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

"Then I won‘t waste my time."

Her sigh of relief was silent. "No need, sir."

She could hear his fingers tapping his desktop. Finally, he said, "All right, Sergeant. I can hardly keep you in service against your will. I‘ll get the paperwork started. And I wish you the best."

"You too, sir," she whispered to the dial tone.

It was done. She breathed out against the pain, feeling as if she‘d cut out her heart. Would she end up as with the amputees she‘d known, mourning the loss forever? But now she could move on.

And she wouldn‘t have to tell the guys what she‘d done for a living.

She shivered as she remembered the frigid look in Alec‘s eyes, Calum‘s growl. Well, if she still knew them in a couple of decades, she might casually mention she‘d served in the military.

But ever confess to being a CIA agent to this bunch of overly paranoid kitty-cats with claws? Never in a kazillion years.

*

Vidal read through the information on the new pill the doctor had prescribed. It might halt the symptoms of the Parkinson‘s…for a while. Then everything would go downhill.

At least, this bought him some time. He heard a knock on his office door. "Come in."

Swane. At last. Pale. Face tight with pain. Moving carefully. Long red marks on his cheek and neck had the ugly wrinkling of flesh glued shut.

"You look like hell."

Swane‘s grimaced, his eyes cold. "I‘m eating enough antibiotics to choke a cow—after being on IVs for over a week. Fucking cougar bites and claws are bad as human bites. That‘s probably why we lost all those homeless people."

Vidal nodded. He‘d have to remember to begin the antibiotics before starting the transformation. "Did you come up with a plan? One that will work this time?"

"Fuck, like I knew the kid would turn into a cat?" Swane ran his hand over his head, the scratching sound showing he hadn‘t shaved it recently. "We got information on a few wereanimals in town—the old biddy didn‘t know them all—but only the tavern owner has a kid."

Somehow that didn‘t seem right. Vidal regarded the ex-mercenary suspiciously.

"We can try again to grab the Morgan bitch if you figure it‘s worth it," Swane said. "But we don‘t know if she was changed into a werecat or how much she knows."

"I suppose you‘re right."

"Basically the kid‘s our best bet." Swane‘s eyes turned strange, sending a chill up Vidal‘s spine. "No matter what, I‘m going to get the little bitch."

And that was what the problem was. Swane wanted the girl…and was becoming increasingly unreliable. But bringing in new help increased the risk. Vidal scowled. He obviously needed to keep a closer watch on what was going on. "They‘ve seen your face."

Swane scowled. "It‘s a real bum-fuck town. Only a few people on the street, and they all know each other."

Vidal smiled slowly, his gaze on the picture on the wall. His uncle had pull with the movie industry in L.A. He could set up a shoot for a documentary—or anything, really, so long as there were cameras and people. "I can get a shitload of people on the streets. And lure the kid out too.

No brat in a backwater will stay away from a movie being filmed."

Chapter Twenty-two

Less than two weeks after starting as a cop, Vic walked her beat, nodding to the people strolling the sidewalk. She glanced into the bookstore. It felt good to see Thorson behind the counter, like the world was right again. Tough old bastard.

She turned away when her eyes started to burn and scowled at two men who stood in the center of the street pointing at the mountains. Fucking movie people. Apparently the town council had given permission for some idiotic film shoot next week, and the flakes had already begun to infiltrate Cold Creek to map out where they‘d do each scene. The townspeople were all excited at playing "extras". Vic shook her head. Having strangers around made her paranoid.

And not without reason. Swane and crew weren‘t about to give up. But maybe the shifters would find them first. They‘d traced the dead guys to Swane and then to a mobster named Tony Vidal. Long list of suspected crimes, only a couple of convictions. She‘d seen his picture—Vidal was the suit.

The shifter cop in Seattle had people watching Vidal‘s house and office, but the bastard had disappeared. Not good. Worry edged like a thin knife between Vic‘s ribs. Wells would undoubtedly have obtained the information faster, but if the CIA found out about the shifters…

The thought of Jamie on some laboratory dissecting table made her crazy.

The sun had managed to come out for the afternoon, warming the air to a pleasant temperature. In the center island, Halloween bats and ghosts dangled from the trees, dancing in the breeze. Outside of Baty‘s grocery, a six-foot skeleton had replaced the wooden Indian, and Books‘ display window sported cobwebs from every corner.

Cold Creek took Halloween seriously.

So did her two men. Alec usually surprised her with flowers, but this morning, she‘d rolled over and come face to face with a dark leering skull, a hand-sized chocolate skull. She grinned.

The idiot.

Both of them were crazy, smothering her with attention.

Calum made her coffee every morning, although he hated the stuff and only drank tea.

Alec had given her a new knife...one so well-made she‘d slit open her thumb just testing it.

Laughing, he‘d bandaged her up and kissed her owie, then searched out every bruise and scratch to kiss them too.

After Calum found out she loved M&M‘s, he brought out a bag one evening and given half to Alec. She had to provide a kiss for a yellow M&M, offer a breast for a red, and...dealer‘s choice for the brown and green ones. Her nipples crinkled as she remembered all the various positions and things they‘d had her do. Inventive bastards.

Yesterday, Calum had come into her bedroom as she was dressing. He‘d pulled a dark red, incredibly soft cashmere sweater over