bit down hard.

  He grunted and squeezed her tight, trying to keep her still. But she managed to place a well aimed kick backward onto his shin, and a thrill of victory went up her spine when he groaned in pain.

  He dropped her unceremoniously. She staggered at the unexpected feel of solid ground beneath her feet again.

  Before she could get her balance, though, he jerked her around to face him. His eyes were as dark and as passion-filled as she'd ever seen them. Before she could think that through properly, he put a hand behind her head and pulled her face toward his. His mouth closed over hers in a hard, angry kiss. His lips took no mercy on hers. His tongue ravaged her mouth. His teeth bit whatever got in their path.

  Her senses lurched in response. She tried to break free, twisting and shoving at him.

  But without her mind giving permission, her damned traitorous body began to cooperate with him. Of their own will, her hands moved up and closed in his thick hair. Her tongue ceased being the victim and became an equal partner in the action.

  God, he tasted like manna from heaven, in spite of the fact he had to be at least part devil. She hated him for ripping out her heart, even though she knew it was her own fault for giving her heart in the first place. Yet he still offered nourishment for her starving soul.

  Her pulse raced, her breathing grew short and labored.

  His lips continued to move over hers, dominating them in spite of her participation.

  But just as quickly as the onslaught started, it stopped. He held her away from him. His golden eyes consumed her.

  She stared at him, lost. And she hated that feeling. Coming to her senses, she tried to jerk away from him, but he wouldn't let her go. His right hand closed around her upper arm. Tears burned in her eyes, and her fury turned inward when she felt them course down her cheeks in hot streaks. She hated him for doing this to her. Hated herself for letting him.

  He pulled her hard against him with another growl. His arms were strong and tight around her, not letting her even think about moving away, yet his chest was also familiar and comforting. The soft flannel of his shirt was a gentle touch against her cheek.

  "I hate you," she cried.

  He held her closer and stroked her hair. Then, in one smooth motion, he picked her up in his arms. Cradling her against him, as gentle now as he'd been rough before, he strode through the cabin and into the bedroom.

  He sank onto the bed still holding her, and trailed a finger across her cheek, wiping her tears.

  She stared at him, trying to understand what motivated this complex man. And trying, as well, to understand why he affected her as he did. Her anger had passed, but a new heat was building in her. A heat that only he could satisfy.

  Swirling in the stormy current of his gaze, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his. Not in anger, as he'd done out in the kitchen a few minutes ago. But not in tenderness, either. She kissed him out of need. Out of passion. Out of the desire to be part of something greater than either of them could be alone.

  Tom responded in kind, and groaned when she unbuttoned his shirt and stroked her hands over the hard contours of his chest.

  She groaned when he slid his hand up underneath her shirt and closed it firmly over a breast.

  With a swift movement, he pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it away. Next went her bra, then his shirt, which she pushed off him at last. Slowly, but with purpose, each article of clothing joined the growing pile on the floor.

  His hands, even his injured one, were everywhere on her at once. And if his hands weren't there, his lips were. She pressed herself against him, loving the hot flesh of his chest against her breasts. Loving the hard strength of his legs as they parted hers. She opened for him willingly. Needing him, craving him.

  When at last he slid deeply into her, she locked her legs around his hips, demanding him to be deeper still. The hot hardness of him filled her in a way that nothing else could. That nothing else ever would.

  She loved his strength as he drove into her again and again. Loved the slippery dampness of his back as her hands moved up and down over it, raking it w
ith her nails each time his thrust hit home. Loved the small, muttered grunts of exertion that escaped his lips, loved them so much she put her mouth against his so she could feel those grunts, taste them, make them her own.

  They rode the waves of passion together, and it was an urgent, inevitable ride. Back and forth, faster, harder, until the crashing tremors of release exploded through her. Exploded through him at the same time.

  He withdrew from her, but didn't release her. He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, then the tip of her nose, then slowly, seductively, her lips.

  Maris closed her eyes. A calm serenity built inside her and her heart ached with love for him. This man who so gently made love to her now was miles distant from the fierce predator who had devoured her only a few minutes ago. This was her Tom. The Tom she'd fallen in love with.

  She couldn't deny, however, that the harder, demanding man had been exciting in a reckless sort of way. Without so much as a word, he'd hypnotized her and consumed her in one fell swoop. And she'd been exhilarated by it.

  Tom. Trent. Which one was he? Or was he a combination of both?

  His lips caressed every inch of her, tasting and nuzzling until her body was taut with desire once again. When they joined together this time, it was a tender union. Slow and bittersweet.

  Maris fell asleep wrapped securely in his arms, dreaming of tigers and angels.

  * * *

  Tom held her close against him, loving the contradiction of her body. Soft, yet muscular. He knew from her even breathing that she was asleep, and he wanted with all his heart to close his eyes and join her in oblivion. But it wasn't meant to be.

  Holding Maris, letting her beauty and strength permeate him, gave him strength. And that's what he needed right now. Strength. God knows Maris had plenty to spare. There was no end to his amazement at her. She was a magnificent woman. A magnificent human being.

  He'd deserved everything she'd said to him tonight. Every word. He'd hated not being honest with her. In fact, he couldn't outright lie to her. That's why he'd said nothing. He knew she was hurt and felt betrayed by him yet again, but she had no idea that he would hurt her much less this way.