by C. D. Gorri
“What’s got you tongue-tied, Red?” His deep voice startled her, and she jumped.
Eeek! Sammi closed her eyes and willed those oh-so-dirty images to subside.
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“So, what do we do now?”
Oh, the possibilities were endless. What wouldn’t she do with a man his size? She bet he could take anything she dished out. All. Night. Long.
Heck yeah.
Sniff.
“Right, uh…” She bit her lip, leaning into his space just a little bit. “I guess now we talk.” She sashayed out of the kitchen, giving a little extra wiggle to her bottom.
It took only a second for his appreciative rumble to reach her ears. Smiling all the way down to the living room area, she took a seat, trying hard not to grin at the man.
“I won’t tell you what proof I have, Red. You can wiggle that ass of yours from here to kingdom come,” he repeated, following her inside.
“Well fine, then,” she continued. “I can respect you for not trusting me—”
“Although I admit if you wiggle that thing for anyone else, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll be forced to spank you.”
Spank me? She waited for the horror she should have felt, but all she managed was to be intrigued. And warm. So very warm.
“I bet your bottom would look fantastic all rosy like your cheeks are right now.”
“They are not rosy,” she returned primly. “Now about your evidence…”
“I won’t share everything, Red, but I will tell you this,” he continued. “I looked into your FUC application. The couple you listed as your parents were not registered with any hospital at the time of your supposed birth. There is zero record of you being born other than a birth certificate filed four months after your birthdate.”
“There is a perfectly logical explanation,” she said, tucking her feet under her legs.
“Oh, really?” he scoffed.
“Yes, really.” She made a face at him.
“Fine. Explain.”
Sammi tried not to growl as she watched him grab a pen and a legal notebook from his briefcase. The man was all work, but that was okay. She could deal with that, she hoped, and with the fact he thought she was a criminal.
Sniff.
“My parents were on an extended tour of Africa when I was born. They were visiting prickles in the area. That’s what a group of hedgehog shifters is called,” she added. “Anyway, they love telling the story of how this indigenous prickle welcomed them to stay deep in the heart of the Bushveld near the Limpopo River in northern South Africa.”
“Limpopo?” he asked as he jotted the name down.
Gosh, he was cute when he concentrated. Developed the slightest little crease between his eyebrows. Sammi was dying to lean over and smooth it with her fingertips, or lips.
Ahem. Back to business. The sooner we clear our name, the sooner we bag the bull. Her hedgie sure had a brilliant knack for laying it all out, didn’t she?
Sigh.
“Yes. Limpopo. I was born there under the light of a rare full blood moon. The prickle thought that a great sign. My father was a wreck, but a couple of midwives were able to aid and comfort my mother. She says it was the most magical experience of her life.”
“And naturally there is no paperwork, no government records, or proof of all this?” he asked skeptically.
“Naturally.” She shrugged. “They were in the wilds of Africa. Any paperwork was dated weeks after my actual birth. Daddy didn’t even have a battery left for his camera, but see this?” She lifted the bottom of her shirt to reveal the soft, tanned skin of her belly, but that wasn’t what she wanted to show him.
“Is that a tattoo?” He swallowed audibly.
“Yes. These dots are a map of the sky. It’s the alignment of the stars as they were the night I was born. The prickle’s shaman gave them to me so my parents would be able to tell the exact time I came into the world by their position. It’s the Milky Way. See this big one? That’s the Pistol Star.”
“Looks like little dots to me, Red.” He shrugged, but his eyes glittered, and he didn’t look away.
“It’s more than dots, Mr. Gravino. This here is my real birth certificate.”
“Mr. Gravino is my grandfather. You could call me Detective Gravino, I suppose.” He winked. “But I’d rather you call me Sergio, Red.”
He stood up and walked over to her. The bull sat on the cushion next to her and leaned over, crowding her against the side of the sofa under the guise of inspecting her tattoo. He was so much bigger than she was; she had to lean her head back to keep looking at him.
He took out his cell phone and snapped a shot of the tattoo. Which also marked lines of latitude and longitude. There were also wavy lines to represent the river and a sphere to mark the placement of the moon.
20
He sat up but didn’t move back. The heat radiating off his enormous frame seeped through her clothing onto her skin. Sammi shivered with need, noting the blatant way he stared. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged her eyes from his right then.
Nope. His nostrils flared slightly, and she appreciated his straight nose and the five o’clock shadow, which only enhanced his chiseled features. His eyes darkened to a molten brown. Like lava cake, she mused. Sammi was so not looking away. Not if her life depended on it.
“Well, Detective?” she asked, needing to do something; otherwise, she was liable to jump him.
“Call me Sergio.”
“No.” She grinned.
“Why not?”
“I won’t call you by your first name, Detective Gravino.”
“You will, Red.” He gave her a wicked grin. “By the time I’m through, you’ll be screaming it.”
The promise behind his words sent shivers through her body. His grin grew as if he knew exactly what his close proximity and tantalizing words were doing to her. Sammi licked her lips. Just a little bit closer and she’d be kissing him.
