The Jaguar's Romance

by Emilia Hartley

  “Where are you hiding her, León?”

  He heard them shuffling in anticipation, smelled their humanness. Oscar feigned a certain preoccupation. He needed them to think his edge was gone. The men were sheriff department detectives. The older man, Monroe, smelled of a failing liver, his face flush with hypertension. His tall, skinny partner, Goldfarb, well, it didn’t take animal senses to know he was a total dick.

  “I am hiding no one.”

  “Sorry, Leon, but I need you to assume the position,” Monroe nodded to the wall.

  “Based upon what? Am I under arrest?”

  Goldfarb chuckled. “Probably.”

  Oscar placed his purchases on the ground, his palms on the wall. His inner cat growled as Monroe patted him down. The cop pulled the evidence bag holding the cell phone from Oscar’s suit coat pocket.

  “Interesting,” Monroe said.

  “Illegal search, Detective,” Oscar said, straightening up. He had the cops right where he wanted them. Now, he just needed them to go away so he could let his plan play out.

  Monroe shrugged. “We’ve got probable cause.”

  Oscar didn’t like the sound of that. Still, he kept a calm façade. “It will not hold up in court, as you well know.”

  Goldfarb got in his face. “Where’s Sally, Señor PI?”

  He picked up his bags from the ground. Why hadn’t the cops looked inside? Something was up, and he needed to find out what. Even if it cost him precious time. “Unless I am getting a check from the county, you two need to do your own work.”

  “You were seen picking Sally up outside her bar. Where is she?” The rail of a man grabbed Oscar’s lapels.

  Oscar leaned forward. “Are you looking for a fight, or a battery charge? I would prefer kicking your ass up and down the block. But I can go legal on your ass if you prefer.”

  “Goldfarb, don’t be an asshole,” Monroe ordered. With a sneer, the skinny detective let go.

  Oscar eyed the two of them before fishing out his keys. “Buenos noches, Detectives.”

  “Not so fast. We’d like to see your apartment,” Monroe said.

  “I hear that a lot, but rarely from men.”

  Monroe was a steady cop. Unfazed, he asked, “Mind if we take a look around?”

  Oscar smiled. “I know that if I refuse, you will produce a search warrant, and run through the place like los toros. Instead, why not come in for coffee? I assure you, Sally is not inside.”

  “We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t look for ourselves,” Monroe said.

  Oscar unlocked the door, holding it open. “Bienvenido.”

  He had to play it cool. Sally was out there, alone in the woods. While he was certain her bear would take care of Sally, he still felt the pang of abandoning her. Worse, Elathan Blood was also out there. Oscar had only the vaguest idea how to track him down. With Thorn’s death, Oscar had no doubt the evil man would be making preparations. For what, he had no idea. Regardless, if he appeared to be in a rush, the cops would only drag their feet.

  His office door stood to the left of a staircase, the apartment at the top. Leading the way, he unlocked the door and gestured the detectives inside. The cops took the place in. Dark leather furniture, floor to ceiling windows, exposed brick, Mesoamerican artwork, an old-school stereo with racks of vinyl and CDs, oriental rugs on the dark hardwoods, a bubbling aquarium of tropical fish, and a standup bass in the corner. Monroe looked impressed. Goldfarb still looked like a douchebag.

  Oscar moved into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. He was a man with all the time in the world. “Bedroom, guest room down the hall,” he gestured.

  The front of the building and his office faced Interstate 405. The master suite overlooked a serene garden surrounded by brick buildings with a sliver view of the Willamette River. Living room windows overlooked the freeway and parks beyond. Triple pane glass kept the apartment quiet and bright. Oscar poured three mugs as the detectives performed a cursory search.

  “What’s this door?” Malone called from the end of the hall.

  “It goes to the third floor.”

  Goldfarb folded his arms. “What’s up there?”

  “Nothing of interest. My sex dungeon, of course, and the fugitive hiding space.”

  The detectives’ faces showed no amusement.

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “Storage. It isn’t locked.” He grabbed the mugs and followed them up. The third floor was an open space with a couple file cabinets and a set of deck furniture. At the far end was a set of spiral stairs leading up. Oscar handed over the coffee.

