From New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery comes a fan-favorite story that walks the fine line between love…and danger.

When a smuggler’s prize lands on her doorstep, big-cat sanctuary owner Faith Newlin doesn’t expect any problems—not from the two white tiger cubs…or the mysterious government agent sent to protect them. She knows better than to get attached, though sometimes an instinct is too strong to ignore.

Agent Cort Hollenbeck has dedicated his life to fighting the good fight. He never gets too close, especially while on assignment. But when terrifying blanks in his memory force him to face his deepest fears, he must trust in a woman who walks on the wild side…and captures his heart.

Tempting Faith is part of a duet by Susan Mallery along with her book The Only Way Out.

Something hot flared to life.

Faith wanted to respond, but she was afraid.

He held her forearms tightly. “I am not one of your cats,” he said.

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Why does it matter?” she asked desperately.

“What are you hiding from?”

Part of her noted he hadn’t answered her question, so she wouldn’t answer his. She knew exactly what she was hiding from. Him. Pretending he was just like one of her cats made him safe. It was dangerous to think of Cort as a man, because he tempted Faith. He made her think of family and forever, and she’d learned long ago that she didn’t have what it took to inspire a man to want either.

His grip on her loosened, and she jerked away. She thrust a bandage at him. “Here. Finish it yourself.” Then she fled the room.

Tempting Faith

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN MALLERY

is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over eighty romances. Her combination of humor, emotion and just-plain-sexy has made her a reader favorite. Susan makes her home in Washington state, where the whole rain thing is highly exaggerated and there’s plenty of coffee to help her meet her deadlines. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.

MILLS & BOON

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To Stephanie, without whom a chair would have no emotional significance and “putting a finer point”on something would simply mean sharpening a pencil.

Your instincts and insights have added clarity and depth to my writing, while your humor, intelligence and sensitivity have greatly enriched my life.

Here’s to all the good things to come.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“You need the extra security.”

Faith Newlin shook her head and smiled. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Maybe both.”

“I’m already convinced. If you think I need the protection—” She shrugged. “I’m hardly going to argue. After all, you’re the expert. What did that last promotion make you? Head spy?”

Jeff Markum, the chief of a division in an agency whose name Faith had never been told, grinned. “That’s Mr. Head Spy to you.”

“Give a man a promotion and it goes straight to his—” she paused for effect “—head.”

“Watch it, Faith.” He pointed at the badge hanging from a chain around her neck. “I could have your security clearance pulled in a second. Then where would you be?”

“Back home where I belong.” She laughed. “Don’t try threatening me, Jeff. You’re the one who arranged for me to be here today. I’m pleased to know your agency trusts me, but if you want me to go back home, I’d be happy to.” She grabbed the ID badge and started to release the chain.

“Don’t leave yet.” He pushed off the wall of the small observation room. “Let me go explain the situation to him.”

Faith raised one hand and touched the two-way glass that allowed her to see into a hospital room, but didn’t allow the patient to see her. “He doesn’t know?”

Jeff shook his head. “Even though you need the extra protection, I was afraid you would fight me on this.” He held up his hand to stop her interruption. “I know you think I’m overreacting. Maybe you’re right. But there’s this knot in my gut. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. I want to keep you safe.”

She looked up at the man towering over her. He had the easy good looks of a California surfer, but behind his deep blue eyes lurked the mind of a computer and the temper of an injured panther. Faith knew she should be intimidated by Jeff, but she’d known him too long. She trusted him—and the knot in his gut.

“It’s your call,” she said.

She turned back to the two-way mirror. This was no ordinary hospital. No mothers-to-be came here to give birth, no child had broken bones set. This secret facility, concealed behind high fences and guards with dogs that attacked on command, catered to those without identities. Shadowy figures who lived in the dark, who disappeared at will and carried out elaborate operations in places with names she couldn’t pronounce.

“He’s not like one of those wounded strays you take in, Faith. He’s the best I’ve got, but he’s damned dangerous, too. Be careful.”

Faith glanced at her companion. “Because he knows fifty ways to kill me with his bare hands? Give me a break, Jeff. Use the scare tactics on your green recruits. They’ll impress easier.”

“You think you’re so tough.” His good humor faded into regret. “I wish we had time for dinner.”

“I’ll take a rain check. Next time I’ll pack something nice to wear and you can take me to an expensive restaurant.”

“You’re on.” He squeezed her arm and left the room.

Faith stared after him. He’d already forgotten her, except as she related to his operative. She smiled to herself. Operative. She was starting to talk like them. She fingered the tag at the end of the chain. Jeff saw her for what she was: a nice person, competent at her job. She sighed. At one time she’d hoped for something more than friendship, but it wasn’t going to happen. No great surprise. Her luck with men had never been the best. But there were compensations, she told herself. She had a fine life, a career she loved. She didn’t need anything else to feel fulfilled. Yeah, right, she thought. Now who was trying to convince whom?

She turned her attention back to the two-way mirror and the man on the other side, in the hospital room. He stood next to his window, the one that looked out over the grounds. Instead of a hospital gown, he wore a T-shirt and jeans cut off on one leg to accommodate the thick bandage around his calf. There was something tense and watchful in his pose. Ever alert, he scanned the open area. Perhaps it was the set of his head, or the way he kept glancing over his shoulder toward the mirror, as if he sensed someone watched from the other side, but he intrigued her. He reminded her of Sparky. She smiled, wondering if he would care for the comparison to her favorite cat.

His lips moved, but the two-way glass didn’t allow her to hear his words. With a quick twisting motion, he picked up the crutches that rested next to the window and slipped them under his arms. Despite the bandage on his leg, and the crutches, he shifted his weight with graceful ease and began to pace the room. From end to end he moved, swinging his useless leg along, mumbling phrases she couldn’t make out.

On his third pass, he paused, then turned toward the mirror. He looked directly at her. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she backed up instinctively, as if he’d threatened her.

Light hit him full in the face, sharpening already gaunt features. Was the thinness the result of his injuries or the mission he’d been on? The cut on his chin looked raw. Tiny stitches held the skin together. Fading bruises darkened his left cheek. Tawny hair, more gold than blond, fell over his forehead. But it was his eyes that captured her attention and held her immobile.

Dark brown irises glittered with suppressed rage. A trapped animal. The predator had been captured and wounded. Jeff was right: this man was dangerous. Without thinking, she rubbed her right hand against her upper arm. It wasn’t until her fingers felt the ridges of the four long scars there that she realized what she was doing. Marks left by another predator, the four-legged kind.

The man blinked and turned away. She followed the movement and saw that the door to his room had opened. Jeff appeared and spoke to the man. Faith stared at their mouths, trying to lip-read, but it wasn’t any use. From their angry gestures, she knew they were arguing. The injured man stood eye to eye with Jeff, and neither gave an inch. Jeff wore a suit, but he still looked muscular and dangerous. Two lions fighting for their pride. If the stranger weren’t injured, it would have been an even match.

For the second time, he glanced at the two-way glass. Faith felt a flash of guilt. Eavesdropping, even without sound, wasn’t her style. She turned and walked out of the observation room. It was almost eleven in the morning. She had a six-hour drive ahead of her, plus supplies to pick up. She was leaving within the hour, with or without Jeff’s wounded man.

* * *

“I need to know, dammit.” Cort Hollenbeck grabbed the crutches and leaned on them. “And you’re going to tell me.”

His boss sat on a corner of the hospital bed. “The doctor said—”

“The doctor can shove his advice.” Cort swung around on the crutches and glared. “There are things I can’t remember. I spent three weeks in South America on a mission. I don’t know what happened there.” Sweat popped out on his back. His leg throbbed from the surgery two days before and his head pounded. “For all I know, I went on a killing spree and shot up an entire town. So you’re going to tell me what the hell happened down there!” He raised his voice until he shouted the last few words.

Jeff didn’t look the least bit intimidated. He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

Cort tightened his hands on the crutches. He wanted to force Jeff to answer. Not a chance of that. Between his bum leg and his aching head, he would barely get off the first punch before Jeff nailed him. He swung the crutches forward and eased himself into the plastic chair in front of the window.

“The doctor said you would remember on your own.” Jeff leaned forward. “I understand what you’re going through.”

“Like hell you do.”

Jeff ignored him. “And I sympathize.”

“I liked you better before your promotion,” Cort snarled.

“I didn’t think you admitted to liking anyone,” Jeff said calmly. “Professionals don’t get involved. Aren’t you the one always preaching that?”

Cort didn’t bother answering. He dropped the crutches onto the ground and leaned his head back in the chair. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember. There were bits and pieces of conversation. A word or two in Spanish and Portuguese. The flash of a face, then nothing. Three weeks of his life gone. He remembered leaving the States on a private plane. He remembered waking up in the same craft, only with the mission over, and he didn’t have a clue what had happened. He fingered the cut on his chin. Bullet to the leg and a slight concussion. So much for bringing back souvenirs.

“You’ll remember in time,” Jeff said. “Don’t push it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one—” Cort bit back the words. God, he had to know. “Is he dead?”

Jeff didn’t answer.

Cort sprang to his feet and almost fell when his bad leg gave out. Instantly Jeff was at his side, supporting him. Cort grabbed the other man’s suit jacket. “Is he?”

Jeff stared at him. His mouth tightened. “I’m not going to fight you.”

Cort released his grip on the jacket and slumped back in the seat. “Only because you know I’d beat the crap out of you.”

“I’m shaking with fear.” Jeff stared down at him. “So you remember that much?”

“Dan, you mean?”

Jeff nodded.

“Yeah. I remember I was meeting Dan. I don’t know why, or if I did.”

“And you think he might be dead?”

Cort closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. No, he thought. I think I killed him. But he couldn’t say that. No matter how much he thought it, he couldn’t say those words.

