Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  Isabeau pressed a hand to her stomach. "That's just sick. Did Imelda do that?"

  "According to the papers, she was devastated. Philip Sobre was a former lover and a wonderful, close friend. She'll miss him terribly and will not stop hunting his killer. She looked right into the camera when she uttered that lie with such complete sincerity. She had no comment on the findings in his private garden," Rio added.

  Isabeau inhaled sharply. "What did they find?"

  "Bodies. More than thirty so far, both female and male. There is speculation that Philip Sobre could be Panama's biggest serial killer in the history of the country," Rio told her.

  "I believe there's only been one or two that have ever been acknowledged or known about," Conner said. "This will be extremely uncomfortable for law enforcement, especially as so many officials knew him."

  "What a mess. Imelda just couldn't wait," Rio said. "My guess is, she took that place apart hunting for those tapes. By now all evidence against her is destroyed."

  Isabeau grew hot and uncomfortable, her mouth aching as if someone had punched her. Even her teeth hurt. The conversation made her sick.

  "Maybe," Conner said, "but if Ottila was the one who put the idea of taping the conversations in Sobre's head in the first place, there's a good chance he has them stashed somewhere. And if he was the one who searched the house, he'd have no reason to find them. Imelda has no idea he isn't loyal to her."

  "Why am I his first priority?" Isabeau asked. "Isn't money his true motivator?" Unexpected tears welled up and she had to blink them away rapidly.

  "An unmated leopard has trouble resisting a female in the throes of the Han Vol Dan. I think the instinct to mate overcomes all good sense. You introduced a chemical into his bloodstream. It will be like a building fever in his body. He'll have to come for you," Rio said.

  Her breath caught in her lungs. Her gaze jumped to Conner for confirmation. "Is that what I did to you?" She reached up and brushed the pad of her finger along the groove in his cheek. "When I did this?"

  Conner caught her fingers and brought them to his heart. "Yes. But that has nothing to do with my falling in love with you. I was already far gone before you took a swipe at me."

  "Do claws always release the chemical?" A wave of heat rushed over her, leaving her sweating. Maybe she was running a fever from the claw marks on her arm in spite of the shot.

  He shook his head. "It's usually deliberate. Your cat probably marked me because of a combination of things. Your anger, which was righteous by the way, we're mates, and we had fallen in love."

  "And Ottila?" She couldn't keep humiliation and pain from her voice.

  "She's in heat, emerging. She's not in control of herself any more than you're in control of her. It's a learning process. Most of our women have the advantage of parents teaching them how to deal with their cat instincts from the time they're little. You didn't even know you were cat." He brought her fingers to his mouth and scraped back and forth with his teeth, his gaze locked with hers. "Don't worry about it, Isabeau. I can handle Ottila."

  She wasn't sure. Conner seemed invincible. Confident. Experienced. But there was something very frightening about Ottila. Her heart pounded at that thought of him hunting Conner--and her. She couldn't seem to stand still, her legs restless, her nerves jumpy.

  She touched her tongue to her bottom lip and then nodded, changing the subject. "Mary is going to help me with the wedding preparations. She's making calls to some friends of hers right now and before you protest--and she knew you would--she said to remind you, she's known these people for over twenty years."

  Conner bit back his protest, seeing the happiness in Isabeau's eyes. He glanced at Rio over her head. Rio smiled at him and shrugged. It was her wedding day and they were just going to have to be vigilant.

  "You know the doc and his wife," Rio pointed out. "We're already trusting them with Jeremiah."

  "Doc wants to make certain you have all the necessary vaccinations and medical tests required. In our society it's much easier to get married, but we want to be legal in all countries. I filled out the license for us. It just so happens the doc has a friend who is a judge here. They know they have to hold the paperwork before filing until this is over. He was willing to juggle dates a bit for us, knowing Imelda's reputation, but he assures me it will be legal and binding. It was easy enough to get my birth certificate, and we're searching for yours. The judge has been very helpful. You need to sign a certificate stating you've never been married in front of the judge."

