Cheetahs Never Win

by RJ Blain

  “You’re not even up for pool, Aaron. You’d try to play from a stool and lose even worse than you usually do. As for the intel, yeah. We need to talk. I’ve been helping the cats; they’ve been working my leads, but we haven’t gotten very far. We think the common link is the kids, though.”

  Shit. “What’s the link?”

  “They’re all between the ages of six and ten, and there’s no father listed on their birth certificates.”

  I jumped to a conclusion I didn’t like. “The mothers may know who the fathers are—or is. But why kill the kids, though?”

  Even as I asked, I got the sinking suspicious I knew why: corpses couldn’t talk, and most wouldn’t exhume a child’s corpse to perform a paternity test if it wasn’t done as part of the autopsy, and from my understanding of the situation, the paternity tests would only be done if there was just cause. While I thought there was plenty of just cause in the suspicious circumstances, I had no idea if the police and the coroner’s office would agree with me.

  “Judging from your sickened expression, you have a few ideas about why. I submitted an anonymous tip that the police might want to do a paternity test. Will they? I don’t know. We might get lucky. I doubt it. Even if the kids all had the same father, they need a warrant and just cause to identify who the father is. I think the grounds are solid, but I doubt a judge will agree with me. I can think of too many reasons why someone might want to kill kids because of their father.”

  I could, too, which bothered the hell out of me. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. My thoughts exactly. We had some ideas, but I’d like to hear yours without my ideas influencing yours.”

  “The first thing to occur to me would be someone wanting the direct evidence of infidelity gone. Both mother and child. Next, I’d look at revenge. It could be a hatred of single mothers by a father cut out of their child’s life, for example. In theory, it could be a psychopath. Could also be a fanatic, I suppose. Someone who believes in set family units, likely someone belonging to an extremist religious cult. After that, my ideas are all variations of those themes. Instead of a father behind the killings, it could be a business partner or someone trying to hide evidence to save their reputation. A family member might want to remove the family shame, too.” I scowled over the baser cruelties of humanity. “It could be one of a hundred different things.”

  “Which is probably why the police won’t bite on the paternity warrant,” my brother muttered.

  I thought about the break in the pattern: me. I was the product of a marriage, a second-born son from conservative parents who’d waited until marriage to jump into bed, something considered a rarity by most. I had no children; the few times I’d slept with a woman, we’d both been careful, and I’d made certain there hadn’t been any unexpected surprises nine months later.

  I didn’t fit any of the possible scenarios.

  “Has anyone looked into the mercenary networks to see if anyone hired a hitman for a large-scale job? I’d buy into a serial killer, except there’s one issue: I don’t fit any of the possibilities. A serial killer would ignore someone like me, who doesn’t fit their story. Their profile. Their cause. Serial killers are a special breed of criminal, and they don’t operate the same way a mercenary might. Had a serial killer wanted me out of the way, he—or she, as it’s entirely possible the murderer is a woman—wouldn’t want to pollute their headlines with my death. They’d find another way to kill me, one that doesn’t fit the same dialogue as the other killings.” I shrugged. “That’s just my opinion, of course. But here’s one thing to remember: the first killing was a professional job, Mark.”

  “Yes, it was a very professional job. The hit on you was professional, too. The police found a tracker on the rubble of your truck. I only found out because I got a tip off; the model was military-grade, likely stolen from a supply depot. Word got down the line to me, which fits really well with your mercenary suggestion. I’d been wondering if the serial killer had started out as a mercenary, but I think your idea fits better than mine. A serial killer with military connections might be able to get that tracker, but that sort of thing is more likely to fall into the hands of a mercenary. A mercenary, or mercenaries, had occurred to me, but the rest of the killings have been true to form for a serial killer with the exception of you. A mercenary mimicking a serial killer would throw the investigation off.”

  “What I want to know is this: was using the same method on me by accident or design?”

