by Kit Tunstall
In spite of himself, Lucas let out a snort that was partial laughter and partially disbelief. “For a man who values family so much, he clearly doesn’t mind getting rid of you if you don’t deliver Angel. That’s a strange juxtaposition, don’t you think?”
“Whatever.”
He crouched lower, still keeping is foot on the other man’s neck. “Why did you shoot at me in the tea shop with Angel there if you knew Calderon’s position on the matter?”
“I didn’t then.” He swallowed thickly. “Fucking Crosby mentioned her to Papi when he was telling him you were a tenacious-fucking-bulldog and explaining why you’d never stop pursuing me. Papi didn’t like the public nature of the shooting and wanted an accounting of my actions. Crosby thought he was helping by explaining why I’d tried to take you out, since I already knew you’d never give up. You wanted revenge for Astoria.” He sneered. “Were you in love with her? Did it drive you crazy to know I’d had her first?”
Anger surged through him, and Lucas stood up to increase the pressure on his throat. “You’re disgusting. She was a sweet young woman who had a series of assholes in her life. You deserve to die for what you did to her and for costing Angel her mother.”
“Too bad you don’t have time to kill me, law man.” The sweat was pouring off Deacon now. “They’ll be here soon, so you should get out.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Gingerly, he stepped off Deacon’s throat, keeping his eye on the man as he moved to his landline. There was nowhere to store a phone, and his sweatpants and badge were still in the hallway where he’d shed them. It was kind of strange to walk naked through Hunt’s apartment, though nudity didn’t bother him. It was just surreal in the moment.
He lifted the phone and dialed his boss’s number by memory. “You need to send people here right away.” He gave the address and brought his boss up to speed as quickly as he could. He glanced away from Hunt for just a moment, and when he looked up again, the other man had gotten to his feet. He placed the phone in the cradle, hanging up on McCready in mid-conversation. “Back on the floor now, scumbag.”
Deacon probably thought he was a quick draw, and that he’d have his gun out and in his hand in a matter of milliseconds, bringing it up to shoot Lucas before he could react, much less defend himself. Fortunately, Hunt was expecting Lucas to have the reactions of a man, not a bear. He marveled at the other man not having blinked an eye at seeing him transform from a bear and back again. Remembering Libby’s similar reaction convinced him Hunt had already known about the existence of shifters, though he probably hadn’t realized the head Marshal on the case was one.
Before Deacon’s fingers did more than wrap around the butt of the gun in his holster, Lucas had fired his own gun. The shots hit Hunt squarely in the chest, and he toppled backward from the momentum of the bullets, flying into the glass wall behind him. It shattered upon impact, and he kept going on through. He scrabbled desperately at the air, clearly in search of something to arrest his fall, but there was nothing.
Lucas walked over, steering clear of the glass, in time to see Hunt plummet to the ground below. He looked away before the drug dealer made impact with the cement, and when he looked down a moment later, he saw Hunt unmoving. It was too difficult to tell, even with his sense of smell, if Hunt was still alive, but he very much doubted it after three shots to the chest, flying through the glass wall, and down eight stories to crash into the pavement.
He paced the apartment and waited after securing Tim with handcuffs. He was expecting Calderon, but it was McCready and four other agents who poured into the apartment less than twenty minutes later. He hurried forward to meet his boss, relieved he’d had the forethought to dart into the hallway and grab his sweatpants a few minutes ago. It was awkward enough being in Hunt’s apartment in just a pair of pants, and it would have been ten times harder to explain if he’d been naked.
Before his boss could ask, though his interest was evident by the way his eyebrows seemed to creep up toward his hairline, Lucas said, “They took Angel when we had just gotten home from the cabin. I came after her straightaway. Libby has her now, and they’re back at my place.”
His boss just nodded before lifting his radio and quickly issuing orders for two marshals to go park in front of Lucas’s house and safeguard the people inside.
“Hunt told me Javier Calderon, or at least some of his goons, are en route to pick up Angel. They don’t know yet that she’s no longer here. If Javier’s with them, it might be a chance to arrest him.” He was on the FBI’s top ten most wanted, Interpol’s list of criminals, and likely half a dozen other countries around the world would have been equally pleased to put in a claim for jurisdiction over Calderon’s imprisonment and punishment.
“Why? As far as we know, selling child slaves is one of the things Calderon isn’t involved with.”
“Technically, Angel is his granddaughter. Hunt let it slip that he was an illegitimate son of Javier’s, and apparently dear old dad blew his stack when he found out Deacon wasn’t living up to his parental responsibilities. That was why he took Angel, planning to hand her over to the head of the biggest drug cartel in Central and South America.” His words dripped with venom and disgust, and if he’d been standing over Hunt’s dead body, he might have shot him once or twice just for the pleasure of the action, though the other man was dead.
Quickly, and working together, they set a trap for whomever was arriving to pick up the baby, all hoping Javier Calderon would be part of the group. Lucas had never seen him in person, but he recognized his smooth and sophisticated countenance when the man entered the apartment fifteen minutes later, just opening the door and stepping inside without bothering to wait for permission.
