Catching the Cat Burglar (6 page)

He reaches out and takes my hand. My blood runs hot and my breath catches. "I'd better start causing trouble now, then."

The restaurant fades away, leaving just the two of us. He's only taken me by the hand, but I feel so aware of him, his body, his skin, his touch, that I might as well be naked in front of his eyes. Exposed. Vulnerable. My every dirty thought written large across my face.

"If you do," I whisper, "I won't be held responsible for my actions."

He leans forward, fingers interlacing with mine. "Good." His voice is a low, sexy rumble. "I want you to see you at your most uninhibited."

My heartbeat is deafening in my ears. I swallow hard to try to clear the dryness in my throat. Alarm bells are going off in my mind. Warning klaxons flashing red. We're fast approaching a point of no return. I have to work with this man, a faint voice tells me. He's my boss. For at least two more weeks. So as much as it kills me, as much as I want to keep pushing the envelope, I pull my hand free of his and smile regretfully at him.

"You'll have to wait, then. Two more weeks." The sounds of the restaurant come filtering back, the clink of knives on plates, the lowered voices around us, the faint music from hidden speakers. "Only then will I be given the state-appointed authority to arrest you."

I see a flash of disappointment in his jade eyes, but it's subsumed by the smoldering intensity of his heightened interest. "Two weeks," he says, "is a very long time."

I laugh weakly and pick up my wine glass. "I'm sure you'll survive."

Chase smiles and shakes his head, then signals for the check. I sit back. I'm all tingly, energized and exhausted both, worn out by the intensity of my emotions and my need, and only more attracted to this stranger, this impossibly hot man, this Chase Xavier who in just one day has turned my whole life upside down.

Chapter 6

By night, Honeycomb Falls is a completely different village. Gone are the tourists come to inspect the bridge of flowers or the hikers hanging outside Mindy's General Store. The tables outside Helen's Gypsy Cafe are empty, and no cars rumble over the truss bridge. The antique street lamps emit a soft orange glow, and if you look at the streets just right with half-closed eyes, you can almost imagine that you're all alone, that all the wonderful people that make this village a magical place have disappeared.

I step out of the police station, tug at my uniform to try to make it a little more forgiving of my curves, and zip up my leather jacket. It's like a World War II bomber jacket, with a fur collar and everything. I don't know who owned it before me, but they left it soft and broken in, delicious and snug in this bitter cold.

The buzz from the two glasses of wine has faded, but not the hum of excitement that dinner with Chase infused in my body. I feel dangerous, alive, sharp and ready for action. Preferably it would involve Chase's sculpted body, but for tonight I'll settle for catching the cat burglar. I've got only a few days left before the chief passes me over. I have to make each one count.

I step down onto the sidewalk, and a little shape separates from the shadows and comes bounding over to me. "Woof!"

I stop. "Groofy. I thought we had a deal."

He wags his little broken tail so hard it shakes his rear back and forth. Then he rises up onto his back legs and stands with both forepaws folded, mouth open, grinning at me. "See this? For some reason standing on my back legs gets all kinds of people to give me things. Now, why is that? Maybe because it makes me look more like a human?"

I place my hands on my hips. "Well, explaining the trick stops it from working. I'm not giving you anything."

He drops to the ground, and I swear he gives a little doggie shrug of his shoulders. "I didn't expect you to. You're a harder nut to crack than that."

"Oh? And you think you can crack me?"

He grins, his bushy whiskers parting to reveal his crimson tongue. "Course! I know just the trick. I'll be swimming in gravy and rolling in steaks for the rest of my life."

"Now, this I have to hear." I can't help it. His oversized confidence contrasts so sharply with his scruffy little self that I have to fight to not smile.

"I'm going to help you catch this cat thief. You claim all the credit, I claim all the steaks."

I consider his offer. He does have talents I don't have. That, and for once the dark streets of Honeycomb Falls don't look quite as serene and safe as they usually do. There's a killer prowling the hills, and what's to stop him from coming into town? Both of the full-time officers are out patrolling in their cars tonight, driving around the outskirts of town, keeping a wary eye out for trouble. Still, a little company while I walk about would be welcome.

