I can hear the chief sigh. "He did. And got away, somehow. But we had Blake, the werewolf from Honeycomb Hall, on the premises. He picked up the scent and tracked it back to an apartment on Oak Street. Bardwell's watching the front door, but this is a slippery character. We need all the assistance we can get before moving in."
I turn and meet Chase's eyes. There's a moment of silence, and then he bounds from the bed and snatches up his jeans. "We have to go."
"Go?" The world is spinning.
He yanks his jeans on, then snatches up his suitcase. "Escape. I can get us both out of here, but as soon as they come up they'll know my real identity." He pauses and meets my eyes again. "I can't stay in Honeycomb Falls."
I want to cry. I want to protest, but he's right. They'll know who he is, and Blake's testimony will stand in court where Groofy's wouldn't. If Chase stays, he'll go to jail.
He moves to the foot of the bed and places one knee on the mattress, reaching out to take my hand in both of his. "Come with me, Joanna. We'll settle down in the next town for good. I meant everything I said. I'm a new man. Start a new life with me. Come."
Now tears do enter my eyes. I love my home. I love my friends. I don't want to leave Honeycomb Falls. I don't want to become a fugitive. It will mean never becoming a police officer, or doing anything that requires a background check.
My walkie-talkie crackles. "Kilmarten? Are you there?"
I hold up the walkie-talkie, feeling as if I'm carved from wood and hollow through and through. "I'm here, Chief."
"Joanna." Chase goes to say something else, but then understanding dawns on his face and he releases my hand.
"I can't," I whisper. "No matter how much I care for you. I can't run. Break the law. Abandon everything I know and love. It wouldn't be right."
He nods and sighs. "I understand." His smile tears at my heart, that quirk at the corner of his lips. "And maybe that's why I fell for you so hard. I must have known on some level that you were always out of my reach."
"Kilmarten?"
I hold up the walkie-talkie forlornly. "I'll be there, Chief. You can count on me."
"Good. The address is 15 Oak Street. Hurry."
I drop the walkie-talkie into my lap and bury my face in my hands. Despair. My heart feels like steel hooks are tearing it apart. I hear Chase pad around to me and sit on the edge of the bed. He takes me in his arms. I rest my cheek on his shoulder, and fight the urge to cry. He pulls back and tilts my chin so that he can look deep into my eyes. I look deep into his. And what I see manifesting there frightens me.
It's an anger. Not directed at me, but blossoming, growing like a fire. His brow knits, and his mouth thins into a line. Only inches separate us, but the storm of emotion that boils within that space is beyond intense.
"Go," I whisper. "Don't get caught."
He's struggling with something. With himself. "No," he says at last. "There has to be a way."
I smile brokenly. "There isn't. You've been caught. There's no undoing what you did."
He freezes, as if struck by a thought, and then a lazy smile crosses his devastatingly handsome face. "Are you sure?"
Now it's my turn to frown. "Am I sure?"
He leaps to his feet and with that fluid grace I never tire of watching crosses to his suitcase. "They'll need evidence to convict me. What if there is none?"
Painful hope fights with confusion. "What are you talking about?"
He crouches and I see him pull out a short staff from his suitcase and thrust it into his black nylon rucksack. Then a large vial of honey. Then he snatches up the fake diamond from where it lies on the floor. "I'll return them. Wipe them of prints. How can they convict me of a crime, if no crime has been committed?"
I open my mouth to protest, but then stop. Would that work? They'd arrest him for sure, but not find any of the stolen goods. The only real evidence they have linking him to any of the crimes is a trail across town from the mayor's house to his apartment. They could maybe get him for trespassing, but with a little luck, that could be it.
Chase sees the dawning excitement in my eyes and throws the rucksack over his shoulder. He grins, and my heart flutters in the absurd way I thought could only happen to lovelorn women in romance novels. "Come on. We're getting out of here."
"But how?" I rise to my feet and quickly dress.
"The same way I came in."
My eyes go wide as I buckle my belt. "Across the rooftops?"
