Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (reading a book txt) 📕

Hunting cougars in the woods is out.

How about searching for shifters in their human form? Not much easier. Like she could run around with a cattle prod and zap townsfolk until one turned all furry? She snorted. Aside from upsetting the local populace, that overly clever sheriff might not warm to the idea. He was already too focused on her and her business.

She remembered too well how he‘d studied her with those dark green eyes… Hell, he‘d watched her like a kitten watched an ant, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

She pulled in a long breath at that thought—the sheriff pouncing on her, pouncing and then bouncing, that firm mouth on hers, that long muscular body. Just the way he moved—like a warrior—set her insides quivering. Guys like him were hell in a fight and totally the best in bed.

After a sigh, she sucked down some coffee. Been a long dry spell, eh, Vics? She hadn‘t had any fun since...when had it been? Ah, the hunky intern in Walter Reed Hospital. Too young to maintain a decent conversation, but hooyah, he was built, and that was all she ever looked for.

Funny how that worked. A close call left her with this...need...to prove she was alive. And nothing demonstrated that faster than sex.

But not this time. A quick fuck with the sheriff might win some information, but would be as dangerous as poking at a rattlesnake. She had a feeling his curiosity wouldn‘t diminish with a bout in bed. Probably the reverse.

Ah, well. With a disappointed sigh, she picked up her coffee. Damn but being a good soldier sucked sometimes.

Okay, cougar baiting, whether human or kitty, was out. She‘d just have to treat this as a straight information-gathering mission. Let the gossip, the facts, everything flow in without trying to divert it in any one direction, and then filter out the good stuff and see where it led.

Lachlan had said there were more shifters here. If so, eventually she‘d get an idea how to track them down.

So. I have a plan.

And hey, she had an actual job too. She glanced over at the mountain and tried to locate where the tavern perched just above the town. It was right about—Something in the oak tree rustled the leaves again. The nearest branches bent down, almost touching the porch, and as she watched, a tiny hand the size of a dime snatched an acorn and disappeared.

Chapter Four

Late Friday afternoon as the sun sank behind the mountains, Vic hurried across the sparsely filled parking lot and shivered as the frigid wind went right through her clothes. Damn cold town, especially after sunset. She needed to buy herself a jacket.

She pulled open the heavy oak door of the Wild Hunt, and groaned happily as warmth wrapped around her. The room wasn‘t too crowded yet. A few scattered people sat at tables. The small couches by the fireplace were both occupied. She gave the blazing fire a wistful look before scanning the right side. Three skinny guys with spiked hair and untucked T-shirts acted goofy by one pool table; two older men with John Deere caps and plaid shirts were at the other.

The sound of a ball hitting the pocket was drowned out by a whoop of joy. Looked like the tavern wasn‘t all that busy, despite it being a weekend. Good. How long had it been since she waited tables?

Her new boss stood behind the bar, mixing a drink with his back to the room. His shoulder-length, raven-black hair was tied back with a leather cord which was a pity. Looked like it‘d be fun to play with. He had a really nice ass too...and she shouldn‘t be noticing this kind of thing.

Did you forget the investigation, Sergeant? But when he turned, she noticed that his black eyebrows had a cynical arch she really liked. And the deadly way he moved, even stuck there behind the bar—hell, he should have a flashing sign in front of him: DANGER

He watched the room, she noticed, never completely relaxed. His head lifted as he spotted her by the door. When his dark eyes trapped her—held her—heat burst in her gut like a detonating missile.

Fucking-A. She ripped her gaze away and crossed the room—slowly—to give her ears time to stop buzzing. Her hormones must be acting up. And of all the men in town, she had to get horny over a cop and her new boss. Duh, Vic.

After setting a drink in front of one customer, Calum met Vic at the end of the bar. He gave her a disappointingly impersonal nod. 'You‘re right on time.' Hell, she‘d forgotten how deep his voice was with a low rumble that reminded her of an Abrams tank.

'Thank you. What now?'

'Let me show you around, and then you can start waiting tables.' He took her arm, tucking his fingers under her elbow in a disconcertingly firm grip. His hand was hot against her bare skin, and she shivered, this time not from cold.

Jesus, get over it. First, she‘d angsted about what to wear like some vacant-headed Barbie.

Now she felt pissy he hadn‘t even eyeballed the goods under her low-cut knit shirt. How fucking female could she get?

He led her down the back hallway and motioned to restroom doors on the right. 'Part of your job will be to check the women‘s room at intervals and resupply as needed. A janitorial service handles the cleaning.'

'Good to hear.' Latrine duty is for losers. Her shoulder rubbed against a rock-hard chest when he effortlessly turned her. Damn, he made her feel small. Feminine. Talk about unsettling.

Across the hall, a wide door stood open. 'This is a token kitchen only, nothing fancy. We serve peanuts and popcorn.' A small table and chairs were angled into one corner. He handed her a black apron, notepad, and pencil from the wall shelves. After explaining the popper, he pointed to the massive dishwasher and sink in the back.