Trees began to dot the desert, small, low-crowned mesquite at first. As the land rose, the trees became hardwoods and pines, dried grasses beneath them.
The road started to wind, the pavement narrowing, but Carly didn’t slow.
She saw the gatehouse ahead. Her heart pounded and her throat closed up. The road became a single lane with signs telling her to proceed at a crawl.
The truck left the pavement as Carly swerved around the gatehouse. She understood then why Dylan drove a slim, maneuverable pickup. Instead of bottoming out or skidding on the soft dirt, the truck gripped the earth and flew past the gatehouse.
The guard inside stepped out then hurriedly pulled himself back in as they zoomed past. Carly lifted one hand in apology.
She raced along the empty, winding road, sparing an occasional glance into the rearview mirror. The wide SUV and DPS cars had to slow at the narrow entrance and sort themselves out, giving Carly a few seconds’ advantage.
Connor pulled himself up and looked back. Carly couldn’t hear what he yelled, but he pounded the air in triumph. So much for not taunting their pursuers.
The road climbed, the curves becoming sinuous. Carly desperately cranked the wheel to keep from going over the edge of the precipitous road while they went up and up.
“Stop!” Tiger’s shout tore through the wind and roar of the engine.
Carly jammed her feet onto the brake pedal, sending the truck sliding toward the cliff’s edge, spinning the steering wheel to bring them to safer ground.
Tiger leapt out, his door slamming before Carly came to a complete halt. Without looking back, Tiger sprinted into the thick woods, his clothes falling into shreds as he shifted.
Carly watched him disappear under the trees, and then she was surrounded by flashing lights, cars, and men in uniform drawing weapons. The men in black fatigues piled out of the SUV and rushed after Tiger.
“Hands on the wheel, ma’am,” one of the DPS officers told her.
His pistol pointed right at Carly’s head. She clung to the steering wheel, not moving an inch.
She was going to be arrested and hauled off for running from the cops and for helping Shifters break all kinds of laws. And she didn’t care. What happened to her didn’t matter, as long as Tiger got away.
Another officer reached into the truck’s bed and pulled aside the blankets.
He shouted and backpedalled as a lion, his black mane not fully grown, leapt from the bed at him, his jaws open, all his teeth bared.
Tiger, now a tiger, paused and look back as he crested the hill.
The pickup was surrounded by police, cops training their pistols on Carly. She sat still, her fear coming through the mate bond to him. He felt her determination as well, yelling at him to go on. I’ll be fine.
He saw Connor leap from the truck’s bed, his sparking Collar trying to stop him. The cops leapt back in stunned surprise, but they recovered quickly and brought their weapons to bear.
Connor bounded over the heads of the cops and charged off into the woods. Distracting them from Carly, the logical part of Tiger’s brain told him. Protecting her.
Even so, Tiger headed down toward the truck again. As much danger as the one awaiting rescue was in, his mate and Connor needed his immediate help.
He moved through the trees in a silent streak, with the incredible stealth of his Bengal. He’d take out the remaining police, get Carly to safety, and then continue his mission.
The men from the SUV who’d started up the hill drew near, and Tiger halted, crouching under the striped shadows of a stand of trees. They passed him without noticing, flowing on up the hill.
The men weren’t looking for him, Tiger realized after a moment. They weren’t searching—they were making for a specific destination. Tiger knew without doubt they were heading for the one he was here to rescue.
Pain lashed at him. Tiger stifled his huff of breath, remaining utterly still. Instead of fading, the pain blossomed and surged, wrapping around his brain and stifling any rational thought.
Tiger had to protect his mate. She was the most important thing in his world. If he lost Carly, he would die of the grief.
But he’d never felt the need to find someone as sharply as he did now. The numbers behind his eyelids sped into a blur, and agony laced his every nerve.
Help me, came the faint cry.
Not in words. The call was visceral, enveloping Tiger in a grip he could not shake.
He saw Carly talking through the window to the police, her hands on the steering wheel. She was shaking her head at them, her eyes wide as she emphasized her words.
