Falling for the Cougar

by Terry Spear

  “Damn it.” Scott lifted the cell phone to his ear. “The two men just took off down the street,” he said to the 911 operator. “Hello?”

  All he got was a dial tone. “Shit.”

  Two police cars squealed to a stop in front of his house.

  “Too late, fellas,” Scott said to himself. “The bad guys got away.”

  And now he had to replace the window before he left for his vacation for Galveston tomorrow. Why couldn’t they have just opened the damn window instead. He growled and headed for his front door. Too bad he couldn’t have worn his cougar coat and taken care of them.

  As Nicole drove home from Fort Hood, she couldn’t help the old reel that played in her head—how she had found Jed in a pool of blood at her parents’ house, how she had killed his would-be killer, who had left the scene of the crime, and though Jed had recovered, she couldn’t quit thinking about it.

  The thing that disturbed her most was police Detective Jane Campbell’s repeated question. “Are you sure that you killed the man who broke into the house?” Jane had asked her three times. “You were shaken over your parents dying, and the shooter shooting Jed, and now this. Are you certain he was dead?”

  No, Nicole hadn’t been sure of anything any longer. Yes, the shooter had lain bleeding on the kitchen floor after she’d shot him in the chest with her father’s gun. Yes, it appeared he was quite dead. He hadn’t had a pulse. Jed had been lying in a pool of his own blood in the living room, and precious seconds had slipped away while she hurried to stop the bleeding and called 911. Who would have thought the attempted murderer would just take his own bloodied, dead body, and his gun, and walk away?

  Not only that, as far as the police knew, the attempted murderer had never checked himself into a hospital for treatment of the bullet wound either.

  Now, as she parked her car at her apartment, something about the picture window didn’t look right.

  Nicole slowly climbed out of her car. She stood cemented to the walk as she tried to determine what was wrong. After working a long day at Fort Hood, her thoughts had centered on baking a beef potpie for dinner and collapsing in front of the television to watch another episode of the hot Winchester brothers in Supernatural. She could never decide which was hotter, Sam or Dean. Though she had a real soft spot for Dean. Maybe because he was always in charge, kind of.

  But something about the window forced a rash of chills to erupt on her skin. Ever since her parents had died in that unexplained single vehicle car crash, strange happenings had occurred at her apartment. Or at least she thought so. She had never been paranoid before.

  Ghosts? Were her parents trying to get in touch with her? Tell her what had really happened that forced them to crash into a concrete overpass when the roads were clear and dry on a sizzling, Texas summer day? She didn’t believe in ghosts, but maybe…

  A car honked. She jumped.

  Totally annoyed with herself, she’d never been this rattled over anything before, not until her parents had died and so many unexplained things had happened. She glanced over her shoulder and spied her sixty-five-year-old neighbor, Freddy MacIntyre, retired army master sergeant and all-time good guy, getting out of his car. His blond hair, streaked with gray, was cut short as if he still served in the military and his vivid blue eyes reminded her of her father. Widowed without kids, Freddy had taken her under his wing.

  He waved at her. Smiling, she waved back.

  She strode to her front door and stuck her key in the lock.

  After opening the door, she took a step into the apartment, her combat boots squeaking a little. She reminded herself she knew a little hand-to-hand combat. If she had a gun, she knew how to use it. The only trouble was she didn’t have one. She considered stripping and shifting into her cougar.

  The light from the fading summer sun still illuminated the living room. She glanced at her watch. Nearly eight.

  She considered everything in her living room, trying to discern what made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. Beige walls, beige carpeting, beige curtains, and beige mini blinds. She smelled a man’s scent in the apartment that she hadn’t smelled before. Someone doing maintenance on the place while she was at work? They had done so before without telling her.

  She’d closed the blinds before going to work that morning. Or had she? They were open just enough to let more light in.

  She switched on the closest Chinese hand-painted lamp sitting on a table next to the sofa.