“Is he?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Cort snapped his head up. “You’re sure?”

“We have a witness.”

The pain in Cort’s leg intensified. He thought of the dead man. They’d met in training, almost fifteen years ago. They’d worked together countless times. Had he killed his friend? Jeff was right, it wasn’t supposed to matter. But, dammit, it did. It mattered a lot.

“Don’t push it,” Jeff told him. “It’ll come to you.” He returned to the hospital bed and perched on the corner. The morning sun flooded the small room, highlighting the institutional furniture and scarred green linoleum. “And while you’re getting your memory back, I have an assignment.”

Cort raised his injured leg. “Aren’t I on medical leave?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going home.”

Jeff stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do something for me.”

“But you said—”

“Unofficially.” Jeff walked over to the window and stared out. “I can’t assign anybody through regular channels. I don’t have specifics, just a gut feeling.”

“Which is?”

“There’s going to be trouble.” Jeff looked at him. “I need you to look after a friend of mine. Provide a little security. Nothing high tech. She’s located—”

“She?”

“Her name is Faith. She lives up in the mountains. Runs a way station. I left a package in her care. The men we took it from might want it back. I want you to be there to stop them. If there’s any trouble, I’ll have the proof I need to officially provide backup. I know it’s asking a lot. I wouldn’t, if I had another option. You up to it?”

Cort thought about his small one-bedroom apartment in D.C. It was late spring. The tourists would be flocking into the city, and the temperature would be rising. Last time he’d stayed at the apartment, the air-conditioning had given out twice in three days. He thought about the time he and Jeff had spent in Iraq. On more than one occasion, the other man had been there to save his skin. This favor sounded like a way to even the score.

Cort grabbed the crutches and used them to help him stand. “I’m up to it.”

“Thanks, Cort.” Jeff collected the duffel bag from the locker against the far wall. “The place isn’t fancy, but I think you’ll like it. Plan on staying a few weeks. Two months at the outside.”

“Who’s this woman? Agency?”

“Private. A friend. You can trust her.”

Cort was doubtful. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to him. “She know what I’m there for?”

“She understands that there might be some problems and is willing to take precautions.” He pointed at the bandage around Cort’s calf. “She’s great with wounds.”

“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”

Jeff’s blue eyes grew stark. “She took care of me after Lebanon.”

Cort moved into the small rest room and collected his belongings. He worked slowly, giving Jeff time to put the past in its place. His boss had almost died in Lebanon, but that wasn’t what caused his expression to grow bleak. He’d also lost his wife and young son to terrorists.

Cort zipped the shaving kit and hobbled over to the bed. He dropped the case into the open duffel bag. “Seems like I’ll be gone long enough to get back to a hundred percent. You didn’t happen to plan that, did you, boss?”

Jeff shrugged. “It works for both of us.”

“What about South America? What if I don’t remember?”

Jeff pulled the duffel bag shut and slung it over one shoulder. “If you don’t remember by the time you’re healed, you can read the file, and to hell with what the doctor says. You have my word.” Cort nodded. It was something to hang on to. But he knew the price of Jeff’s offer. If he hadn’t recovered his memory, he wouldn’t be coming back. The agency didn’t have a place for someone who couldn’t remember whether or not he’d killed a fellow operative.

“Thanks,” he said. He shrugged into a dark blue jacket, then slipped the crutches in place. “If I have a choice, I won’t be taking you up on your offer. I’ll be at work instead.” “Good.” Jeff walked to the door and held it open. “I want you back. You’re my best man.”

“You always say that,” Cort grumbled. “I heard you were telling John the same thing. We can’t both be the best.”

Jeff grinned but didn’t answer.

Cort followed his boss into the hall of the hospital. Several medical personnel nodded as he passed them. They wore ID tags with photos and numbers, but no names. At the end of the corridor, Jeff turned left. Cort hobbled along behind. He scanned the smooth floor, the walls, the doorways they passed, instinctively looking for escape routes. It wasn’t necessary; he was safe here. Old habits, he thought grimly. In his current condition he would get about ten yards before being taken down. He needed time to heal…and to remember.

A woman stood in the waiting room. As Jeff entered, she smiled her greeting. They spoke softly, but her eyes strayed past her companion. Cort paused in the doorway and met her gaze.

Blue eyes, he catalogued, taking in the flicker of guilt that told him she’d watched him through the two-way glass in his hospital room. Hair: brown, nondescript, long. Medium height for a woman. Work shirt, jeans, boots. Instinctively, he calculated an approximate weight, made a mental note of her straight posture, evidence of physical confidence, and guessed she was in reasonably good shape. Ordinary.

No danger, unless she came armed. His gaze moved back to her face. Mid- to late twenties, he thought, then dismissed the idea that she and Jeff were lovers. They stood close together, as if they’d known each other a long time, but there wasn’t anything between them. The throbbing in his leg picked up a notch, and he shifted his weight to relieve some of the pressure.

“Faith, this is Cort Hollenbeck,” Jeff said, placing his hand on the small of her back and urging her forward. “Cort, Faith Newlin.”

“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand.

It took him a moment to untangle himself from the crutches. Most people would have been uncomfortable and dropped their arm, mumbling something about it not mattering. She stood there patiently, waiting as if she had all the time in the world.

Her grip surprised him. Not so much the strength of her grasp—given her wardrobe, she wasn’t a socialite. No, it was the rough skin he felt on her palm, the calluses. This woman did physical labor on a daily basis.

Their eyes met. Not unattractive, he thought. He studied the straight short nose and full lips that curved up slightly. As he’d decided before—ordinary. Little temptation there. Just as well. He didn’t need the complication.

“Ms. Newlin.” He nodded.

“Faith.” Again her lips curved up slightly, as she withdrew her hand.

“I’m ready, if you are.”

“Fine.” She glanced at Jeff. “What about medication?”

“Something for pain, some antibiotics in case of infection. I’ll get them.” He looked at Cort. “You’ll want to be armed. A Beretta?”

Cort raised his eyebrows. “Works for me.”

“Faith?” Jeff asked.

She shrugged. “I have rifles, but only one handgun. A small revolver.” She looked at Cort. “You’d probably be embarrassed to be seen with it.”

Interesting. A woman who knew about guns. He hadn’t had a chance to think about this new assignment, but so far it wasn’t too bad. Close quarters with Faith Newlin. She wasn’t a fashion model, but all cats were gray in the dark. Maybe the thought of bullets flying would scare her. Just enough, he thought, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d eased himself between a woman’s welcoming thighs.

“I’ll get the medication and the gun and meet you at the truck,” Jeff said, handing her the duffel bag and leaving.

Faith hung back, but Cort shook his head. “I’ll go behind you,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” Her long hair, pulled back at the front, but otherwise left free, hung over her shoulders. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the strands flying out of her way. “I’m parked in the rear lot. Do you want a wheelchair?”

The look he tossed her had often caused armed criminals to flinch. She simply blinked twice and waited patiently for his response.

“No,” he said at last.

“It’s your neck.”

“Actually it’s my leg.”

She smiled quickly, and he had the thought that it made her look pretty.

“Humor,” she said. “A good sign.”

As she walked past him, he inhaled the scent of her perfume. French. The name of the brand escaped him. Expensive. Out of place. The information joined the rest of his mental file on her. Shifting his weight, he swung the crutches in front of him and started down the hall.

They’d covered about twenty feet when she started to turn right down another corridor. Suddenly she gasped and jumped back, blocking his path. He couldn’t see what had startled her. He heard a loud crash.

Instinctively he dropped the crutches. With one arm, he grabbed Faith around the waist and threw her to the ground. He dropped to the floor, rolled to cushion his fall, biting back a grunt of pain as his weight settled on his injured leg. He came to a stop beside her. With a smooth, practiced motion, he reached for the gun in his waistband.

Nothing. No holster, no weapon. He looked up. Two terrified orderlies stood beside the pile of fallen trays. They started forward to help, took one look at the expression on his face and turned in the opposite direction.

Faith raised herself up on one elbow and studied him. Her blue eyes radiated nothing more than concern. “Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Hollenbeck?”

“Cort,” he grunted, between waves of pain. “I’m fine. What about you?”

She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Nothing broken. Do you need help up?”

“No.”

She scrambled to her feet. After retrieving the crutches, she stood patiently while he maneuvered himself upright. She handed him the crutches.

“I’m not crazy,” he said, knowing exactly how it all looked. Had they told her he’d lost part of his memory?

“That thought never crossed my mind.” She turned and continued walking down the hall.

He could feel blood oozing out of the stitches in his leg. Damn. It had finally begun to heal. Maybe he should get somebody to look at it before—

No. It would stop soon enough. Now that he was close to leaving the hospital, he realized how much he’d hated the confinement. He’d been pretty out of it the first week, but the last few days had crawled by. He’d slowly been going crazy trying to force himself to remember.

Faith stopped at the rear entrance and stepped on the automatic door pad. Smiling at the guard on duty, she spoke her name, then Cort’s. The older man punched a few keys in his computer keyboard, then nodded.

Freedom. Cort inhaled the dry desert air and held back a sigh. Sweet and clean. Enough to go around.

Suddenly the ground shifted and his vision blurred. Instead of the guard and the woman, he saw the dusky interior of a South American warehouse. Dank smells indicated he was near water. The ocean? Was the scent salty?

Danger! The thought exploded in his mind. Get out. Yet as he turned to run, the picture dissolved. His crutch caught on the lip of the door pad. As the flashback receded, he felt himself slipping. Faith leapt to his side and grabbed the shaky crutch. One strong arm gripped his waist and held him steady.

She had curves under that baggy work shirt, he thought as her right breast flattened against his side. The intellectual information battled with a sudden rush of sexual interest. That, more than the fall, returned him completely to the present.