Carly could talk. And flash that beautiful smile. And have everyone in the world eating out of her hand.
The cops wouldn’t hurt her—at least, they weren’t supposed to. She was human, not threatening them. Connor was the threat, and he currently was running faster than fast up the slopes of the mountain, two officers and a park ranger chasing him, struggling to catch him.
Tiger couldn’t see Connor at the moment, but he sensed him as he sensed everything in these mountains—the nervous animals wondering at the new predators in their midst, the adrenaline rush and fear of the men chasing Connor, as well as hikers about ten miles away, unaware of any drama.
Another whiplash of torment had Tiger on his feet. He sent a surge of love to Carly and turned to run up the hill.
These mountains were a vast network of little valleys and streams. Hills covered with trees and scrub wound around vertical columns of rocks that appeared to be a series of boulders balanced on top of each other. Hoodoos—the vast store of knowledge in Tiger’s brain dredged up the word.
Tiger noted the landscape in passing while he kept running, following both his instincts and the men in black. He moved around a thicket of the standing rocks and plunged into shadows between them.
He came out the other side and halted in surprise.
In front of him was a small frame house on a flat piece of land, in a clearing surrounded by thick junipers and the twisted forms of pinyon pine. The air was much cooler at this elevation, exactly thirty-five degrees cooler, Tiger knew, in Fahrenheit. Nineteen point four degrees cooler in centigrade.
The distress signal came from the house.
Tiger crouched under a particularly gnarled pine, its scent sharp.
He heard nothing. No screams for help, not even the whimpering of a child or the despondent thoughts of an adult fearing they’d never be found.
No scent either, except the plants and trees that grew in profusion around the clearing. Strange. There should be something. Tiger had a better sense of smell than any Shifter he knew. How was it that he scented nothing from the house?
As he watched, the men from the SUV came into the clearing from another trail. They were panting, weapons shouldered, tired from the climb.
There were four of them, human men with hair from blond to the deep black of the black-skinned man. Though the climb had winded them, they glanced around with alertness, trained soldiers wary of their surroundings.
They weren’t Shifter Bureau. While they wore black fatigues similar to the ones of the men attached to Shifter Bureau, they weren’t quite the same, and the uniforms had no insignia.
Freelance, Tiger reasoned. Mercenaries. But working for whom?
These thoughts went through the back of Tiger’s mind as anguish blotted out all else. I don’t know what to do. It hurts. Help me!
One of the men—dark brown hair, dark skin, brown eyes, lined face—gave the signal to approach the house. They never noticed Tiger lying in the shadows, didn’t even look for him.
The leader walked to the house, swiped a key card into a lock, and disappeared inside. The other three, with another glance around the clearing, followed.
In the brief space the door was open, Tiger at last caught scent. He smelled stark fear, confusion, rage, confinement, frustration. And most of all—Shifter. A very specific Shifter. Son of a bitch.
As the door swun
g shut, Tiger ran on noiseless feet to the house, but he wasn’t in time to catch the door.
The keycard reader, a faceless metal slot on a rather ordinary door, seemed to mock him. Tiger put a paw on the slot, but there was nothing but smooth metal under his claws. No convenient keypad so he could crack the code, no lock to pick.
He snarled. Inside was a Shifter in peril, and those determined men were now inside with it.
Tiger rose on his hind legs, shifting to the beast that was halfway between a tiger and man. This shape was powerful though exhausting, but in it he could use his human hands with the strength of his tiger.
He dug his fingers into the doorframe, and ripped the door and frame from the wall.
Tiger tossed the pieces aside, his hands streaming blood, and ducked through the opening. He remained his half beast and kept to the shadows, knowing the noise he’d made had announced his presence.
Tiger snarled, letting the low, guttural sound of the Bengal fill up the empty spaces, and he strode forward to see what fate awaited him.
Chapter Six
Are y’all gonna help me, or not?” Carly demanded.
