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

How soon they shift.

As though Calum heard his thoughts, he said, "Call me if there‘s any signs she is starting—

well, if you need me for anything."

*

In the driver‘s seat of his van, Swane smirked as he stuffed his cell phone into his pocket.

"We caught a break—McGregor drove out of town a few minutes ago. The kid‘s at home alone."

"Good info you got from the old woman," Perez commented as he and Tank started gathering their gear.

"Seems like." Swane grinned. "If this doesn‘t pan out, she‘ll live long enough for me to ask more questions."

Perez laughed, although Tank looked a little green. The pussy didn‘t like hurting bitches.

"Let‘s make sure the cop‘s too busy to come home for lunch." Swane punched in a number.

"Cold Creek Police," said a woman.

"Listen up, cunt. I just wanted you to know, I planted a bomb…"

*

Two more rooms to go. As Alec strode down the hall to the next classroom, he could hear the school children laughing and shouting outside the building. For them, the early dismissal had come as an unexpected treat.

Alec wasn‘t laughing. Hell, his heart was thudding inside his chest like a stereo‘s bass turned too high, and sweat trickled down his back. When he‘d joined the force, he‘d accepted the possibility of getting shot, stabbed, even dying in a car wreck.

Being blown into tiny bits hadn‘t been on the job description.

He visually checked the door for wires before cracking it open. Stepping into the classroom, he was engulfed in the scents of books, crayons, and glue. Splashy bright paintings covered the walls, a plastic skeleton hung in one corner and—he sighed—the room held lots of little desks.

He‘d have to inspect each one, over and under for the bomb. The alleged bomb which was probably some asshole‘s idea of a joke.

Moving around the room in the prescribed methodical fashion, Alec growled. Once he got out of here, he‘d go after this bastard who had disrupted the school and terrified his dispatcher.

Poor Bonnie had looked white as snow when she‘d burst into his office, babbling, "He says he put a bomb in the school. It‘s supposed to explode at one o‘clock!"

Involuntarily, Alec glanced at his watch. A half-hour to go. Hopefully. Could he assume a bomber would be able to tell time?

*

As Vic stumbled through the drift, a root caught her boot and sent her sprawling. Hell. After shoving to her feet, she wiped off her face. At least the snow made for a soft landing; she‘d had worse.

As she brushed herself off, she squinted against the flakes slapping into her face. Fucking A, this was almost a white-out. The trees broke the wind, but in every clearing, the snow piled deeper. Thank God, she was near town.

Looked like the slope had leveled off. She couldn‘t see the town through the blizzard, but she smelled it. Wood smoke, a hint of cooked food—Italian maybe, a touch of gas fumes. Her nose was definitely more sensitive these days.

She hefted her pack onto her shoulder and started the last leg of her journey.

*

Calum found nothing suspicious at the first two rentals. One had a family with children. The second held three young men, and he could smell drugs in the house. He‘d sic Alec on them.

After pulling his car over to the side of the road, Calum looked at the third house through the blowing snow. The ancient mobile home sat on a few acres of land.

No vehicle in sight. He left the car and sniffed the air. More than one male had passed recently. But using human senses, he couldn‘t tell if anyone remained.

Detouring to a clump of trees, he stripped and shifted. As he prowled around the house, he sniffed at the windows and doors. Nothing. Then at a bedroom window, he caught the faint scent of blood. Urine. Sweat. A female. Human. Old.

Here.

*

Did three of something beat four in a row? Jamie bit her lip and glanced across the card table she‘d set up in her new grandfather‘s bedroom—her Grandpa Joe.

He‘d been so sick and lonely after moving in, so she‘d told him he had to be her grandfather if he lived here, no matter how long. His face had looked funny for a minute—and she‘d worried she‘d messed up bad—and then he‘d nodded and tugged on her hair. And her daddy had smiled like he did when he was proud of her.

His finger tapped his cards which meant he had something good. But if she could get the ten of clubs, then—

Grandpa Joe cleared his throat. "Remember what I told you about a poker face? That‘s not it."

She made her face go all blank, and he gave a boar-like snort. "You look older when you do that."

"Good. I guess."

He studied her for a minute, making her squirm. "Are you able to see the door yet?"

Closing her eyes, she looked inside her mind and saw it clearly before it disappeared. She barely managed to close her mouth over the "Fuck" that Vicki would have used. She opened her eyes and nodded. "Then it goes away."

"Soon."

"I s‘pose," she sighed and examined her cards again. They hadn‘t improved. "Hit me."

"You got it." He slid a card across the table to her.

As she picked it up— ugh, an eight—someone knocked loudly on the outside door. She jumped up.

"Go get it." Grandpa Joe made a shooing motion as he headed toward the bathroom.

The person pounded again. Like something was really important. But people always came here needing her father.

Or maybe Vicki had come back? Jamie flung the door open.

Two big men stood on the landing, both in dark parkas. One man‘s face had little holes in it like he‘d had pimples when he was her age. The other one had a shaved head and mud brown eyes.

When they smiled at her, she got a creepy, spidery feeling and retreated a step.

The guy with the shaved head held up a shiny