Tigre

by Cara Bristol

  I fucked this up. I should have figured they’d plant a lookout. She’d even warned Matt there could be more men than she’d spotted. As organized as they were, of course they’d post a scout.

  “I’m going to tell you for the last time. Drop the gun.”

  She let her weapon thunk onto the bed of pine needles. Few absolutes existed, but one of them was: don’t fight a man with a gun. Or, as a former partner once quipped, “Never take a knife to a gunfight.”

  “Put your hands on your head.”

  Hey, that’s my line, she thought with dark humor. She laced her fingers atop her head.

  “Move toward the house.”

  The pressure of the barrel lifted as she pushed through the foliage, but she didn’t doubt for an instant the man had his gun trained on her. She sensed him crouching to scoop up her Glock.

  They stepped into the clearing, and the man shouted. “Hey! I need help out here.”

  He moved in front of her. He’d tucked her Glock into the back waistband of his jeans. He aimed his weapon at her torso. Center of mass. So you don’t miss. Great.

  “You’re making a big mistake.” She tried reasoning again while studying him, logging every detail in her brain. Topping her five-foot-six frame by a few inches put him at five-nine-ish, average height for a man. Brown hair, brown eyes drooping at the corners. Had a cleft in a rather weak chin. He’d tattooed a skull bleeding from the eyes on his scrawny left biceps and inked a dagger on the other arm. So he considered himself a badass. A wanna-be. Of course, he was the one with the gun.

  “Burglary isn’t as a serious a crime as armed robbery.” She omitted specific mention of kidnapping, assault on a police officer, and possibly homicide to avoid giving him any ideas. “Release me, and the charges won’t be nearly as severe.”

  “Shut up.”

  Three men bounded out of the house and nearly tripped over their feet at the sight of her. They all wore purple surgical gloves. No wonder no prints were ever found. Squinting against the sun, she scanned for weapons. None were visible; however, that didn’t mean they didn’t have them tucked into the waistband of their jeans.

  “Caught her spying in the woods,” the gunman said.

  “Well, that explains this.” A man in a gray shirt handed her badge to her captor. Shit! “We found this in one of the bedrooms.”

  “You stay here—” The gunman motioned at Gray Shirt. “You two finish clearing everything from the house.” So, he was the one in charge, if not the actual ringleader of the operation.

  The two jogged inside.

  “You live here?” He focused on her again.

  Her mind raced, cross-referencing possible answers with their possible consequences. “Yes. I forgot my badge and had to come home for it.” If they believed she was alone, they might continue with the burglary, giving her fellow officers time to arrive. As much as she hated staring down the barrel of a gun, she had to prevent them from bugging out. She wanted them prosecuted! Crime just got personal!

  Tigre, stay away. Wherever you are, stay away. She couldn’t bear the thought he might stumble onto the robbery and get himself shot. Please don’t come home now.

  “You alone, or are there more of you coming?”

  “I’m alone.” She didn’t want them to leave—or lie in wait and ambush her colleagues.

  Sweat trickled down her spine. Her uniform shirt stuck to her skin. She faced the morning sun, and it shimmered and glinted in her eyes. An eddy of wind stirred the dust and blew her hair across her face. A few strands stuck to her eyes and her mouth, but she didn’t dare lower her arms to brush it out of the way. After the morning debacle, she’d forgotten to pin it up. Something else she’d forgotten! If only she hadn’t left her damn badge! If only she’d followed up with the attorney’s office to ensure they’d gotten the message.

  What would have happened if she’d continued on to work, and Tigre had been home alone when the burglars arrived? Would they still have tried to rob the house? Would they have busted in and threatened him? Or would none of this have happened?

  The gunman grabbed her phone from her pocket and tossed it to his partner in crime. “See if she called anybody recently.”

  Gray Shirt tapped the screen. “Looks like she took a few photos.” He turned the phone around to display the photos of the van’s license.

  Crap.

  The ringleader’s lips tightened. “Delete them.”

