Hour of the Lion Cherise Sinclair (8 ebook reader .TXT) 📖

Ten minutes later, she eased into the police station. With any luck, Alec wouldn‘t notice—

He looked up from his paperwork and fixed her with a dark green glare. "Miz Waverly-McGregor, you‘re late."

She couldn‘t remember the last time she‘d arrived late for anything. "Um. I‘m sorry. I ran into a …" She felt a flush creep up her face. She‘d worked evening patrol all week because of the movie shoots, and had still been asleep when Calum came home for lunch. A bed was a very indefensible location, and his so-called quickie hadn‘t been quick at all. "I guess I lost track of the time. It won‘t happen again."

The frown on Alec‘s face was belied by the amusement in his eyes. "I realize you‘re a newly-wed, but this department expects its law enforcement personnel to show up on time. Our citizens deserve no less."

"Yes, sir."

He finally grinned. "I can‘t imagine what could have happened to make you lose track of time—except Calum called to explain."

She stared at him. He knew? "You sadistic dirtbag." She tossed her jacket over a hook on the wall and took a seat beside the desk. "I thought you were seriously pissed-off."

He ran a finger down her cheek, around a mouth swollen from Calum‘s mind-blowing kisses. "Oh, but I am. Angry that I didn‘t get a nooner. You‘d better plan on placating me tonight, or you‘ll be in big trouble."

"Oooh. Please, Mr. Sheriff, I‘ll do anything." Her blood heated as she thought of a few things she could do. She licked her lips, and her voice turned husky. "Anything."

His eyes grew heavy lidded, and then he snatched his hand back. "You were sent by the devil, weren‘t you? Toying with us weak-minded men, leaving us helpless in your wake."

She grinned. "Yep. That‘s the idea. So, what‘s on the schedule today?"

"First, join Jenkins and practice patrolling in a car. Then you‘re on downtown duty after five."

Watching over those empty-headed movie people. She sighed. "Yes, sir."

*

Alec glanced up when Calum strolled into the office with a manila envelope. Leaning back in his chair, Alec studied his brother with pleasure. Calum had never looked better. His eyes had cleared of the last lingering grief. "Being lifemated agrees with you."

"Indeed."

"But I‘ll ask that you stop making my deputy late." Alec used his foot to shove the spare chair over. "What brings you to my illustrious establishment?"

"Two things. First, Tynan O‘Connolly sent more information. He managed to get some background on Vidal. Brawd, he grew up in Gray Cliff."

"Gray Cliff?" Alec frowned. The name seemed familiar. "The town in Rainier territory that the hellhounds decimated a few years ago?"

"Precisely. Vidal moved away long before it disappeared, but I would guess that‘s where he learned of the Daonain." Calum‘s voice turned grim. "I don‘t know what set him in search of us now."

"We may never find out. I‘ll settle for him being dead. What‘s the other thing?"

Calum‘s eyes turned cold. "Swane is here."

Alec rose to his feet, fury rising like a forest fire. "In town?"

"Aye. Jamie caught a trace of his scent when the movie crew was filming, but too many people were there. What better way to hide than in a crowd of people?"

"Tonight‘s the last night for the shoot—they‘re leaving tomorrow morning." Catch him. Kill him. Alec forced the rage down. "Is she okay?"

Calum‘s words were tight. "She doesn‘t want to hide. She wants it over with. She‘s tired of the restrictions we‘ve put on her and she said"—he shook his head—"ordered, actually, that she wanted to play rabbit to lure out the wolf."

By Herne, they‘d raised a strong female. "You agree?"

"Not in the least." Calum rubbed his neck. "But she has a point. This way, we‘d have control in springing the trap. If they remain at large, some other time they might get lucky."

Alec nodded. "Then we‘ll set it up."

"Don‘t tell Victoria."

"Why not?" The memory of a snarling cougar came to mind. Twice Vixen had acted—

without thinking—to protect Jamie. "I see your point."

*

Wells considered contacting her by phone. But no, the good sergeant was too adept at sliding past the truth. She should be, Wells thought with a bitter smile. He‘d trained her.

A face-to-face. He hoped she had answers that would satisfy him.

After parking, he wandered down Cold Creek‘s Main Street, pleased with the old-fashioned street lamps that lit the sidewalk nicely. He window-shopped in the small stores that had closed for the night. A movie shoot had set up at the end of the block, and he deliberately moved away from the crowd. Eventually, he crossed to the center of the street and took a seat on an ironwork bench. People-watching was one of his favorite activities.

There she was.

Clad in a khaki uniform, looking very cop-like, Sergeant Morgan walked her beat, watching the people, alert to everything going on. She would make a fine police officer.

He saw the almost unnoticeable hesitation in her stride as she spotted him. She moved out of the light, so he couldn‘t evaluate whether she felt pleasure—or dismay—at his presence. When he ignored her, she did the same. Pride warmed his chest; she hadn‘t lost her skills. She was one of the best.

He stood and stretched, checked his watch, and then walked down the street toward her. He passed her on the sidewalk, eyes flicking to Angie‘s diner. There he could wait in comfort until she found an appropriate time to meet him.

*

Full dark. Showtime. Swane smoothed his short beard, tugged his bus driver‘s uniform straight, and walked away from the vehicle like a man needing supper. Behind him the filming continued, and he almost grinned. The acting in the romance wasn‘t bad; Tony Vidal might actually be making a blockbuster movie. Wouldn‘t that surprise the asshole?

If he lived long enough to see it. Swane snorted in disgust. He‘d finally figured out Vidal‘s problem. The shaking hands, his difficulty controlling his anger, choking on a drink, his weird gait.