  My brother flicked at his steering wheel but didn’t put the SUV into gear to leave. “I don’t have an answer for that. But if it was by design, why do it? And you don’t trash a truck like yours in that way by accident. It was definitely by design.”

  “I liked that truck,” I muttered. Without any idea of why a mercenary or serial killer would want to eliminate me using the same calling card, I focused on more immediate life problems. “Did Sassy tell you how badly I’m getting fucked on my insurance?”

  “You’re fine on the insurance front. They classified the incident as no fault for you, and they gave you forty grand for your truck. It won’t fully replace your baby, but as I’m a generous, wonderful older brother, I have decided I’m covering the rest. By that, I mean I needed to keep Sassy busy and your new truck will be ready for pickup soon. Tomorrow soon. Happy early womb eviction day. I added some extras, and I got full replacement insurance from the dealership on any incident where it’s deemed you’re not at fault.”

  Hell had surely frozen over. “You replaced my truck?”

  “Your kitty did most of the work, and it kept the hysterics to a minimum.”

  “Sassy?” Since when did Sassy suffer from hysterics? I could see Sassy panicking, especially if there was a threat to her chocolate or shoe supply, but to have hysterics? “You can’t be serious.”

  “Sassy having hysterics is not something I’d joke about. She flipped when she found out you and her daddy had been in a fatal collision. She saw your truck on the news before she’d been contacted by her mother.”

  Yep, that would make Sassy freak right the hell out. “Holy shit. What happened?”

  “She, according to her father, showed up at the hospital as a cheetah and sang the sad song of her people until a nurse found her mother in the waiting room. Then, in what I can only think of as a complete lapse of sanity and judgment, crawled onto Dad’s lap and continued to sing the sad song of her people. Dad was not happy to have a lap full of distressed cheetah. When she wasn’t singing the sad song of her people, she was either chirping or hyperventilating and panting.”

  “Please tell me someone recorded this.”

  “Mom did, but she’s holding the video hostage.”

  “Well, that’s not very nice of her.”

  “She’s agreed to show it to us should we show up for dinner.”

  I pointed in the direction of our parents’ house. “Onward, driver! Take us to the video.”

  “Asshole,” my brother muttered.

  To my dismay, I discovered laughing hurt.

  A dark blue Chevy Silverado with crew cab and full bed devoured space and took over my parents’ driveway. I bet when someone started it, the neighbors three streets away would hear it rumble. Everything from the chrome trim to the heavy-duty tires proclaimed the vehicle needed to be put to immediate use.

  “Black and blue, just like you,” my brother announced. “The black comes from the leather interior, it has your precious diesel engine in it, and some other junk Sassy kept squealing over and insisted you’d like. Honestly, I think I need one, too.”

  That was my truck? I pointed at it. “That’s the truck? But you said tomorrow.”

  “Apparently, I lied. Unless someone else got the same truck I bought you. Sassy must have picked it up early. She’s on all the paperwork. It made things easier. Also, you score full points for making her your power of attorney. She’s a beast at paperwork, and she took no prisoners at the dealership. She charmed and bullied her way to a good deal
on it.”

  “That’s seriously the truck?”

  Mark parked on the grass and killed the engine. “It really wasn’t supposed to be here today.” Sliding out of the rental, he bellowed, “You’re such a fucking cat, Sassy!”

  “Fuck you, stinky helmet head!” Sassy yowled from inside.

  My parents, the conservative religious types, had allowed Sassy into the house? I waited for the screaming over the liberal use of curses to begin, but other than my brother and Sassy, the house remained quiet. “Stinky helmet head?”

  “Mom said she couldn’t call me a reject from the gene pool. We’ve numbed her to our foul mouths. Honestly, I heard Dad muttering curses under his breath the other day, so I think they’ve finally been cured of their pristine language.”

  About time. I sighed, shook my head, and unbuckled my belt, preparing for Sassy’s inevitable assault. “You probably should clean your flight helmet. It is gross.” Expecting my sore body to charge me yet again, I eased out of the SUV. It went better than I expected. “Why is Sassy here?”