  “Might as well get the full nickel tour.” He quickly ascended the stairs, and unlocked the trap door. Immediately, the sounds of traffic flooded in. Despite being downtown, the view was fairly decent, even with the church looming on the next street.

  Monroe sipped his coffee, which steamed in the chill air. “Quite a pad, León.”

  “A cozy place.”

  “But you need to cut the bullshit,” Goldfarb said.

  “¿Perdón?” He fixed the cop with a stare.

  “Come off it. Where’s your real digs? Three-thousand dollar recliners, and no TV; gourmet kitchen with no food in the fridge; no laundry in the hampers; beds all fresh and made up. You think we’re idiots?”

  “Telvez eres un vago perezoso,” Oscar mused.

  “The fuck does that mean?”

  Instead of letting Goldfarb know Oscar thought he was a lazy slob, he said: “This is my sanctuary. I do not let the outside world intrude upon it.” He eyed each cop in turn. “Usually. Come. I suppose you must search my office as well.”

  He led the way down three flights of stairs and unlocked the office door. Both detectives were puffing behind him. It was really too much of an office for him. There was a waiting room he rarely used, and reception area that currently had no receptionist, and his own office. This vast space was taken up by a huge mahogany desk and several file cabinets, several computers, a flat screen television.

  “What’s back there?” Monroe panted.

  “Equipment.” He unlocked the door on his storage space. Office supplies sat on shelves, the gun safe in the corner. Monroe nodded at the safe. Oscar unlocked it and spun the spoked handle. Four handguns were mounted on the inside of the door. A shotgun and a 30-06 rifle stood on the rack within. Ammunition sat on the upper shelf.

  “This is the same kind of bullshit,” Goldfarb whined. “What the fuck kinda guns are these?”

  “Well, this is a Luger P08 from World War II. This is a .50 caliber Desert Eagle, in case I’m ever charged by a herd of wildebeest—”

  “I know what kinda fucking guns they are! They aren’t working guns.”

  “They function perfectly—”

  Goldfarb turned a shade of purple. “Law enforcement don’t carry antique guns. You’re a fraud, León.”

  “I do not rely on firearms. That does not mean I am not expected to carry them for appearances’ sake.” Oscar began to sweat. He needed to get these men on their way. There wasn’t time for this nonsense. He figured by now he would have bored them out of their skulls. Grimly, he carried on. “I have permits for all of these weapons.”

  “We’re aware of that. We checked ahead of time,” Monroe said.

  Oscar felt the words sink in. There was only reason they would have done so. Monroe put voice to his suspicions.

  “We managed to get the card out of Thorn’s phone. The last messages were about a sawmill. Your client claimed she was trapped there.”

  “Sawmill?”

  “You can play dumb all you want, asshole—”Goldfarb started. Monroe raised a hand to silence him.

  “We have witnesses putting you with Thorn at the time the first message was sent.”

  The construction workers, Oscar realized. The Marino brothers. Wolf shifters were nosy by nature.

  “These witnesses have you driving away with Thorn about an hour before that explosion.” Monroe’s eyes were intense, studying Oscar. He too
k out the evidence bag, giving it a cursory glance. “We gonna find that text was sent from this phone?”

  Oscar’s mind raced, even as he kept his face neutral. Of course they would find the text. He just couldn’t afford for them to find it right now. “If I were the last one to see him alive, why would I need to text him?”

  “We’ll let the boys in the lab look at the phone.” The older detective moved closer. “The question on our minds is—where exactly did you take the man, León?”

  With eager eyes, Goldfarb also closed in. “We figure you fell for that girl, Sally. You’re in on it with her, aren’t you, Detective?”

  The thin cop leaned on the last word, making it an insult. Oscar felt penned in, both by the proximity of the men, and the trap of their words. “In case you missed it the first time I said it, unless I am getting a check from the county, you two need to do your own work.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sally opened her eyes to utter darkness. She freaked out a little, wondering what happened to the street light, her bedside clock. Suddenly, she remembered. She was on the lam, in the deep woods. She would have let out a groan, but as she was bear-shaped, she let out a sorrowful growl.

