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

'Filling and running the dishwasher is one of your duties. I‘ll show you how later tonight.'

As they reentered the bar, she turned and looked down the hallway, checking lines of retreat.

Just in case. Five doors. Kitchen. The far end with an EXIT sign. One with an OFFICE plaque.

One open to a stairwell leading upward. The last door was noticeably heavier than the others and boasted an expensive electronic combination lock. Odd. Did he keep money or valuables in that room? Why not in his office?

In her experience, locked doors hid all sorts of interesting things. And what kind of reaction would she get for asking? She pointed to the door. 'What is that—'

'I believe you are ready to begin,' he interrupted. He nodded toward the fireplace area.

'Start with that table.'

A few feet away, she stopped and frowned. The damn man had the unconscious authority of an officer, one that assumed others would do as ordered. She snorted. They probably did. Just look at the way she‘d reacted.

Of course, she‘d been in the military for years. Her obedience didn‘t surprise her—but never before had a commanding tone made all her girlie-bits tingle.

*

Alec wandered into the Wild Hunt about eleven that night. A cold beer would go down good right now.

He‘d have arrived earlier if two human teens hadn‘t stolen Devlin‘s beloved Mustang for joy-riding. Dev had jumped into his pickup and pushed them off the road, unfortunately denting the Mustang‘s door. Alec had arrived just in time to keep him from shifting into cat form.

Herne help him, it had been a close thing. There was a reason Daonain lived only in small towns or villages—they rarely had enough control to live in a city. Tynan O‘Connolly was one of the few living outside shifter territory, and most people figured he was a little crazy to go play cop in Seattle.

Far better to be the sheriff of a sparsely populated, mountain county. Smiling, Alec pulled open the tavern door and was engulfed by the scent of fresh popcorn and the sound of Rosanne Cash. Every table was taken; a normal crowded Friday night. In the clear space by the jukebox, three college-aged women tried to linedance, their boots so new the toes still gleamed.

When he saw a couple snuggling on the fireplace couch, envy washed away his pleasure.

When was the last time he‘d shared the enjoyment of a crackling fire with a female?

As he raked his hair back, he puzzled on it for a moment. Sex during Gatherings was just sex and didn‘t count. There had been that time with Tina, but she‘d merely wanted to warm the sheets. He fingered the ridges still healing on his neck; a screamer and a scratcher—she might as well have been in cat form. That wasn‘t what he called snuggling by a fire.

He shook away the unreasonable loneliness and decided Calum‘s new waitress would be an excellent diversion. Not only a pretty female, but one who‘d aroused his curiosity. He glanced at the barmaid‘s station. The adjacent stools were occupied by two men in their twenties. Red eyes.

Acrid stench. Obviously stoned as well as drunk. Now, would Calum be annoyed at losing paying customers?

Alec grinned. He hadn‘t pulled his littermate‘s tail in a while. Assuming his favorite I‘m-a-bad-ass-sheriff expression, he crowded into the men‘s personal space. As a cop, he knew the risk, but hell, he hadn‘t had a good fight for days.

The man nearest the barmaid station scowled without turning around. 'Get lost, asshole.

His friend puffed up belligerently, and then caught sight of the sheriff badge. And suddenly, Alec had possession of two fine bar stools.

'You should be ashamed of yourself,' a husky voice said just behind his shoulder.

He turned with a grin, already knowing who spoke. 'Me? I didn‘t lay a hand on the lads.'

She frowned at him, pushing her full, dark red lips together, luring him into running a finger over her lower lip. Velvety soft and—

There was nothing soft about her glare.

'Oops,' he said mildly and stuck both hands into the air. 'No excuse for that, Ms. Waverly, but it does bother me to see you frown. Your mouth—' No, not a good topic. 'You‘re a lovely woman, and you do pull at a man.' A shame he couldn‘t add that her forbidding expression didn‘t match the fragrance of her attraction to him. A person‘s scent didn‘t lie, and hers was pulling him to her like a dog on a leash. Odd that a human‘s scent could be so attractive.

However, he really had overstepped the bounds of politeness. 'I‘m very sorry, ma‘am.'

She made a sound in the back of her throat, almost a growl. 'Call me Vicki. You make it hard to stay pissed off, you know.'

'There‘s a mercy. I‘m Alec.' He took her tray and set it onto the bar, then patted his newly acquired stool. 'Take a break. Give your feet a rest.'

'In this crowd? Fat chance.'

After glancing at the orders on her tray, he slid the tickets down the bar to his brother.

Calum gave him a narrow-eyed look, but held silent.

'It‘ll take him a few minutes to make those fancy wine coolers up,' Alec said. 'Must be from that bunch of yuppies by the window.'

'Dead on.' She eyed the stool with such longing it broke his heart. Forgetting she wasn‘t Jamie, he moved to pick her up and set her there. She knocked his arms away with a pair of hard cross-blocks.

'Ow.'

She winced. 'I‘m sorry. My ribs are sore, and… I didn‘t mean—'

'Who beat you up?' The words escaped before he could recall them, and damn, he hadn‘t even had a beer yet to act so addle-pated.

She slid onto the barstool slowly, obviously stalling. 'No one. I was clumsy and had a bad fall.'

Sure she did. 'Now I don‘t mind being told, ‗That‘s none of your business.‘ But I‘ve been a cop a long time, and the one thing I truly hate is being lied to.'

Flushing, she turned away.

Having made a bit of a study