  She scowled at him. "Have you already done all that?" For some reason she was angry at him. Her out-of-control emotions made no sense at all.

  "I'm not letting you escape."

  She forced a smile when she really wanted to swipe at him again. She hated the way she was feeling and no longer trusted herself, so she touched Jeremiah's shoulder and left the room.

  "I don't know what's wrong with me, Mary," she said, entering the kitchen and rubbing at her arm. "I'm all over the place today. Conner just told me about the various things he's been doing, certificates, making it legal, and I suddenly had this mad desire to cry." She sighed and went to the window, ashamed of herself. "My skin feels too tight and itches uncontrollably. My emotions are completely out of control. I either want to cry or I'm angry and then I'm wildly happy. Does every bride feel this way on their wedding day?"

  Mary turned around from where she was mixing cake batter in a bowl, her gaze speculative. "If the bride's cat is close to the emerging, then yes, I'd have to say those emotions all make sense. Those are all classic signs, Isabeau. Has anyone talked to you about what to expect?"

  "A little. My cat is a hussy."

  Mary laughed. "During the Han Vol Dan, all the females are hussies. And it's the only time your male is going to be tolerant of flirtations. Our men are very jealous." She laughed again and looked through the open door toward the den where Doc's voice murmured in low tones. "Even old silly men." There was affection in her voice. "He still finds me attractive, even in this old body."

  "You're not that old, Mary."

  "Seventy-one, child. I look younger, but I don't move as spryly as I used to." She poured the batter into a cake pan and scooped out the last of it carefully. "As for you and your leopard, it's an exhilarating experience. Are you afraid?"

  "Nervous. Well . . . a little afraid. Does it hurt?"

  "Some, because you can feel the transformation, but in a good way. Don't hesitate. Just let it happen. You won't be lost. You'll be there fully, just in another form."

  "And she'll want to mate with her leopard?"

  "Yes. And you'll have to let her." She laughed, her expression dreamy. "She'll only make you wilder for your man."

  "If that's possible," Isabeau muttered. "I'm pretty wild for him already and he knows it."

  "He wouldn't be leopard if he didn't know it, honey," Mary said. She pushed the pans into the oven and stepped back, dusting off her hands. "Come on, let's go take a look into the treasure chest and see what we can find."

  Isabeau's heart jumped. She wasn't going to hurt Mary's feelings no matter what. The woman was being so kind. Isabeau felt her cat close, stretching, pushing, almost purring with need. Her breasts began to ache, and when she walked, her jeans rubbed along the junction between her legs. Not yet. I'm a little aggravated with you, she cautioned her cat.

  The female leopard didn't seem to care. She rolled, making Isabeau want to arch her back. She was feeling a little desperate for Conner. The burning between her legs grew stronger with every step she took.

  "I was married in 1958 and had a very daring wedding dress for those times. I had to make my own wedding dress, as we didn't have access to dresses. Doc was from a different village, and many of those in my town treated me as if I was a scarlet woman. I was quite the flirt back then, and very defiant of tradition." Mary laughed as she climbed the stairs to the attic and shoved open the door. "A friend drew the design and basically did the actual sewing for me.
She's remained my best friend for all these years and lives just down the road. In her time, she was a wonderful designer, always raising the bar. To me this dress represents adventure, a deep-abiding love and everything romantic and magical."

  She glanced at Isabeau over her shoulder. "I loved Doc with all my heart when I married him, and I love him a thousand times more now. I would be honored if you wore this dress and perhaps passed it on to your daughter some day. Each time a new way to preserve it came out, I had it done. It's as fresh now as it was fifty-two years ago."

  Mary knelt in front of a chest made of cedar and slowly opened the lid. Reverently she took out several items until she came to a large sealed box. Isabeau held her breath while Mary broke the seal and pulled out the dress.

  "Mary." Isabeau breathed her name, staring in awe at the dress.

  The dress was champagne and ivory, the color less traditional than stark white. The nearly form-fitting gown had a silky slim skirt that dropped dramatically to the floor with Belgium lace swirling around the hem.