“You all right?” she asked, looking up at him.

She was wary, but not afraid. She should be. Hadn’t Jeff told her what he was capable of? His head began to throb. He’d remembered. Not a lot, but something new. Sweat coated his body. He just wanted to get out of here.

He jerked himself free. “I’m fine. Where’s your car?”

She pointed toward a battered four-wheel-drive pickup.

He angled himself in that general direction and began to lurch toward it.

Jeff met them at the truck. “This should keep you comfortable.” He held a bag of medicine in one hand and a gun in the other.

Cort thought about telling him he’d remembered something, but he held back. He’d know soon enough—when the whole memory returned. Jeff opened the car door and tossed the medication on the dashboard. Cort hopped until the seat pressed against the back of his thighs. After sliding on the cracked vinyl, he lifted his bum leg into the cab and handed Jeff his crutches. Jeff settled them in the back and gave him the pistol.

“Here’s a spare magazine and a hundred rounds.” He set a small paper bag on the floor of the cab. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Faith dropped his duffel bag in the back of the truck, then gave Jeff a hug. “Don’t forget about my rain check,” she said.

“I won’t.” He held her for a minute.

Cort watched the expressions chase across his boss’s face. He knew the flash of pain came from remembering his wife. Cort looked away. Caring turned a man inside out. Exposed him. That’s why he would never get involved.

Faith slid in next to him and fastened her seat belt. She stared at him until he did the same. Then she smiled. Again, he thought it made her look pretty.

“You going to hold that in your hand the whole way?” She pointed at the gun.

He stared at the weapon, then thought about how he’d reacted to the crashing sound in the hospital. He was tired, and the surgery two days ago had used up the little reserves he’d had. What he needed was twelve hours of sleep. Until then, he wasn’t going to be much good at protecting anyone.

“Here.” He handed her the gun. “You keep it until tomorrow.”

She studied his face. “Fine with me.” She checked the safety, then pressed the button to release the magazine. After pocketing it, she jerked back the slide and looked in the chamber to make sure it didn’t contain a round.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

“Then you impress easy.” The gun went in the glove box. “And you’re exhausted. We’ve got over a six-hour drive. Why don’t you get some sleep? I need to make one stop. I’ll wake you there and you can eat something.”

“Sounds great.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally picked, he thought as she started the truck and backed out of the parking space. He couldn’t remember a single one of his lady friends ever owning a gun, let alone knowing how to handle one. And although she’d been friends with Jeff for years, his boss had never mentioned her.

“Here.”

She thrust something soft into his hands. He cracked open one eye. A sweater.

“Use it for a pillow. Lock your door first. I don’t want you falling out if I hit a bump.”

“Thanks,” he muttered as he bunched the sweater and pushed it up against the glass. He pressed down the lock and inhaled deeply. Her scent surrounded him, the elusive essence of that damned French perfume. What was it? He fell asleep still trying to remember the name.

* * *

She saw the first evidence of blood after they’d been on the road an hour. Keeping her attention on the sparsely traveled highway, she occasionally glanced at her sleeping passenger. He rested deeply, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze swept over him as she noted his size and strength and wondered at the cause of his injuries. At first she’d thought the dark stain on his white bandage was a shadow.

“Damn,” she muttered softly. Over the next hour, the stain spread until it was the size of a half dollar. It showed no signs of letting up. He must have torn open his stitches when he’d dropped to the floor in the hospital.

She picked up a cassette and pushed it into the player. The radio was the only thing new in the cab. The vehicle itself had almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer, but the engine had been replaced in the last six months and the tires were only two weeks old. She didn’t care how the truck looked on the outside; she spent the money necessary to keep it running well. Without her truck available to pick up food, the cats would starve in a matter of days.

Two hours later she saw the sign for her turnoff. She moved to the right of the four-lane freeway then exited onto the two-lane highway that would take her north and home. Her passenger continued to sleep. She turned off at the tiny town of Bowmund and headed for the grain and feed.

At least one thing had gone right today, Faith thought as she signed for the supplies. Everything was ready. As soon as the boxes were loaded, she could head up the mountain. After picking up a quart of orange juice and a plastic wrapped sandwich from the grocery store, she walked back to her truck. Cort slept where she’d left him, resting his head against her sweater and the passenger window.

She eased open her door and slid into the seat. Where was that bag of medicine? She saw the white paper in the far corner of the dashboard. As she grabbed it, she glanced down. The blood on his bandage had widened to a circle the size of a grapefruit.

“If that doesn’t stop, we’re both in trouble,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

He didn’t stir. She counted out the antibiotic dosage, confirmed that the instructions said to take the medication with food and touched his arm.

“Cort, wake up. You’ve got to take a couple of pills.”

Nothing.

She pressed harder against his biceps, noting the thickness of the muscle. “Cort, wake up!”

It was like teasing a tiger. Without warning, he jerked upright, then spun and grabbed her. Before she could catch her breath, he’d pulled her head against his shoulder, holding her tight with one arm across her throat and pressing the other arm against her midsection.

“One more move,” he growled into her ear, “and I’ll kill you.”

Chapter 2

Faith didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She held herself still, stifling the overwhelming urge to fight him. She wouldn’t win. He had the strength and the skill to snap her neck with one swift jerk.

Her lungs burned for air. Panic threatened. Don’t, she commanded herself. She’d been in worse situations. The trick was to keep her head. He would figure out she wasn’t the enemy.

The steely arm around her throat loosened slightly. She drew in a deep breath. Her gasp sounded loud in the still cab.

Cort swore and released her completely. She fell forward and supported herself by pressing her hands against the seat. She inhaled deeply and coughed. Thank God. The cab darkened for a second, then came into focus.

After she caught her breath, she gingerly touched her neck, knowing that she would bear bruises for several days. She should have known better than to startle him, she thought, shaking her head in disgust. The same thing would have happened if she’d walked into a cage while a wounded animal was sleeping.

She located the pills she’d dropped when he grabbed her, and she turned slowly to face Cort. He leaned against the door of the cab and stared at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. Something flickered there, something black and ugly, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was he berating himself, or her? Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

“It could have been worse,” she said at last, her voice a little raspy from the pressure on her neck.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You could have had the gun.”

He didn’t answer. Apparently he had no intention of apologizing.

She held out the pills and the container of orange juice. He took them, tossed back the medication and gulped the liquid without taking his eyes from her face. She wanted to look away but sensed he was challenging her. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

“How long since you’ve been in the field?” she asked.

“Two weeks.”

“That explains—”

“Did Jeff tell you I was having flashbacks?” he asked, cutting her off.

“No.” She swallowed. Great. “Should he have?”

“You tell me.”

He held out the empty juice bottle. She took the plastic container and set it between them. Still his gaze locked on hers. He was making her nervous, but she refused to let him see her squirm. She allowed herself to study the straight line of his nose and the stubble darkening the hollows of his cheeks. He was handsome, she thought with some surprise. Perhaps even beautiful, with the wild unholiness of natural predators.

She shifted in her seat and reached for the sandwich she’d placed on the dashboard. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “The instructions said to take the medication with food. I have to hook up the trailer and then we’ll leave.”

He didn’t answer. She set the sandwich on his lap and turned toward the door. Before she could touch the handle, he spoke. “I tried to kill you.”

“I know. You’re also trying to intimidate me.”

“What the hell are you still doing in this truck?”

“I don’t scare so easy.”

“Lady, there’s something wrong with you.”

She detected a note of grudging respect in his voice. “You’re not the first person to notice,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. The early afternoon light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Cat eyes. “How long has your leg been bleeding?”

He glanced down at the stained bandage. “Since I fell on it at the hospital.”

“When was the surgery?”

“Two days ago. I think I ripped out some stitches.”

“Terrific.” She opened the door, then paused. “At the way station, we’re over forty minutes from town and an hour and a half from real medical care. Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.”

She pointed to his leg. “If it gets infected, I’ll probably just cut it off.”

He rewarded her with a slight smile. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous. “Deal.”

She waited, hoping he would say something more. He didn’t. “I’ve got to see to the supplies,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the truck and closed the door behind her.

Cort watched as several men finished loading supplies from the feed store into the back of Faith’s truck. Carelessly, he picked at the food she’d handed him. His head ached, his leg throbbed and the pain in his gut came from a lot more than medication.

He’d almost killed her. If he’d had a knife or, in that split second when he’d lost track of what was real, his gun, she would be dead. For no good reason. She wasn’t the enemy. Just an innocent bystander. He’d never lost control before, and it scared the hell out of him. How was he going to get it back?

He glanced in the side-view mirror and saw Faith talking to a man with a clipboard. She went down the list and pointed at the boxes they were loading into a separate trailer. The man started to argue. Before he’d said more than ten words, Faith planted her hands on her hips and started in on him. In about five seconds, he was nodding and backing up toward the building.

Who the hell was she? He tossed the half-eaten sandwich on the seat and clenched his hands into fists. He’d almost killed her, and she acted like nothing had happened. Jeff had said she needed protection. Cort shook his head. She seemed capable enough to him. He stared at the mirror. Faith stood by the back of the truck, counting the crates being loaded. She moved quickly and easily, as if she’d performed this task a hundred times before. Cool and competent—she turned and he saw the curve of her rear—and very much a woman.

He shifted his leg and felt a spurt of blood, then the warm dampness as it oozed against his skin. He closed his eyes. With a new bandage and a good night’s sleep, physically he’d be fine. A couple of days and he would be a hundred percent. But what about the rest of it? What about his memory?

He went over what he’d remembered right before they left the hospital. Salt air. The ocean. He licked his lips as if the taste still lingered. Darkness. He remembered that. And danger. But from what? He strained to see into the gray mist of his mind. Had Dan been there with him? Had he died there?