  The blue floral sofa sleeper and matching love seat, light oak tables and lamps, even the Japanese snowbird paintings hanging on the walls, all looked undisturbed. Yet, goose bumps trailed down her arms when her focus turned again to the window blinds.

  She shuddered.

  There were no such things as ghosts. Just a faulty memory. She must have left the blinds partially open by mistake.

  She dropped her keys on the wooden coffee table with a clunk.

  Then something crashed in the kitchen. A shard of ice struck her spine. She froze.

  Her white Maine coon cat stalked out of the kitchen, his front paws freshly coated in dirt.

  She took a calming breath, irritated with herself that she could so easily come unglued over nothing. “Ahhh, Whiskers. Now what have you done?”

  Nicole rushed forward and scooped him up in her arms. “You go into the bathroom until I can wash your feet.”

  She deposited him on the white tile floor, loads easier to clean than the carpeting that covered her living room and office floor.

  After shutting the door, she strode down the hall to the kitchen.

  In the middle of the terra cotta tile floor, her favorite fern sat in a pile of potting soil and clay pot shards. She groaned. Having Whiskers to keep her company had been a lifesaver, especially after her parents had died and she ditched her louse of a boyfriend. But at times like this…

  She took a deep breath. First, rescue the plant. Then clean up the mess. Then clean up the cat. Then bake the potpie her stomach was already growling for.

  She reached up to a high cupboard for a large plastic container. It would have to make do until she could get another plant pot.

  She poked around the cupboard until she grasped the edge of the biggest container she could find.

  Suddenly, Whiskers wound around her legs, brushing his white fur against her boots.

  Instantly, her body chilled.

  She’d shut the door to the bathroom. Hadn’t she? But if the door hadn’t clicked shut, he could open it by shoving his paw under the door and pulling. He’d done it before.

  Still, she remained frozen with indecision. Stiffening her back and her resolve, she reached into a drawer and wrapped her fingers around a butcher knife.

  Whiskers purred and rubbed more insistently against her.

  Nicole listened for any other sounds in the apartment. Except for the hum of the air conditioner and the fridge whirring, she heard no other noises.

  If she’d had a dog, he would have barked at an intruder. Or maybe not.

  She moved slowly through the kitchen, her nerves taut, her fingers gripping the knife with a death hold…and crunched on the remains of her clay pot with the rubber soles of her boots.

  Great. Tell the whole world you’re coming, why don’t you?

  Her heart beat so hard, the blood pounded in her ears. About now she wished she hadn’t dumped Tom quite yet, because she could send him to investigate. About now she wished she had kept her father’s gun instead of having to rely on a knife.

  She walked down the hall and poked her head into the bathroom. No one.

  Go to Freddy’s and call the cops. But then another voice intruded in her mind: You didn’t close the bathroom door sufficiently. Whiskers opened the door. He’s done it before. Remember?

  She eyed the beige lace shower curtain hanging against the matching liner. Though it was perfectly opaque, she stared at it as if she looked at it long enough, she’d suddenly have x-ray vision and could see right th
rough it. Truthfully, she waited for someone to make a sound behind the curtain. She listened to see if she could hear someone breathing or his heart beating above the sound of her heart thumping away.

  If someone was in there?

  She’d scream…as tightly as she was wound now.

  She took a step forward. Whiskers joined her. She growled. She didn’t want the cat in her way or hurt if someone was in the bathtub.

  In a flash, she grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it back.

  Little brown cat paw prints decorated the white porcelain tub. She raised a brow and glanced down at him. His inscrutable face tilted up to observe her. His golden eyes gazed into hers. He meowed.

  “Yeah, you made a mess all right.”

  She exited the bathroom and walked toward her bedroom-converted office, the only other room in the apartment.

  She held her breath and peeked into the room. Nothing out of the ordinary in there. Desk, chair, file cabinet…one drawer partly open. Only bills kept in the files in that drawer. And nothing of consequence in any of the others either.