  "Back then, the style was full skirts, and lots of lace. Neither suited either my personality or my figure, and so Ruth adorned the hem and bust with the finest Belgium lace, but left the rest plain. The bust is beaded over the lace. Few designers were doing beads then, but Ruth had always incorporated beads into her drawings. Of course the strapless bust was totally risque. Some designers were doing it, but they covered the shoulders with a small jacket or lace so the bride would be decent in church."

  Isabeau laughed. "Mary, you were a rebel."

  "No one back then paid much attention to Ruth's designs. They told her she would never amount to anything. Only men could have their own businesses. Women were supposed to stay home and mind the children. It made me angry. So I asked her to come up with the design, and our friends helped to find the right materials. We had to send away for everything, and it was so expensive. Now the money would be laughable, but then, it was a pretty penny and with the way we lived, difficult to find."

  "Were you a sensation in it?"

  Mary grinned at her. "Doc couldn't take his eyes off of me. The ruche satin made my waist incredibly small. I thought I looked like a princess."

  "Who wouldn't in such a beautiful dress?"

  "Turn it around. I love the buttons."

  Isabeau carefully turned the dress around to expose the back. Tiny satin buttons adorned the back all the way down to the bottom of the small train.

  "At first Ruthie was only going to put them to the waist but she wanted to accent the line of the dress, so in the end, she attached them all the way to the hem. Just so you know, sitting isn't all that comfortable. You have to position the dress just right, but it's so beautiful, who cares?"

  "It is beautiful." Isabeau had to blink back tears. "What if it doesn't fit me?"

  "It will fit. And I can take it in or let it out if I have to, but I think you're very close to what my size was back then. And Ruthie is on her way over to help, so if I can't do it, believe me she can."

  Isabeau frowned, a thought occurring to her. "You aren't talking about Ruth Ann Gobel, the famous designer, are you?"

  Mary laughed. "That would be Ruthie. She'll love that you recognized her name. Her dresses--now considered vintage--have grown popular over the last few years. She barely made a living in her day."

  "Mary, this dress is worth a fortune. If it's the first dress she ever designed and sewed, with the condition it's in, the dress is priceless. I can't accept . . ."

  Mary patted her hand. "I insist. What's it going to do, stay in a box? It was meant to worn, to be special, to make a woman feel wonderful. You wear that dress today and you'll be making two old women very happy."

  Mary was a very slender woman now, her bones small, her hair gray, but her eyes were bright and the few wrinkles looked more like laugh lines. Isabeau could see a timeless beauty in her, the bone structure, the skin, the ready smile. Or maybe it was her inner spirit shining through.

  "Are you absolutely certain?" Isabeau was afraid Mary didn't understand the treasure she had. "Perhaps a granddaughter . . ."

  Mary shook her head. "This is for Marisa. I want to do this. We spent so many hours talking about it and planning it, and if I do this for me, I'm doing it for her as well. And Ruthie was so pleased when I told her you might wear the dress."

  Conner's mother had touched so many hearts. She was an exceptional woman and she'd raised an exceptional son. Isabeau felt humble that she was reaping the rewards of Marisa's friendship with Mary.

  "Thank you, Mary. I accept gladly."

  "Let's try it on then."

  Isabeau couldn't wait. Suddenly she was very excited about her wedding day. She wouldn't be wearing jeans and a tank top, she'd be wearing the first dress the famous designer Ruth Ann Gobel had ever made. She knew she would feel like she was in the midst of a fairy tale.

  Mary led the way to the back of the house to an empty guest room. Isabeau was extremely careful, half afraid that she might rip the dress. The material felt alive under her hands. She stripped and stepped into the dress, wiggling until she could pull it over her breasts. The moment Mary began to close the buttons, Isabeau could tell it fit like a glove, as if it had been made for her alone. Knowing the history of the dress only made it all the more special to her.

  Very slowly, nearly holding her breath, she turned around to face Mary. She felt magical, beautiful, even extraordinary, and she hadn't even seen herself. Mary's eyes grew bright as she blinked back tears.

  "Oh, my dear, thank you for this moment. You're stunning. I knew I'd feel as if I had a daughter, and I do. Look in the mirror."