Nothing. The past refused to focus. He groaned in frustration. What if he never remembered? Had he killed him? Had he killed Dan?

Cort propped his elbow on the door and rubbed his forehead. What was his mission? Dan was a fellow agent. Deep inside his memory, something clicked into place. Had his friend gone bad? Had Cort been sent to kill him? If he’d gotten the job done, he should forget it. Had he, though? Thoughts circled around and around, until even what he could remember blurred with the fog.

“Stop it,” he commanded himself. He would get nowhere like this. Dan was dead. He knew that for sure. The rest of it would come to him. It had to.

He’d gone too far with the last mission, he realized. He’d felt the warning signs of burnout and had ignored them. He should have turned down the assignment and taken a break. He’d been fighting the war for too long. He hadn’t wanted to be cautious, and now he was paying the price.

Faith opened the door and slid onto the seat. He ignored her. He heard the click as she buckled her seat belt. He needed a plan. Whatever security he had to provide wouldn’t take up too much of his time. He needed to get back in shape physically, and his memory would follow. First— A bump against his shoulder broke into his musings.

“Sorry,” Faith said as she rested her arm on the top of the seat and began backing up the truck. “I hate this part.”

He glanced out the rear window. “What are you doing?”

“See that big trailer there? It’s supposed to be attached to this truck. That’s what we haul up the mountain.”

The trailer looked to be about as wide as the truck, maybe ten feet long and eight feet high. The painted sides didn’t bear a logo.

“What’s inside?”

“Food.” She adjusted the steering wheel slightly and eased up on the accelerator. “Damn. Why do they have to watch? It makes me crazy.”

He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a group of old men standing on the porch in front of the feed store. The building itself looked like it had been built during the forties. “What are they waiting for?”

“Me to mess up. They can’t believe that a mere woman can handle a truck, let alone a trailer. They do this every time I come in for supplies.”

“You ever mess up?”

A strand of her long hair fell over her shoulder. She flicked it back with a quick jerk of her hand and grinned. “Nope.”

He found himself smiling in return. She made a final adjustment of the steering wheel, eased up on the accelerator and waited for the truck to roll to a halt.

“Did it!” she said and faced front. After rotating her shoulders to release the tension, she bounded out of the cab. “I just have to hook us up and then we’re out of here. You want something more to eat?”

“No,” he said. Then added a belated “Thanks.”

As promised, she made quick work of the hitch. In less than ten minutes, the tiny town had been left behind and they began to drive up a steep mountain road.

Cort shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pain in his leg. Faith handled the truck easily, as if she were used to the winding roads. He studied her strong but small hands as they worked the gearshift. Who was she, and why wasn’t she frightened of him? He’d almost killed her. She didn’t look or act stupid, so what was her story?

He watched the road ahead. Tall trees, a few of them redwoods, came down to the edge of the highway. Recent spring rains left a carpet of lush new grass.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring straight ahead. “For what happened before. I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t. Apology accepted.”

“That’s it?” He glanced at her. She seemed intent on her driving.

“What more do you want?”

Something. He could have done a whole lot more than hurt her. “I almost killed you.”

“I’m as much to blame. I shouldn’t have startled you. I know better.”

“How? Jeff said you were a civilian.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I am. But I’m used to working with dangerous animals.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promised.

“I know.”

“How?”

“It won’t happen again, because I won’t startle you a second time. I’m a quick study.”

He shifted in the seat until he faced her. He propped his injured leg on the hump in the floor that divided the cab in half.

She rested both her hands on the steering wheel. Short nails, he thought. No polish. Sensible work clothes. He inhaled. But she wore French perfume.

“How do you know Jeff?” he asked.

“We met about six years ago. He was friends with the lady I worked for. When Jeff was hurt in Lebanon—” She glanced at him.

“I know about that,” he said.

She nodded. “He came to stay with us for a few months. I helped patch him up. Kept him company. That sort of thing. We became friends.”

“So you’re a nurse?”

“Not exactly.” She flashed him a smile, then sobered. “I guess when you go through what he did, you remember the people who got you through it.”

Cort thought about those days. Jeff’s injuries had been lifethreatening, but it was the loss of his wife and child that had almost killed him. Four years ago. Before Jeff had been promoted. They’d worked together several times. Been gone enough for Jeff’s marriage to falter and Jeff to start worrying about it. The worry distracted him and ultimately almost got him killed. He’d made the decision to do whatever it took to save his marriage, then boom. Jeanne and his son were dead.

Cort shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. Relationships weighed a man down. Caring about anyone got in the way of getting the job done.

“Tell me about the way station,” he said.

“We’re about fifteen miles from our nearest neighbors,” she said. “I have three college kids coming in part-time to help. We personally own about two hundred acres and have another thousand of leased forest land. There’s a fence around most of the compound and a main gate at the entrance. We’re pretty isolated.”

“What’s the way station for?”

She looked at him. Surprise widened her blue eyes. “I keep cats.”

“Cats?” He rubbed his pounding temple.

“Jeff didn’t explain?”

“No.” He cursed under his breath. Cats? What had his boss gotten him into? He glanced at Faith. In her jeans and shirt, with her sensible work boots and unmade-up face, she didn’t look like his idea of a person who kept bunches of cats, but then when had he ever met one? “So you keep, what, twenty of them in the house?”

She chuckled. Her smile could only be described as impish. “No cats in the house, I promise. And no more than forty or so at a time. I don’t have the room.”

“Forty?” He swallowed. Maybe he should have taken his chances with his D.C. apartment and the tourists.

“They aren’t a bother.”

“I bet.”

“Oh, but Sparky does sort of have the run of the place.”

“Sparky? Does he sleep in the house?”

“No, he sleeps in the office. He’s our mascot.”

“Great.” He pictured some flea-bitten alley cat cowering in the corner.

“He was Edwina’s favorite. Edwina is the lady who used to run the way station.”

“So there really are forty cats?”

“And Sparky.”

Oh, Christ. Cort leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Why was Jeff doing this to him? His boss was normally a pretty fair guy. Had the last assignment been messed up that badly?

He allowed himself to get lost in the pain, controlling his breathing and counting out his heartbeats. It wasn’t until the truck slowed that he looked around.

She’d stopped to make a left-hand turn onto a dirt road. A small sign stated that they were entering the Edwina Daniels Feline Way Station.

She stared at the entrance. “The gate’s open. I wonder why?” She shrugged. “Maybe the kids knew I’d be coming back.”

“What’s normal procedure?” he asked.

She pointed to the small black box attached to the sun visor on the passenger’s side of the cab. “It’s remote controlled.”

He picked up the transmitter. “Looks like it’s for a garagedoor opener.”

“It is. We modified it.”

Which meant the electronic device on the gate could be defeated by a ten-year-old.

After shifting into neutral, she pulled on the lever that switched the truck from two- to four-wheel drive. “Hold on.”

He gripped the window frame with one hand and the back of the seat with the other. His fingers rested inches from her shoulder. The truck turned onto the dirt road and immediately hit a huge bump.

“The gullies got worse with the spring rains,” she said.

“I’ll bet.”

They lurched over a rock as, behind them, the trailer hit the first bump. The combined action loosened his grip and jarred his injured leg.

He swore.

“Sorry.” Faith gave him a quick glance. “I’ll try to go slower.”

“Not on my account,” he ground out as fresh blood seeped from the wound. He resumed his hold on the window frame and the back of the seat. This time, a few strands of her hair became trapped under his hand. The soft silkiness distracted him from his pain and he wondered what a woman like her was doing out here, alone except for some college kids and a few dozen cats.

Before he could formulate an answer, they took a sharp turn to the left and rolled onto a paved road.

“What the—” He glanced behind at the dirt torture session, then ahead at what looked like a good mile of asphalt. “You care to explain that?”

“It’s to discourage visitors. We keep the bumps and rocks because they’ll scare off anyone in a car.”

“Probably lose the whole chassis.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And the paved road?”

She shrugged, then moved the lever from four- back to two-wheel drive. “It’s convenient. We have another two miles to go.”

“You don’t want anyone near your cats, do you?”

“Only invited guests. The foundation is privately funded. There are about two hundred donors. The bulk of the money comes from Edwina’s estate. We have the donors out a couple of times a year for fund-raisers, but we put planks over the ruts so their limos don’t lose their transmissions.”

“Smart move.”

She rolled down her window and inhaled. “Almost home. I can smell it.”

He rolled down his window and took a tentative sniff, half expecting to smell eau de Kitty Litter. Instead the scent of leaves and earth filled him. The road was plenty wide enough for the truck. Tall trees and thick underbrush lined both sides of the pavement. Birds and rustling leaves filled the quiet of the warm June afternoon. He inhaled again, noticing the sweet scent of flowers. Peaceful. Exactly what he needed.

Faith chattered about the weather and the house. Cort shifted his position and didn’t listen. He craved a good twelve hours of sleep. Then he would regroup.

“We’re here,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. They rounded the last corner. He was nearly jerked from his seat when she unexpectedly slammed on the brakes.

Less than three hundred feet up the road stood a large open area. Trees had been cleared to create a natural parking lot. The pavement circled around in front of a long, one-story building. High bushes and trees concealed everything behind the structure.

In the middle of the parking area, looking very bright and very out of place, stood a shiny van. The colorful logo of a Los Angeles television station gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

“I told him no.” Faith shook her head and looked at Cort. “Reporters. One of them called from an L.A. station and asked for an interview. He’d heard rumors about the kittens. I told him I wouldn’t talk to him.”

Cort stared at her. Did she say kittens? Before he could ask, she’d pulled the truck up next to the van.

Faith set the brake. Five people glanced up at her. Two looked incredibly guilty, three vaguely surprised.