  Before Mark had a chance to reply, Sassy charged out of the house, skidded around the truck, bolted across the yard, and launched herself at me. A better man would’ve caught her. I sidestepped. She thumped into the seat and sprawled.

  On second thought, I needed to dodge her near open doors whenever possible, and I took a moment to enjoy the unrivaled view. “Hey, Sassy. You missed.” I’d pay for teasing her later, but I appreciated what a good pair of tight jeans did for her legs, and on second inspection, I noticed she wore the blue shoes I’d gotten for her. They, too, did wonderful things for her legs. “Hey, you’re wearing the blue pair.”

  “They’re nice. Thank you. I like them a lot. Daddy said I didn’t get to see the new ones until you gave them to me yourself.” Sassy slid off the seat and dusted herself off. “Sorry. I got excited.”

  As cats had limited modes of operation, including ready to sleep, asleep, or zooming everywhere, I resigned myself to the inevitable. “Pounce gently. I’m still sore.”

  According to the doctors, I’d be sore for at least another week.

  Sassy faced me, examining me from head to toe. “Where’s not sore?”

  “His mouth,” my brother announced before strolling towards the house. “Our mother is likely spying through the window. The probably newly infected would enjoy if you examined his mouth with yours, and there’s an added bonus of offending my mother tossed in, free of charge.”

  “I’ll enjoy murdering you in front of our mother,” I replied, careful to keep my tone neutral. “Finish giving your final speech before I kill you.”

  “You couldn’t kill a fly in your current state,” my asshole brother countered.

  “Sassy?”

  “I promised your mother I wouldn’t try to kill the stinky helmet head.”

  “Why would you do something like that?” I complained. “Anyway, I’m sore, not dying. Just hug gently. What other dumb things did you promise my mother?”

  “If I want to shift, I have to go to the bathroom and leave my clothes folded in a neat pile. I’m not allowed to ruin her floors with my claws. There’s something about trying to watch my language.” She hesitated, looked me over again, and took the koala approach to hugging, wrapping her legs around my waist while burying her face against my neck.

  As pouncing, in and of itself, wasn’t a gentle act, I accepted my stupidity with a wince. To keep her from falling, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a squeeze.

  “She’s not too clear on the definition of gently.” Mark snagged my cheetah by her waist and pulled.

  While I let her go, she held on tighter. “Mine. I’m not letting go. No. Go away.”

  Pain sucked, but I appreciated her possessiveness.

  “You’re going to knock him over,” my brother warned. “If you want to continue your koala impression, which is a very good one, mind you, please wait until he’s inside. It’ll be easier on him.”

  Sassy eased her hold enough so my brother could yank her off. I staggered, catching my balance on the SUV. My brother hauled Sassy towards the house, and she kicked and screamed her defiance.

  “Try not to fall asleep on the walkway. You know how Mom feels about that,” my brother hollered over Sassy’s fussing.

  “Put me down.” The cheetah squirmed and kicked, and I wished her the best of luck freeing herself from my brother, who viewed his body as a canvas for muscle building and physical exertion. Honestly, it amazed me he even fit in a fighter jet.

  “I’ll put you down in the house. Damn, woman. Gently doesn’t mean climb him like he’s a tree. I know you’re excited, but try to have some limits.”

  Sassy twisted in my brother’s hold and beat on his arms while kicking her legs without earning her freedom. The situation amused me too much for my own good. “He could run off with you, and you’d be stuck. Don’t let her escape, Mark. That’s my cheetah.”

  “She’s your cheetah? I thought you were her pet human,” my brother replied, setting Sassy down at the door. “If you want attention, woman, wait until he sits down first.”

  “But I was being gentle.”

  “It’s true. For Sassy, that was gentle. I think I did well. I didn’t fall over.”

  “You turned gray, Aaron. Go sit before you fall down,” Mark ordered while shoving Sassy inside. “Mom, Dad! I’ve brought the twerp.”