  Gray shirt swiped and tapped. “Done. And…she called somebody named Matt Jeffries about ten minutes ago.”

  Only ten minutes? It had seemed like a lifetime. Matt had estimated ETA at twenty, so she had to stall for another ten.

  “Who’s Matt Jeffries?”

  “My husband,” she lied.

  “Give her the phone,” the gunman ordered Gray Shirt, who handed it to Kat. “Put it on speaker. Call your husband. If you say anything to alert him, I’ll shoot you.” He trained his revolver on her chest.

  She didn’t doubt he’d do what he threatened. She touched dial. Her heart pounded. She had to somehow convey she needed help, there were four suspects, and one was armed. Please let us be on the same wavelength. Matt, please understand me.

  “Kat, I’m almost—” he answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Matt,” she cut him off before he could say the wrong thing. “I’m running late this morning—”

  “Yeah, I got that. I’m—”

  “Enough,” the ringleader mouthed and motioned for her to cut off the call.

  “I’ll, uh, have to call you later. I gotta go, babe.” She pressed end. Dammit! She and Matt had a code if one of them got into trouble, but she’d been unable to tell him much of anything.

  “Turn it off. Throw it over there.” He waved his pistol.

  She powered it down and tossed her phone into the dirt.

  “Give your truck keys to him.” He jerked his head at Gray Shirt.

  “What?”

  His gaze hardened. “Keys!”

  It wouldn’t do any good to pretend she’d left them in the vehicle or had dropped them in the woods. He’d frisk her—or shoot her—neither a good option. She dug her keys from her trouser pocket and tossed them to the cohort. Hurry, Matt, hurry!

  A sinking feeling warned he wouldn’t arrive in time. She wouldn’t have placed any Vegas bets that they would release her unharmed. By pulling a gun, the ringleader had demonstrated a potential for violence. Burglary had become armed robbery. She could identify all of them. They knew she’d taken photos of their license.

  “Why is your husband’s last name Jeffries, but the name on your uniform says Kelley?”

  Why couldn’t she have encountered a stupid criminal? Why did she have to get an observant one?

  “I kept my own name. Women do that, you know.”

  “I think you called for more cops.” He jerked his head at Gray Shirt. “She blocked the road with her truck. Move it. We gotta get out of here.”

  Gray Shirt glanced between Kat and his boss. “What about her?”

  “Not a problem.” The gunman raised his weapon and cocked it.

  Her blood froze. He’s going to shoot me! This is how I die. Tigre, I’m sorry. His last memory of her would be the supposed betrayal. At least, she’d left him a voice message.

  “Whoa—shit, Liam, you promised no—” Gray Shirt burst out.

  “No fucking names, you idiot!”

  RAWR! A deafening sound reverberated on a whoosh of wind, and then Liam somersaulted thirty feet into the air before falling and crumpling into the dirt. His gun landed several yards away and discharged with an ear-shattering report. For one stunned split second, she could only stare. Then she dove for the weapon at the same time Gray Shirt moved.

  A hover scooter materialized with Tigre astride. He flew off the vehicle and tackled Liam’s accomplice.

  Kat snagged the weapon and then ran to Liam. His legs were twisted, and he appeared only semicon
scious. She yanked her gun from his waistband and then whirled around as the two other burglars barreled out of the house. She aimed her weapon at them. “You’re under arrest! On the ground, now!” she shouted.

  Hurriedly, they flopped facedown.

  Gray Shirt was sprawled in the dirt. Tigre jumped to his feet. His anguished gaze collided with hers. She could see how much she’d hurt him—and yet he’d come back and had saved her life. She understood now why Liam had flipped into the air—Tigre had plowed into him with the hover scooter.

  So much needed to be said. But she had four suspects to detain, one of them seriously injured, a second, possibly hurt as well.

  Tigre picked up her badge and stalked toward her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head, not knowing how to begin. “Those papers—”

  “Everybody, freeze!” Matt shouted as he and four deputies, guns drawn, ran into the clearing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Handcuffed, Tigre hunched in the rear of the police cruiser. He’d been allowed to get a shirt and shoes before being taken away. Deputy Matt Jeffries’ apologetic gaze met his eyes in the mirror. “Sorry. I have to follow procedure. You did run over a guy with your—what was that thing?”