“This is private property,” she told the newspeople as she got out of the truck. “You don’t have permission to be here. You’re trespassing. I want you out of here, now!”

It wasn’t hard for Faith to pick out the reporter. Aside from being indecently handsome, he wore a coat and tie over his jeans. The other two men with him, one holding a camera, the other operating a mike, smiled winningly and began clicking on switches.

“Hey, I’m James Wilson, from Los Angeles. K-NEWS,” the reporter said, moving next to her and offering his hand. “We spoke on the phone yesterday. What a great story. I’ve got all I need from your assistants, but maybe we could talk for a few minutes. It would really add some depth to the piece.”

Faith ignored the outstretched hand. “You’re right, Mr. Wilson. We did speak on the phone. I told you not to come up here. The kittens aren’t to be taped or photographed. This is private property. You are trespassing. Please leave.”

His perfect smile faded slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple,” she said. “You don’t have permission to be here, or to write a story. You’re trespassing.”

“Hey, this was on the wire service. Don’t blame me. Besides, the freedom of the press—”

“Does not include trespassing. Leave now.”

“Lady, I don’t know what your problem is.”

She turned away without speaking. She heard the slamming of the truck’s passenger door. Cort was about to get an interesting introduction to the way station. It couldn’t be helped. Beth and Rob, two of her college employees, were toward the main office building. The low one-story structure stood across the front of the compound.

“Freeze,” she ordered.

They froze.

Faith walked into the building, past the offices, to the supply room. She pulled a bunch of keys out of her jeans pocket and opened a metal locker. Choosing a rifle from the assortment of weapons, she picked it up and held it in her left hand. The barrel had been modified to shoot darts instead of bullets. She put a couple of tranquilizers in her pocket and left the building.

“This is private property,” she said as she walked back into the sunlight. “I’m only going to say this one more time. You are trespassing. Leave, now.” She loaded one of the darts. “Or you’ll be sleeping for the next twenty-four hours.” The barrel snapped closed with an audible click.

Behind her, Beth and Rob chuckled.

The reporter’s handsome face froze. “Listen, lady, there’s no reason to get violent. Mac, Vern, tell her.”

But his two friends had already abandoned him and were tossing their equipment into the van.

“Wait for me,” Wilson called. He spun on his heel and jogged to the van, then ducked into the passenger seat.

Within seconds, the engine roared to life and the newspeople made a tight U-turn, then headed down the drive. Cort stood next to Faith’s truck, leaning his weight on the fender and watching the proceedings with interest. She ignored him, popped the dart out of the rifle and lowered the butt to the ground.

“Where’s Ken?” she asked, turning back toward the kids.

Beth, a petite brunette with gold-rimmed glasses, stared at her feet. “Putting the kittens back in their cages.”

Faith held on to her temper. “Why did you let in the reporters?”

“We left the gate open for you,” Rob answered. “They just kind of showed up.”

“You didn’t ask them to leave?”

Rob shook his head. “Ken said—”

Faith held up her hand. “I’ll deal with Ken in a minute. Why didn’t you ask them to leave? Either of you?”

Guilt was written all over their young faces. Faith hired college students because they had enthusiasm and dedication, plus she preferred part-time help. The only problem was sometimes they weren’t as mature as she would have liked.

Beth stared at her shoes. “He was so nice, and it seemed so exciting that I didn’t think about how you said you didn’t want any publicity about the kittens until it was too late.”

“You just thought he was totally cool,” Rob said, rolling his eyes in disgust. “Some good-looking older man says a few nice words and you melt like butter.”

“That’s not true.” Beth flushed with anger. She stood a good eight inches shorter than Rob’s six feet, but that didn’t intimidate her. “I didn’t see you ordering him off the property. In fact, you were real interested in the sound equipment and asked the guy a lot of questions.”

“That’s better than swooning. You won’t see me on the six o’clock news.”

“Stop!” Faith held up one hand. “You know the rules.”

Beth nodded. “You’re right, Faith. I apologize. I should have thought about what would happen. I know the kittens are important to you and the facility. I wouldn’t purposely do something to hurt either.”

“Me, too,” Rob mumbled, nudging Beth on the arm when she turned and glared at him.

Faith fought back a smile. Eloquent to the last, that boy, she thought. These kids were basically well-meaning. They’d been caught up in the excitement of the moment. She didn’t like it, but she understood how it happened.

“I accept your apologies,” she said. She heard footsteps behind her, but didn’t turn around.

“What’s going on? Beth, why are they leaving so soon? I wanted to show them— Oh God, Faith. You’re back.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation, Ken,” she said coldly, still not turning around. “Make it a good one.”

“Gee, Faith. I’m sorry. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Her grip on the rifle tightened. She tapped her booted toe against the asphalt. A couple of deep breaths didn’t help, either. “What the hell were you thinking?” she said as she spun to face the young man. Her voice rose in volume. “Reporters? Reporters?”

Rob and Beth slunk away, leaving Ken alone. The young man stood over six feet tall. With broad shoulders, long brown hair and a scraggely beard that hadn’t completely filled in, he looked more like a teenager than a college senior. At her words, his bravado faded. He slumped visibly and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled.

“It wasn’t like that?” she said loudly, then forced herself to lower her voice. “We have a few rules here. They are for your safety and for that of the cats. Rule number one is no reporters without my say-so. Ken, you know where those kittens came from. The last thing we need is word getting around about their whereabouts.”

“I’m sorry.” Brown eyes pleaded for understanding.

She gripped the unloaded rifle in both hands and tossed it at him. He caught it. “’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it,” she said, pacing in front of him on the asphalt. “I should bust your butt back to the dorm and never let you on this mountain again.”

“It was an accident.” He shuffled his feet.

“How do you figure? The reporter said the wire service had the story and…” Realization dawned, and she was grateful she wasn’t holding the rifle anymore. “It’s that girl! You let her take pictures.”

For weeks Ken had talked about nothing but Nancy. Nancy the beautiful. Nancy the brave. Nancy the journalism major. He’d asked Faith if she could come and take pictures of the cats for an assignment for one of her classes. Maybe do a story to drum up publicity. Faith had refused.

“Just a few,” Ken admitted. He looked up at her. Regret pulled his mouth straight. “She took them to the local paper, and they got picked up by the wire service. That’s what brought the reporter out. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Am I fired?” He sounded like a ten-year-old.

She jammed her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “You’ve worked here two years, and you’ve done a good job. But in the last few months you’ve come in late, you’ve skipped work without calling, now this.” She pinned him with her best glare. “You’re thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy. All the trouble you’re having is because of that girl. Get that under control and you can work here. If not, you’re out. Consider this a final warning. One more screwup and you’re fired.”

“Faith, I’m sorry.”

“Put the rifle away, then get out of here. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the week.”

“I understand.”

“Did you at least remember to feed the cats?”

“Yeah. An hour ago.”

“Fine.” Faith waved her hand in the direction of the supply building. “Get going.”

The young man walked off, his body slumped forward, his steps slow and shuffling. He was the picture of misery. Part of her regretted the harshness of their conversation. Still, the lecture had been necessary, and he deserved it.

“Don’t you think you were a little hard on him?” Cort straightened from where he’d been leaning against the truck. Using his crutches to support his bad leg, he stepped toward her.

“No.” She flushed, realizing she must have sounded like a fishwife. “I have rules—”

“They’re just kids.”

“They work for me. I expect them to do their job.”

He stared down at her, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement. Obviously she’d really impressed him, she thought, her temper starting to get the best of her.

“What I don’t understand,” Cort said, “is what that reporter wanted. All the way up here from L.A. to get pictures of a few kittens.” He shook his head. “Slow news day.”

If he didn’t know about the cats, he sure didn’t know about the kittens. Part of her wanted to slap him upside the head until his ears rang. The other part of her wanted him to find out the truth for himself.

“I like the way you handled the reporter, though,” he said, looking around the compound. “He won’t be back. Still, you have some major security problems. I’ll have a look around and see what I can do.”

“Good, because we’re going to be on the six o’clock news tonight.”

He took a step toward the building. “So? What’s the worst that will happen? There’ll be a cat show here this weekend? At least you’ve got the parking for it.” He jerked his head at the space behind her truck.

His condescending attitude was the final straw. Her hold on her temper snapped. “You think you’re so hot, Mr. Spy? I’m just some crazy cat lady, right? A friend of Jeff’s, so you’re going to humor me? Fine.” She pointed to the main building. “Go right through there. Pet any kitty you like.”

Cort stared at her. She was so ticked off, he could practically see steam coming out of her ears. She sure was hung up on this cat thing. He’d better give her a chance to cool off.

Awkwardly moving forward, he went through the open door of the building. Once in the dark hallway, he could smell something musty. He inhaled sharply. An animal scent. Not unpleasant. Not Kitty Litter either. He heard odd snuffling noises and a low cough. He walked out the other side of the building onto smooth dirt. The sounds increased. There were a few grunts followed by a muffled roar. A muffled roar? He started to get the feeling things weren’t as they seemed. His crutches sank slightly into the ground. He adjusted his weight and turned to his left.

And came face-to-face with a tiger!

Chapter 3

The black-and-gold-striped cat stared at him. Cort took a step back. He forgot about the crutches, tried to spin away, and promptly tripped and sat down hard on the ground. The tiger sniffed the air and grunted.

A pair of boots appeared next to him. He looked up past her jeans-clad legs, past her trim waist and worn blue work shirt, to the smile curving the corners of Faith’s mouth. It was, he thought with disgust, a very self-satisfied smile.

“Cats?” he said, shifting so the pain in his leg didn’t get worse.

She nodded. “Big cats.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He held out his hand.

