by Julie Kenner
Her apartment topped a garage in the Garden District, and he parked in front of the stairs leading up to her home. He got out of the Porsche, not bothering to close the door behind him, and climbed the stairs two at a time.
He pounded on the door, anxious for her to answer, desperate to touch her once again.
Nothing.
He pounded again. And still Cate didn’t come.
After a moment, he simply broke in as he had the day before.
Her rooms were dark and had an abandoned feel.
He shook his head, sure he was simply being foolish. It was after three; she’d probably simply gone to work.
He crossed to the phone and dialed the precinct, his confidence not dwindling until the receptionist told him that Detective Raine was on one of her days off, and could someone else help him?
No. There was no one else.
Silent, he hung up the phone, then walked to her bathroom as if sleepwalking. No toothbrush. No hairdryer. No deodorant.
Damn it all to hell.
She’d left him.
“YOU WANT TO TELL ME again why you’re camping out in my guest room?”
Cate shook her head, avoiding Adam’s stern gaze. “I’m sorry. Bad date. The guy makes me nervous. I…I just thought I should make myself scarce for a while.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his wife, Alice, down beside him. “Shit, Cate.”
Alice smacked him on the thigh. “Adam!” She rose and went to hook an arm around Cate, steering her to the bed and shoving Adam aside. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. I completely understand.” She flashed Adam a meaningful look. “Men can be such asses.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey! What the hell did I do?”
“Nothing,” Alice said. “Yet.” She stood up, pulling Adam along with her. “We’ll leave you to unpack or whatever. If you want to join us in the living room, feel free. We’ll most likely be watching some television program that drips testosterone.”
Adam pointed to himself, an affronted expression drawn on his face. “You see? You see what I put up with? I tell you…”
Alicia rolled her eyes and tugged him from the room with one last sympathetic look in Cate’s direction. Alone, Cate curled up on the bed and hugged the pillow, willing herself not to nibble away another nail. The horrible truth ate at her. That was what she wanted. What Adam and Alicia had. Love. Camaraderie.
They were soul mates, and Cate was certain that, no matter what, they’d always be together.
Would she ever find her soul mate? She licked her lips, her arms tightening around the pillow as the real question seeped through her soul. Had she already found him and then run away?
Restlessness tinged her blood, and she slid off the bed, determined not to think about it. She’d made the decision to stay at Adam’s place and it was a good plan. She needed distance, needed to think. And she wasn’t about to second guess her own choices.
She glanced at the clock. Not quite six. Time to unpack and then pop into the living room and join her friends. Adam had said something about ordering pizza, and her mouth watered with anticipation. She lived in New Orleans, city of amazing food, and yet a super cheesy pizza always sent her right over the edge.
She hadn’t packed much, so it didn’t take long to put everything away. Underwear. A few pairs of jeans. A couple of T-shirts. Some slacks and tops for work.
And there, in the little side pocket under a pair of socks, she found the bottle.
With a tiny bit of trepidation she pulled it out. She didn’t even remember packing it, and yet for some reason, her subconscious had thought it was important. Why?
She didn’t know, but she was determined to find out, and so she rummaged through her purse until she found the name and phone number of that professor in Georgia. Most likely the woman wasn’t in her office—or wouldn’t have any interest in talking to a superstitious cop in New Orleans—but Cate was just desperate enough to make the call.
With the bottle resting beside her on the bed, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. One ring, two, five…
She was just about to hang up when a woman answered with a crisp, professional tone, “Evonne Baptiste.”
A wave of foolishness crashed over Cate. What was she doing? What difference did it make what the inscription on some stupid glass bottle said? This was stupid, foolish, completely—
“Hello?”
“I, um, I—I’m sorry to bother you.” Cate closed her eyes. She was stammering like a fool.
“No bother. Who’s calling, please?”
The woman’s voice was so smooth, so pleasant, that Cate’s hesitancy evaporated. “I’m Caitlyn Raine. I’m a cop in New Orleans and, well, I have a question.” She found herself babbling out the entire story. How she got the bottle, how she’d noticed the marking, how she’d become curious about what the inscription meant. She didn’t relay the strange wash of sensations that had invaded her soul since she’d unwrapped the bottle. That little tidbit was simply too personal.
“I copied a word into the Internet,” Cate said, winding down. “And it came back as Romani. Gift. I also ran across your name and so, well, that’s why I’m calling. I’m curious to know what the full inscription says.”
Silence hung on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Cate thought the professor had hung up.
“Dr. Baptiste? Are you there?”
“You say the inscription is on a bottle? Glass with integrated silver?” Her voice held a thread of awe, and she went on to describe the bottle in such detail that Cate was compelled to pick it up and feel the delicate weight in her hand.
“How did you know?” Her cop instincts leapt to life. “Oh, good Lord. It’s not some sort of stolen artifact, is it?”
“No, no.” The professor rushed to reassure. “It’s just, well, it’s just old gypsy stories.”