  Sleep had restored her somewhat, but shifting still left her weak. Her honey binge wasn’t enough to keep her going. The fact that bees were having a tough time these days made her feel sorry about busting into the hive.

  She had no energy. Shifting had taken its toll. Sally was stuck being a bear for the time being. Not that there was much point in becoming human. This was bear territory. That thought froze her as she realized what had awakened her. A scent on the air. It was distant, but distinct enough for even her novice nose to recognize—the smell of a very large male bear.

  Both Thorn and Elathan Blood were bear shifters, Thorn a Kodiak, Blood a grizzly. But her lack of experience with ursine olfactory senses and distance made the odor a blur. But Thorn was dead. Poor, poor Thorn. It was partly her fault that the big lumberjack had been caught in a trap. And otherwise, in this part of the world, grizzlies were extinct. That left only one possibility, a possibility that drove her to her four feet.

  She was downwind, of that she was certain. Otherwise, Sally didn’t know exactly which way to run. Plugging into instinct as she moved, she determined that the other bear was some miles away. Running full out, she turned as the scent became stronger, finally able to put it behind her. After several miles, she lost the odor.

  And found herself lost as well.

  Did bears even get lost? Of course, most bears didn’t own bars, or cars, or anything that required specific geographical knowledge. They just needed to know where the salmon stream was, the best blackberry bushes, stuff like that.

  Right?

  Holy cow, she was terrible at this. Sally didn’t know what to do. She could keep wandering in the woods. If she did, would Oscar be able to find her when the heat was off? Or worse, if they had to flee the country? She didn’t even have a passport. Did you need a passport if you were a criminal on the run? Inanely, the pros and cons ran through her mind.

  For hours, she paced around, snuffing the air, not wanting to smell the other bear. Drizzle fell, but she couldn’t feel it through her coat. Bear eyes were better than her regular ones, but still she couldn’t see well in the dark woods. Sally was tired of feeling scared and lost and…

  Bored. Yes, she was bored to tears despite the fact that her friend, her great-uncle in fact, was dead, that she was looking at going to jail and being tried for murder. She thought she had a boring life before, working at the Squirrels Nuts, watching TV, and not much else. But even the dullest movie loaded with more commercials than scenes was better than lumbering around the forest in the dark. How the heck did animals do it?

  Sally couldn’t tell how much time passed, but, jeeze Louise, she was actually watching the freaking moon move through the sky (maybe she could find some wet paint to watch) when another smell drifted to her. She stopped short, inhaling deeply.

  It was kind of a skunky smell. Sally was hungry, but was she hungry enough to eat a skunk? She was kind of getting there. But no, it wasn’t animal musk—it was weed. Padding quietly, she moved closer to investigate. Suddenly, all hesitation left her, and she hurtled through the trees at top speed.

  Doritos—she smelled Doritos, and—what was that? Hostess Ho-hos. Whoever was smoking pot had broken out the munchies. Ravenousness lent speed to her feet despite her weakness from shifting.

  Firelight flickered on tree trunks ahead, and she slowed, approaching cautiously. People smell collected in her sinuses, unwashed bodies, cologne and shampoo residue, and, ugh, patchouli. Still, she prowled forward.

  A blue and white tent sat next to a stream, throwing a leaping shadow behind it. Five people sat around a campfire on two logs. They passed a joint around, talking and, of course, laughing and coughing.

  But Sally didn’t care about the recreational weed use. Sitting on the ground all around the smokers were bags and bags of snacks. Chips, cookies, caramel popcorn, candy bars, nuts, a bunch of healthy granola bar crap (heck, even that smelled awesome) and two liter bottles of fizzy syrupy soda.

  Her hunger was such that she didn’t shy away. Instead, she moved silently forward, and dragged away a container of cookies made by the Keebler elves. Sheltered again in the trees, she made short work of the cookies, licking out the plastic for every crumb.