He must have had a casual relationship with Deacon, whose body had since been moved, to avoid alerting Calderon to any signs of violence. The team Ray had called in had cleaned the glass as much as possible too, so apparently, Javier hadn’t seen any signs of a struggle, and he didn’t detect any danger, or surely he wouldn’t have stepped into the apartment.
He was in his late fifties, and he looked like he would have been an elegant Don of the past, rather than the murderous thug he really was. He was surprisingly calm when all the guns present focused on him and his men. He looked directly at Lucas, inclining his head slightly. “Marshal Anderson, what an unexpected surprise. Where is my son?”
“Dead,” said Lucas with a small shiver of satisfaction. His bear purred in his head at the words.
Javier’s eyes widened, and his expression tightened. His anger was evident, though his tone was just as cool as it had been. “Who killed him?”
“I did.”
The cartel leader straightened his shoulders as he glared at Lucas. “Then you’re a dead man walking.”
“Perhaps, but if I were you, I’d be more concerned about your own fate. You’re under arrest.”
Javier scoffed. “Under arrest for what?”
“We have at least half-a-dozen extradition requests for you on file, so we won’t have any trouble holding you. I might be a dead man walking, but you’re about to get a taste of prison. With the crimes you’ve committed, you’ll be lucky if you ever make it out. If you do, you’ll be a shrunken old man. Your days of torturing others and selling your evil product are over.” Lucas got a strong surge of satisfaction when he strode forward, forcing Javier’s hands into handcuffs a moment later.
The man stood stoically, his expression revealing nothing, but his pheromones were steeped in the stench of fear, revealing his true reaction. He was terrified, and Lucas gloried in that. It wasn’t like him to usually enjoy wielding that kind of power over anyone, but Calderon needed to be off the streets. The only better solution was to have him lying on the ground next to Hunt, just as dead, but that wasn’t an option now, with all these witnesses.
Despite that thought, he didn’t think he could actually go through with cold-blooded murder anyway, though he had some of the best reasons imaginable for wanti
ng to remove Calderon permanently. That was up to the justice system though, and he hoped fervently that for once they didn’t drop the ball. Hopefully, the punishment would fit the magnitude of his crimes.
Epilogue
By a strange twist of fate, Javier was indicted by a grand jury on the same day Libby received notification from the Department of Corrections that her mother’s parole had been denied once more. She let out whoop of joy and danced around the living room as Lucas and Angel emerged from the bedroom, where she’d been having a diaper change. He shot her a curious look. “What has you so excited? Did you see the news article about Calderon’s indictment?”
She nodded. “I did, but that wasn’t why I was excited. The parole committee voted not to let my mother out early, at least this time. That means she’s in there for a few more years.”
He came to stand beside her, putting his arm around her waist as he hugged her against him. “Congratulations, love.”
She snuggled closer to him as she put a hand on Angel’s back. The baby was starting to hold up her own head, but she was a bit young for that according to the research Libby had undertaken in an attempt to learn the ins and outs of motherhood as quickly as possible. “And congratulations to you too.”
He nodded. “An indictment isn’t a conviction though, and a grand jury is a lot easier to sway than a regular jury. There are a thousand ways it could still go wrong, and he could walk free, but I’m putting my trust in the justice system that it won’t play out that way.”
“That reminds me... The lease agreement for your building also came in the mail.” She handed him the envelope. She hadn’t opened it, but she was certain it was simply copies of the paperwork they had signed a couple of days ago. Lucas was leaving the U.S. Marshals, no longer wanting to be away from his family for assignments that could last for weeks or months on end, and wanting to avoid future emotional entanglements in people’s lives when the outcome could be so murky. He’d decided to take more direct action, and he was starting his own security firm.
She knew he’d recruited a couple of his friends, and though she hadn’t met them yet, because they were both traveling to reach them, she also knew they were shifters. She was happy with the turn of events, though she would have been happier still if Lucas had chosen a desk job, or to run the administrative side of the security agency, but she knew that wouldn’t have made him happy.
He would have been safe, but miserable, if he didn’t have a hands-on role in helping people and protecting them. This was the safest option that would allow him to be home the most amount of time, and that was important—especially since their small wedding ceremony was coming up in the next few weeks. When he had proposed just two days after they had recovered Angel, she hadn’t even allowed him to finish the question before she’d said yes. It just felt right, and she had trusted he was correct in his assessment that the social worker wouldn’t try to block the adoption.
Marla had been surprisingly accommodating when she’d learned they were engaged. Libby suspected Lucas had somehow influenced her, but she hadn’t asked for details. She didn’t care if he had intimidated the other woman into the decision as long as she became Angel’s mother legally alongside her soon-to-be husband. They were still a few weeks away from the final adoption hearing, but their attorney seemed confident everything would proceed smoothly, even with Libby’s criminal record. In light of the circumstances, and her age at the time, he was confident it wouldn’t even be a factor in the judge’s decision to grant the adoption.
Everything was falling into place, and she was confident about their future. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t dwelling on her past or forcing herself to give up something she wanted because of it. Instead, she was with her mate and her daughter, who would soon be legally theirs, and they were all safe. As long as Javier Calderon remained in prison, they were unlikely to be in danger again. If he got off on a technicality or some other snafu occurred, they’d worry about that then, but she was done living in fear or worrying about things she couldn’t change. She wanted to make the most of each day she had with Lucas and Angel, starting right then.
