WHERE TIGERS PROWL

by Karin Story

  She was a strong woman. She'd be fine. She'd be furious again, and hurt. But she'd be fine.

  He ran the back of his hand down the bare skin of her arm, then down her slim waist and onto her hip. She stirred next to him and pressed closer in her sleep.

  Tonight had been incredible. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly become more aroused or excited by her, he'd had his eyes opened wide. He hadn't planned this to happen. He'd been fighting against it for the past two days. But with her in that full-blown glorious rage, something inside him had snapped.

  He grinned, and it felt odd on his face after the stressful past few days. Jesus, she had a wicked temper. It was truly a sight to behold. She'd fought him like a wildcat, even bitten him.

  As if on cue, the bite mark on his arm throbbed with pain. He let the discomfort sweep over him without complaint. A small price to pay when he deserved much worse.

  Christ. He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have touched her, kissed her, brought her to the bedroom. By the time he'd carried her in here, his desire was already out of control. When she'd grabbed him and kissed him, he knew he could no more rein in his body's or his heart's response than he could quit breathing.

  And now—he'd hurt her again. He'd made love to her when he might be married to someone else.

  He rubbed his temple, which was beginning to throb once more.

  If he didn't go to hell it would be a miracle.

  But then, who was he kidding? He was already in hell. A hell of his own making. And that's why he had to leave. That was the only way to free both himself and Maris from this nightmare.

  His heart crushed beneath the weight of the decision. But Maris's outburst tonight had only reinforced it. He couldn't continue to hurt her. And right now, everything he said or didn't say, everything he did or didn't do, caused her pain. He was afraid for her, but she had convinced him it was safe here. There would be no safety where he was going.

  He hugged her as tightly as he dared without waking her, and kissed her soft, scented hair. A rock settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought he might never smell her scent again. Might never hold her against him again. Might never kiss her, make love to her, hear her laugh.

  With a sigh, he slipped out of the warm bed, already feeling the loss of her, and aching in the large empty cavern inside him.

  He pulled on his clothes and gathered the few things he was taking with him. Aside from the clothes on his back, all he had was the gun. He went through Maris's wallet and counted the bills. Genny had left a wad of cash on the kitchen table for Maris before they left New York. Now, he divided it into two equal piles. As he slipped his half into the pocket of his jeans and put the rest back into her wallet, he vowed silently to pay her back someday.

  He wet a dishtowel in the sink and cleaned up the applesauce splattered about the kitchen. When every inch of tile was spotless, and each cabinet door was wiped, he draped the towel over the side of the sink.

  With a deep sigh, he looked back toward the bedroom. Enough stalling. He couldn't put this off any longer. Slowly, he returned to the bedroom for one last look at Maris.

  She was beautiful, peaceful, unsuspecting. He thrust away any thoughts of what her reaction was going to be when she woke up and found him gone. He only wanted to remember the beauty. He knelt next to the bed and kissed her softly on the lips. She made a small, contented noise, much like the ones she made when they were making love.

  His heart clenched.

  Her hair curled chaotically around her face, and her arm—the arm wearing the silver charm bracelet with the crystals that he'd never seen her take off—clutched the blankets up around her chest. The faint swell of one breast peeked out from under the covers.

  With a tired sigh, he kissed her one more time, trying to memorize the taste and feel of her lips. Hoping the memory would keep him company and give him strength in the time to come.

  He used his hand to push himself to a standing position, and muttered silently when something gouged his palm. Searching, he finally saw the offending item—one of the small silver hoops Maris wore in her ears. It must have fallen out when they made love.

  He started to set it on the table next to the bed, but something inside stopped him. He looked at Maris, then at the small earring in his hand, then back to Maris. She sighed again in her sleep, and he nodded, feeling like she'd given him permission. With one last glance at her sleeping form, he slipped the earring into the pocket of his jeans. Maybe someday he'd be able to bring it back to her safely. Until then, it would help him feel closer to her.