But he didn’t move in. Didn’t brush his sexy-as-hell mouth against hers. Not yet, anyway. The bull was so close she felt vibrations from his body echo against her skin, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle in anticipation.
Sammi’s mouth went dry. But she shook her head, effectively breaking the spell he was weaving around her so easily.
“Confident of that, are you?”
“You bet, Red. Maybe you’ll even sing my name.”
“Fat chance, bull boy.” She snorted. “I can tell you this though. I won’t even say it. Not until I prove who I am to you.”
“I get it, but you do know I will find the truth? The actual truth,” he murmured.
“Good, then this is all moot.”
“Don’t lie to me, please. Whatever it is, I will try to help.” He seemed to mean that, but still, it bothered her that he thought she was not telling the truth. “Just tell me one thing, Red. Do you know where the girl is? Where her grandmother is?”
“What girl?” she asked, rising from the couch.
She needed space, needed air, but he dogged her steps. The man was like a dog with a bone, or was that a bull with a hay straw? Whatever.
All she knew was if she kept breathing in that delicious fragrance that was all him, she would forget all about what she was trying to do there. And that was clear her name then claim her mate.
“Samantha Andrews,” he grunted.
“I am Samantha Andrews.”
“Stop playing games. I mean the real Samantha Andrews, Red,” he growled, furrowing his thick eyebrows as he watched her. “You tell me what you know about her, and then you and I can finish our discussion.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. And as for our discussion,” she said daringly, “I’m not sure I want to finish it with you.”
“I just need the truth. I promise I will u
nderstand if you needed an ID to get into the Academy, to get your license, whatever. But someone is hurting people now, Red.”
“I have never hurt a soul,” she growled then grimaced. “Except for a few accidents.”
No point in lying to him.
“I am not talking about whatever happened during your training at FUCN’A. Someone is ruining people’s credit, destroying their futures, and a young woman was kidnapped.”
“I don’t have anything to do with that.”
“I believe you,” he said softly, and the words meant everything to her, until he qualified them. “But I still need to know who you really are.”
That was the last straw. She could tell by the way his eyelids were lowered at half-mast that he was as intrigued as she was. Maybe it was time she grabbed the bull by the horns after all.
Sammi licked her lips and pressed herself fully against him, enjoying the way his breath caught and his dark eyes flashed open. The subtle hiss of him sucking in air before his beast sent a rumble vibrating through his chest made her hedgie preen.
She affected the big lug. Good. But before he could react, she stepped away. Eyes trained on him, she backed out of the room.
“We’re not finished,” he growled.
“Yes, we are.”
Sergio looked ready to burst. He was clenching his jaw so tight she thought his teeth would break. She’d never been much of a Mata Hari, but even Sammi had to admit teasing the bull was fun. The man was simply too tense. He needed to relax, to enjoy life. She could do that for him. Help ease his workload and teach him to see things a little differently.
“Everything is not all black and white, Detective.” She shook her head when he moved to follow.
“Excuse me a moment,” he grumbled, heading presumably to the washroom.
Looks like she’d gotten under his skin. Good.
Mates were meant to bring each other balance. Despite his belief that she was an imposter, she knew he was it for her. And for the first time in her life, she felt positive she was meant for something other than causing disasters.
Sammi could not be more perfect for him. True, she shied away from danger, feared turning into Aunt Suzi, but other than that, she was generally a fun-loving gal. Just think of all the roaring laughter she could bring into his way-too-orderly life.
Yep, no doubt about it. He definitely needs me, she thought, as she perused his neatly stacked notes on the desk in the living room. A little recon was in order.
Hmmm.
Okay, so he was not exactly full of baloney. The bull had some evidence that there was, in fact, an American gopher shifter named Samantha Andrews.
Common enough name, she supposed, but the real kicker was the young woman was gone. Missing as it were.
Uh-oh.
That was troublesome. Sammi’s heart squeezed, thinking the other female could be in danger, but she sure as shit did not have anything to do with it.
Even more disturbing was the fact her grandmother was gone too. Who kidnapped grandmas? The older woman had told neighbors of her granddaughter’s desire to seek her higher education and potential career with the Furry United Coalition.
But that is where Sammi got confused. If this other Samantha Andrews wanted to come to FUCN’A, where was she? Sammi had certainly never run into anyone with her name, and with her rep, she would have noticed.
She couldn’t imagine another cadet would be happy to be mixed up with her. It sorta sucked to be notorious as a troublemaker and disaster-causer.
Sigh.
Oh shit. That’s why he asked me where she was. He doesn’t just think I stole her identity. That DIC thinks I killed her!
“What are you doing?”
Sammi squeaked, turning around and knocking some of his things to the floor. Surprisingly light-footed for a man his size, she thought, and took a moment to collect her breath. Then she turned an accusatory glare on him. “You think I killed her, don’t you?”
“I never said that.” Sergio raised his hands and approached slowly.