******
If you enjoyed “Papa Bear,” look for “Guardian Cougar,” the next in the Finding Fatherhood series (coming soon):
And keep reading for a bonus excerpt of another Kit Fawkes title.
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Bonus Excerpt
As the emcee of a charity auction for WishGranters Foundation, Olivia isn’t on the bidding list. That doesn’t stop billionaire Jensen Meade from offering six million dollars for an evening of her time. He’s a perfect gentleman, and they’re soon spending all their time together despite her wariness after a previous bad relationship. He knows she’s his mate, but she doesn’t yet know he’s a bear-shifter, and it seems like the wrong time to tell her when someone who’s been stalking him switches focus to Olivia instead.
BOUGHT BY A BEAR (Emerald City Shifters, Book Six)
Olivia smoothed her little black dress before stepping onto the stage, swallowing down a bout of nerves and trying to quiet the colony of butterflies in her stomach. It didn’t matter how many times she gave a speech. She always had this reaction speaking in public. It would pass within the first few words, but she always dreaded making speeches just the same. Tonight, it was for a fun event, and she hoped that would relieve even more pressure, easing her fluttering nerves that much sooner.
When she approached the podium, she looked out at the sea of tables in the ballroom at the Meade Hotel, pleased to see they were a full house, filled with familiar donors, along with others she didn’t recognize. The attendees would have paid a thousand dollars per plate to be at the event, so that boded well for the charity auction raising much-needed funds for their new project.
Her voice emerged confident, a stark contrast to the nerves making her knees tremble behind the podium. “Thank you for joining us, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, WishGranters Foundation fulfills once-in-a-lifetime wishes for children who are terminally ill or stricken with a life-changing illness. When I was eight years old, my then-eleven-year-old sister Dana was diagnosed with glioblastoma, which is an aggressive brain tumor. It progressed rapidly, and there wasn’t much doctors could do, but I remember Dana being so excited when WishGranters gave our entire family a trip to Disney World. That memory stayed with me, and when I had the opportunity to come work for the foundation a few years ago, I jumped at it.”
She paused for a moment, not to garner the applause coming from the tables, but to gather her thoughts. She cleared her throat slightly before speaking again. “At the time, I remember my mom being tired all the time, but I didn’t realize it was because she was so worn out from stress and being Dana’s primary caretaker. I was speaking with her about a year ago, talking about that time and how hard that year was before Dana passed away. My mother said that as much as she loved Dana, there were times when she would have loved to run away and never look back.” Seeing a few nods among those assembled was encouraging. She’d been afraid that might be too controversial, but they were her mother’s words.
“I know she didn’t really mean that, but it got me to thinking that the people who take care of the special children who qualify for WishGranters also deserve a break, a chance to run away, even if it’s just for a few hours. With that in mind, we’ve launched the Caretakers Program, which grants moms and dads a brief reprieve from the ongoing stress. Whether it’s an afternoon at the spa, or a romantic night in a bed-and-breakfast for just the parents, the goal of the program is to make their lives easier too. Not every parent will want to take advantage of the opportunity while their children are suffering, so qualifying parents will also have an opportunity to have a wish granted after their child passes or recovers.”
There was another round of appla
use, and she smiled at the people present. She wasn’t certain how the reception would be when she’d first come up with the idea, and a few people on the board had been horrified at the idea of offering a parent the option to get away from the stress of caring for their terminally ill child, even for just a few hours, but it had been a far more popular idea than she’d expected.
She had received the go-ahead to try to solicit funds strictly for this program, and the charity auction had been the easiest way she could think of to do just that. There had been other, smaller fundraisers, but this was where she had focused her attention for the last couple of months, planning the event and recruiting various people to offer a few hours of their time in exchange for the winning bid that would go to the fund.
Olivia spoke again once the applause died down. “And I’d like to thank all of you for attending, and for our volunteers who have generously donated their time to this endeavor. With that in mind, let the auction began.” She looked down at her cards, jogging her memory about the first volunteer awaiting auctioning. It was a popular coach at the local university, and she read his introduction, written by himself, before starting the bid.
It was fun identifying the bidders, and she had practiced her bidding voice, pleased she sounded at least semi-professional, though she was no auctioneer. The coach ended up sold to an older woman, who looked tickled to have won, and she was giggling with her friends like a teenager. She smiled at Coach Brennan, who gave her a resigned look and a wink before exiting the stage to go sit with his date and arrange the details of their actual dinner together.
She quickly went through the list of local and national celebrities who had donated their time, ending with the local weatherwoman almost an hour later. “Let’s start the bidding at one thousand.” Almost immediately, three signs went up from the attendees. “Two thousand.” Again, a flurry of signs rose, and soon the bidding had escalated to twenty-five thousand dollars. It was down to two people at that point, unsurprisingly both men, who seemed to appreciate Gretchen Wallace’s feminine assets as much as her prowess with predicting the weather. “Twenty-six?”