  He pulled on his coat and gloves, then drew the deadbolt. Please, let her be safe.

  A flick of his finger switched off the dim light on the table by the door. The room fell into darkness. Without looking back, he slipped out into the night.

  It didn't take long to get into the garage, and an even shorter time to get the old truck running. The owner had left the keys in a drawer in the house. He'd found them earlier in the night when Maris had used the bathroom.

  The truck started with a roar, but the engine settled into a smooth idle. Not bad considering the age and model. It had obviously been well maintained.

  No lights came on in the cabin as he pulled out of the small garage and onto the dirt road. He didn't turn on the lights until he was around the bend and out of sight of the cabin.

  "Good-bye, Mare," he whispered.

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  "Tell me. I want to hear the words. Our problema has been eliminated, no?"

  The tall man stretched out his lengthy legs in front of him, then elegantly crossed one over the other. He smoothed the crease in his wool gabardine pants. "Not yet. But soon."

  A string of muttered Spanish curses filled the room.

  "No need to insult my mother, Juan. As I said, the problem will be taken care of in due time. I have a plan in motion as we speak. Guaranteed to lure our prey." He pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket, tapped the end on his thumbnail twice, then lit it with the gleaming gold lighter.

  Juan glared at him. "I will not have him tearing across the country telling of my business deals. Comprende? I am no longer amused by your methods. Find the boy and bring him to me. I will take care of him myself."

  The tall man smiled and stood up gracefully, stretching to his full height, towering over the smaller man. "He is my problem and I will handle him as I always have. I know him better than anyone. You let me do my job, and you stick to yours."

  His dark eyes snapping, Juan plucked the cigarette out of the tall man's fingers and ground it out under his foot. With a cold stare, he stated matter-of-factly, "Even El Tigre has his weak spot, no?" He smiled, turned on his heel, and left the room.

  The tall man crossed to the large picture window, his footsteps silent on the opulent Turkish carpet. He looked out at the sunny tropical splendor. Juan did so like his lush amenities.

  As for the problem at hand, it wouldn't be long now before his boy came to him. Not long at all. It had been an eventful forty-eight hours. The bait had been placed. Now it was just a matter of time.

  With a low chuckle, he slipped through the glass door onto the terrace. In a few moments he'd be at the helipad and on his way back to his business.

  * * *

  In that hazy stage halfway between waking and sleep, Maris rolled over to get warm next to Tom.

  When she touched nothing but cold sheets, her body startled fully awake.

  She sat up. The covers fell away to reveal her bare skin, which reminded her of the night before. Her lips were still tender from Tom's demands, as were other parts of her body. Last night had been incredible. She'd seen a side of him she'd never known before. And damn, but she wanted more even now.

  In spite of her internal heat, goose bumps sprang up on her skin, bringing her back to real life practicalities. Hoping Tom had started a fire when he got up, she slid out of bed and shivered into her clothes.

  Her entrance to the li
ving room was hardly what she'd expected it to be. Instead of a roaring fire, the grate sat empty and cold. No smell of coffee wafted through the room. And more importantly, Tom was nowhere to be seen.

  She stopped in the bedroom door and stared, unable to believe he wouldn't have at least built a fire.

  Then a skittering twinge of fear nipped at her.

  Oh, God.

  No, she told herself fiercely. Don't even think about it. At Sarah's he'd promised he wouldn't leave. He was here somewhere. He had to be.

  But a quick search proved he wasn't in the cabin. Her eyes shot immediately to the front door. The deadbolt had been pulled back. Maybe he'd just gone for a walk.

  When she yanked open the heavy wood door, the bright glare of sun and snow hit her with a vengeance. When she was able to focus, she discovered that although it had snowed all night, there were no footprints leading away from the house.

  Fear gripped her in earnest now. She jerked on her boots with shaking hands, and ran through the deep snow around the corner of the cabin.

