Leaving the door of the practice open behind her as she walked back inside, Ixchel wasn't surprised when the tom followed along behind all the way to the little kitchen at the very back of the building. She poured some dry kibbles into a saucer while brewing coffee for herself, then the pair reversed their journey, ending up back out on the front stoop in order to watch dawn come to the mountain.
It was surprisingly companionable to share her morning routine with another being, even though the cat was a bit standoffish and didn't leap up into Ixchel's lap the way she would have liked. The tom was walking with a limp too, and the vet filed that data away to be dealt with once she'd gained the animal's trust a little more and was able to pick him up without risking scratches. "You'll probably need some shots just in case you missed them," she murmured aloud, feeling pleased when the cat let her hand just barely glide over his back. "And I should neuter you too."
Was it her imagination, or had the cat's fur puffed up angrily at the very notion?
But her attention was quickly distracted by the shiny new car turning into her parking lot and rumbling over the gravel on its way to her front door. "Who could that be?" she wondered.
The practice wouldn't open for another hour, but this wouldn't be the first time a worried pet owner had seen Ixchel sitting outside in the morning and decided to drop by for an unscheduled consultation. The vet didn't discourage these drop-ins, even if they did impinge on her cherished quiet time. After all, if the human owner didn't have time to work herself (it was nearly always a woman) up into a tizzy while waiting for the practice to open, then the animal would arrive calmer and more collected as well. So Ixchel pasted a welcoming smile on her face and waited to see which pet had need of her services this time.
But the car's driver turned out to be a man. And as her visitor stepped out of the vehicle, Ixchel could see neither hide nor hair of any animal companion at all.
"Can I help you?" Ixchel asked, suddenly feeling exposed so far out in the boondocks, alone on the stoop of her practice. She rose to her feet, and the cat caught her mood and hissed before running away into the shrubbery. Never a good sign if an animal doesn't like a visitor's face....
"I hope so," the man replied, stopping several feet away as if sensing Ixchel's fear. He was a dapper gentleman, older than Ixchel but not so old that she didn't notice his lithe form and handsome face. In fact, the graceful movements of this second uninvited guest in the last twenty-four hours reminded the vet of Finn. On the other hand, something about her current visitor seemed darker and more dangerous....
Or maybe you're imagining perils that don't exist after being held up at knife point last night. This second explanation did make more sense, especially since the current caller wasn't threatening Ixchel in any way. Instead, he reached out to offer a business card, which the vet accepted between timid fingertips.
"Martin Mirabelle, Ph.D.," she read aloud, then looked back up at her visitor with questioning eyes.
"I lead the dig over at the old Quizner place," he said lightly. "You know, excavating the Indian mound?"
"Oh, right!" Now Ixchel felt silly for having let her imagination run away with her better sense. She'd read about the archaeological site in the newspaper and had been intrigued by a huge Mexican statue turning up in the mountains of West Virginia not far from her practice. "I was thinking of coming to the open house next week. Are you out looking for donations?"
Ixchel turned to head inside for her checkbook, always willing to support a worthy cause. But Martin's hard grip on her shoulder held her back. I didn't even see him move. The thought—and the strong fingers squeezing into her skin—was daunting, and Ixchel took a step away to remove the man from her personal space. And to give herself room to breathe.
With an abashed laugh, Martin moved back as well and raised his hands up in the air. "I'm sorry to have startled you," he said, the words an apology, and Ixchel provided a tentative smile in response. "But I'm not looking for donations," he continued. "There was a theft at the site last night. A priceless artifact went missing, and I'm pounding the pavement to determine if anyone might have seen the man who made off with it. The theft is a tremendous loss to science, such a shame to have an artifact of this caliber sold on the antiquities black market...." His voice trailed off, and Martin peered hopefully in Ixchel's direction.
So that's what Finn was up to. Her mugger had adroitly sidestepped every question the vet had tossed his way the previous evening, and Ixchel had to admit that she was almost relieved to hear that he'd stolen some sort of archaeological artifact rather than harming another person. But if he was only taking an old pot or arrowhead...then why did Finn end up with a bullet hole in his arm?