  She let out her breath. No mystery there. The file drawers didn’t shut properly.

  She faced the closet. No one is in the closet. Just like there was no one in the shower, she told herself.

  She straightened her back and inched over to the door.

  When her fingers touched the cold brass knob, what sounded like a cell phone jingled some tune she didn’t recognize—inside the closet.

  Nicole gasped. Terror filled her and her skin crawled.

  In an instant, she regretted not having phoned the cops from Freddy’s apartment.

  Too late now. She turned to run…and tripped over Whiskers.

  She fell to her knees and dropped the knife.

  The door to her closet opened and slammed against the wall.

  She grappled for the knife, trying to scramble to her feet at the same time. A man-sized hand, covered in a black leather glove, grabbed her arm. He squeezed with an iron grip, enough to bruise her easily bruised skin. His cloying spicy cologne filled her nostrils.

  She screamed so loudly, Whiskers fled to the living room. Instantly, a whack to the head rewarded her cry of terror.

  Pain radiated across her skull for a split second. Before she could see the man who hit her, a black void swallowed her whole.

  Chapter 2

  Nicole’s head throbbed as if pool balls raced through her skull, pinging willy-nilly against the inside of the bone. The strong smell of antiseptics cleared her sinuses.

  She opened her eyes and glanced around the room.

  White walls, white bed linens, a television hanging on one wall, metal railings on her bed, all added up to a hospital room. The initials DACH was stamped on the linens. Darnall Army Community Hospital, Fort Hood.

  What was she doing in the hospital?

  She closed her eyes, trying to recollect what had happened. She’d…she’d been hit in the head by a burglar. Whiskers!

  Her eyes shot open. Leaning over on her side, she fumbled around in the bed, searching for a nurse’s call button.

  “Captain Welsh,” a man’s deep, authoritative voice said.

  She turned.

  A dark-haired civilian policeman stood in the doorway. “Name’s Shep Callahan.”

  She croaked, “Whiskers…where’s Whiskers?”

  “Your cat?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded unnatural…parched.

  The police officer crossed the floor, then poured a cup of ice water for her from a pitcher. “Your next-door neighbor, Freddy MacIntyre, was taking care of him.”

  She thanked the officer for the water, then sipped from the cup. “Poor Freddy.” She gritted her teeth when another streak of pain skipped across her skull. “What happened?”

  “There’ve been a chain of robberies in the area. Mostly they’re dopeheads looking for merchandise to sell quickly for easy cash to feed their addictions. We have a taskforce on it right now. Five of your neighbors’ apartments were hit earlier last night and a string of homes too.”

  “Freddy’s place?”

  “No, they must have assumed he was home. He had his television on, and we figured that’s why they avoided his place. Freddy rescued you. Not only did he call 911, but he broke your front window to get to you.”

  Good old Freddy. She owed him a month of dinners. “Did he see the man?”

  The police officer shook his head. “Did you?”

  “No, only that he was wearing black gloves.” And she knew his scent, though it wouldn’t help the police to identify him. She took a ragged breath. “Did he steal anything from my place?”

  “You’ll need to inventory your household goods, miss, and tell us.”

  “Oh.” She was glad that Whiskers wasn’t hurt. Nothing else in the apartment mattered. “I didn’t see anything missing or out of place…much. The man was hiding in my closet.”

  “Your clothes had been shoved aside, so we assumed he’d been hiding there. And from the fact you were lying on the floor in there. Except for the plant pot broken on the kitchen floor, we couldn’t find any other evidence he’d been there.”

  “Whiskers did that.”

  “Oh. Well, we suspect you came home before the thief could steal anything. Drug addicts can become violent when a homeowner catches them. They’ll do just about anything to get the money for a fix.”

  She rubbed her temple. “Tell me about it.”

  “We’ve contacted your supervisor. One of the officers working in your office, Major Thomas Cromwell, said he’d take you home today.”