Chase nods, and then shifts right in front of me. He doesn't get nearly as massive as a werebear might, but still he grows, muscle and fur filling out his frame, so that in a matter of moments a gloriously beautiful werejaguar stands in the room with me, his fur the rich color of sunstruck amber, his black rosettes intricate and beguiling. Almost seven feet tall, with a powerful tail lashing the air in front of him, he's stunning, striking, and utterly awe-inspiring.
"Come," he says, and it's him. Chase's voice issues from that fanged mouth. "We need to leave." He extends a large, fur-covered hand to me, and with my heart in my throat I take it.
Then he moves so fast that things blur. He sweeps me up in his arms, throws open the window, crouches in the middle of the bedroom, then throws himself into a sprint that culminates in a leap just inches from the window. We surge out into the night air, and I hold onto him tight, burying my face in his broad chest as we fly out over the street. The leap is over in seconds, and we land on a balcony in complete silence, Chase again sinking into a crouch to take the impact.
I look down. Oak Street is dark and silent, but I know Bardwell is down there. Watching. Waiting. Did he see us? I can only hope not.
Before I can speak, Chase leaps straight up, catches hold of the roof with one hand, and vaults up onto the tiles. He runs across the sloping surface, reaches Ivy Street behind it, and in a series of hops and drops makes his way down to the pavement, setting me lightly on my feet like Superman lowering a rescued Lois Lane to the ground.
"I'll find you when I'm done," he says, his voice a low growl that stirs fires awake in my core once more. Then he turns and runs, leaping up to catch a tree branch, twirling like a gymnast around it to then fly up to another rooftop, and is gone.
I put my hand to my head and blink several times. I feel dizzy, enraptured, and torn between hope and terror. Will Chase's plan work? I have no idea, but for now I have to put on the best acting job of my life.
I straighten my hair as best I can, smooth my clothing, but I know I look like a hot mess. Several hours of lovemaking have left their mark. I can't just run up to Bardwell like this. Or, well, I guess I could, but I know he'd smirk at the sight of me. Make all kinds of assumptions. I hesitate, then take off at a run - the library is only a few blocks away. Sometimes I love how small Honeycomb Falls is.
Ten minutes later I emerge, face washed, hair combed and braided, looking as fresh and professional as I can manage. I stride back to Oak Street, and I'm almost there when a little form detaches from the shadows and comes running over in a uniquely shambling and awkward way.
"Groofy." I stop. "I don't have time to talk. I promise I'll buy you steak tomorrow."
Groofy stares up at me, his little eyes reflecting the moonlight. "I've been looking for you everywhere - wait." He sniffs sharply, and then his eyes narrow. "You smell of mating. And werejaguar." I feel the mother of all blushes descend upon me, and it takes all my self-control to not splutter. Before I can respond, Groofy grins. "Is that how the law says you should arrest criminals?"
"What? No!"
"Because if so," he continues mercilessly, sitting down and grinning, "I'd like to become a police officer."
"It's not what you think!"
He looks up at me with mock innocence. "Do you have to mate with everybody you arrest? That must get tiring."
"Groofy!" I plant both fists on my hips and glare at him.
His grin gets shamelessly wider. "What?"
"Enough. Things - things got complicated between Chase and me."
<
br /> "Complicated?" He quirks his head to one side in confusion. "But I thought it was really simple. He puts his cock -"
"Groofy!" He can't control himself, and he rolls onto his back and wiggles from side to side, laughing in little puppy-like yelps. I roll my eyes. "I don't have time for this. Good night."
"Wait!" He leaps to his feet. "It's not safe. That's why I was looking for you."
I hesitate, about to turn and stride away. "What's not safe?"
"Honeycomb Falls. The killer is around here. I smelled him."
I shiver. The killer werewolf. Stalking the streets of Honeycomb Falls? I hug myself tightly and glance up and down the street. Everything is silent. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," says Groofy scornfully. "I have a marvelous nose. It can tell me almost anything. Like how creative Chase was when he stuck his -"
My blush turns burgundy, and I cut him off with a strangled, "Shhh! Enough! No more talking about that, ever!"
Groofy just gives me a dirty grin. "Hey, I ain't judging. This one time, I shacked up with this uptown girl, I think she was a Saluki, and she was the first that was willing to -"
"I am going to strangle you." I say this calmly and with complete and utter menace. "If you don't stop."
