Here? She looked around the tiny police station. Receptionist/dispatcher to one side of the door. Alec‘s office, the patrol officer‘s area on the other. A door to Alec‘s infamous two jail cells in the back. "Are you serious?"
"Very."
"Oh." Vic chewed on her lip. Police work. Protecting people. Using her brain to solve problems. "Don‘t I need some certification and classes and all that?"
"You will. But for now, until you decide if you like it, and I discover if you‘re any good, we‘ll call you an entry level sheriff‘s deputy."
"I don‘t know—you must know better qualified people."
"Hardly." Alec gave her an even look. "Qualified people rarely want to work in the boring boondocks. Of those that do, too many are arrogant bastards I wouldn‘t trust to take out the garbage." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have a couple of good ones now. Men who are here for the same reason I am—because this is where my family and friends live."
"Oh. Well—"
"With both Daonain and humans in an area, it works better when shifters handle enforcement." He grinned. "It‘s not appropriate to ask a human to calm down a pissed-off bear."
Then his smile dropped away. "And if something happens like it did with Jamie, the standard human response is to get help from a higher authority. But if the government or military were called in…"
Calum growled under his breath.
Cold slid up Vic‘s spine at the deadly sound. "What do you think they‘d do?"
Alec‘s eyes, so warm and full of fun, turned terrifyingly cold. Please, never let him look at me like that. "At least twice, we‘ve rescued a shifter getting gutted on a lab table in a military site. Just another specimen to dissect. If they truly believed we exist?" His mouth thinned.
"Humans have a long history of genocide."
"Oh."
His face cleared. "Anyway, with the problems recently, I could use another deputy. One who is skilled enough to handle deadly situations. Truthfully, Vicki? I need you."
There was a knot in her chest, one she hadn‘t even known was present until it started to loosen. She could have a job where she could use her skills. She was needed. She breathed in, worked for the right casual tone, "Oh, well then, sure. I accept."
*
Eyeing the phone, Vic sat on a chair in the bedroom designated hers. Each day, something new appeared. A quilt in soothing blues and greens. A handmade rug from a local craftswoman.
A painting of the mountains above Cold Creek. The very comfortable chair she sat in now. She smiled. She hadn‘t spent a night in the bed yet, but to have a room of her own was comforting.
She used it when the guys pissed her off, so she wouldn‘t rip their obstinate heads off.
She closed her eyes. Stalling, Sergeant?
She picked up the phone. Set it down. Picked it up again and dialed.
"Wells."
Dammit, why did he only answer when she didn‘t want to talk with him? But would this be the last time she talked with him? A place deep within hollowed out with emptiness. "Um. It‘s me, Vi—Sergeant Morgan."
She could almost see his attention move from paperwork to focus on her. Like a laser beam.
"Sergeant. I expected you in person."
"Well, yeah. I know." She grimaced. This was like having little pieces of her body—her soul—hacked off. "Something came up, and I…won‘t be returning. I‘m resigning."
Silence.
"Um. Effective today. Sir."
He‘d be narrowing his eyes now, as if he could see across the country. "Are you still in Washington state?"
She hadn‘t expected that question. "Yessir. Sir, I‘m sending you the official paperwo—"
"Why are you resigning?"
Went right to the heart of the matter, didn‘t he? Sometimes she had to wonder if he and Calum were related. But she‘d already thought of the answer to this—an honest one, oddly enough. "I fell for a man." Men. "It‘s serious and I don‘t want to leave him." Them. And it would be really awkward to turn into a fuzzball during a firefight. "Anyway, sir, I will be staying here."
"Cold Creek?"
"Um. Yes—how did you know?"
"I‘m a spy, Morgan; it‘s what we do."
She snorted. Waited.
"You had a copy of your physical sent to you in Cold Creek," he explained.
She closed her eyes and thumped her head on back of the chair. Dumbshit. Swane had probably tracked her that way. Fucking-A, she‘d done it to herself. "Got it."
"About that matter you wanted me to investigate—"
"That‘s been dealt with," she interrupted quickly. God, Calum and Alec would go ballistic if they knew a CIA muckety-muck was investigating Swane. "The local law enforcement took care of it."