  “A hover scooter.”

  “Right. The rocket ship motorcycle with wings.”

  “He was going to shoot Kat.”

  “I understand. And I believe you. But the man is seriously, possibly critically injured, and he says you tried to kill him. So, there’s a lot to sort out, statements to take, evidence to collect, and until this situation is investigated, I have to bring you in.”

  He turned his head to stare out the window. Only one thing mattered—the words Kat had uttered as she ran alongside the squad car as it pulled away. “The divorce was a mistake! I love you!”

  He shuddered at how close she’d come to losing her life. What if he hadn’t turned around? Traveling at hyperspeed, he’d gotten halfway to Nevada when he realized he was making a huge mistake.

  A Saberian did not quit. He hadn’t waited his whole life to find his genmate to give up when he met her! He’d survived the destruction of his planet and resettled in a strange new world. The difficulties with Kat were nothing compared to what he’d been through. He would forge on and do whatever it took. Marriage, divorce—those were human conventions. To a ’Topian, only the genmate bond counted. Married, divorced, cohabitating, living apart had no impact on biological reality. Storming off in a huff because he’d gotten his feelings hurt was akin to him divorcing her.

  He’d raced back to Argent. Upon pulling up to the farmhouse, he’d been stunned to see Kat facing down two men, one of them armed. He’d surveyed the situation to assess how to handle it, listening in as she’d spoken to her “husband,” he recalled with jealous rancor.

  Tigre glowered at Matt. “Why did Kat call you babe?”

  “What?”

  “She spoke to you on the phone. She called you babe.”

  “We’re partners. Babe is a code word signaling one of us is in trouble,” he replied.

  “We’ve worked together a long time. Technically, she outranks me, but she’s like a sibling—a bossy older sister. I’d protect her with my life—however, there’s nothing romantic between us, so you don’t need to worry. I know you two have a thing. Genmates, right?”

  “She told you?”

  “Kevanne Girardi of Lavender Bliss Farm mentioned it when we investigated the break-in.”

  “Yes, she’s my genmate—and my wife,” Tigre added. Humans didn’t understand the significance of the genmate bond, but they did respect the legality of marriage. Most of them anyway.

  Matt arched his eyebrows. “Wife? That is news to me.”

  “We got married in Las Vegas.”

  Matt’s face split from ear to ear with a grin. “Ah. No wonder she’s been so prickly—and why she got so pissed off when I took you into custody.”

  His genmate was prickly—but also courageous the way she’d faced off the armed man. When it appeared he intended to shoot her, Tigre had deactivated the scooter’s anti-collision programming and did what he needed to do to save her.

  “Listen, I’m sure we’ll get this all worked out, and we’ll be able to release you in no time. The fact that you acted in defense of an officer of the law and with Kat vouching for you, I’m sure this will go smoothly.”

  * * * *

  “Felony assault and battery? Are you kidding me?” After a long day, Kat had just gotten home when Matt called with the bad news. She paced as she talked. “The DA can’t do this! It’s not right.” She hadn’t been too worried when higher-ups refused to let her see Tigre, but she’d assumed he’d be home by now.

  Instead, Matt had informed her they intended to hold him overnight. Tigre’s situation had gotten much, much worse.

  “I didn’t say the district attorney is going to charge him, only that I’d heard scuttlebutt he might. I don’t know if it’s true. I called to prepare you in case it is.”

  She raked a hand through her hair. What a mess! Instead of her and Tigre getting married in a surprise wedding ceremony, he’d been jailed for saving her life. She’d had to let his family know their home had been burglarized, and their brother was being detained. They were trying to make their way home from Canada.

  “Everything he did was in defense of me. Doesn’t my statement as an officer of the law mean anything?” she argued.

  “It does, but because you’re married, it’s taken with a grain of salt.”