She braced herself and hauled him to his feet. He balanced on one leg while she collected his crutches. When he’d tucked the supports under his arms, he looked around the compound.

Seven large habitats, bigger than he’d seen at any zoo, stretched out from the right of the main building. To the left, a narrow road led into the forest. Past the road, more enclosures formed a curved line. In the center of the open area were a group of telephone poles, a huge wading pool and a stack of bowling balls. The dirt had been freshly raked. All the enclosures were clean. Most had grass and trees, a few had swimming pools. In the far corner, a small cat—smaller than a tiger, he thought, but bigger than a collie—stuck its head under a man-made waterfall and drank.

“You want to explain this?” he said.

Faith tucked her hands into her back pockets. “I told you. I keep cats.”

“Uh-huh. You left out one detail.”

“No. You assumed.” Her eyes sparkled. She rocked forward onto the balls on her feet, then back on her heels.

“I could have been lunch.” He used one crutch to point at the tiger’s cage.

“Hardly.” She pulled her left hand free of her pocket and glanced at her watch. “It’s after four. You could have been a snack.”

“Nobody gets the better of you, do they?”

She shook her head. “Not without trying hard.” She looked at his leg. “How does it feel? You want to relax first and have the tour tomorrow?”

He glanced around again. He’d never been this close to a tiger before. Most of the animals had come to the front of their enclosures to watch him. Gold eyes stared. He stared back. So this is what it feels like to look into the face of a predator. The tiger he’d seen first made a coughing noise.

“He’s saying hello,” Faith told him.

“More likely he’s figuring out how many mouthfuls I’d make.” His leg hurt, but not badly. Rest could wait. “Give me the nickel tour,” he said. “Enough for me to get a feel for the place. I’ll see the rest of it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Faith pointed to the enclosure in front of them. It was forty feet by sixty. The tiger had stretched out on the grass in front of his pool and rested his massive head on his paws. The afternoon sun caught the colors in his coat, turning the gold a deep orange and making the black stripes seem brown.

“This is Tigger.” She shrugged. “I had nothing to do with the name. It came along with him. He’s a Bengal tiger. Partially tamed.”

“Partially?” Cort raised his eyebrows. “So he’ll eat you but feel guilty?”

She laughed. The sound of her amusement, so carefree and open, made him want to hear it again. It had been too long since he’d been around people who laughed. For him, everything was life and death. It was the price he paid for fighting the good fight. Funny, he’d never thought about that particular sacrifice before.

“Most of our cats are partially tamed, which means you can go into their cages, but someone needs to be watching. A few are wild, and they have to be locked in their dens when we come in to clean.” She pointed at the compound. “In the back, there. That rock structure.”

“What? No carpeting?”

“Hardly. We try to keep the habitats as natural as possible. The water in the swimming pools and ponds is filtered. There’s a sprinkler system. Inside the den, the walls are about eight inches thick, to keep the temperature even. We’ve also got low-light video cameras in there so we can monitor the animals if they seem sick or are giving birth.”

He gave a low whistle. “This is some setup.” He looked around at the other habitats. “Are they all like this?”

“Yes. The enclosures are different sizes, for different types of cats. Cats that swim out in the wild, like Tigger here, get pools. We don’t have habitats for all of them.” Her smile faded. “They cost over a hundred thousand dollars each. We’re building them one at a time, using both trust money and private donations. In the back are a few cats that live in cages. We’re working on getting them their own enclosures.” She moved close to the bars. “You can pet Tigger if you’d like. He’s really gentle.”

Cort shook his head. “No, thanks.”

She called the cat’s name. Tigger glanced up at her and yawned, showing rows of very large, very sharp teeth, then slowly rose to his feet. Muscles bunched and released with each step. His feet were the size of dinner plates. He padded over to the front of the cage and leaned heavily against it.

“Tigger used to work in the movies, didn’t you, honey?”

Faith scratched the cat’s forehead and rubbed his ears. The cat made a noise that wasn’t a purr, more like a grunting groan, but definitely sounded contented. Cort inched closer, but stayed safely out of paw’s reach.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He’s a little stubborn and wouldn’t take direction.”

“Ah, a temperamental artist.”

“Something like that.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to pet him?”

“Positive.”

From where he was standing, he had a view of the cat, and of Faith’s rear, as she bent to pet the animal. Her jeans pulled tight around her curves. It had been months since he’d spent time with a woman, he thought, then looked around. If he tried anything, she would probably have him treed by a mountain lion.

“Bengal tigers are coming back from extinction. Tigger is doing a lot of breeding with females from zoos around the country, and even with a few in Europe.”

Cort stared at the three-hundred-pound male cat. The animal sat leaning against the bars with his eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Faith continued to scratch his ears.

“What a life,” Cort said.

“He seems to like it.” She straightened. “Over here we have a couple of mountain lions. We’re trying to breed them, as well.” “Tigers, mountain lions. What do you need me for?” he asked. “If an intruder shows up, just open one of the cages. You’ll solve the problem and cut down on the feeding bill.”

“I don’t want any of the animals hurt.”

“Nice to know I’m expendable.”

“It is your job.”

He looked at the tiger. “Maybe we could work out a swap.” They walked around the right side of the compound. Faith pointed out the various cats. She called each animal by name and explained how they came to be at the way station.

“He was dumped here,” she said, pointing at a bobcat. “Someone probably found him as a kitten and raised him, thinking he’d be a fun pet. Then he got big enough to be a problem.”

The pointy-eared cat jumped to the front of his enclosure and hunched down like he wanted to play. His short tail quivered.

“Not today, Samson,” Faith told the cat. He continued to stare at her hopefully. “As I mentioned, all the cats over here are pretty tame. Samson is declawed. Still, don’t go in any cage by yourself.”

“I hadn’t planned on going in their cages at all,” he said, staring at the bobcat. The playful animal made a purring noise, then turned away and slunk to the back of the enclosure.

“On the other side, we have the wilder cats.” She turned and pointed across the compound. “We try to have as little contact with them as possible. Sometimes we get an injured animal that we treat, then release back into the wild.”

She started across the open area, keeping her stride slow enough that he could keep up. He felt the cats watching him and knew they knew he was injured.

“Lunch,” he muttered under his breath. They passed the wading pool and stack of bowling balls. “What is all this for?”

“Recreation. When the weather’s good, we let the friendly cats out to play.”

“They bowl?”

She laughed. Again the sound caught him off guard. Sweet and happy. Innocent of the evil in the world. “The balls are donated by the bowling alley in town. They play with them.”

“Play?”

She looked up at him. “They bat them around, jump on them, throw them in the air.”

“Bowling balls?”

“The big cats can weigh several hundred pounds.”

He shook his head. Who would have thought? He inhaled deeply. The musty smell didn’t seem so intense. In another day or so, he wouldn’t even be able to notice it. But he could smell Faith’s perfume. The sultry French essence teased at him as he still tried to remember the name. He studied the woman walking beside him. Work boots, straight hair, big cats and French perfume. An intriguing combination.

When they reached the other side of the compound, he saw waist-high poles had been set in the ground, about two feet in front of the enclosures. A chain ran from pole to pole.

“This fence is to remind us not to get too close,” she said, pointing at the barrier. “These cats will lash out and scratch you.” A powerful spotted cat with huge shoulders and a wide face paced menacingly at the front of the cage. The animal didn’t look directly at them, but Cort sensed it knew exactly where they were standing.

“These jaguars,” she said, pointing at the two cages on the far end, “are only here for another few weeks. They’re a breeding pair.”

He stared at the separate cages. “Wouldn’t it work better if they were in the same enclosure. I don’t know that much about cats, but—”

“I know.” She reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. “We tried that. They nearly killed each other. You need to know about these cages.” She pointed to the corners. There was a gated opening in the front and the back of the steelenforced cage. “The hinges by the gates are wide. We’d planned to house two Siberian tigers here. They get to be seven hundred pounds. They aren’t here yet, and when the mating couple took an instant dislike to each other, we had to separate them. Unfortunately, the jaguars can stick their paws out at the front and back hinges. Just don’t try walking between the cages.” She smiled up at him. “They’d probably just scratch you up a bit, but if one stood at the front of its cage and the other stood at the back of the other one, you’d be trapped between them.”

He eyed the pacing animal. Rage radiated with each step. “I’m not planning to walk between any cages, but thanks for the warning.”

He heard footsteps behind them and turned to see one of Faith’s employees approaching. The young woman stared from him to her boss and back.

“Faith, the food’s all unloaded. We’re leaving.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to lock the gate behind you.”

“I won’t.” The young woman looked Cort up and down, glanced at Faith questioningly, then blushed suddenly. She spun on her heel and jogged to the main building.

“Damn,” Faith muttered.

He glanced at her and saw matching spots of color staining her cheeks.

“I should have introduced you,” she said. “I forgot to tell them about the extra security. They don’t know who you are.” She sighed. “I’ll explain tomorrow.”

The same woman who patted live tigers and didn’t bat an eye when a stranger practically strangled her in her own truck got embarrassed because one of her employees thought she’d brought a man to spend the night? There had to be a piece missing. He suddenly realized what it was.

“You married?” he asked.

She looked shocked. “No, why?”

He shrugged, as well as he could, supported by the crutches. “You seemed upset. I thought maybe you were afraid your husband or significant other would get the wrong idea.”

“No husband,” she said shortly. “I live here alone. We’d better get your leg bandaged.”

“Good idea.” The mention of his wound made it ache more.

He followed her toward the main building. They passed the narrow road. “What’s down there?” he asked.

“The Big House.” She reached the glass door and held it open. “I don’t live there anymore. There’s an apartment in this building, at the end of the hall. It’s easier to stay here. I use the Big House for fund-raising parties and that sort of thing.” She closed the glass door behind them.

He turned and looked at it. “No lock?”

