Carly listened, the coffee’s scent becoming less sickening and more desirable. A latte with thick, luscious cream started to sound like heaven. She couldn’t have it, of course, but she could breathe in the aroma.
“You walked away from your life,” Carly said as Yvette fell silent. Yvette’s casual So I did meant she’d given up her career, her home, her family, and started over again in the States, all for Armand’s sake.
“We had to flee in the night,” Yvette said after a dainty sip of her latte. “I took whatever cash I could find and got us out of the country and to New York. Even that was too conspicuous, so we came to Texas, to Dallas first and then to Austin. I never modeled again. Except for Armand.”
“You must have loved him very much to do that.”
“Oh, I did. Still do. So you borrowing my car to help a man you love get away is understandable to me. My surprise is that you didn’t stay away with him.”
Carly’s eyes stung with tears. “He didn’t give me the choice.”
Yvette’s usual expression was cool and distant, she an elegant statue who looked with hauteur upon the world. When she saw Carly’s tears now, the hauteur melted away, Yvette’s eyes softened, and she gathered Carly into an embrace. “You poor darling.” She kissed the top of Carly’s head. “The heart, it is a fragile thing.”
Carly let herself relax against Yvette’s strong shoulder. She hadn’t broken down and cried, truly cried, since she’d come home. No time, Carly had told herself. And now she had a child coming. She had to be strong, like her mother had been strong for her.
But for a few minutes, she didn’t want to be strong. She let herself cry, heartbroken.
Armand came in as Carly’s sobs were quieting, and Carly straightened up, wiping her eyes. Yvette went to Armand and kissed his cheek. “Darling, I was just telling Carly our love story.”
Armand smiled, his goodness beaming from him. Carly saw why beautiful, elegant Yvette had fallen in love with this bearlike, rather homely man, and loved him still. Armand dropped a kiss onto his wife’s lips and squeezed her with one arm around her waist.
“I couldn’t believe my luck, Carly,” he said. “A nobody like me landing an angel like my Yvette. But my father always told me to seize the day, and I did. No regrets.”
“No regrets,” Yvette responded, and they looked into each other’s eyes. No regrets must have been a catchphrase with them, because their faces softened, and years fell away.
Carly sniffled. “You two are so wonderful.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes again. “I’m going for coffee.”
By the time she returned, Yvette and Armand were businesslike once again. Carly cleared her throat and sucked down her decaf latte—ah, sweet, warm cream.
“Armand,” she said. “I want to do something for the Shifter kids. I thought maybe a visit to the gallery, maybe an art class from you. You teach art classes for kids at community centers, right? Would you be willing to do one for Shifters?”
Armand looked surprised. “Are Shifter children interested in learning art?”
“I don’t see why not. They’re not allowed to do so many things, but no one has anything against them becoming artists. I checked. I thought some of the kids might enjoy it. Just a thought.”
“A very good thought. We will arrange it.”
Yvette said nothing, but Carly knew she approved. Yvette never kept strong opinions to herself.
Carly went back to work, more contented. A little bit. If she was carrying a Shifter cub, she wanted to learn all about Shifter kids. Besides, if she could put a little happiness into the eyes of a kid like Olaf, it would be totally worth it.
* * *
Lieutenant Colonel Sheldon looked Sergeant Crosby up and down as Crosby stood at stiff attention in front of Sheldon’s desk.
The young man was a machine, Sheldon thought, nothing more. Not like Walker Danielson, who had an idea or two in his head. Danielson was a good XO, but Sheldon preferred Crosby, who did what he was told and didn’t ask questions. No matter what Sheldon wanted him to do, Crosby figured the fact that Sheldon wanted it done was a good enough reason to do it.
Sheldon did not want to give up on the Shifter. The tiger was different, and the research on him had turned up astounding conclusions. Sheldon had seen great potential for either training the tiger or creating new Shifters from him—a body of soldiers who didn’t need much food, water, or sleep, who ran straight at enemy fire without quailing, and whose bodies adapted to survive that enemy fire. Shifter soldiers who could be controlled by the shock Collars they already had.