  “The DA is a prick!” She needed to strike out at somebody because this was awful!

  “He’s doing his job, Kat. And we don’t know that he will charge him. Somebody at the DA’s office said something to one of the detectives who called me at home. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No, I’m glad you did.” She sighed.

  “I’m sorry. I wish this wasn’t happening. You know I didn’t have a choice. I had to arrest him,” Matt said.

  “I know you did. I’m not blaming you.” Déjà vu washed over her. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d arrested Inferno, who’d been innocent. Now she knew how his family had felt. She was getting a taste of her own policing.

  Officers had leeway on who they took into custody and who they didn’t but not in cases like these. Because she and Tigre were married, it would be perceived as the most egregious favoritism if Matt hadn’t taken him in. And Tigre would have been picked up anyway after the extent of Liam’s injuries had become known.

  The burglary ringleader had sustained two fractured femurs and a broken pelvis necessitating surgery. Even if he beat the bevy of charges—which was unlikely—it would be a long time before he could burglarize any more homes. Liam would have to learn to walk again. Joe Harris—Gray Shirt—had gotten off far easier with just cuts and bruises. After being checked out at the hospital, he was arrested and taken to jail.

  Kat had worked late at the station interrogating the other suspects. No honor among thieves; in a plea bargain, the two men had flipped on Liam. They’d also ratted out an accomplice—Liam’s sister who worked as a clerk for animal control. No wonder she’d resisted handing over the dog addresses to the task force. Kat had personally marched into animal control and arrested her.

  Matt had gotten a warrant for the suspects’ houses and a storage facility they’d rented and recovered much of, but not all, the stuff that had been stolen in the string of burglaries. Some items had been fenced in Montana and Washington, but they knew where the stuff had been sold and would try to recover it. The task force had accomplished a lot in a day.

  Except managing to secure Tigre’s release.

  “I’ll keep you posted as soon as I hear something,” Matt promised. Being married to a “suspect” put her out of the loop. The DA might give her a courtesy call if he charged Tigre, but nobody would be providing her with regular updates or solicit her input. Matt served as
her primary, if not sole, conduit to information.

  “Call me—day or night—anytime,” she said.

  “Of course. One way or another, you’ll hear soon.”

  Not soon enough to suit her or Tigre. Legally, authorities could keep him for seventy-two hours without filing charges—but that didn’t include weekends, and this was Friday night. In any case, most likely, he’d spend the entire weekend in a holding cell. She sighed. “Thanks. You go home now. Say hi to Jenny.” She mentioned Matt’s wife.

  “Will do. Try not to worry, and get some sleep.”

  Sleep? What was that? “I’ll do my best.”

  After hanging up, Kat poured herself a drink—vodka with a splash of cranberry only without the cranberry because she was out of juice and didn’t want it anyway. This situation called for unadulterated alcohol. No frills. She knocked back the vodka then poured another and brought the glass and the bottle into the living room and flopped onto her sofa.

  Amanda Blake jumped onto the couch and nudged her, rubbing against her. The cat had never warmed to Tigre. Kat scratched behind the animal’s ears. “You’re thrilled to death about this, aren’t you? You’d love to see him sent up the river, wouldn’t you?”

  Amanda Blake kneaded Kat’s lap and purred.

  What a mess! First Tigre believed she’d betrayed him then he got arrested for saving her life. I don’t know why he wants me because obviously he’d be better off without me.

  But after storming away, her husband had returned for her. She hadn’t destroyed his feelings. Men could get angry or hurt and still love. Couples could disagree and struggle and still remain committed. It hadn’t been a permanent goodbye. He’d risked his freedom for her. No man had ever done that, certainly not her good-times father who’d thought only of himself when he’d abandoned Kat and her mom.

  Perhaps she’d been at fault in previous relationships by being quick to look for fault. Perhaps? She’d watch for the slightest hint of lack of commitment and then dump the guy before he could leave her. Peering through a new lens, she realized her boyfriends had been good men—most of them. Husband material, some of them.