  “You don’t have to shout. We’re standing right here,” my mother said, stepping away from the front window, thus confirming my brother’s suspicions. Most of the times my mother had visited, I’d been down and out for the count or didn’t remember much, and she scrutinized me from head to toe. “You’re looking better.”

  After a close brush with an affectionate cheetah, it impressed me I’d fooled my mother. “They wouldn’t have let me out if I wasn’t at least looking better.”

  “Sit. Your brother’s right. You look like you’re about to pass out on my floor, and you know how I feel about people passed out on my floor.”

  My mother loathed anything that damaged the pristine state of her precious hardwood floors, so I obeyed, picking the couch as my new base of operations to give Sassy space next to me if she wanted. “Where’s your father, Sassy?”

  “I convinced him to stay home. I had to yell at him. They tried to follow me. I wasn’t having it, not this time.”

  I was afraid to ask who ‘they’ was, as her mother and father only started the list of candidates. “Thank you for stopping them.”

  As I suspected would be the case, Sassy plopped onto the couch beside me. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling? Does it hurt much?”

  “The doctors gave me painkillers if I need them, there are some antibiotics in there, but I haven’t filled the prescriptions yet. I’ll get to it. Honestly, escaping the hospital was tiring enough.”

  My brother snorted and perched on the arm of the couch. “Yet you bitched about the wheelchair.”

  “I have to keep a little of my pride intact. It’s battered.”

  Sassy smiled and patted my knee. “You’ve had a rough week.”

  “Rough is one way to put it. I couldn’t help but notice there’s a really pretty truck outside.” I arched a brow. “Do you happen to know anything about that, Sassy?”

  “Who, me?” Her smile widened to a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? I think you’re yanking my chain, Miss Sastria.”

  “I’d never.”

  “Well, I like the color.”

  She giggled and snuggled into the couch. “I remembered you were upset when you couldn’t get that shade of blue in the old truck. Your brother wanted to paint it puke green.”

  “Thank you for not painting it puke green.”

  “My fashion sense totally factored into my status as your power of attorney, and everyone here knows it. Obviously, I’m the only one qualified to pick the appropriate colors for things you own.”

  “I thought
your fashion sense existed to provide me with appropriate bribe material.” I feigned a frown, narrowing my eyes to offer the illusion of being suspicious. “Shoes, purses, and other accessories exist so I can provide bribe material.”

  “That, too.”

  “I bought you those weird clear shoes with the red sole you wanted. I tossed in a bonus of a red purse to go with them.” I tried to relax but tensed from the worry she’d be unhappy with my attempted bribe.

  “So I heard. But why?”

  If my attempt to make the cheetah mine and mine alone soured, I’d blame the drugs again. Sassy understood drugs, and with a little luck, she’d opt to forget I’d bought the shoes before the accident. “I think I wanted to use them as a bribe to remove you from the general dating pool. Beating a bunch of braindead felines for upsetting you is hard work, but then you wanted to go on a date with a wolf. Braindead felines seem a little easier to beat on than a wolf. Seriously, Sassy? A wolf?”

  “I ran out of heterosexual felines, don’t ask about the bisexual ones, and I only went on the dates with the homosexual ones to make their mothers feel better—and to cover their real dates with each other. Well, most of the time. There were a few incidents of pure desperation. Those didn’t work out well.”

  “Well, I bought you a terrifyingly expensive pair of shoes to put an end to that crap.”

  “That’s very sweet of you. You didn’t have to, Aaron.”

  Like hell I didn’t have to. “My shoes make you happier than dates with those men.”

  Sassy snorted. “Obviously. Your shoes don’t attempt to lick the back of an unexpected boyfriend’s throat.”

  Even without my painkillers hampering me, I doubted I could figure out how a pair of heels could engage with an over-amorous cheetah. “They’re very reasonable shoes that cost an unreasonable amount.”

  “You’re so tired you’ve given my new shoes sentience.”