Martin's story didn't quite add up, and Ixchel found herself strangely protective of the mugger. So, even though the ethical choice would have been to tip off Martin about the previous evening's visitor, Ixchel simply shook her head. "That's terrible," she offered. "But, no, I haven't noticed someone like that around. In fact, I didn't see anybody at all last night after I closed the practice up. Just went to bed with a book...."
Clearly, the vet had protested too much, and her nonexistent poker face was less than believable. Because the archaeologist continued to pierce Ixchel with his gaze, obviously not buying her story.
"You're sure?" he asked at last. "You haven't seen a little figurine, about yea high, made of stone, obviously old?"
And now Ixchel looked at him quizzically. Would a tiny statue like that really be worth getting shot over? she wondered.
This time, her confusion must have come through as entirely genuine because the archaeologist shrugged. "Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me," he said at last, turning back to his car. "And I hope you'll keep my card and give me a call if you hear any gossip about the matter. If that doesn't happen, then I'll look forward to seeing you at the open house."
His words were entirely cordial now, and Ixchel immediately regretted lying. Surely a Ph.D. like Martin wouldn't be mixed up in anything dicey? Whereas Finn was shifty, to say the least. Why she had felt called to throw in her lot with the latter rather than with the former was beyond her. Clear evidence of a traumatic childhood resulting in bad judgment as an adult.
And yet, the stray cat had run away at Martin's approach, and the tom remained hidden even as the archaeologist got into his car and drove away. So the vet held her tongue, despite serious second thoughts.
Well, Finn couldn't have traveled far on foot, Ixchel told herself sternly. Someone else will have seen him, and the statue will be back in the hands of scientists before I know it. So it won't really matter that I played fast and loose with the truth.
Her mugger's imminent capture should have made Ixchel feel better. But, instead, the vet found herself hoping that Finn was more wily than he appeared. Maybe he had managed to get clean away.
"And that, cat, is why I don't date," Ixchel said to the rustling shrubbery. "Clearly, I don't have the foggiest idea who should and who shouldn't be trusted."
Chapter 9
That was fast. Mirabelle had certainly shown up on the vet's doorstep quickly enough. And although Finn was pleasantly surprised not to have been ratted out, Ixchel was also the world's worst liar. The archaeologist had to realize that Finn had visited her practice the previous evening, and chances were good that the private security company Mirabelle had hired would be scoping out the joint in short order. Time to move on.
Slinking back into the woods, Finn stepped out of his feline form and unfolded his human body upwards. Then, turning directly back into the shift, he fell down onto four paws.
Unfortunately, those paws were still the size of silver dollars. Seriously?
Luckily, Finn had a pretty good idea what was going on. Having never enjoyed the dubious pleasure of transforming into a pussycat prior to the previous evening, obviously the purloined statue was at fault.
"Okay," he said, shifting once again, the speedy transformations making him pant
slightly but otherwise leaving little mark. "Let's try this again." Setting the figurine down on a nearby log, Finn closed his eyes and shifted a fourth time...then stretched happily as his usual jaguar shape solidified around him. That's more like it.
Not that he was willing to leave the statue behind. Not after braving a gunshot wound to find it.
Which left the option of escaping on human feet. Finn had considered that scenario the night before, when Ixchel's car key lay serendipitously in the palm of his hand. It would have been so easy to hit the road in a stolen vehicle then swap the vet's car out for a hot-wired pickup a few towns over. By the time he'd hopscotched his way through half a dozen stolen vehicles, Finn would be all the way across the state and solidly off Mirabelle's radar.
But as he went to put the key in the ignition, the shifter had found himself wondering what Ixchel would go through in the aftermath of the theft. Would her insurance cover the loss? Would she be stranded out here on this seldom-traveled road until she was able to hire a rental vehicle?