She suppressed a shiver as the two cops frowned, looking pretty sure that Carly was a harmless woman from Texas drawn in to this adventure by accident. But they were still mistrustful.
One of the policemen was named Kirk, the other Tyson, or Ty for short. Carly had learned that much about them.
They knew all about her, because they’d taken her driver’s license and checked her out on their computer. They knew Carly’s middle name, her birthdate, her address, her license number, and that she’d had the photo taken right after a dusty drive back from New Orleans where she’d been visiting cousins and so her hair had been a mess. She’d volunteered that last part.
No, the truck wasn’t hers, Carly confessed. She’d borrowed it from her next-door neighbor, which was true.
She had no idea if Dylan would vouch for her, but he’d never let Tiger’s mate be led off to jail, right? Tiger would strenuously object—he wasn’t afraid of Dylan, one of the few Shifters who wasn’t. Dylan had to know that.
“I’m really worried about Connor,” Carly told Kirk and Ty now. “He’s just a youngster. Please don’t let anyone hurt him. He won’t attack if he’s not provoked.” Carly mentally crossed her fingers as she said this. She had no idea what Connor might do in his rampage.
Kirk had already been on his radio telling the other two state cops who’d followed to not shoot the lion—he was a pet. He’d also alerted more park rangers, who were on their way with tranq rifles. They dealt with wild animals all the time.
“Keeping exotic animals isn’t exactly legal, ma’am,” Ty said in a kind but firm voice. The two officers hadn’t stumbled onto the fact that Connor was a Shifter—they thought him a real lion. In fact, they weren’t sure why they’d been recruited to help the men in the black SUV. They’d gotten orders to assist, and they’d assisted.
Carly opened her eyes wide. “Connor isn’t exotic. He’s one of the family.” Which was true.
Damn it, Tiger, where are you and are you all right?
Kirk’s radio clicked. Carly heard the voice come through—He’s heading for the old ranch house at the end of Vista Trail. We’re in pursuit.
She knew Connor had run off to distract the cops from Tiger and Carly, to divide and weaken their forces. But Connor would now have to evade capture himself.
“Y’all are saying there’s a ranch out here?” Carly asked in her best this-little-ole-Texas-girl-needs-the-men-to-explain-everything-to-her voice.
“Up at the top of this hill,” Ty pointed the direction Tiger had run.
All Carly could see were trees, rocks, and blue sky. It was gorgeous out here; the view down the slope showed pillars of rocks and peaks of mountains seemingly without end. Maybe she and Tiger could come back here one day and visit like tourists.
She breathed out. Making plans, even tenuous ones, helped her believe they’d all get out of this and safely home.
“Does the road go up there?” Carly shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun and peered worriedly through the trees.
“Yes, but you’re staying right here, ma’am,” Tyson answered. He was the friendlier of the two, and smiled now, so that his eyes crinkled.
“But I might be able to calm Connor down. He’s used to me. He’ll panic if he sees all those rangers and policemen. It will be less dangerous to y’all if I’m there.”
Kirk shook his head. “Not taking a civilian into a risky situation.”
Carly let her lip tremble, not hard to do in her agitated state. “We love Connor. If anything happens to him, I’ll just die. He’s a sweetheart most of the time. Likes to eat burgers and watch TV with us.” Again, every word the truth.
Tyson looked sympathetic. Maybe he liked animals too. “If she can help catch him …” he said to his colleague.
“Bad idea,” Kirk snapped. Carly was definitely not liking him.
Tyson considered. “If it makes a difference between this lion attacking and us getting a clean shot with a tranq rifle, I’m gonna risk it. You ride with me, Ms. Randal.”
“Sure thing.” Carly grabbed her purse and hurried after Tyson as he walked to his patrol car.
She hopped into the front seat of Tyson’s DPS car while he slid into the driver’s side. “We’ll have to take the lion to animal control,” Tyson said, apologetic. “But don’t worry too much. If he’s healthy and tame, there are places around who adopt big cats. They’ll probably let you visit him.”
