Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) (7 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So. I have a plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

―Thank you. What now?‖

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

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

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

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

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

Across the hall, a wide door stood open. ―This is a token kitchen only, nothing fancy. We serve peanuts and popcorn.‖ A small table and chairs were angled into one corner. He handed her a black apron, notepad, and pencil from the wall shelves. After explaining the popper, he pointed to the massive dishwasher and sink in the back. ―Filling and running the dishwasher is one of your duties. I‘ll show you how later tonight.‖

As they reentered the bar, she turned and looked down the hallway, checking lines of retreat.

Just in case. Five doors. Kitchen. The far end with an EXIT sign. One with an OFFICE plaque.

One open to a stairwell leading upward. The last door was noticeably heavier than the others and boasted an expensive electronic combination lock. Odd. Did he keep money or valuables in that room? Why not in his office?

In her experience, locked doors hid all sorts of interesting things. And what kind of reaction would she get for asking? She pointed to the door. ―What is that—‖

―I believe you are ready to begin,‖ he interrupted. He nodded toward the fireplace area.

―Start with that table.‖

A few feet away, she stopped and frowned. The damn man had the unconscious authority of an officer, one that assumed others would do as ordered. She snorted. They probably did. Just look at the way she‘d reacted.

Of course, she‘d been in the military for years. Her obedience didn‘t surprise her—but never before had a commanding tone made all her girlie-bits tingle.

* * *

Alec wandered into the Wild Hunt about eleven that night. A cold beer would go down good right now.

He‘d have arrived earlier if two human teens hadn‘t stolen Devlin‘s beloved Mustang for joy-riding. Dev had jumped into his pickup and pushed them off the road, unfortunately denting the Mustang‘s door. Alec had arrived just in time to keep him from shifting into cat form.

Herne help him, it had been a close thing. There was a reason Daonain lived only in small towns or villages—they rarely had enough control to live in a city. Tynan O‘Connolly was one of the few living outside shifter territory, and most people figured he was a little crazy to go play cop in Seattle.

Far better to be the sheriff of a sparsely populated, mountain county. Smiling, Alec pulled open the tavern door and was engulfed by the scent of fresh popcorn and the sound of Rosanne Cash. Every table was taken; a normal crowded Friday night. In the clear space by the jukebox, three college-aged women tried to line-dance, their boots so new the toes still gleamed.

When he saw a couple snuggling on the fireplace couch, envy washed away his pleasure.

When was the last time he‘d shared the enjoyment of a crackling fire with a female?

As he raked his hair back, he puzzled on it for a moment. Sex during Gatherings was just sex and didn‘t count. There had been that time with Tina, but she‘d merely wanted to warm the sheets. He fingered the ridges still healing on his neck; a screamer and a scratcher—she might as well have been in cat form. That wasn‘t what he called snuggling by a fire.

He shook away the unreasonable loneliness and decided Calum‘s new waitress would be an excellent diversion. Not only a pretty female, but one who‘d aroused his curiosity. He glanced at the barmaid‘s station. The adjacent stools were occupied by two men in their twenties. Red eyes.

Acrid stench. Obviously stoned as well as drunk. Now, would Calum be annoyed at losing paying customers?

Alec grinned. He hadn‘t pulled his littermate‘s tail in a while. Assuming his favorite I‘m-a-bad-ass-sheriff expression, he crowded into the men‘s personal space. As a cop, he knew the risk, but hell, he hadn‘t had a good fight for days.

The man nearest the barmaid station scowled without turning around. ―Get lost, asshole.

His friend puffed up belligerently, and then caught sight of the sheriff badge. And suddenly, Alec had possession of two fine bar stools.

―You should be ashamed of yourself,‖ a husky voice said just behind his shoulder.

He turned with a grin, already knowing who spoke. ―Me? I didn‘t lay a hand on the lads.‖

She frowned at him, pushing her full, dark red lips together, luring him into running a finger over her lower lip. Velvety soft and—

There was nothing soft about her glare.

―Oops,‖ he said mildly and stuck both hands into the air. ―No excuse for that, Ms. Waverly, but it does bother me to see you frown. Your mouth—‖ No, not a good topic. ―You‘re a lovely woman, and you do pull at a man.‖ A shame he couldn‘t add that her forbidding expression didn‘t match the fragrance of her attraction to him. A person‘s scent didn‘t lie, and hers was pulling him to her like a dog on a leash. Odd that a human‘s scent could be so attractive.