Would she regret stitching up a stray thief's wound?
So, in the end, the shifter had closed the car door silently behind him and figured he'd make his escape on feline paws. And how strange is that, to feel guilty at the mere idea of a little larceny? Finn didn't keep himself in designer shoes by working a steady job. No, ever since donning his human skin fifteen years before, the shifter had put bread on the table through thievery.
At first, he'd stolen simple items—electronics from the mall to be fenced at the pawn shop, for example. But then Finn's research into archeology had drawn him deeper into the world of true valuables, and he'd begun pilfering ancient Egyptian artifacts and priceless Aboriginal ornaments. The way Finn looked at it, he wasn't really stealing. After all, no one had paid for those golden necklaces and clay pots in the last ten centuries. So it was a case of finders keepers...and Finn was the ultimate finder.
Which drew his thoughts to the one human whom Finn had built a long-term relationship with—Mick Carlton, the receiver of all his lifted items. Perhaps the solution to the shifter's current dilemma was to mail the figurine to Mick and ask the fence to hang onto it for him, which would allow Finn to transform into jaguar shape and throw his pursuers thoroughly off the trail.
The trouble was, while Finn trusted Mick not to turn him in to the cops, he didn't trust the fence not to cheat him of out every last dime in his pocket. And he definitely didn't trust Mick not to sell the figurine out from under him.
And Finn couldn't think of a single other human's address where he might mail the statue for safekeeping.
"This is absurd," Finn said to the little stone were-jaguar. Was it just his imagination, or did the Olmec figure suddenly appear smug? "You're supposed to be the source of were-jaguar power, a link to my people. Not an albatross slung around my neck."
But before the shifter could consider the matter further, his head whipped around. Immediately, Finn thrust the statue back into his pocket and began to run as fast as he could back the way he'd come, only this time heading toward the veterinary practice's back door.
Because a piercing human voice had cut through the forest just then, and Finn was certain he could identify the source. He'd just heard Ixchel scream.
Chapter 10
"We've got one walk-in dog with a fever. Beverley canceled her appointment...again. And there are three very handsome-looking men waiting out front."
"Three additional walk-ins?" Ixchel asked her receptionist absently as she scrubbed down her arms to ensure no germs carried over to the next patient. "Are they all here with the same animal? What kind and what's wrong?"
When the middle-aged woman didn't respond right away, Ixchel looked up at last and saw what could only be described as glee on Betty Lou's face. "No animals," the receptionist clarified. "They said they wanted to see you. Plus, one of the gentlemen is holding a rose...and he sure is handsome!"
Ixchel rolled her eyes as Betty Lou fanned her face to dissipate perceived hotness. "I'm sure the rose isn't for me," the vet murmured. Then, raising her voice back up to a normal speaking tone, she added: "But you might as well show your heartthrobs in. If Beverley's backpedaling on the neutering issue yet again, then I guess we've got a hole in our schedule. Hopefully I'll be able to get rid of the animal-less walk-ins quickly so I can fully focus on the dog."
Now it was the older woman's turn to roll her eyes. "And that's why none of the fine-looking young men around here ever get up the nerve to ask you out on a date," she said. But the receptionist didn't argue her boss's orders before heading back down the hall to her post.
No, that's why I chose to be a veterinarian instead of angling for a future as a trophy wife, Ixchel thought, her mind already running in a hundred different directions. Would she be able to talk Beverley into neutering her beloved chihuahua before he impregnated the entire neighborhood if she dialed the elderly woman up once again? Would this morning's stray cat show back up after the bustle of the work day ended, or had the black tom been scared off for good? And would the walk-in with a fever be easy to soothe? The canine must not be one of her regulars or Betty Lou would have mentioned him or her by name, so....
"Excuse me?"