“Just on the side facing the parking lot. The scent of the cats keep four-legged intruders away. I need to be able to get out of here quickly, in case something happens.”

He swung the crutches forward and moved to the front door. Cheap lock. He shook the door. It rattled. He shook it again. “Some security. Anyone over a hundred and forty pounds could break through this just by running up and hitting it with his shoulder.” He glanced around at the foyer. A couple of chairs and a vinyl sofa stood on either side of the front door. Long hallways stretched out toward both ends of the building. He looked at the low ceiling, then at the wide windows on either side of the front door. “Alarm? Video?”

She shook her head.

“But you have special cameras to watch the cats?”

“They get priority.”

“Not anymore. I’m going to call Jeff with a supply list. You need new locks and a decent gate. Some kind of security system. How often you get up in the night?”

“Depends. Why?”

“Motion detectors.”

“Wouldn’t work. Sparky usually has the run of the place. Come on, that bandage needs changing.”

He followed her down the left hall. The linoleum had seen better days, and the walls needed painting, but everything was clean. Prints of big cats hung on both walls. Sparky?

“Who did you say named him?”

“Edwina. He was her favorite.”

He should ask exactly what kind of cat—or lion or tiger— Sparky was, but he didn’t want to know. Faith led him into an examining room. From the placement of the metal table and the size of the cage in the corner, he knew she treated her cats here.

“Have a seat,” she said, patting the metal table.

He set the crutches against the wall and swung himself up. “You know what you’re doing?”

She opened a metal cupboard door and rummaged around inside. “Does it matter? I’m the only one here.”

“I could change it myself.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I know enough not to kill you.”

“Great.”

He shifted his weight and scooted back on the table until he rested against the wall. The throbbing in his leg increased. “I assume the ‘package’ Jeff wants me to protect is really a three-hundred-pound feline.”

“Nope. Closer to twenty pounds. I’ll introduce you to them in the morning.”

“Them?”

She looked amused. “Twins.”

Twins? Cort fought back a sigh. Jeff was going to owe him big-time for this one, he thought, then turned his attention back to Faith.

She placed scissors beside him, along with clean bandages, antiseptic and a damp cloth. Her long light brown hair fell over her shoulders. She reached in her front jeans pocket and pulled out a rubber band, then drew her hair back and secured it. After washing her hands, she looked at the bandage.

“This may hurt. You want a stick to bite on?”

He looked at her. “A stick?”

“You’re a spy. That’s what they always do in the movies. I thought it might make you feel better.” Her lips remained straight, but humor danced in her eyes.

“You’re not digging out a bullet.”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

She picked up the scissors and cut through the bandage. It fell away revealing his blood-covered leg. Cort told himself it looked worse than it was. Faith didn’t even blink. She picked up the damp cloth and began cleaning his skin.

“Here,” she said, pointing at but not touching the incision.

“You pulled two stitches. I’ve never sewed up a person before. Would you mind if I used a butterfly bandage instead?”

“Not at all.”

She worked quickly. After wiping away the dried blood, she doused the wound with antiseptic and then taped it closed. She wrapped gauze around his calf and secured it firmly.

“That must hurt a lot,” she said sympathetically. “There should be pain medication with the other pills Jeff gave me. I’ll grab them from the truck. Be right back.”

He was too busy staring at her to answer. Faith Newlin knew about guns and big cats and did a great field dressing. None of this made any sense.

She returned with his duffel bag and the containers of medication.

“Just as I thought,” she said, tossing him a bottle.

“Great,” he said, as he caught it. “First thing in the morning, I’ll get on the horn to Jeff and get your security under control.”

He slid to the edge of the examining table and stuffed the medicine in his pocket. She handed him his crutches and led the way into the hall. Two doors down she entered a small room. There were rows of file cabinets, a bare wooden desk and a cot against the far wall.

“It’s not much,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to get a bedroom ready for you up at the Big House. Plus, I want to keep an eye on you tonight.”

He lowered himself onto the cot. The blankets were soft, the pillow down-filled. “I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a bathroom across the hall. It has a shower built in. Do you want to try it or wait?”

He shifted his injured leg, and pain shot up to his thigh. His head still throbbed. “I can wait. Thanks.”

She set his duffel bag on the desk and opened the top side drawer. After clicking on the desk lamp, she pulled out his shaving kit and began putting his clothing in the drawer.

“I can do that,” he said.

“You’re dead on your feet. I don’t mind. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He leaned back and let the exhaustion flow through him.

When she finished unpacking, she folded the duffel bag on top of the desk and left. She was back almost immediately, carrying a glass of water.

“For your pills,” she said.

He raised himself up on one elbow, dug the pills out of his pocket and took one out. As he reached for the glass of water, the light from the lamp caught the side of her face and her neck. Dark bruises stained her honey-tanned skin. He drank from the glass, then set it down on the floor without taking his eyes from those marks. Time and his job had changed him, he knew. But when had he crossed the line and become a brute?

She sat next to him on the cot. “What’s wrong?”

“I hurt you.” He raised his hand and gently touched the side of her throat. She stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. Her warmth contrasted with his cool skin as he brushed one finger down the smooth length.

“I told you I understood what happened,” she said. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“A high price to pay for a mistake.” He dropped his hand back to the cot.

“I’m not afraid. I won’t startle you again, so you won’t have reason to hurt me.”

“A hell of a way to live.”

“For you or for me?” she asked.

Blue eyes searched his, looking for something he knew didn’t exist. Humanity, the connection, the bonding of two souls. It was beyond him, always had been. He held her gaze, let her search, knowing she would seek in vain.

When he didn’t answer the question, she leaned forward. “You don’t believe me. That it doesn’t matter, I mean.”

“No.”

She thought for a moment, as if trying to find a way to change his mind. “We had a mountain lion here once. I was pretty new at the time, still idealistic.” She sat up straighter on the cot. “He’d been a pet, then abused and abandoned when he got bigger. By the time he was brought to the way station, he was skinny, bleeding and mean. We patched him up and fed him. It wasn’t enough. His leg got infected and required surgery. After the operation, he was pretty out of it. I went in the cage to change his bandage and give him water.”

She moved down a little on the cot, so that she was sitting by his thighs instead of by his waist. She began unbuttoning her blouse. He ignored his surprise and forced himself to hold her gaze and not follow the movements of her fingers. But in the periphery of his sight he saw the blouse fall open. She held it together just above her breasts.

“I hadn’t bothered to check to see if he was still sleeping. I crouched down to pick up his water bowl.”

She turned away from him and shrugged out of the shirt. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Her blouse slipped off her left shoulder. Cort stared. From just below the nape of her neck, across the top of her back, along her shoulder blade and ending on the back of her arm, four scars traced the route taken by the lion’s claws. The parallel lines puckered in some places, as if the depth of the slashing hadn’t been uniform.

“He was awake and he attacked me.” She pulled up her blouse and turned to face him. “I was lucky. I got out before he really hurt me.”

Though she held the front together, he could see the paleness of her chest and swelling curve of her breasts. Her choice in lingerie matched the rest of her wardrobe. Sensible cotton trimmed in a thin ribbon of lace. A female who dismissed the need to entice a man with satin, though her choice in perfume was anything but pedestrian.

“Do you see why I’m not afraid of you?” she asked.

No. He and the mountain lion had little in common. The creature of God killed for food or to protect itself. Cort killed because it was asked of him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Sleep now,” she said. “I’ll be right down the hall. If you need anything, call me.” She rose and walked to the door.

She stood there watching him. Although her hands clutched her blouse together, he could still see the top of one breast. The unexpected view of that female curve hit him low in the gut, spreading need throughout his body. All cats are gray in the dark, he reminded himself, then closed his eyes. Maybe. But something told him Faith Newlin was a special brand of cat…and one he should leave alone.

* * *

He could hear the tide lapping against the pilings that supported the dock. And he could smell salt air.

The warehouse.

Cort shook his head to clear it. Was he meeting someone, or picking something up? Why couldn’t he remember?

Something was wrong. Danger! He heard it, felt it. A voice called to him. Dan? He had to get out, to run. The explosion! There wasn’t time. He spun to leave, but something blocked his way. Danger! Run!

“Hush, Cort. You’re safe now.” Gentle hands pressed against his shoulders.

He forced his eyes open. Instead of a damp South American warehouse, or even the fires of hell, he stared into wide blue eyes and inhaled the scent of French perfume.

“Je t’aime.” he murmured.

“A lovely thought,” the woman said, then smiled. “But you’ve just met me.”

“Your perfume.”

“Ah. Yes. That’s it.”

He blinked several times to clear his vision and his head. Everything came back to him. The time in the hospital, the cats, the woman. “Faith.”

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

He sat up. Sometime in the night, he’d woken up enough to strip off his clothes. The sheet pooled around his waist. He raised his arms above his head and stretched. “Like a new man. What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

He’d been out almost fourteen hours. “Guess I was tired.”

“Guess so. You want some breakfast?”

His stomach rumbled.

She chuckled and rose to her feet. She looked fresh and clean. Her long brown hair had been pulled back into a braid. Jeans and boots covered her lower half, but the plaid work shirt had been replaced by a pink T-shirt. She handed him the crutches.

“I put your shaving kit in the bathroom,” she said.

He took the crutches and pulled himself to his feet. As he rose, he realized he was wearing nothing but his briefs. A quick glance at Faith told him she didn’t even bother to look. Yeah, he’d impressed the hell out of her.

He took an experimental step. The leg felt stronger and his head didn’t hurt anymore. He rubbed one hand over his face. Stubble rasped against his palm.

“I need a shave,” he said.

“When you’re done, I’ll have breakfast ready.” She ducked ahead of him in the hall and tossed a pair of jeans and a shirt into the bathroom. “The towels are clean. I put a plastic bag out, so you can shower without getting the bandage wet.”