  What she saw made her clutch the corner of the log house for support.

  Oh, my God. The garage door stood open. Where once the old truck had been parked, a gaping emptiness stared back at her.

  "Tom! Are you out here?"

  The silence of the cold mountain morning was her only response.

  She staggered back into the cabin. It, too, was eerily silent. Scanning the room for some sort of clue, she spied the coat rack. Her red Gore-Tex jacket hung on it in lonely dejection, like the last blob of color in the dead of winter.

  Maybe he'd gone for groceries. It had to be something like that because he wouldn't have just left. He'd told her they'd stay together. He wouldn't have walked away.

  Tom might not have, but Trent would, a smarmy little voice in her head whispered.

  Trent did.

  He got up in the middle of the night—and judging from the lack of footprints, he did it shortly after you made love—and drove off in that truck.

  But he had nothing, her heart cried. No mon—

  A sudden thought hit her and she tore across the cabin into the bedroom. Her backpack lay where she'd tossed it on the floor next to the duffel bag. She opened it and peered into it. Everything seemed to be in place.

  But that hateful little voice in her head forced her to keep looking.

  With a shaking hand, she withdrew her wallet and opened it. She pulled out the wad of green bills and counted them. As the stack in her hand grew smaller and the pile on the floor was clearly not as big as it should be, the damning sick ache in her heart nearly consumed her.

  Six hundred twenty-five dollars.

  She stared at it until the pressure inside her chest exploded.

  With a violent thrust, she threw the wallet across the room. Green bills scattered everywhere.

  "How could you do this, you lying, arrogant, ass? You promised!"

  Then a particularly nasty thought stabbed her as she suddenly remembered how concerned he'd been that this cabin was safe; that no one would think to look for her here.

  A hoarse sob caught in her chest. The bastard. Even before they'd arrived here, even before he'd made love to her, he'd been planning to leave.

  The past week's hurt and fury molded together within her, and erupted in a primal wail that reverberated through the cabin, echoing off the walls and open-beamed rafters, and out into the frozen mountains.

  * * *

  A half-hour later, Maris stepped out of the cabin. She donned her dark metal sunglasses with a swift motion, and shouldered the duffel bag. The snow formed a thick blanket between her and the Range Rover, but she strode through it with relative ease. With only a small huff of breath, she tossed the bag into the rear of the vehicle and returned to the cabin. Her step was sure and precise, her head clear. With one last look around, she grabbed up her backpack. She'd call her friend Regan sometime over the next few days and let him know she'd been here. Then she muttered a few heartfelt curses under her breath. And tell him she'd take full responsibility for his missing truck.

  She locked the cabin door from the inside and pulled it shut. The thud of its closing was a symbol in her mind of another door in her life slamming shut. She was back in control. Colorado was her home. That gave her strength as nothing else could. This was the Maris she knew. The Maris she was comfortable with. The Maris who depended on herself, and who could take care of herself.

  Whether Tom liked it or not, she wasn't about to rot up here in the middle of nowhere while her fate was determined by others.

  Without looking back, she drove off down the road to meet the future head-on.

  * * *

  "Sarah, I need to know what you told Tom when he called you last night." Maris perched her booted foot on the skinny metal seat inside an old-fashioned phone booth on the side of a run-down gas station just a few miles down the road from the cabin.

  "Maris?" Sarah's clear voice sounded perplexed, worried.

  "What did you tell him last night?"

  "He isn't with you?"

  "No. He disappeared in the middle of the night. Tell me, Sarah."

  "Oh, that's bad. He's in more trouble than he even thinks."

  Maris's gloved hand shook, but with a deep breath, she forced an inward calm on herself. "Let's hear it."

  Quickly, in a no-nonsense voice, Sarah told the story. "Fingerprint records show that he is Trent Montgomery. He's an ex-DEA agent who disappeared about a year ago."

  "What about the security specialist thing the media keeps mentioning in all their reports?"