"Fine. Exactly how much steak will be negotiated, but I can guarantee a fair amount.
If
you're instrumental in catching the thief. Just hanging around won't cut it."

"I never 'hang around', I'll have you know. I always have a purpose. Even if I'm not yet sure of what it is. And." He pauses and steps up to me, sniffing sharply at my pants. "There's a very faint smell of werejaguar on you."

"What?" I nearly jump. I look down at my uniform pants. I haven't worn them in two days. "How? These have been in my locker. Are you saying the thief took them and then put them back?"

Groofy shakes his head from side to side. "Weirder things have happened. But it's very faint. Strange."

"Very." I consider my uniform again, and try to imagine the thief wearing it. Too bizarre. "Well, let's get going."

I like to vary up my route, but there are a few spots I always like to check. Tin Pan Alley is one, leading off of Bridge Street to Art's little indie movie theater. It's a claustrophobic passage by day, and something right out of a noir movie by night. It's empty, though, so I keep going. I usually scramble down to the boulders that surround the pool at the base of the Honeycomb Falls waterfall, picking my way by moonlight to check for what crime novels call 'floaters', but tonight I decide to give that a pass. The odds of the thief being down there are nil.

I'm heading down Conway Street, Groofy trotting happily at my heels, when I see the front door to Anita's new bakery standing open. It's past midnight, and all the lights are out. Anita's not due to arrive for another three hours, when the dough she prepared during the evening has sat long enough to be ready for the oven, so what's going on?

I know, deep down in my heart, that she probably just forgot to lock the door on the way out. This is Honeycomb Falls. The wind must have pulled it open. But still. A little thrill of excitement runs through me, and I lick my lower lip and put my hand on the mace canister at my belt. "Ready to investigate?"

Groofy steps up to the door and sniffs. "I smell boysenberry bear claws. Treacle tarts. Chocolate-filled croissants. Blueberry muffins. Rhubarb and strawberry tarts. Sourdough. Coffee - "

"Yes, yes." I step up next to him and peer into the dark. "It's a bakery. Got it."

"And werejaguar," says Groofy.

A thrill of fear runs down my body. I gulp and look down at him. "You sure?"

He nods. "Yup. Fresh and strong."

I take a deep breath. I know what I should do. I can hear the chief's voice loud and clear. If I come across any sign of trouble, I call for backup. I under no circumstances investigate by myself. I am not to act like a hero.

My heart is pounding. I grab my walkie-talkie and press the button. "Bardwell? Do you copy?" Saying things like that makes me feel awesome.

"This is Bardwell."

"The door to Anita's bakery is standing open, and I've reason to believe there's a thief inside. Over."

"Copy. Hang tight, Kilmarten. I'll be there in five."

Five minutes? The thief could be long gone by then. I lower the walkie-talkie and bite my lower lip. Everything is silent. The faint light that filters in through the large front windows causes shapes to loom out of the gloom. Should I wait? I should wait. But then I imagine telling Chase about tonight's adventure. How I hung around on the pavement until the real cops showed up.

That cinches it. I push open the door and peer into the bakery. It's strange to see it dark and still. Ever since Anita opened it last month it's been packed, sometimes with a line literally stretching down the block as people from all over Franklin County drive in to taste her amazing cakes, tarts, pies, and muffins. I lift my pocket flashlight and flick it on, and sweep the bakery with its light.

Nothing. Everything is in its proper place. Groofy is standing between my ankles. I'm about to ask him if he's sure the werejaguar is in here when I hear a creak. It comes from the back of the bakery. It could just be the building settling on its foundations. But I know it's not. I look down at Groofy. "You stay out here."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I'm telling you to. Now wait for me." So saying, I step into the bakery, cross to the end of the counter and duck under it. The door to the kitchen is one of those swinging doors, a porthole centered at the top. Whoever is back there can see the glow of my flashlight through the little window. They know I'm here.

"All right, you're under arrest," I say, trying to project authority and confidence. It comes out like more of a squeak. "Come out, nice and easy, hands up."

