Tigre

by Cara Bristol

  Eggs! He had to check on the eggs. As he headed for the kitchen, he tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Words jumped out at him. Petition for dissolution of marriage. Petitioner: Kat Kelley

  He stopped dead. Dissolution? His genmate was divorcing him? He gaped at the papers in disbelief. How could she have done this? How could she have mated, cuddled with him, allowed him to believe they were moving forward in their relationship all the while intending to divorce him? He felt sucker-punched, like his world had been bombarded for the second time. She’d never uttered a word about divorce. She’d talked about an annulment in the early days—which had only been a couple of weeks ago—but then never mentioned it again, and he’d assumed her feelings had changed.

  How stupid could I be? No wonder she’d resisted his efforts to cohabitate—she didn’t want any commitment. She intended to end things.

  Any second now, she’d breeze down the stairs. He couldn’t stand to see her false smile, listen to her lying words. He threw the papers at the coffee table and stormed out of the house, slamming the door. He grabbed a hover scooter from the outbuilding, secured the lock, and sped away.

  * * * *

  As soon as she switched off the hairdryer, Kat could hear the noise. What the hell? She flung the bathroom door open and got hit with the ear-splitting screech of the smoke alarm. Was there a fire? Where was Tigre? Was he okay?

  Flinching from the shriek, she yanked on her uniform then dashed for the hall, remembering at the last second to palm the bedroom door to check for heat. It felt cool, so she flung it open.

  The acrid stench of burning eggs wafted up the stairs. Nothing serious. He’d burned breakfast. A smile tugged at her lips. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he couldn’t cook. Covering her ears against the blast, she rushed downstairs. “Tigre? Tigre! Do you need help?” she yelled.

  Smoke hovered below the kitchen ceiling. Blackened eggs continued to burn in a frying pan. She turned off the stove and dumped the skillet in the sink. “Where are you? Tigre!” She glanced at her wristwatch. She’d spent too much time talking to Psy. She barely had time left to wolf down a ready-made meal. There was no time to fix something new. Given her surprise plans, she was clocking out early, so she needed every minute. Old, weak coffee and a stale vending machine power bar would have to suffice for breakfast.

  Where the heck was he? Jesus, the noise! The smell! She shut the door to the house’s interior and flung open the one to the patio then waved a dish towel at the smoke detector. Because the alarms were networked, every single one in the house was screeching. It was still too smoky; the kitchen would have to air out before the alarm would shut off.

  Where could he have gone? “Tigre!” she yelled, and then realized he probably couldn’t hear over the noise. Palms over her ears, she stomped through the house. Through the open door, she could see he wasn’t in the powder room off the hall.

  He wasn’t in the dining room—or in the med pod, she noted, as she peered through the glass. She poked her head into the great room. Nope. She frowned at papers strewn across the coffee table and the floor like someone had just flung them around. They hadn’t been there last night, she recalled. Her need to keep things neat and orderly kicked in. As she bent to gather the papers, familiar names leaped out. Markus, Nakamura & Gonzales, attorneys-at-law. They were family law attorneys. Divorce lawyers. She’d called them once herself.

  Was one of the ’Topian couples splitting up? She hated to think that. They were all so nice, and they were helping her with the big surprise. She was tempted to read the document to satisfy her curiosity but didn’t. It would be an invasion of privacy. It’s none of my business. Hurriedly, she shuffled the papers into a tidy stack.

  Mercifully, the smoke alarm shut off. The kitchen must have aired out. She reached under the table for a wayward sheet.

  Her name caught her eye. Petition for dissolution of marriage. Petitioner: Kat Kelley.

  Her loopy signature glared at her from the stark-white legal-sized sheet of paper.

  Oh no. No. No. No. “Oh no. They were supposed to cancel it! I called them. I called it off!”

  How could this have happened? She’d changed her mind! This wasn’t what she wanted at all. After discovering she probably didn’t have grounds for annulment other than diminished mental capacity, which could have hurt her career, she’d contacted Markus, Nakamura & Gonzales to initiate divorce proceedings.

  Less than an hour later, she’d come to her senses and canceled the divorce. “I called them!” She grabbed her phone and scrolled through outgoing calls. There! Yes, she had phoned.

  Snippets of the conversation came back to her. The paralegal and the regular receptionist had been out. A temp had filled in, taken the message.

  “Your name is Kat, and you’re canceling your divorce to Tigre? Yeah, right. I’ll pass the message along,” the girl had said. In retrospect, she realized her tone had sounded sarcastic.

  She assumed it was a prank. She never gave the attorney the message! Kat clapped a hand over her mouth in disbelief and horror. A process server must have delivered the papers while she’d been in the shower.

  Tigre must be so hurt, devastated. Quickly, she called him. Would he even answer when he recognized the number? Please pick up. Please pick up.

  She jumped as the phone on the coffee table began to play. Her name popped up on the screen.

  No. Dammit! He left without his phone! She hung up and then realized she should have left a message. She called again. Waited for voice mail. “I’m not divorcing you! The papers were a mistake! Please, call me.”