Ixchel looked up, a polite smile plastered on her face...then paled as she took in the three suited men filling the doorway of the examining room. To Betty Lou—and to most residents of this quiet West Virginia community—the trio likely resembled eye candy, men muscular enough to grace the cover of a romance novel. But Ixchel's childhood on the West Side of Cleveland told her otherwise. Those weren't the kind of muscles you brought home from the gym, and that bulge directly under each man's armpit wasn't a box of chocolates. Ixchel could tell at a glance that the rose was merely a cover, and that these men were dangerous.
Her visitors sized the vet up at the same time she assessed them in return, and the men's limbs tensed as they took in their prey's anxiety. Fight or flight! screamed Ixchel's muscles. Of the two options, she vastly preferred flight.
Running through alternative escape routes in her mind, Ixchel glanced away from the men and toward the second door, the aperture that the vet used to enter the examining room from the laboratory side of the building. She might be fast enough to run through that door then down the hall and out the emergency exit before one of the men could get his hands on her. It was unlikely, but possible.
However, if Ixchel escaped out the back way, that would leave Betty Lou and whoever had brought in the feverish dog exposed in the waiting room. And the vet didn't want the backlash from her past to impact the innocent. So she closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then recalled the polite smile that had recently slipped from her face.
"I'm not running," Ixchel said at last, cutting to the chase. "But can we walk out the back exit and speak away from the waiting room?" I don't want my staff and customers to hear what happens if my assumptions are correct, her pursed mouth and flinty eyes added. And I assume that you don't either.
Her unspoken words seemed to have been understood as well as her spoken ones because both the man holding the rose and the red-headed man looked toward the central figure for confirmation. The boss's nostrils flared in consideration, then he strode forward and clamped one hard hand onto Ixchel's upper arm by way of reply.
The fingers in question were so huge that they wrapped all the way around the vet's limb, and she had to force herself to breathe. He's huge. And far too close for comfort. Not that panicking would help matters.
And not that telling herself to avoid panicking ever prevented her adrenal glands from kicking into high gear.
"Walk," the man said curtly, and Ixchel felt her feet take her down the hall in the opposite direction from the waiting room. Back here, on the administrative side of the practice, there were medical implements close at hand. The vet considered reaching out, trying to grab a scalpel....
And then what? Would she stab the man holding her arm while his compatriots pulled out the gun
s they hid so laxly beneath their clothing? A single scalpel clearly wouldn't be sufficient weaponry to allow Ixchel to break free of the trio, so the vet simply took another shuddery breath and kept right on walking.
For a minute, the expansive skies and fresh air of the outdoors eased her claustrophobia. But then the three thugs backed Ixchel up against the closed door, towering over her in a united front of testosterone-laden muscles.
The vet had never been bullied in school, not with five older brothers to protect her from all comers. But she'd been in enough dicey situations as a result of those same brothers' criminal leanings to know that being surrounded by sufficient manpower to outweigh her five times over wasn't a recipe for continued good health.
But the vet still had no way to fight herself free. So it appeared she would use the only weapon at her disposal—words.
"What do you want?" Ixchel asked when the elongated silence seemed to be sucking the air right out of her lungs. She wasn't trying to be a smart-ass, either. There were simply so many people in her past who would like to see her come to harm that she couldn't decide who might have sent these men to intimidate or harm her.
Topping the list were those aforementioned brothers, who had changed from over-protective to vengeful in a heartbeat when Ixchel got them all arrested on the same night. And if her siblings hadn't sent these thugs to track her down, then the men might be enemies of her family planning to sate their anger on the clan's weakest link.
Or perhaps Ixchel's morning intuition was correct and Dr. Martin Mirabelle wasn't the kindly professor that he had initially appeared. Wasn't it astonishing how many enemies a simple veterinarian could rack up while going about her daily life?
As these thoughts spun through the vet's mind, she tried to look less terrified than she felt, while also doing her best not to add any arrogance to her stance that might prompt an outbreak of physical violence. After several long seconds, Ixchel gathered up enough courage to meet the lead thug's eye, and the man took that as a cue to pause his intimidation tactics long enough to growl at her.
Jaguar at the Portal Page 5