If Sheldon could produce one of these Shifter soldiers—or better still, a platoon of them—it would make his career. Promotion, commendations, field commands—all would come his way.
Sheldon didn’t know how more Shifters could be created, either through artificial insemination or the usual way, but he didn’t care. That was for the scientists in their white lab coats to piece together. He just wanted it done.
But now the Tiger had gone. Walker Danielson thought Sheldon didn’t realize that Walker must have something to do with the disappearance. Sheldon was keeping Walker on a long leash, and when he needed to, he’d reel him in.
Meanwhile Sergeant Crosby stood at attention like a vacant statue, awaiting orders. Sheldon had sent the PFC who was his clerk off to stock up on needless supplies so he could be sure of speaking to Crosby alone and uninterrupted.
“DNA,” Sheldon said. “We leave it everywhere we go.”
Crosby said nothing, though he clearly didn’t know what the hell Sheldon was talking about.
But if Sheldon could get some of the tiger’s DNA, his scientists could do something with it, like analyze its chain or make clones of this tiger person. Again, Sheldon didn’t know how those things worked; he only knew that if you wanted something done, you gathered people smart enough to do it and told them what you expected. If a person didn’t fulfill your expectations, you fired them and found another, until you’d pulled together a crack team.
“I need the tiger’s DNA. I want you to search Carly Randal’s house, top to bottom, for anything of the tiger’s—a strand of hair, his clothes, a hat. If you find nothing there, search the house in which he used to live, in Shiftertown.”
Crosby’s eyes widened, the statue flickering the slightest bit. “In Shiftertown, sir?”
“The woman’s house is the least dangerous, which is why I’m sending you there first. But you can handle Shifters, Crosby. You’re trained for it.”
“Yes, sir,” Crosby said.
“Fine. That’s your assignment. Dismissed. Oh, and Crosby—don’t mention a word of this to Captain Danielson. On your honor.”
“I won’t, sir.” Crosby saluted, turned on his heels, and marched out of the room.
Of course he wouldn’t, Sheldon thought as Crosby banged the outer door shut. Crosby never disobeyed. If Sheldon told Crosby to shoot himself in his own head, Crosby would probably do it, no questions asked.
* * *
The evening after Carly had had her talk with Yvette, she went home, cooked a large meal, ate it, then went upstairs to take a bath.
She thought over Yvette’s story, how the woman had willingly turned her back on a potentially brilliant career to help the outcast man she loved. A sweet, romantic tale. Yvette had made her choice, and thirty years later, she still was content with her decision.
Tears filled Carly’s eyes as she lay back in the warm bath. Outside, a torrential rain poured down from clouds that had been threatening the city all day. The rain pattered on the roof and beat on the windows, rain rolling down the panes in streaks like tears.
She remembered Tiger saying good-bye, how he’d looked straight into her eyes.
Mate of my heart. You always will be. No matter what.
Carly’s stubborn resolve fled as though blown away by the gusts outside. She put her hand over her face and cried.
* * *
The watcher waited until the ligh
ts went out in Carly’s house, then he eased back into the shadows and took up his vigil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Carly needed more food. She’d had dinner, a snack after her bath, and then something at bedtime to tide her over. She woke after midnight, stomach growling.
“Geez, you eat a lot, kid,” she said, touching her abdomen. “I bet you’ll be just like your dad.”
That thought brought fresh tears, which Carly had believed she was done with, and also a fear. Tiger was such an unusual Shifter. What if Carly’s human body wasn’t strong enough to carry his child?
She needed to talk to Liam, to tell him, ask his advice. At the same time, Carly feared to. What would the Shifters do when they learned she was pregnant? Ask her to get rid of the baby? Or to go ahead and have the baby but leave it with them to raise?
Carly refused to contemplate either choice. This cub belonged to Tiger and to her, no one else. She wouldn’t give it up to be confined, watched, tested, chained, tranquilized, drugged—all the things they’d done to Tiger.