  Crap. She had to get to work. Would the surprise weekend plans happen now? Where would he have gone? How long would he be gone? Maybe he’d decided to join his friends in Victoria? She called Psy. “Have you heard from Tigre?”

  “No, why? Was I supposed to?”

  Dammit. “No one else has, either?”

  “I don’t think so. Is something wrong?”

  “We had a…uh…misunderstanding. A big one. It’s all my fault. If he shows up or calls you, would you please tell him what happened was a horrible mistake and to please contact me?”

  “All right. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call him?”

  “No. It won’t do any good. He left his phone at the house. I have to leave. Please let me know as soon as you hear from him, if you hear from him.”

  “Will do. If I can help in any other way, just say the word.”

  She’d always considered the marriage fake—until it wasn’t, until she realized she did desire to stay married, so she had planned a surprise wedding. The Vegas ceremony was the legal one, but the second one would have come from the heart. Sworn to secrecy, his entire family had joined in the planning and had ventured on ahead to Victoria to set up the wedding venue. Inferno had agreed to officiate and “marry” them.

  What bitter irony a fake divorce might end the marriage she’d come to see as real.

  She considered calling in sick and going in search of Tigre, but she had no idea where to look, where to even begin. She could only wait until he came home, so why not go to work where maybe she could do some good. She was determined to solve the case and get Kevanne and Chameleon’s stuff back for them—and all the other victims, too. Tucking the offending divorce papers under her arm, she darted back into the kitchen. There was no time to clean up the mess, but she secured the door before dashing upstairs and collecting her utility belt, her gun, and her handbag.

  Locking up, she exited out the front. What if he’d gone for a walk to blow off steam? Cupping her hands over her mouth, she yelled, “Tigre! Tigre! Are you there? Please answer me!”

  Nobody responded. She dashed to the outbuilding to see if he’d taken a hover scooter, but the doors were secured, and she couldn’t get inside. Heartsick, she trudged to her pickup and left for work.

  * * * *

  Halfway to the station, Kat slapped her upper
chest. “My badge! Please don’t tell me I forgot it!” She pulled onto the shoulder to paw through her handbag then dumped the contents onto the passenger seat. No badge.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the badge sitting on the dresser. She couldn’t go to work without it—she had to have it. So much for getting to work on time. The only bright spot was that maybe Tigre had returned, and she could explain. Beg for forgiveness. She scooped everything into the purse and called Matt.

  “Hey, I’m running late. Start the task force meeting without me. It might be an hour before I can get there,” she estimated. Would that be enough? After what happened, she couldn’t say, hey, the divorce was a mistake and leave. “Maybe longer,” she amended.

  “Will do. By the way, I’ve got some good news.”

  “Great, because I need some this morning.” She checked the traffic and then spun a U-turn.

  “We received the file of licensed dog owners from animal control.”

  “That is good news! What the hell was their issue anyway?” Nothing was ever simple—not in a bureaucracy.

  “Who knows? Little people with a little authority and an inflated sense of self-importance? Or maybe this was her revenge for a traffic citation.”

  When they’d requested addresses from animal control, the clerk had refused to provide them, citing privacy concerns and telling them to get a court order. Instead, Kat had gone over the clerk’s head to the director of animal control and explained their needs. The director promised to look into the matter.

  “Get the computer working on pulling the names of isolated homes in unincorporated areas without pets.”

  “I’m already on it. We should have a list by the time you get around to dragging your butt into the station. I might even have the case solved.”

  She laughed at that. “I hope you do!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tigre would’ve rear-ended the semi if the hover scooter’s safety program hadn’t kicked in and initiated an evasive maneuver. Consumed by heartbreak, he’d been oblivious to the truck right in front of him. He should have put the scooter on autopilot, except he had no idea where he was going other than away. When he’d fled the farmhouse, his sole aim had been to put as much distance between him and Kat as he could.

  The relationship was over. He had to stop hoping, stop pretending.

  Her aversion to commitment was stronger than Tigre’s will, the genmate bond, and feral fever combined. Why persist in hanging on to something that could never be? He couldn’t fight her anymore. He was dumbfounded by disbelief and betrayal that she could make love with him all the while planning to divorce him. She’s not the woman I thought she was.

  Or maybe she was exactly that woman. Didn’t people say first impressions were usually accurate? When they’d met, she’d been disdainful, rude, arrogant, and dismissive. Perhaps that was the real Kat after all. She never would have married him if she hadn’t been drunk. She’d made it crystal clear she regretted getting married, but after her anger had cooled and she continued to sleep with him, he’d begun to believe she’d changed, had accepted the marriage, and had begun to care for him.

  What a fool he’d been. Just because he’d fallen in love with her didn’t mean she returned the feelings.

  He had regrets now, too—rued not signing the divorce papers before storming out. If she wished to be free of him, well, he’d release her from any and all obligation. He considered returning to the house to sign the papers, but she might still be there, and he was too hurt and angry to face her just yet.

  So, where to?

  Joining his brothers and their genmates in Victoria was an option, but spending the weekend with loving, happy couples would only emphasize the failure of his life. If he waited until he was certain Kat had left, he could return home, but knocking around the vacant house would echo the emptiness he felt. Besides, Kat’s audacity knew no bounds. She might drop in after work.