He reaches up with his hind leg to scratch behind his ear. "Well, you can buy my silence with -"
"Steak," I say, cutting in. "I know. Trust me. And I will. But for now, get somewhere safe. I'm going to be joining the other officers. I'll be safe with them."
Groofy gives me a dubious look. "You think?"
"I'm sure the killer won't bother the entire HFPD. I'm sure. And if he does, we'll take care of him." I say this with more bravado than I feel. "But thank you. For the warning." It hits me then that he's been risking his own life looking for me. "Thank you, Groofy."
"Hey, don't get all mushy on me." His voice gets gruff. "I'm just looking after my source of steaks."
I crouch down in front of him and scritch him behind the ears. "Sure. I believe you." He scowls and looks away. "Seriously. Thank you, Groofy. Now get somewhere safe."
"OK. You should too. Don't be out on the streets." But he stands and after a hesitant look into the shadows, trots away.
I sigh, square my shoulders, and lift my walkie-talkie. "Chief, this is Kilmarten. I'm almost there. Where do you want me?"
"Meet Bardwell a block down from the suspect's house. He's in his private car so as to not give our presence away. You'll be with him for this operation."
"Copy." I clip the walkie-talkie to my belt and jog over one block onto Oak Street, and then glance around till I see Bardwell's brown Chevy. I open the passenger door and slide inside.
Bardwell is staring with fierce focus at the door to Chase's apartment building. "Kilmarten."
"Evening, Bardwell. Things didn't go so well at the mayor's?"
He scowls, but then his walkie-talkie crackles to life. "All units. We're in position. Bardwell, you're taking the front door. Grange and I will come through the back. Blake, you've got the rooftop. Kilmarten, hang back and watch to make sure he doesn't escape."
"Copy," says Bardwell, and then he turns to look back at me and raise an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You're not going to argue? Complain? Ask for a gun, ask to join us in going inside?"
"Nope." I shake my head slowly. "I'll do whatever the chief asks."
"Huh," says Bardwell. "Maybe you are learning. Well, get behind the wheel. Keys are in the ignition. If you see anything, jump on the walkie-talkie, but otherwise keep it quiet. Clear?"
"Sure thing." I feel tired. Normally I'd be begging to go inside, but obviously I know this is an elaborate waste of time. Nobody's upstairs. I'm happy to wait behind the wheel. Bardwell gets out and then runs all hunched over along the pavement to the front door. I slide in behind the wheel and wait, watching. Silence. Bardwell stands motionless, and then on some invisible signal he pushes open the building's front door and enters.
Everything grows still. The few streetlamps emit an orange radiance that makes the street look lonely and surreal. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, not bothering to watch like I'm supposed to. Every time I think of Chase, I feel butterflies flutter through my stomach. Will his plan work? With no hard evidence to find, it very well might. And strangely, I have no doubt about his ability to return the stolen goods. Is he serious about turning over a new leaf? About dedicating his life to an honest career as a librarian? About spending it with me?
My natural insecurities rear their ugly heads. I want to doubt him. To not trust. To convince myself that this is a bad move. Would my father approve of his daughter marrying a thief? Even an ex-thief? I try to imagine showing up in Palm Beach with Chase in tow, and introducing him to my parents. The sun, the sand, the pastel colors, the little umbrellas in fruity drinks. My dad seeing Chase for the first time and sizing him up with that experienced cop-stare of his. Would he know? What would happen next?
I have no idea. I just can't imagine how it will go. But I realize that I desperately want to find out. I want to take Chase to meet my parents. I want to learn about his family. I want to learn all about him, about his mysterious past. I want his plan to succeed like nothing else in the world.
"Kilmarten," says the chief's voice from the walkie-talkie. "His apartment is empty. Did you see anything?"
"Nothing, Chief."
"Blake?"
Rachel's handsome werewolf husband has a deliciously low and growly voice. "Nothing, Chief. All's quiet up here. I'll prowl around a little and see if I can find anything else."
"Dammit. All right, we're coming down."
"Chief?" I feel nervous for the first time. "Did you find anything incriminating in the apartment?"