  Over her dead body. She still had to work with the son-of-a-bitch. She wasn’t about to share anymore after-hours time with Tom, the major dickhead. She’d only dated him for the fun of it. She would never have turned him into one of her kind. But seeing another officer behind her back? That was enough for her to call it quits.

  “I’ll call my girlfriend to come get me.”

  “Major Cromwell told me you might be expecting Jackie Huntington to come for you. He asked me to tell you, she’s taken emergency leave and left the state.”

  Nicole’s mind swirled in disbelief. “He didn’t say why?” For six months, she and Jackie had planned the vacation to Galveston Island. This was the first time both had approval to schedule their leave at the same time.

  She groaned. Not only had she wanted to get away from Tom the louse, she needed a vacation from the demands of her unreasonable boss, Colonel Tilton.

  She had to sort out another dilemma. Who could take her home? “Maybe Freddy would be free to come for me.”

  The police officer looked down at his feet, then looked up at her, his face grim. “He had a heart attack an hour ago and is at the VA hospital in Temple. The doctors say he’ll live.”

  Her eyes instantly misted. “How…” Her voice broke. “Did the burglar scare Freddy so badly he had a heart attack?”

  “His doctor informed us he already had a heart condition. The stress of the last several hours seemed too much for him.”

  “Because of me.” She reached for a box of tissue and wiped the tears that dared escape her soggy eyes. She choked on the words, “I didn’t know. He never told me.”

  Had Freddy feared she’d think his heart condition was a sign of weakness? If that was the case, she’d let him know in no uncertain terms, she wasn’t buying it. She let out her breath in exasperation. “When can I leave here?”

  A nurse wearing pink scrubs covered in purple teddy bears walked into the room and up to the bed. She checked Nicole’s vital signs. “The doctor’s coming by to see you. He said if there’s someone to watch over you, you could leave later this afternoon.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Since last night. Tests showed you had no serious injuries. You were mostly coherent once you came to. But you complained of a lot of pain. We’ve kept you heavily sedated and had to keep you under observation.”

  Mostly coherent? She didn’t reme
mber anything but bits and pieces, riding in an ambulance, strapped to a gurney, lights shining in her eyes. And everyone asking her millions of questions. Who was she? What was her name? What had happened to her? What was her address? Her date of birth?

  What difference did it make? Was someone planning a birthday celebration for her? And then she didn’t remember any of it, until now.

  She glanced at the police officer, who observed her like he was concerned about her.

  “Do you have someone who can watch over you when you go home?” the nurse asked.

  Nicole shook her head. The pain radiated across her skull again. There wasn’t anyone. No aunts or uncles or grandparents. No sisters or brothers or cousins. No one. And now her best friend had left the state for some family emergency without even telling her.

  The police officer stood taller. “I’m glad to see you’ve come through this all right. I was the first officer on the scene, and I had to know you were going to be okay.”

  She managed a small smile. She would be okay if she could get out of the hospital.

  He asked her more questions about what she’d seen or heard and then he left. Though she wanted to go home, the dread of returning there without even Freddy next door to assist her if someone should break-in again…

  Poor Freddy. He was her next priority once she left the hospital.

  Two hours later, Nicole returned home in a taxi after assuring the doctor she had someone to watch over her. Just a small little white lie. She felt fine, except for the headache still plaguing her. She didn’t need anyone to watch out for her.

  Now more than anything, she wanted to get away from Killeen. However, she regretted that she’d have to put Whiskers in the kennel for a week. Freddy was going to change Whisker’s litter and make sure he had fresh water and kibble every day—despite his cat allergies. He’d assured her he’d just take more allergy medication.

  Just looking at her apartment gave her the shudders. She stared at the apartment, then glanced at Freddy’s place. Her heart sank. She couldn’t leave him at the VA hospital alone. She’d be there for him, just like he’d taken care of her and Whiskers.