As soon as she made it to the dark kitchen, she knew there was someone else in the house. A breath of air, a scent, a sound . . . She wasn’t sure what she sensed, but something had alerted her.
Carly reached for the light switch. At the same time, a male body barreled at her, a punch landed across her face, and Carly tumbled, insensible, to the floor.
She dreamed. She saw Tiger, his hard face and golden eyes, jaw covered with half-grown beard. He fought with a faceless assailant, then he was standing over Carly, touching her, lifting her.
Carly was safe in his arms, her mate holding her and keeping her warm. The dream dissolved, and Carly woke in her bed, the sun rising.
Carly’s silk pajamas, top and bottoms, hugged her with warmth, possibly why she’d dreamed of Tiger. But no, she’d gone down to the kitchen, hadn’t she? Her stomach felt hollow. Had she eaten or not?
Morning sickness was rearing its ugly head. Didn’t matter if Carly had eaten or not—it was coming back.
She made it to the bathroom and lost her load, then she went to the sink to wash her hands and rinse her mouth, as Carly did every morning these days. She raised her head and looked into the mirror . . . and saw the bandages stuck to the side of her face.
“What the hell?” Carly peeled back the tape and found a cut surrounded by a nice bruise right below her left eye.
Flashes of memory returned—Carly going downstairs for yet another snack, sensing someone, trying to turn on the light. The punch, the fall, and then Tiger over her.
Tiger.
No, couldn’t be. But who, then, had bandaged her face and put her to bed? She couldn’t have done this good a bandaging job in her sleep.
Carly ran from the room and out into her kitchen. She looked wildly around, but she saw nothing out of place. No one here, and no evidence of anyone being there in the night.
Wait, yes there was. Her back door was unlocked. The lock wasn’t broken, but someone had unlocked it, either using a key or by picking it, then had closed it nicely without relocking it. Carly clearly remembered checking the doors before she went to bed, as she did every night, and the door had been locked.
In the living room, she found that a sofa pillow was missing from her couch.
Carly stared at the sofa, hands on her hips. What kind of thief picked his way into a house, knocked out a helpless woman, stole her sofa cushion, bandaged her up, and left again, politely closing the door?
Bizarre. She drew a breath, wincing as her bruised cheekbone moved. She let out the breath, locked the kitchen door, and went back to her room to get ready for work.
* * *
Connor sat up in bed and yelled. The intruder in the predawn hour was stealthy, almost Shifter stealthy, but he’d made a sound that penetrated Connor’s sleep.
Connor was in Tiger’s bed, in Tiger’s loft room, which used to be Connor’s. He hadn’t needed to move back in here now that Tiger was gone, but for some reason, Connor felt safer here, as though Tiger’s presence had gifted the room with some kind of protective mojo.
Until this morning. The man was a bulky black smudge in the lighter gray of the morning, in black fatigues, with a blackened face and a black knit hat. The only color on him was a couple of Tiger’s shirts he had bunched in his hands.
Connor’s Shifter took over. His body fought the sudden change, which hurt like hell, and the shirt and underwear he’d slept in tore away. By the time he became his young lion form, the intruder had rushed out the door to the tiny landing.
Connor crouched down on the bed on four paws, and sprang from there to the doorway. Not fast enough. The intruder was down the stairs, and there was Kim, with Katriona, in his path.
Kim screamed but had the sense to move out of the way. Connor leapt from halfway up the stairs onto the intruder below.
Who rolled out of the way and kept on going down the next flight of stairs. Liam and Sean were coming in the back door by the time Connor made it to the bottom, both running. The human man swung around and charged out the front, Sean and Liam after him.
Connor ran behind them, his tail, which he could never manage, waving in his rage. He galloped out onto the porch and down the steps to find the intruder on his back, having been taken down by Dylan.
Spike was there too, probably for an early tracker meeting or something. The human man looked up at the ring of Shifters around him—Liam, Sean, Dylan, Glory, Andrea, Spike, and Connor, panting behind them.