  Would she notice the divorce papers on the coffee table when she came down for breakfast? Would she realize he knew of her intentions? Had she ever planned to tell him, or had she planned to allow the documents to do her talking? His gut clenched against the pain. She was his genmate; he loved her, but he almost hated her, too.

  Where did one go to hide?

  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

  Who said history couldn’t be rewritten? He’d go to the desert, hang with Edwin Mysk, and figure out his next steps. Since he had a hunch the feral fever would start to build again, the 1,000-plus-mile distance between Argent and Vegas would ensure he didn’t cave and go begging to Kat. This Saberian would not supplicate himself!

  As for the longer term, maybe leaving Earth to locate the lost ’Topians and fight the Xenos would be worth considering. Mysk would welcome the company on the journey. A ’Topian only had one genmate, and, since his had rejected him, he’d never be able to mate with anyone else. So, he had nothing to lose by leaving, and he might do some good for his people.

  In any case, a few weeks in Vegas would put him in a better frame of mind to make decisions.

  He’d need to notify Psy and Inferno he’d be gone for a while, but Mysk could text them. He had left his phone at the farmhouse—along with his clothing and shoes. He’d left wearing only pants. Barefoot and shirtless, he plotted a course for the Nevada desert.

  * * * *

  I can’t believe the divorce papers got served—that I did such a stupid thing. Why didn’t I follow up with the attorney’s office? I knew the temp was acting weird! Kat berated herself as she sped along the quiet country road winding through the woods. She should be thrilled the task force had obtained the data to crack the case, but it was hard to be happy when the most important aspect of her life had turned to crap.

  With all her heart, she prayed Tigre had returned home so she could fix her screwup.

  She slowed so she wouldn’t miss the property entrance and then veered down the narrow quarter-mile drive. A white windowless van was parked against the porch.

  She slammed on the brakes.

  None of the ’Topians who lived here owned a van. Kevanne and Cam had one for the lavender farm, but it was light purple, and they were in Victoria with the others.

  The front door flapped on its hinges.

  They’re being burglarized! She threw her truck into reverse, backing up until she was out of sight, and then swung the vehicle around to block the road. Grabbing her gun and phone, she slipped quietly out of the pickup and ducked into the woods, creeping forward until she could see the house again. Crouching in the bushes, she peered through the foliage.

  Two men emerged from inside carrying the big-screen TV from over the fireplace. They loaded it into the rear of the van.

  Adrenalin spiked. “Son of a bitch!” she muttered. Across the compound, a third man tried in vain to break into the outbuilding where the hover scooters were garaged. Tigre and his brothers had taken great pains to keep the vehicles secret, and, if the technology fell into the wrong hands, it wouldn’t bode well for global security. To her relief, the thief gave up, and the trio disappeared inside the house. Were there more men or just the three?

  She phoned Matt. “I know who the country home burglars are.”

  “Who? How? And why are you whispering?”

  “Because I’m looking at right at ’em.”

  “What?”

  “They’re in the process of robbing a house right now.” She rattled off Tigre’s address. “I spotted three men, but there could be more inside.”

  “Armed?”

  “Don’t see any weapons but possibly.” For safety, one assumed a suspect was armed until it was proven otherwise.

  She heard Matt calling dispatch for assistance.

  “I’m in my car now. I’ll be at your location in about twenty minutes. A couple of units are on the way, too. Where are you exactly?” he asked.

  “In the woods, watching the house.”

 
“Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Three against one? No contest!”

  “Kat!”

  “Just kidding! Hurry,” she said.

  After disconnecting, she realized she should have given Matt the van’s license number in case the suspects left before backup arrived, so, to be on the safe side, she shot a couple of photos with her phone, zooming in on the license plate.

  This was personal! This was Tigre’s home! She watched as one of the men carried out a computer. The med pod sat in the dining room. With any luck, they’d leave it alone. They couldn’t have a clue what it was, and if they had half a brain among them, they’d realize it wouldn’t fit in the van and wouldn’t try. Would they notice her badge on the dresser? She shuddered at the damage they could do, the crimes they could commit with a law officer’s badge.

  She itched to jump out and halt the burglary now, but the prudent move would be to wait for assistance. Her truck barricading the road would keep the suspects from leaving—but it also would prevent squad cars from pulling up to the house. The deputies would have to hoof it.

  Perhaps the best thing would be to wait in the woods near the truck and move it when assistance arrived. She switched her phone to vibrate and slipped it into her back pocket.

  Keeping a low profile, Kat gripped her gun and backed away.

  There was a quiet click of a hammer being pulled back, and then the cold metal of a barrel pressed against her skull. “Not so fast, missy. Drop the gun.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Just when she figured this day couldn’t get any worse.

  “You don’t want to do this.” Kat was proud that her voice didn’t wobble like her knees. In her twenty-plus years on the force, she’d pulled her service weapon only a few times, hadn’t ever discharged it, and for damn sure hadn’t been on the barrel end of a gun. Until now.

  He wouldn’t really shoot her in the head, would he? Burglary was one thing; executing a police officer took a felony to a whole new level. They were thieves, not murderers. Right?