Hour of the Lion, Cherise Sinclair [good story books to read TXT] 📗

into an electrified puddle. She felt her connection with the Mother for a second, and her heart squeezed at the realization that Her love was unchanged. Then her whiskers quivered at the scent of deer in the night air. Rabbit. Shrew in the grass—very close.

No, no, mission first. She grasped the backpack in her mouth and shook it to get the feel of weight. Thank God Alec had once made her carry a kill—a small deer—so she knew how much she could handle. Kitties were damned strong.

She loped through the woods, made a lovely leap over a stream, and realized a chain link fence enclosed the property. She studied it for a minute. No additional electrical wiring. Piece of cake. She took a leaping run and bounded up and over, landing lightly on the other side. As she trotted away, she glanced back at the fence, shining faintly in the moonlight, and let her tail twitch slightly. Damn, I"m good.

The rear of the building had little cover. A couple of small trees, a few lilacs in one corner.

In the shadow of the bushes, she paused. Two distinct human scents; one idiot at the near corner of the house chewed tobacco. She heard him spit. The other was quieter, a dark shadow leaning against the house.

After shifting to human, she opened her leather satchel and changed into stretchy black clothing. Quick cammo on any exposed skin, K-Bar strapped at her calf, Glock, reloads and other toys in a belt around her waist. The police nightstick she hefted a few times to get the balance and kept in her hand.

A glance at the sky. One nice thick cloud neared the moon. When the yard darkened, she moved, circling, coming up behind Mr. Dipping Tobacco. Hand over his mouth and a thump with the baton. He went limp, and she lowered him silently to the ground. Some precut strands of dark rope from her belt secured him quickly, and she finished with duct tape over his mouth and a quick pat on his butt.

The next was just as easy. It was almost insulting. She checked for guards in the front, but Wells had already taken them out. Four total… You"re a nervous guy, Tony Vidal.

Would she find Swane here too? She could only hope.

The back door was locked, and someone moved inside the room. No entry there. However, the bathroom window wasn‘t secured. She slid it open. The opening was too small for a guy, but hell, her boobs and butt would squish. She landed on the floor in the bathroom almost soundlessly. Her nose wrinkled. Jesus, one of the guards must have had beans for supper.

She cracked the bathroom door slightly open. Wells sat in an armchair, head in his hands.

The posture, so different from his erect one, gave her a pang. Ignore it. The chair faced the front door; his back was to her. Couldn‘t get much easier than that.

She coshed him. And ignored the tears that seeped from her eyes as she tied him securely.

She started to duct-tape his mouth and stopped. He was congested; he‘d suffocate if he couldn‘t get air through his nose. Hell.

She ripped the tape back off. If he woke up before she finished, she could always whack him again…assuming she had the heart. She did a quick search, relieving him of his pistol and the tiny computer in his pocket. The pistol went in her bag.

The room had a sitting area to watch television and the other half was a token office. A box of files lay on the floor. A laptop sat on the desk surrounded by papers. She dumped Wells‘

belongings beside it.

In a back bedroom, a tied-up Vidal moaned and groaned, only half-conscious. Thanks, Wells. A chill ran up her spine. This was too easy—something was bound to go wrong.

When Vidal opened his eyes, she considered killing him then, but she might need more information. She dragged him to the living room and stashed him out of the way in the corner behind the desk.

All the rest of the rooms were empty.

Before starting a fire in the big stone fireplace, she removed her pack. Flames and ammunition—so not a good thing. Then she went to work. Folders and pictures. Vidal had accumulated information about her—a pleasure to burn. The blaze grew as she tossed in paper after paper, and when it was roaring well, she started on the DVDs and CDs. She didn‘t bother to look, just dumped it in. Hell, most of it was porn.

Black smoke and God, what a stench. She threw in Wells‘ micro-computer.

"It won‘t take long to collect more information."

Vic spun. Wells stared at her, eyes clearing rapidly. She must have pulled her blow. Stupid, Sergeant. "I know. But it will slow you down a little."

"You intend to eliminate me?" He struggled to sit up from where he‘d slumped.

"I rarely tie up people I‘m planning to kill."

"If you‘re hoping for me to change my mind, you are in error."

Right. Even as the words sliced her open, she had to smile. He‘d been unconscious, probably had a splitting headache, hands and feet were tied, and he still had the same arrogance as if he sat in his own office. Damn, but she loved him.

The thought brought her hand to a stop in midair over the flames; the scorch made her jump.

Loved Wells? Well, duh. She really did. Calum and Alec had managed to open the way to her heart, and now she could see all the ways love appeared. Damn them anyway. She grabbed a camcorder and threw the whole thing into the fireplace, sending up a flurry of sparks. And simply stood there, watching it burn.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Don‘t know." Don"t care.

"As I left, it sounded as if the werelions were unhappy with you for some reason."

She glanced at him as she slammed the laptop down on the desk, splitting open the bottom.

"They heard what you said—cat ears—and reacted, oh, pretty