However, he really had overstepped the bounds of politeness. ―I‘m very sorry, ma‘am.‖

She made a sound in the back of her throat, almost a growl. ―Call me Vicki. You make it hard to stay pissed off, you know.‖

―There‘s a mercy. I‘m Alec.‖ He took her tray and set it onto the bar, then patted his newly acquired stool. ―Take a break. Give your feet a rest.‖

―In this crowd? Fat chance.‖

After glancing at the orders on her tray, he slid the tickets down the bar to his brother.

Calum gave him a narrow-eyed look, but held silent.

―It‘ll take him a few minutes to make those fancy wine coolers up,‖ Alec said. ―Must be from that bunch of yuppies by the window.‖

―Dead on.‖ She eyed the stool with such longing it broke his heart. Forgetting she wasn‘t Jamie, he moved to pick her up and set her there. She knocked his arms away with a pair of hard cross-blocks.

―Ow.‖

She winced. ―I‘m sorry. My ribs are sore, and… I didn‘t mean—‖

―Who beat you up?‖ The words escaped before he could recall them, and damn, he hadn‘t even had a beer yet to act so addle-pated.

She slid onto the barstool slowly, obviously stalling. ―No one. I was clumsy and had a bad fall.‖

Sure she did. ―Now I don‘t mind being told, ‗That‘s none of your business.‘ But I‘ve been a cop a long time, and the one thing I truly hate is being lied to.‖

Flushing, she turned away.

Having made a bit of a study of liars, he appreciated that she didn‘t protest her innocence like a chronic liar would do. ―Thank you, Ms. Vicki,‖ he said softly.

She shrugged, set up her tray with the new drinks, and waded back into the crowd.

As he watched, she dispensed the glasses, each to the correct person, and took more orders.

Her gaze danced across the room, the tables, and he could see her calculating who needed a drink, who to check on next. He‘d known from the quickness of her responses to him that she was smart, but now, he realized she was cannier than he‘d figured.

He frowned. The expert fighting skills Calum had mentioned weren‘t easily acquired and showed she had discipline and determination. Apparently she hadn‘t been anxious about getting a job. She had no family here.

What‘s she doing in Cold Creek?

* * *

After locking the cash into his safe, Calum walked back into the main room. Almost done for the night. Only the little human waitress remained.

She‘d managed her first day quite nicely. As he wiped down the bar, she picked up the last few glasses from the fireplace mantle. Moving rather stiffly, wasn‘t she? He felt a twinge of guilt. He‘d had her start on the busiest day of the week. Then again, she‘d been invaluable. Rosie couldn‘t have kept up. The waitress had staggered out an hour ago, muttering about retirement in her rough voice.

Calum drew two beers and cleared his throat. When she turned, he said, ―Let us celebrate your first successful evening. Come.‖ He led the way to the fireplace. A fire elemental lay curled on the glowing coals. The salamander looked up hopefully, but Calum shook his head slightly.

He wouldn‘t be adding more wood this late.

After setting their drinks on the table, he sat on one couch.

She took the couch across from him and picked up her beer. ―This is a nice way to end a busy evening.‖

―Indeed. After this much activity, it can be hard to settle.‖ He studied her before taking a drink. ―Have you been a waitress before?‖

―Oh, I‘ve tried my hand at some of everything,‖ she said lightly. She had a low voice like brushed silk, pleasant to the ear.

And he could recognize evasion when he heard it. Would she recognize persistence? ―Are you a native of our state?‖

Her eyes narrowed a little. ―‗Fraid not. I was an ambassador‘s brat. Lots of states, lots of countries, lots of homes.‖

―That‘s a hard life for a child. I‘ve heard it‘s even harder for the mothers.‖

She shrugged. ―My mom died when I was young and we didn‘t have any family, so my father dragged me with him anytime he couldn‘t hire a housekeeper to leave me with.‖

Motherless, homeless—had her father filled the gap? A man dedicated to a political career.

Doubtful. ―Then you were exposed to many cultures growing up?‖

―Exposed? That sounds nasty. But yeah.‖

She might fit in better than he‘d anticipated. The question was how would the human-haters in town react? He picked up one of the checkers pieces and noted a spark of interest in her glance. ―You play?‖

―It‘s been years.‖

―Then it is time.‖ He set the game up. ―What brought you to Cold Creek? We don‘t get many tourists this time of year.‖

She shoved her first piece forward. ―I‘ve always wanted to live in the mountains.‖