  Her eyes scanned the group. They continued talking, laughing and coughing, passing the joint along. Wow, they were pretty stoned. Again she crept toward them, this time snagging a bag of Fritos. Even though the crinkling of the bag sounded like thunder in her ears, none of the group paid any attention.

  Sally continued her venture, sneaking snacks and devouring them some distance from the camp. Someone picked up a guitar and played an out-of-tune Beatles song. After snarfing down a bag of Cheetos, she went on the hunt for a tall bag of caramel corn. Maybe she was finally getting good at this bear stuff after all.

  She had to circle around the group and approach from the other side. Sheltering trees stood only a couple yards from her target. Silent paws brought her in range. She picked up the bag with her teeth.

  “Hey, who bogarted my cookies, man?”

  Sally’s eyes bugged, and she froze in guilt. The man who spoke rose halfway to his feet and bugged his eyes back at her. Uh-oh.

  “Buh-buh-buh—“ his finger rose, shaking, pointing at her. “Fucking bear!”

  All of them screamed and leapt to their feet, scaring the crap out of Sally. Literally. But she managed to keep the slippery bag in her teeth as she bolted back into the woods. Once out of the firelight, she hunkered down over her prize. Then, a flash of light and a buzzing past her ear made her start. An instant later she heard the thunder and smelled smoke.

  Holy freaking spit, they were shooting at her!

  She grabbed up the bag and ran, tossing clods of moss and dirt with her sprinting paws. Zig-zagging around trees, Sally put as much space as she could between herself and the crazy pot smokers. Finally out of breath, she had to stop. Ursine ears and nose scanned the woods. She found no sign of the campers.

  Half the caramel corn had spilled in her flight. Sally finished the bag and sat back on her haunches. There was no way she was going to be able to stay out in the woods. She needed a better place to hide out. Someplace with pizza delivery would be good.

  In the quiet of the woods, she hatched a plan. Maybe not a great plan, but it was better than just sitting out here. If anything, she had learned what bears ate in the early winter. Nothing. Bears hibernated to avoid starving to death, apparently.

  She inhaled, tasting the calm, cold air. Sally sought any stray molecule of scent that might lead her in the right direction. All she could smell was bear—her own bear. But that was worth something, right? Rising to her feet, she followed her own trail back to where she started.

  Alert for the scent of the other bear, she loped on. Finally, she caught scent of what she was
seeking. A long jog brought her to an overgrown dirt road, where she smelled Sally the woman—and Oscar.

  Joy filled her as she hurried toward the odor. Maybe he was back for her already! Her nose led her, but to disappointment, not Oscar. In the crotch of a tree, she found his trench coat. He had bundled her clothes inside.

  Finding she had enough energy to shift back into Sally, she dressed and figured out her next move. This spot was still pretty deep in the woods, but at least there was a road to follow. Feeling the cold, she slipped Oscar’s coat on and started walking.

  Hands in the coat pockets discovered something. She pulled out two objects, examining them in the moonlight. The first was a wad of bills in a money clip. It wasn’t a lot, but it put more of her plan in motion. The second was a cell phone. Sally turned it on. There was only one number in the contacts. She recognized it right away. Determined, she walked quickly down the path, hoping to find the road soon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Goldfarb was on a roll. “This isn’t a game, León. You with your toy gun collection, your movie clothes—we’ve got you with Thorn just an hour before his death.”

  “You have nothing.” And truly, they did not. From the skinny detective’s comments, Oscar understood what was going on. That toy gun comment wasn’t about the weapons in the safe. They were tracking his bank accounts, following him electronically. That was why they didn’t bother to search the bags. They knew what lie within from watching his finances. Lazy detective work at best.

  “We’ve got enough to arrest you, asshole.”

  He cocked his head and side-eyed Goldfarb. “Funny, I thought evidence was needed to make an arrest. So far, the two of you do not even have a suspect.”

  “Your girlfriend is the suspect you idiot!”

  “Indeed, I am the idiot? You connect a woman to murder based on text messages anyone could have sent?” Oscar nodded at the phone in Monroe’s possession. “Is this my tax dollars at work? The both of you need to turn in your badges and guns for a crossing guard’s stop sign.”