"Then I won‘t waste my time."
Her sigh of relief was silent. "No need, sir."
She could hear his fingers tapping his desktop. Finally, he said, "All right, Sergeant. I can hardly keep you in service against your will. I‘ll get the paperwork started. And I wish you the best."
"You too, sir," she whispered to the dial tone.
It was done. She breathed out against the pain, feeling as if she‘d cut out her heart. Would she end up as with the amputees she‘d known, mourning the loss forever? But now she could move on.
And she wouldn‘t have to tell the guys what she‘d done for a living.
She shivered as she remembered the frigid look in Alec‘s eyes, Calum‘s growl. Well, if she still knew them in a couple of decades, she might casually mention she‘d served in the military.
But ever confess to being a CIA agent to this bunch of overly paranoid kitty-cats with claws? Never in a kazillion years.
*
Vidal read through the information on the new pill the doctor had prescribed. It might halt the symptoms of the Parkinson‘s…for a while. Then everything would go downhill.
At least, this bought him some time. He heard a knock on his office door. "Come in."
Swane. At last. Pale. Face tight with pain. Moving carefully. Long red marks on his cheek and neck had the ugly wrinkling of flesh glued shut.
"You look like hell."
Swane‘s grimaced, his eyes cold. "I‘m eating enough antibiotics to choke a cow—after being on IVs for over a week. Fucking cougar bites and claws are bad as human bites. That‘s probably why we lost all those homeless people."
Vidal nodded. He‘d have to remember to begin the antibiotics before starting the transformation. "Did you come up with a plan? One that will work this time?"
"Fuck, like I knew the kid would turn into a cat?" Swane ran his hand over his head, the scratching sound showing he hadn‘t shaved it recently. "We got information on a few wereanimals in town—the old biddy didn‘t know them all—but only the tavern owner has a kid."
Somehow that didn‘t seem right. Vidal regarded the ex-mercenary suspiciously.
"We can try again to grab the Morgan bitch if you figure it‘s worth it," Swane said. "But we don‘t know if she was changed into a werecat or how much she knows."
"I suppose you‘re right."
"Basically the kid‘s our best bet." Swane‘s eyes turned strange, sending a chill up Vidal‘s spine. "No matter what, I‘m going to get the little bitch."
And that was what the problem was. Swane wanted the girl…and was becoming increasingly unreliable. But bringing in new help increased the risk. Vidal scowled. He obviously needed to keep a closer watch on what was going on. "They‘ve seen your face."
Swane scowled. "It‘s a real bum-fuck town. Only a few people on the street, and they all know each other."
Vidal smiled slowly, his gaze on the picture on the wall. His uncle had pull with the movie industry in L.A. He could set up a shoot for a documentary—or anything, really, so long as there were cameras and people. "I can get a shitload of people on the streets. And lure the kid out too.
No brat in a backwater will stay away from a movie being filmed."
Chapter Twenty-two
&nbs
p; Less than two weeks after starting as a cop, Vic walked her beat, nodding to the people strolling the sidewalk. She glanced into the bookstore. It felt good to see Thorson behind the counter, like the world was right again. Tough old bastard.
She turned away when her eyes started to burn and scowled at two men who stood in the center of the street pointing at the mountains. Fucking movie people. Apparently the town council had given permission for some idiotic film shoot next week, and the flakes had already begun to infiltrate Cold Creek to map out where they‘d do each scene. The townspeople were all excited at playing "extras". Vic shook her head. Having strangers around made her paranoid.
And not without reason. Swane and crew weren‘t about to give up. But maybe the shifters would find them first. They‘d traced the dead guys to Swane and then to a mobster named Tony Vidal. Long list of suspected crimes, only a couple of convictions. She‘d seen his picture—Vidal was the suit.
The shifter cop in Seattle had people watching Vidal‘s house and office, but the bastard had disappeared. Not good. Worry edged like a thin knife between Vic‘s ribs. Wells would undoubtedly have obtained the information faster, but if the CIA found out about the shifters…
The thought of Jamie on some laboratory dissecting table made her crazy.