Before he could thank her, she was heading down the hall. Her braid swayed with each step, as did her curvy hips. He stared after her until she turned the corner.

By the time he’d made himself presentable, he could smell food cooking. He followed the delicious odors past two more offices, through a door marked Private and into a small living room.

“Faith?” he called.

“In here.”

He maneuvered the crutches around the maple coffee table and rocking chair into a cheery yellow kitchen. A Formica table stood in front of a bay window that looked out into the forest. The stove appeared to be older than he was and the refrigerator older still by ten years. But everything gleamed in the morning light. He sniffed, smelling mint along with the cooking.

Faith looked up from the stove. “I hope scrambled is all right.” She motioned to the table. “Have a seat.”

She’d set a place for him and lined up all his medications in a row. A glass of orange juice sat next to a cup of coffee. He looked at the setting, then at her. “Very nice. Thanks.”

He pulled out a chair, sat down and sipped the coffee. She served his breakfast, then poured herself a cup and took the seat opposite him. A stack of papers rested in front of her. As she studied them, she nibbled on the corner of her mouth. Was it worry or simply a habit? Who was this woman who took in stray lions and spies? He buttered the toast she’d made, then sorted through the jars of jelly.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Mint. I can smell it. Can’t you?”

She looked down. “Yes.” He could have sworn her shoulders were shaking.

“What’s so funny?”

She looked up, her face expressionless. The innocence didn’t fool him. “Nothing,” she said.

“Sure.” He cautiously took a bite of the eggs. “This is great. I was half-afraid you’d feed me cat food.”

“Eggs are cheaper.”

He heard a rumble, like a low-flying plane. The sound continued for several minutes as he ate, then it stopped. He chewed a mouthful of food and swallowed. “What do the cats eat?”

“Anything I can get my hands on. Chicken mostly. The bones keep their teeth clean and exercised. Sometimes hunters leave me extra venison.”

“Must get expensive.”

She nodded. “The biggest cats eat up to fifteen pounds a day.”

The rumble started again, broke, became an almost coughing sound, like someone sawing wood, then resumed. “What the hell is that?”

“What?”

“That rumble. Can’t you hear it?”

She chuckled. “I’m so used to it, I only notice when it’s not there.” She glanced at his plate. “Are you done?”

“I guess.”

“It’s never a good idea to have food around when you meet Sparky,” she said.

“Sparky?” He remembered his vision of the mean black alley cat. That was when he’d assumed Faith’s cats had been the ten-pound, domestic kind. “Sparky isn’t what I think, is he?”

“Probably not.” She pursed her lips together and whistled softly, first a high, then a low tone. “Sparky,” she called. “Come.”

From a room beyond the kitchen, the rumble stopped for a moment. Cort heard the scratchy coughing noise again, then the sound of a thick chain being dragged across the linoleum floor. What he thought was a shadow cast by the overhead lights quickly became a very large, very black, leopard.

“Holy—”

The animal approached slowly. Yellow eyes, more almondshaped than round, flickered around the room, then settled on him. As the cat walked over to Faith, the smell of mint grew. Cort realized it came from the animal. “Sparky,” she said, patting its head. “This is Cort.”

The black leopard continued to hold his gaze. The rumbling went on. The cat’s massive head rested on Faith’s thighs. Powerful muscles rippled as the animal sat down. A faint pattern of spots was barely visible in the dark coat. Its long tail moved back and forth in a slow but menacing rhythm.

“Is this your idea of a pet?” Cort asked, wondering what Jeff had been thinking of when he’d sent him here.

“No. Edwina is the one who took him in. He was less than four weeks old when his mother died. He was hand-raised after that. Edwina couldn’t bear to put him in a cage, so here he is.” She rubbed the animal’s forehead, then scratched behind its ears.

Like a huge house cat, the leopard arched toward the stroking and butted his head against her leg, asking for more. This gentle butt, however, nearly knocked her out of her chair.

“Easy,” she admonished, giving the animal a slight slap on its shoulder.

Sparky was properly cowed and broke his gaze with Cort to glance up at Faith and yawn.

A perfect domestic scene, if he ignored the glistening teeth designed to rip and tear flesh and bite through bone.

“Why does he smell of mint?” he asked.

“Leopards conceal their own scent. In the wild he’d use certain herbs or animal dung.”

“I can see why you’d want to discourage the latter.”

“You bet. There’s a mint patch for him out back.”

“Where does he sleep?”

“In the office.” Faith continued to stroke the leopard. “Or with me. Give me your hand.”

He offered his left.

Faith grinned as she took it. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

“I don’t take chances.”

“Sparky won’t hurt you without provocation. He’s just a friendly little kitty, aren’t you, boy?” She found a particularly sensitive spot behind its jaw, rubbed vigorously, and the purring deepened.

Faith laced their fingers together. “Sparky,” she said. “This is Cort. He’s going to be staying here awhile.” Her soft voice, slightly higher pitched than her normal speaking tone, soothed both him and the cat.

The leopard remained indifferent to the stranger’s hand being drawn closer and closer to his head. Faith continued to stroke the cat. She moved her free hand lower onto the animal’s shoulder and placed their joined hands on its head.

Cort resisted the impulse to pull back. The short black fur felt coarse under his fingers. Thick, not at all like a domestic cat. But everything else seemed familiar, just on a larger scale. Ears moved back and forth as if following the conversation. The rumbling purr continued, unbroken, except when Sparky shifted to lean more heavily on Faith.

Power, Cort thought, looking at the long legs and thick ropes of muscle visible under the fur. A perfect killing machine. Elegant. Beautiful. A creature without a conscience. Is that what Jeff saw when he looked at him?

“He likes most people,” she said, patting Sparky with his hand, then slipping her fingers away.

He hesitated. Their eyes met, and he continued stroking the cat. “Most? When do I find out if I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“He wouldn’t have come in here if he didn’t like your scent.”

Sparky straightened, as if he’d just realized Faith wasn’t the one touching him. He rose to his feet and walked the two steps over to Cort. Even though the kitchen chair was relatively high off the ground, Sparky practically stared him in the eye. The cat sniffed at his hand, then his arm. Cort wanted to get the hell away, but he held his position. He knew that much.

Predator to predator. He recognized Sparky’s need to understand the intruder. If this was her chaperon, it was no wonder Faith wasn’t married.

Sparky made the coughing sound again, then turned away and walked next to the refrigerator. The one-inch-thick chain trailed behind him. The rumbling purr became a humph as he laid down, then resumed.

Faith began to clear the table. When she went to put the butter away, she nudged Sparky out of the way so that she could open the door. Cort wasn’t sure if he should respect Faith or have her committed.

“Do you want to drive around the compound?” she asked. “I’ve cleared my morning so that I could show you anything you would like to see.”

Before he could respond, a loud shriek pierced the morning. Even Sparky stopped purring.

“Damn,” Faith muttered, apparently more annoyed than concerned as she walked out of the room. “What are you two up to now?”

Cort grabbed his crutches and followed her. The shrieks came again, this time followed by plaintive mewing.

“You can’t be hungry,” Faith said, moving down the hall toward a dim light in a room on the right. “I just fed you.”

The mewing got louder. Cort continued to hobble behind her. When they entered the room, he saw a big cage that filled most of the floor space. Inside, blankets formed a soft nest. Newspapers lined a far corner of the cage. The striped bundle in the middle of the blankets moved as they walked closer. Two white tiger cubs looked up and mewed piteously.

“Here they are,” Faith said as she crouched down beside the babies. “Jeff sent them along to me last week.”

“This is what the reporter was after?”

“Yes. They were confiscated at the border. Something about being added to the collection of some big-time crook.” She looked up and smiled. “Think you can keep them safe?”

* * *

William Thomas paced the small motel room. He needed a drink, but he couldn’t afford to miss his phone call. What would happen to him now? he wondered for the hundredth time. What would they do to him? Second chances didn’t exist in his organization. But it hadn’t been his fault. They had set the rules. No killing, they’d insisted. If he’d iced the border control officer none of this mess would have happened.

He swallowed thickly and again wished for that drink. Maybe he could run to the liquor store across the street. It wouldn’t take long and—

The ringing of the telephone cut into his thoughts. He picked it up immediately.

“Yes?” he said curtly.

“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Thomas.”

“I know. It was an accident. The rules I had to work under were too restrictive.”

“I don’t care about accidents. I want the job done.”

“Of course.” William forced himself to speak calmly. The fact that they hadn’t killed him yet meant he might be given the chance to redeem himself.

“Our mutual employer is still out of the country,” his caller said, the voice low and cold. “You have exactly twenty-one days until his return. If the cubs are recovered by then, he would be very forgiving of your little accident.”

“I can get them back. As soon as I find out where they are—”

The man on the phone cut him off again. “They were on the news last evening.”

“What? The cubs?”

“Yes. A reporter, a James Wilson, filed a story. Locate him and you’ll locate the cubs.”

“Consider it done.”

“Mr. Thomas, I shouldn’t have to remind you that you can’t afford to make another mistake.”

William wished he could ignore the implied threat, but doing so would cost him his life. “I need to be able to do whatever is necessary,” he said. “You can’t tie my hands and then complain that the job isn’t done.”

“Recover them. At any cost."

William nodded. He’d just been given permission to get rid of anyone who stood in his way. Better. Now he could finish the job. “You can count on me.”

“Twenty-one days, Mr. Thomas. Our mutual employer spent a lot of money on the cubs. They are the centerpiece of his collection. If you don’t succeed, we will be forced to discontinue our association. Do you understand?”

Who wouldn’t understand a .45 slug between the eyes? “I understand.”

There was a click, and the line went dead.

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