I wait. Nothing. I wipe my sleeve across my forehead. Now what?
Go outside and wait for Bardwell
. That's the wise move. Going into the back of the bakery by myself is definitely not the smart move. It's the kind of move silly women make in horror movies. The kind of move that gets them killed. But I think of Chase's green eyes. Think of my father's years serving and protecting. Think of what kind of woman I see myself as. The brave kind, one who takes risks to catch the bad guys, or the safe kind, who waits for others to show up and take over the situation?

I start to push open the swinging door, take a deep breath, and then shove it all the way open and step inside, whipping my flashlight from side to side, searching for the intruder.

I see gleaming chrome tables, the big oven, massive mixing bowls, windows to the little parking lot out back, shelves of cook books... Where is he? "I know you're here!" I call out. "Come out!"

"Well, if you insist." The voice comes from right behind me. It's smooth, an amused drawl, lazy and utterly confident. Before I can spin around, a large hand closes around my shoulder. It's bigger than a human hand. I can feel the sharp prick of claws. The grasp is powerful and firm, and holds me locked in place.

My eyes go wide. The werejaguar. Dear lord, I'm alone in the dark with a criminal shifter. I don't have a chance. What was I thinking? That I'd drop him with a can of mace? I feel him lean in close and inhale deeply at the nape of my neck. The hairs there stand on end. His breath is a low, strangely alluring rasp, almost as if he's on the verge of purring.
Say something, stupid! Don't just stand here!

"You're under arrest," I say. I feel like I'm floating six feet above my body. "Let go of me immediately."

"Hmm," he rumbles, voice right against my ear. I can feel the tickle of his whiskers. "I don't know if I want to do that. You're so delicious to hold onto."

There's something familiar about him. Something about his sexy voice. Where have I heard it before? It's the kind of voice you want to drown in, masculine and predatory, undercut with a hint of promised danger. And suddenly I'm not sure I want him to let me go. I want that powerful hand to move over me, to touch and explore where he will.

What is
wrong
with me?

"You're not going to get away with this," I say. "We
will
catch you."

He rumbles in amusement, and I'm supremely aware of his body behind mine, his massive jaguar presence, lethal and dangerous beyond compare. "Then I'd better make the most of my freedom. Would you blame me for wanting to spend those moments with you?" His rumbling voice makes me want to melt into him. "To hold you? Caress you? Kiss you, lick you, make you scream?"

My mind is racing. I need to act now before things spiral out of control altogether. How can I salvage this situation? I'm having such a hard time focusing. His magnetic presence is mesmerizing.
Get it together, Jo! Surprise him!
My dad's voice comes through loud and clear in my mind. I gather my wits. I don't have much time. He may be interested in playing games, but I'm here to arrest him.

So I use my dad's favorite trick. The one I never thought I'd actually get to use in the real world, the one that cracked me up when he told me about it.

I raise both hands as if I'm under arrest, and say loudly and clearly, "But what about the parade?"

There. In that one moment of confusion as he tries to figure out what the hell I'm talking about, I feel his grip weaken. I spin around with all my strength, slamming my forearm into his wrist, breaking his hold altogether. I'm free - but I'm not done yet. Because I've raised my hands, my mace is already in position. I complete the turn and fire it in his face.

But he's
fast
. Goodness, he's so fast. I see a blur of pale gold fur covered with black spots, and he's gone. Panicked, I wheel around, trying to track him with my flashlight as he bounds over the central table with a laugh, moving with such lithe athleticism that I know I don't have a chance in hell of catching him. He crouches, and just as I train my light on his powerful body he leaps, up and into the shadows, and actually dives headfirst out an open window.

I run to the back door, unbolt it and throw it open. Step out into the crisp night air, pulse racing, and sweep the parking lot with my flashlight. Empty. He's gone. There's a knot the size of Rhode Island in my throat, my hands are shaking, and I've got nothing to show for my attempted arrest but the intruder's trailing laughter as it fades away into the night air.

I didn't even come close to stopping him. He escaped with ease. And in truth, he could have done so much worse. I'm lucky he didn't take advantage of me when he had me in his power. I hug myself tight, fighting the dirty thoughts that come creeping unbidden into my mind. What did he say?
You're so delicious
. His voice right in my ear, his presence in the dark magnetic, electrifying. What if he had unbuttoned my shirt and slid his hand inside it, to cup my breast? I shiver, and then shake my head.