The sun had managed to come out for the afternoon, warming the air to a pleasant temperature. In the center island, Halloween bats and ghosts dangled from the trees, dancing in the breeze. Outside of Baty‘s grocery, a six-foot skeleton had replaced the wooden Indian, and Books‘ display window sported cobwebs from every corner.
Cold Creek took Halloween seriously.
So did her two men. Alec usually surprised her with flowers, but this morning, she‘d rolled over and come face to face with a dark leering skull, a hand-sized chocolate skull. She grinned.
The idiot.
Both of them were crazy, smothering her with attention.
Calum made her coffee every morning, although he hated the stuff and only drank tea.
Alec had given her a new knife...one so well-made she‘d slit open her thumb just testing it.
Laughing, he‘d bandaged her up and kissed her owie, then searched out every bruise and scratch to kiss them too.
After Calum found out she loved M&M‘s, he brought out a bag one evening and given half to Alec. She had to provide a kiss for a yellow M&M, offer a breast for a red, and...dealer‘s choice for the brown and green ones. Her nipples crinkled as she remembered all the various positions and things they‘d had her do. Inventive bastards.
Yesterday, Calum had come into her bedroom as she was dressing. He‘d pulled a dark red, incredibly soft cashmere sweater over her head, stroked his hand over her breasts, told her that her skin was softer than the cashmere—and somehow she‘d ended up back in bed.
God, she was out-classed and out-numbered, and she still didn‘t know what was going to happen. She cared about them—fuck-yeah, she cared—but they‘d made no big I-love-you declarations. No one even mentioned the future.
Her stomach felt as if she‘d swallowed a rock. Yes, they gave her attention, but was it because she was stuck in their home for the moment? Calum was so protective, he‘d probably give a room to anyone in need, like he had with Thorson. Even worse, they acted so old-fashioned about women, they‘d probably treat any…fuck-buddy…like they did her.
Her breath hitched as she realized that since they were old-fashioned, then if they were serious about her…well, they would have said so. Proposed or something. They hadn‘t. She rubbed her arms, feeling chilled. Didn"t even realize you"d started making wedding plans, now did you, Sergeant? Pretty dumb. The men hadn‘t made promises. They probably considered her just…just a roommate with benefits.
Okay. She straightened her shoulders. They weren‘t the only ones enjoying the benefits. She was too. She simply needed to remember that‘s all there would be.
"Hey, you! Yeah, you—the cop," a woman shouted from the end of the block.
Vic stopped and almost looked around for a real police officer, but she was the only one downtown, so the lady was yelling at her. "Yes?"
"You‘re off-duty." A tall, lanky woman in tight jeans and sweatshirt walked toward Vic.
"Let‘s go have a drink."
Vic recognized the woman‘s scent before her appearance—and wasn‘t that weird.
"Heather!"
Heather put her hands on Vic‘s shoulders and gave her a slow study, then a hard hug. "You don‘t look too bad. Before you left, you looked like a horse that had been rode hard and put away wet.
"Thanks a lot." God, it was good to see her. "I thought you worked down around Rainier."
"I do." Heather linked arms with Vic and steered her the other way down Main. "Daniel and I drove up for the Samhain Gathering."
Gathering. That‘s what Alec had called that orgy-style party in the tavern. Was that why the street was filled with so many people? "Where are you staying?"
"With Rebecca. She takes in boarders when something‘s happening in Cold Creek; makes a few extra bucks."
They turned down Aberdeen Street. Just behind Angie‘s Diner, Heather halted at a Victorian bed and breakfast. "C‘mon, we can use the side door."
"Um. I‘m still on duty. How about I come—"
"Like I said, your shift finished early today. Alec said so when he told me where to find you." Heather shoved the door open, glanced back. "I have a six-pack of Calum‘s fancy beer in the cooler. You in?"
"Definitely." Vic followed her up the steep stairs to the second floor and down a hallway.
With oriental carpeting in rich reddish tones and rose-bud wallpaper, the room had a feeling of lush warmth. "Wow."