“Who is this?” Liam’s voice held a savage growl, rage working its way up from a deep well. Liam could be laid-back and charm the devil, but Connor knew that his uncle had an ocean of anger, hurt, and grief in him, mostly about the death of Connor’s dad, Kenny. Liam had worked through that, and he had Kim now, but when he was very angry, that old bitterness and rage seeped through him to make him a deadly enemy.
The man on the ground kept his mouth shut. Sean reached down, wiped the black off the man’s face with a tissue, and remained staring down at him. “No idea who that is,” Sean said.
“Some kind of pervert, looks like,” Glory said. She ripped Tiger’s shirts out of the man’s hands. “Stealing Shifter clothes. What were you going to do next, break in and steal my bras?”
“Glory,” Andrea said to her aunt in her calm tones like still water.
“Doesn’t matter,” Glory said, showing her teeth in a smile. “I don’t wear any.”
The man looked back and forth among them, his expression stoic, but his scent betrayed his alarm. No outright fear though, Connor thought. Strange. The alarm was because he’d been caught.
“What do we do with him?” Liam’s question was not so much a question, or at least, it was rhetorical. From Liam’s scent and the way his eyes had gone Shifter white blue, he’d already decided what he wanted to do.
“You can’t kill him, son,” Dylan said quickly. “Not worth the price.”
Liam’s rage rose, the scent of it hot. “He came into my house. He endangered my mate, my cub, and my brother’s cub.” Liam had become ultra-protective of Connor, Kenny’s son, again going back to taking the blame for Kenny’s death.
The intruder now started to exude some fear. Liam wasn’t the pushover he appeared to be, and Dylan, a man who looked even more frightening than Liam, was trying to calm Liam.
Spike growled in agreement with Liam. Spike, recently discovering he was a father, had become a fierce protector of cubs.
“Hold it together,” Sean said, his voice the calmest, but also with an underlying hint of feral anger. “How about we make an example of him?” His smile was frightening. “Sounds like fun.”
“Aye,” Dylan said.
Connor shifted—painfully—back to his human form, too furious to mind being naked in front of his enemy. “Let me help. He scared the shite out of me.”
Andrea moved to Connor’s side and slid an arm around his waist. Connor’s shakes and pain started to lessen a little. Sean’s mate could make peopl
e feel better just by being near them—her healer’s touch, Connor supposed.
“Kim okay?” Andrea asked him.
“I think so.”
Andrea glanced at the house, gave Connor’s shoulder a squeeze, and turned away. “I’ll just go make sure.” She ran lightly up the porch steps and into the house, and Connor moved within the circle of Shifters.
“I have an idea,” Liam said, his smile flashing out, but the fury still in his eyes. “Sure, Connor, you can help.”
“Great,” Connor said. He looked down at the man, who was smelling more and more of worry. “But wait for me a few seconds. I’m gonna need pants.”
* * *
Crosby found his wrists and ankles wrapped in duct tape, then he was loaded into the bed of a pickup between the shaved-headed tattooed guy and the older guy with the eyes of steel. The two Morrissey brothers and the kid Crosby had woken rode in the truck’s cab. A family outing, Crosby thought with grim humor.
They took Crosby to a dirty street in a warehouse district, parking the pickup next to a line of Dumpsters. The Morrisseys piled out of the cab, selected a Dumpster, opened it, and returned to the truck.
All five of the Shifters grabbed Crosby by the legs and arms and lifted him out of the truck.
“One,” Liam Morrissey said as they swung Crosby back, then forward. “Two. Threeee.”
Crosby felt himself go airborne and land with perfect precision inside the Dumpster, on top of a pile of foul-smelling, slimy trash. He heard the Shifters walk away, laughing, and the truck start.
But they didn’t drive away. As Crosby lay motionlessly, waiting for them to go, the square of sky above him darkened and Liam alone looked in and down at Crosby.
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