What a nice guy, Carly thought with a pang as she tried to look sorrowful. She felt guilty for deceiving him, but not guilty enough to put Connor and Tiger in danger.
Tyson smoothly pulled out, his engine humming as steadily Dylan’s truck’s. This car, though, didn’t rattle and groan as Tyson did a one-eighty in the dirt and drove back onto the narrow road.
The pavement climbed, a cliff dropping away to the right, heart-stoppingly close to Carly’s door. She could look all the way down to a river glittering at the bottom of a canyon.
If Connor chose to lose himself here, he’d be difficult to find, Tiger even harder.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Tyson asked her cheerfully. “It’s a great place for camping and hiking. Birding too, if you like that.”
Poor Tyson. He’d be asking her on a camping date before long. Carly might be amused at his interest if she weren’t so worried about Tiger and Connor.
“Yeah, it’s pretty.” Carly tried to sound offhand while she anxiously scanned the woods for any sign of Shifters.
Tyson turned the car onto a narrower road that led through trees, leaving the cliffs behind. After about a mile, he pulled into a wider dirt space and shut off the engine.
“Ranch house is just up this path. You might want to stay here.” Tyson opened the door and hopped out, carefully taking the keys with him.
No way Carly was sitting here while armed men went after her mate and Connor. She pulled herself out of the car as soon as Tyson disappeared beneath the trees and hurried quietly after him, holding her purse against her side so it wouldn’t flap around.
The path was overgrown but discernible. She glimpsed Tyson ahead of her, his dark blue uniform flashing between green pine needles and the white-gray twists of bare branches.
Not far up the hill the trees parted to reveal a small clearing with a house in the middle of it. It had obviously been painted and kept up at one time, but now the paint was peeling, the weather wearing down the wooden house and the gingerbread on the porch. The front garden was a crop of weeds with a few cultivated flowers struggling through.
Carly noted all this distractedly, because what mostly stood out about the house was the front door. It had been ripped from the wall and now lay in the weeds, wildflowers straggling around it.
From the opening of the discarded door, Carly heard roaring, which didn’t quite drown out the men screaming. Tyson slowed, drew his gun, and approached.
Carly put on a burst of speed and ran past him, up the steps, across the creaking porch floor, and right into the house. Tyson shouted at her, but Carly didn’t stop.
“Tiger?”
She heard her mate’s unmistakable growls, the deep, rumbling breathy snarls of an enraged tiger.
The entire place wasn’t that big—it reminded her of the farmhouse in the old Wizard of Oz movie. Carly looked into the three downstairs rooms and found them empty, dusty, and forlorn.
The staircase leading to the second floor didn’t look stable, but the noises weren’t coming from up there. They came from the open door under the staircase, from which a set of cement steps led downward.
Carly didn’t hesitate. Down she went.
The basement was a hell of a lot bigger than the upstairs. The walls that ran back into the hill were lined with stone, the ceiling shored up with thick timber beams. It made Carly think of the secret places Shifters built under their houses to store the wealth or treasured objects they’d accumulated over their lengthy lives. They made these spaces into their hideaways, where they could be themselves, with their families, away from human eyes.
The staircase emptied into a large, blank room lit by one overhead fluorescent light. Across this room was an opening that led to another chamber, the door that had closed it now torn from its hinges and lying discarded to one side. Tiger had definitely been here.
Tyson arrived at the bottom of the stairs, breathless, his pistol drawn.
“You need to stay behind me,” he snapped at Carly.
Not while Tiger was in trouble she didn’t. Carly trotted forward, peering into the next room to find it led to yet another one, with its door also on the floor.
Carly went inside and to the next chamber, also empty, also lit by one light. She moved cautiously, but quickly, the need to reach Tiger acute.
“Carly,” Tyson tried again.
First names already, is it? Carly thought without slowing.
Tyson let out a startled cry, and Carly heard more growling behind her. She turned in time to see a lion charge past Tyson then brush by her, heading into the bowels of the basement.
Tiger Striped Page 4