“Gypsy?”
“Of course.”
“Gypsies speak Romani?” Her voice came out tight.
“Is something wrong?”
Cate shook her head even though she knew the other woman couldn’t see her. “No, of course not. It’s just that my mother believed in gypsy curses.” Her mother’s superstitions had been almost crippling. And while Cate knew that her mother’s beliefs had been one of the reasons her mother had shunned her, knowing the excuse didn’t lessen the hurt.
“A lot of people believe in curses.”
Cate licked her lips, not willing to press that issue. “Would you mind translating it for me?”
“Read out the letters.”
Cate complied, and when she was done, she heard the other woman’s sharp intake of breath. “It means ‘the strength of the gift.’” The professor paused. “Ms. Raine. Caitlyn. Would you mind giving me your phone number? There’s something I’d like to look up. An old legend.”
“About my bottle?”
“Maybe. I need to do some research.”
“Sure.” Cate gave her the number, then laughed, trying to sound amused, but sure she simply sounded nervous. “You’re not researching gypsy curses, are you?”
The professor didn’t return the laugh. “Not exactly. But Caitlyn, if you have any, well, gifts, you might want to be careful around the bottle.”
“Gifts?”
“Paranormal gifts. Some say the bottle will enhance them.”
“Oh. No. I’m as normal as they come.” Except even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. She’d thought she was normal, yes. But ever since Luc’s words had filled her head, she’d known that something extraordinary was going on.
Now she knew what.
She was cursed.
And she needed to stay as far away from the bottle—and Luc Agassou—as she possibly could.
CHAPTER SIX
“I JUST DON’T WANT IT HERE,” Cate said, holding the packaged bottle in her hand. She was on the phone with Bonnie, a childhood friend who’d finally returned her phone call. “Trust me,
this thing is more your speed.”
Bonnie had always been sensitive, and she’d made use of her gifts in her career. Some sort of shrink, Cate recalled. Now, though, Cate didn’t really care about the details of Bonnie’s professional life. She just wanted the dreams to stop. And since she hadn’t yet heard back from Dr. Baptiste, she was sending the bottle to Bonnie. “Trust me. It’s supposed to enhance paranormal powers or some such nonsense. It’s right up your alley.”
And not at all up Cate’s. She might as well pass the thing off. If Dr. Baptiste ever called back, she’d give the professor Bonnie’s number. And Cate would hope like hell that passing the thing off meant passing off its effects as well.
“It does sound intriguing,” Bonnie said. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” They chatted for a few more moments until Cate found a good point to ease out of the conversation. In truth, she was more interested in the papers spread out in front of her than in the bottle and its mystical properties. As soon as it hit the mail, it was history. And thank goodness for that.
She hung up, then walked the package to Adam’s mail box. Once it was safely secured for its journey, she headed back to the patio and lost herself in her work, barely even noticing as the shadows falling across the pages grew and shrank with the movement of the sun.
“Take a break, Cate.” Adam seemed to materialize behind her. He plucked one of the dozen files off the patio table and leafed through it. “Even you have to eat sometime.”
Cate frowned, reaching back to lift her heavy hair off the nape of her neck. She was damp and sticky, but she hadn’t even noticed until Adam had interrupted. She’d been too absorbed in her work.
“I need to figure this out,” she said. “I need to catch him.”
“You’re supposed to be taking time off.”
“No shit,” she said.
Adam sighed and took the chair opposite. They’d been working this case since day one, and they’d both kept photocopies of all the relevant reports and key evidence. She’d spent the morning reviewing the documents once again, hoping they’d missed something before and she’d find the clue they needed.
“Okay,” he said. “What have you got?”
She met his eyes. “Our perp is feline.” As much as she hated the thought that the panther she’d spent so many afternoons with was a mauler, she knew there was no other explanation.
Adam frowned. “There are some suggestions that the perp might be human.”
She grimaced. “I know. But…” She drew in a breath. “Adam, I know I’m right.”
“Tell me.” The playfulness was gone from Adam’s voice, and his expression was totally serious. All cop. He nodded toward the evidence spread out on the table. “Tell me what you see in the evidence.”
And so she did, trying to convince him without telling him the biggest clue of all—that, somehow, she’d seen the attacks. She wished she could simply write it off to her subconscious, her mind processing the details of a case as yet unsolved. But it was more than that. So much more.
And there was no denying that the culprit was a great, black cat.
THREE DAYS.
For three days, Luc searched for her, and three times the earth turned on its axis without any sign of his Cate. He didn’t know her friends, didn’t even know who her partner was. He’d talked to her landlord, but he’d had no more clue than Luc did. He’d gone to the precinct, but these were her days off, and while they’d offered to have her paged, he’d declined. He knew well enough that she wouldn’t return the page.
Something had scared her off. He’d scared her off.
But he needed to get her back, and soon. Feline instincts were clamoring just below the surface. He’d gone days without the change, but soon…soon…it would come again. And without Cate, Luc was certain someone else would get hurt.