"Yeah. It‘s my favorite room here." Heather handed her a beer and pushed open the French doors. "Check this out."
A wrought iron table and chairs barely fit on the spindle-railed balcony. Heather set her beer on the glass-topped table, sat down, and waved at the other chair. "Best place to people-watch in town, especially during Gatherings."
The balcony was high enough to see over Angie‘s low diner to Main Street. Vic sat and put her throbbing feet up on the railing. "I‘m beginning to see why they call cops flat-feet."
I think you‘re crazy, Ms. Cop. Small pay, big risk, nasty people—what‘s there to like?"
"Maybe because I get to beat up on the assholes of the world?"
"There‘s a point."
A man‘s voice drifted up from the street, and she saw a middle-aged banker-type guy scowl at a portly man. A dowdy woman shook her head at both of them and walked away.
Heather glanced over. "Idiots. Like she‘d look at either of them." She sipped her beer. "So how are you doing?"
Vic studied Heather. Here was someone who had no problem with giving open answers.
"Forget how I‘m doing. I want to know why all these people are in town. And what exactly is a Gathering?"
"Whoa, doggie, you‘re going to jump right into the pond?" Heather raised her eyebrows.
"No small talk first?"
"Spill or I‘ll hurt you. Badly."
"Oooo, the kitty‘s got claws." Helen grinned and held her hands up defensively. "Okay, okay. Actually, that‘s why Alec let you off early—those two males keep leaving me all the tough explanations…like I bet they never mentioned that women come into heat with every full moon."
Vic choked on her beer. "Excuse me? Heat? Like a...a cat?"
"‗Fraid so. It has to do with the Wild Hunt that the Fae held under the full moon. The time for hunting and partying and mating."
She sat up, forcing air into her lungs. "Are you saying I‘m going to go howl in the street and let myself be raped by man after man?"
Heather whooped. "God, what an image!"
"But—"
Heather patted Vic‘s hand. "No rape, girlfriend. Never. If a guy can‘t smell that a woman is hot for him, his equipment doesn‘t work."
"Huh." Vic ran that around in her mind, and her muscles loosened.
Like most female soldiers, she‘d experienced too many close calls. "They really can‘t?"
Heather‘s lips curved. "Really. I was damned shocked when I went to college—human males can be total jerks, you know?"
"No shit." Vic rose to pace the length of the balcony. "So guys come to town to score with the women who are in heat?" In heat. God, that sounded nasty.
"And hopefully make babies. We can only get pregnant under a full moon."
"Huh. Gives new meaning to the rhythm method, doesn‘t it?" Vic said lightly, trying not to show how unnerved she felt. She took a sip of beer and watched a flower pixie in the rose bushes snatch a rose hip to nibble on.
"Unfortunately, shifter women don‘t get knocked up easily. But we almost always have twins, usually more."
"Jesus. I‘m not sure if that‘s good or bad." What would it be like to be pregnant? As a soldier or agent, she‘d never considered it, but now…the thought wasn‘t all that horrifying. Still, two or more at a time? A litter.
She shook her head. Then again, going into heat wouldn‘t be that bad with Alec and Calum around. "I think I get the drift. A Gathering is a good place to hook up."
"Almost." Helen looked…distressed. "It‘s more than just a fun time, Vicki. It‘s the law. All men and women attend Gatherings until too old to feel the pull of the moon. Or until they‘re lifemated."
Vic turned to look at her, cold trickling down her spine. "I‘m not lifemated."
"No." Helen sighed. "You‘re not allowed to be yet. The Law states a Daonain—male or female—must experience at least one Gather before…we‘ll call it marrying. A new shifter needs to discover how hormones affect her judgment before jumping into something."
Attend an orgy? One where her hormones would be in control? Vic stared at Helen in horror. "No way. I‘m not going."
Helen gave her a sympathetic look. "Your body won‘t give you a choice."
"My body does what I tell it to do."
"Well…the Law says you must attend the Gather, but if you can overrule your instincts enough to go home, more power to you." Helen reached across the table and patted her hand.
Okay. Then that‘s what would happen.
Hour of the Lion Page 28