"No. Not at first glance. We'll come back with a warrant, though, and tear the place apart. Not that there's much to the place."
"Oh." I almost say good, but bite down on that word before I can. "Over."
I see the front door open and the officers emerge. I get out of the car and head over just as Blake drops down from the rooftops. He's not nearly as agile as Chase, but he has an angular grace all of his own. Bardwell and Grange are frowning, and the chief is scowling and shaking his head. It's Blake, however, who captures my attention. He's staring at me, eyes narrowed, a look of surprise and consternation on his face. For a moment I don't know why that could be, but then it hits me.
He can smell Chase all over me.
"I found something up top," he says, turning to the chief. "A fresh trail. It looks like our prey escaped a good half hour ago."
I feel ice water run through my veins. If he's picked up Chase's scent, then he's also picked up mine. I stand as still as a statue. What will I say if he confronts me? Why hasn't he said anything yet?
"Half an hour ago? Damn!" The chief is starting to sound furious. "I'm going to catch this thief and make sure he never sees the light of day again. Can you follow his trail?"
Blake hesitates again, glancing at me, and then nods. "Maybe. He's pretty acrobatic. Might take me a little while. Be easier if I brought my pack in to help."
"Well, do so. Grange, follow Blake and his pack in a patrol car. Bardwell, stay here and stake out the place. Our thief might return. Kilmarten, thanks for the help. You're free to go."
Everybody nods, and I realize that Blake's not going to say anything. Why? Why is he holding back? My pulse is racing and my throat is dry. He could blow my cover and ruin everything with just a word. He looks at me with narrowed eyes again, but still doesn't speak. Then his eyes flare wide. Wide with surprise. Wide with concern. Looking past me, over my shoulder.
I turn to see what's scared him so, but I already know what I'm going to see.
Chapter 13
A monster is stalking up the center of the street toward us. It's huge, as large as the cars parked on either side, looking to be all muscle and wiry black fur. Its eyes are a caustic yellow that seem to scald the night air, and its mouth is parted,
revealing fangs like shark teeth.
"What the - damn." The chief's voice is a controlled hiss. "Form up, boys. Let's do this by the numbers."
Bardwell shoves me behind him as he steps up so that he stands shoulder to shoulder with the chief and Grange. The three of them draw their sidearms and relax into shooting stances, feet set a little wider than shoulder width, guns held directly out in front of them with straight arms.
The wolf pauses, gazing at us with unnerving intelligence, and tenses, waiting. It's a shifter. It can turn into a human if it wants. But something about the alien, feral gleam in its eyes tell me it never does. That it wants nothing to do with higher thought. With rational thinking. It's a hunter. A monster. It just wants to kill.
"Ready." The chief's voice is surprisingly calm. "Aim. Fire."
The guns fire all at once, a cacophony of noise, but the wolf leaps, springs right up into the air with terrible swiftness. The impossible speed that only shifters can manifest. I stare, wide-eyed, as it seems to melt into the dark sky, and then goes to fall upon us. Only Bardwell has enough presence of mind to lift his gun and fire again, but in that fraction of a moment I know one or two bullets won't stop it.
It's going to fall right on the three cops, and tear them apart.
Or it would have, if a second dire wolf hadn't leaped up to crash into it in midair. Blake's form is rangier than the monster, not quite as bulky, but the alpha manages to stop its attack and the two of them collapse to the street in a writhing, snarling mass of flashing teeth, raking claws, and furious snarls.
The cops stare, helpless, unable to fire into the fight for fear of hitting Blake. I clutch at Bardwell's arm, horrified, watching as Blake fights for his life and ours against a foe that's nearly legendary for its savage ability to kill other shifters.
It hits me: this is what the monster wanted. It doesn't care about us. Us humans. It was after Blake. And now it has him.
They fight, and it's horrendous. They open terrible wounds in each other, but even I can tell Blake's outmatched. He may have heart and courage and the vigor of youth, but he's up against an experienced, grizzled opponent that's been killing for longer than Blake's been alive. The monster is massive, much larger than Blake, and I feel my panic rise as I see it overwhelm the alpha and finally pin him to the ground, jaws wrapped around his throat.
Catching the Cat Burglar: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 3) Page 9