He’d hit the point of desperation. She was gone, and if he wanted to spare any more victims he needed to lock himself in the basement at his house. A prisoner, but out of harm’s way.
With a deep groan of frustration, he stood in the middle of St. Charles Street, his arms to the side. He turned in a slow circle, his head tilted up to the sky. He stood on the cable-car track, but there was no car coming. He wouldn’t have cared, anyway. His fate was sealed. This was his one last-ditch effort to find her. If it didn’t work…well, he’d worry about that when it happened.
Closing his eyes, he let nothingness fill his consciousness. Somewhere, in the depths of his soul lay the heart of a great beast. And a heart that sang with Cate’s. He called to her now, reached out, his mind finding that silken thread that connected their souls.
Searching, longing, needing.
The cable car approached, easing down the track toward him, but Luc neither knew nor cared. All his focus was on this mission. He had to succeed. He had to find her.
His mind found the thread and he held tight, following it through the dark and dank shadows, the hidden places. Further and further as the cable car groaned closer and closer.
A house. A room. A man and a woman. And there, finally, he found her.
He opened his eyes just as the car approached. And as the car glided over the spot where Luc had stood only moments before, he was already racing across the street, heading toward his Caitlyn.
“CATE.”
Startled, she looked up from her notes into Luc’s copper eyes. She expected anger, a sense of violation, instead she felt almost giddy to see him again.
“How…” She trailed off, the question not worth asking. Somehow, she was his. Of course he’d found her.
“You ran,” he said.
She nodded. What had earlier seemed like a survival instinct now seemed kneejerk and foolish. She wanted to be with this man. Wanted to soak up his heat-filled gaze and lose herself in the protection of his arms. She took a deep breath and decided simply to tell him the truth. “I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“No,” she said honestly. “Of us.”
“You feel it, too.” Deep relief tinged his voice.
“Didn’t you know?”
“I couldn’t be sure.” He took the seat that Adam had sat in earlier, then pulled one of the folders to him, ignoring the bright red Confidential stamp.
“Those are police files.”
“So I see.”
She didn’t object further, even though she should. Instead, she just watched as he flipped through the papers.
“Will you catch him?”
She propped her chin on her fist. “Him? Not it?”
His expression was unreadable. “Human or cat,” he said, “it doesn’t matter. Both are attacking.”
“I know. And, yes, I’ll catch it.”
“It? Not him?” he said, tossing her question back at her.
“Our perp is a panther. The panther that escaped from the zoo.”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t realize the police had confirmed that yet. The news reports suggest that a human culprit is still being sought.”
“This is my theory.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “I’m keeping an open mind, of course. But I’m sure I’m right. And in the end, I will catch the panther. It’s…personal.”
His gaze seemed to bore into her. “Personal?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sure that seems foolish to you, but I used to go to the panther habitat.”
“And you feel betrayed.”
She squinted at him, surprised he could read her so well. “I…yes. Yes, that’s it.” She started to gather her papers. “At any rate, I will catch him. It’s my job. And I owe it to the people he’s hurt.”
He nodded, somewhat thoughtfully, then held out a hand. “Come with me, Cate. I think it’s time we talked.”
“I—”
“Cate. Just come.”
All thoughts of argument abandoned her. She knew she would go with him. Hell, from the moment she’d left her apartment, she’d known she would go with him if he
found her. That was, after all, why she’d run in the first place.
But she wanted this; she truly did. There was something comforting about his presence, and she wondered if that’s what happened between soul mates. This soothing, easy compliance. No thought, simply feelings and trust.
The trust frightened her. Except for Adam, and perhaps Kimberly, she’d never trusted anyone. She’d learned from her mother that loyalty was an illusion and that trusting was the easiest way to get burned.
With Luc, though, trust had bloomed, despite the frantic lust that sparked between them. Or, perhaps, because of it.
Whatever the reason, she did trust him.
The trouble, of course, was that now she expected to get burned.
“WOW.” Cate turned in a circle, taking in the splendor that was his home. “Wow,” she repeated.
Luc couldn’t help his grin. Some of the homes in the famous Garden District had started to fall into ruin. But not the Agassou mansion. The house was his only link to the happiness he’d once enjoyed with his family; he could never let it fall into disrepair.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s stunning.” She crossed to the inlaid credenza and picked up a vase that she was sure must be worth more than a year’s worth of her salary.
“My father inherited it. His family moved to New Orleans from France, and he can trace his roots back to the fourteen hundreds.”
Her eyes widened. “It must be amazing to feel all that history tugging at you. All I know about my father is that he was vile. And my mother ran away when she was sixteen and never told me a thing about her parents.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s my life and I’m used to it. But I do envy you.”
The irony of her words twisted in his stomach. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want to share my heritage.”
Her questioning glance was so sincere, so full of interest, that he felt compelled to tell her the truth even if that light might fade in her eyes. Some form of the truth, anyway. “I’m adopted.”