“You asked me where she was. You think I stole this poor girl’s identity and then did away with her. I can’t believe it!”
“Come on, Red. This is what I do. I hunt criminals and find missing shifters. Dead or alive.”
“What? How could you think that of me? Like I just decided to end her life and pick up where she left off? So, what is your theory, big shot? That I came to the one place in the world where I would be surrounded by FUC agents who might eventually be called on to investigate? That’s your big proof?”
“Well, technically I’m not a FUC; I’m a PRIC.”
“I thought you were a dick!” she snarled.
“I am the Detective in Charge, but somehow, Red, I don’t think you meant it that way.”
“You know what?” She sniffed but failed to pick up any emotions the bull might be feeling. “I think we need to start investigating, first thing in the morning. You better be ready, buster.”
Samantha rarely got spitting mad, but he’d managed to push her that far. And her hedgie was more than ready to spit.
Heck yeah, I am. A big, fat loogie too!
Right on his big fat head!
Grrr.
21
Not kissing Red last night after she’d pressed herself against him was just about the most difficult thing Sergio had ever done. BOB, his meditative breathing course, was doing fuck-all for his current situation.
Frustrated moo.
His little would-be-mate was vexing as hell and gorgeous to boot. The scent of her sweet arousal was ambrosia. Addictive, alluring, appetizing, and he wanted more of it dammit.
Grrr.
The line between detective and suspect was grossly blurred at this point in the game. His feelings about the tiny female were altogether too possessive. Too personal for a DIC.
He should call it in. Get Margot Leeds or even Alyce Cooper to put someone else in charge of the investigation. And yet, he couldn’t.
More like he wouldn’t. His bull was digging his hooves in this time. The beast would not budge. Red was his jurisdiction. Period. End of story.
Mine.
Shit.
He shook his head as he took a turn that brought them back onto campus the next morning. Red sat next to him, pointedly staring out the window and ignoring all his attempts at conversation.
Not that he could blame her. She’d had no options but to don her rumpled pants from yesterday but forwent the blouse. The tank top she’d worn beneath it showcased every curve and dip of her sweet form. It was not indecent in any way, but dammit, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out with all that honey-gold skin of hers on display.
Frustrated moo.
He questioned her this morning, as he was supposed to. Even if his heart wasn’t in it. She probably recognized his attempts at catching her in a lie. Not that he wanted to, but his job demanded he at least try to solve the case.
“For the last time, my given name is Samantha Marie Andrews. I prefer to be called Sammi for short. My parents were on vacation in South Africa visiting a prickle of hedgehog shifters living off the grid when I was born. No hospital records exist of my birth.” She sighed. “Samuel and Sally Andrews are their names. We have a thing for S’s in my family. Anyway”—she sucked in another bored breath—“I wanted to follow in my Aunt Suzi’s footsteps, which is why I enrolled at FUCN’A.”
“Red, I checked this out already. There is no Suzi Andrews listed in the FUC directory.”
“She was undercover for years. Why would there be a record?”
“Look, let’s go to the registrar’s office. Check out your incoming paperwork,” he grunted.
He hated doing this to her, but it was necessary. Once he firmly established her lies, they could work on correcting them, and after she served her sentence, well, maybe then they could have a future.
Yeah, right. You are so gonna be shown the door.
“Watch that Critter Control truck,”
Red murmured. “We’ve been having problems on campus with some non-sentient rodents and such.”
“I heard about that,” Sergio grunted noncommittally.
He swerved to avoid one of the several pest control vehicles that seemed to be on campus that day. Even shifters had to deal with the regular business of day-to-day life. There was no getting around it.
Growing up on the farm had more than taught Sergio that lesson. Didn’t make it any less inconvenient.
It was early yet—before regular daytime business hours—and not many people were out and about on campus. Red had assured him the office would still be open for the nocturnal shifters, who would just be finishing their day. Or night. Whatever.
He strolled to the registrar’s office with Red looking madder than a snake beside him. He couldn’t really blame her.
The jig was up. Much like a certain part of him that hadn’t been down since he’d laid eyes on her. He cleared his throat and tried to think unsexy thoughts. The early morning sky was still dark, but clear. And that Canadian mountain air was fresh as could be.
This was where being a supernatural creature could get a bit tricky. Whereas it was true, the human sides of dual-natured beings were typically in charge, some traits, habits, and instincts were hard to shake.
“This way.” Red led him down a corridor where the administrative offices were located.
He had to admit. The place was spotless. Very well run and a damn sight better than the human college he’d attended. Everything was shifter-specific and friendly. Imagine having a registrar window open for those active at night. Lucky for them, there was no line at this time.
He checked his phone. It was not even five yet. But all that time on the farm meant he was used to waking early. What a surprise it had been when the little hedgie who’d been driving him mad with desire came knocking on his bedroom door.
For a moment, he’d thought it was one of his dreams coming true. But when he’d opened the door, she was neither naked nor holding a rose between her teeth.
Sad moo.