  The looking glass was full length on a wooden stand. Mary turned it slowly until Isabeau's reflection stared back at her. She gasped and brought both hands to cover her mouth. "Is that really me?"

  Mary brushed a hand through Isabeau's hair. "You're so beautiful. I think your man is going to be very happy that he wanted an actual wedding ceremony for you."

  Isabeau's fingers creased in the dress. "Don't tell him about this." The dress made her feel more than romantic and beautiful--she felt sexy. Really sexy. A wild temptress. Maybe Ruth Ann Gobel had woven in a spell the way some of the newspapers claimed when they talked about her work. Women felt different in her designs. Isabeau certainly did.

  "Oh Mary!" Another voice chimed in from the doorway, and Isabeau whirled around to see another woman. She looked a little more worn than Mary, was a little heavier, but her eyes were kind, and right now she was staring at Isabeau with rapt attention. "So this is our little bride. Isabeau Chandler? I'm Ruth Ann Gobel. Mary tells me you may need some alterations, but can't tell where. Let me look."

  For the next two hours, Isabeau was spun around, poked, prodded, her hair washed and redone in preparation for some "do" Mary and Ruth both felt was necessary to complete the look. The two decorated the cake with surprising flourish, and other women began to arrive with platters of food.

  "Go out onto the back porch and have tea with your man. We put out fruit, crackers and cheese, and you should eat something," Mary said. "You've got a couple of hours to rest before everyone begins to arrive."

  Isabeau looked around the kitchen at all the women. "There's more?"

  "The entire valley is coming, dear," Mary said with a sweet smile. "A chance for a celebration, you know. We're all on the other side of sixty and we could use something fun like this. No one is going to miss it."

  Isabeau shook her head. Conner had no idea what he'd gotten them all into with his sudden idea of marriage. She felt a little light-headed herself, the talk swirling around her until all the words ran together and there was just the roar of need in her head. Need of Conner. Need for freedom. Need to let her cat out.

  She ran her nails lightly over her arm. At least for a little while the other women had managed to drown out the needs of her leopard, but after a while, the close proximity of so many females--even though they were no threat to her mate--made her leopard cranky.
Isabeau sighed and wandered out to the back porch, stopping abruptly when she saw Conner sitting at a table with Rio. A long, jaunty red-and-white cloth hung to the ground around the circular table, and an unlit candle adorned the center, along with plates of strawberries and raspberries mixed with cheese and crackers, a pitcher of lemonade and another of ice tea. The ladies had already been here.

  She studied Conner through half-closed eyes, the width of his shoulders, the heavy muscles of his chest and arms, his firm jaw and straight nose, the four scars that only made him look tougher. Her entire body reacted to the sight of him, and something wholly mischievous and very sexy took hold of her. She moved up behind Conner and deliberately leaned over his shoulder, allowing her aching breasts to push against his body. At once her nipples tingled with arousal. Her head was against his, her mouth close to his ear. She breathed warm air onto the side of his neck and pressed her lips right against his ear. "I wish we were alone."

  She felt his reaction, the small ripple of awareness sliding down his spine, the slight rise in his temperature. She smiled with satisfaction and sank into the chair quite close to his, pulling it close to the table so the cloth draped down. If she had to suffer, so could he.

  She took a strawberry from the bowl and bit off the end, letting the juice gleam on her lips as she kept her gaze steady on Conner. He shifted, easing the tightness of his jeans, and she nearly purred. Her gaze flicked to Rio. "I was just wondering, although we did go over all the contingencies, thinking up everything that could go wrong . . ." She swiped her tongue over her lips to get the juice of the strawberry off. "Remember when Jeremiah said Suma came to his village in Costa Rica and talked to the youth? Did anyone ask Jeremiah if any others took Suma up on his invitation?"

  She dropped her free hand into Conner's lap, her palm cupping the thick bulge, just holding still for a moment. His thigh muscles bunched. His body tensed. She took another bite of strawberry and smiled at Rio. "We could be facing a little army of leopards in that compound, right?"