  "That's all a cover-up. Trent Montgomery was DEA. But now he's apparently teamed up with one of the Mexican drug cartels."

  "Crud, he joined the bad guys?"

  "Yeah. He's been sighted a couple of times with a man named Juan Cardoza, the leader of the Cardoza drug cartel—an outfit mostly involved with heroin production and smuggling. Before he skipped out of the States, he worked at the DEA field office in Denver."

  "This is what you told him last night?" Maris asked.

  "Yes. Plus one more thing. The security guard that died at the morgue? He wasn't the same man you guys tangled with. They finally released a photo of the guard and he was a dark-headed, swarthy Italian. You both told me the guard you knocked out had light brown hair and was fair skinned."

  "Yeah, he was fair. We never saw any dark and swarthy Italians."

  "Well, that implies to me that the man you two had the run-in with is still out there somewhere, looking for you."

  "Damn."

  "Maris, we need to end this conversation now, in case someone's trying to trace this call. Give me thirty minutes, then I'll tell you the rest. I've got some new info since I talked to Tom last night." She rattled off a new phone number, then, without waiting for an answer, hung up.

  Maris was grateful she memorized quickly. The phone number was ingrained in her head.

  Thirty minutes later she slid the Range Rover to a stop in the dirty snow next to another has-been gas station. Large white flakes had started to fall again and she put up the hood of her jacket as she slid out of her seat. This time, the phone was mounted on a gray cinder block wall outside the building.

  Stomping through the white drifts, she grabbed up the black receiver, only to be rewarded with dead silence. She banged it against the wall a couple of times. Still nothing.

  Damn! She didn't have time for this. A quick look at her watch showed she had four minutes before she was expected to call Sarah. Desperate, she looked up and down the street. Not much here. And she didn't have a cell phone any longer. It was probably still lying under a bush in the alley behind May's house.

  She pulled open the glass door of the dingy service station with such ferocity that the thin, dark-headed girl behind the counter nearly jumped off her stool. She stared at Maris with large, round eyes.

  "Where's the nearest pay phone?" Maris belted out.

  "We have one on—"

  "It doesn't w
ork. I need one that works. Where?"

  "Uh—" the girl clutched her hands frantically, her voice only a murmur.

  "Please, where is another phone?" Maris softened her tone, realizing she was scaring the poor girl to death. And that was wasting her valuable time.

  "Well…there's one down at the Burger Palace, about a mile south…"

  The rest of the girl's words were lost as Maris charged out of the station. She ran back to the Range Rover and pulled out with a spin of tires.

  The Burger Palace was closed, but thank God the phone was outside. And it was a phone she could use while sitting in the warmth of the Range Rover. She picked up the receiver and glanced at the clock on the dash. Just made it! And hallelujah, there was a dial tone.

  She punched in the number Sarah had given her.

  "Maris?" Sarah didn't bother with a hello. The phone had been picked up before the first ring finished.

  "Yeah. Sarah, before you say anything else, wasn't Tom supposed to call you this morning?"

  "Yes, but I haven't heard from him."

  A flicker of distrust teased at the edge of Maris's mind. What if he had called and Sarah just wasn't telling her? But, Sarah's voice sounded sincere. And worried.

  "So he only knows the information you gave me forty-five minutes ago?" Maris said.

  "That's right. But he needs to know the rest of this. Remember his concerned wife, Elise Montgomery? Or at least the unidentified woman who claimed she was Elise Montgomery?"

  "Yes…" The tone of Sarah's voice caused her heart to throb in a slow, violent motion.

  "She's dead. They found her early this morning about two miles down the beach from your house, strangled. Coroner says she'd been dead about twelve to twenty-four hours. The newspaper reporter you talked to on the phone identified her as the woman she'd interviewed two days ago.

  A black cloud passed over Maris's eyes, and the sudden urge to throw up consumed her. She gagged, but managed to keep it down.

  "Maris?" Sarah sounded concerned.