Catching the Cat Burglar (7 page)

What on earth am I thinking? I immediately grab my walkie-talkie and press the button. "Bardwell? The suspect just fled the bakery, out through the back into the parking lot."

"Damn it, Kilmarten!" Bardwell is normally as cool as a cucumber. "I told you to stay the heck out of there!"

I wince. "I'm sorry. I didn't want him to escape."

"Well, get back out onto Conway Street. And don't do anything else!"

"Copy," I say miserably, and hustle back outside.

Groofy leaps up as I emerge. "You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," I snap. "Did you think I was going to die?"

"Yeah," says Groofy with disarming honesty. "I was about to start the grieving process."

I cross my arms and look up and down Conway Street. No sign of Bardwell yet. "I didn't know you cared about me."

"Oh, not you. I was going to start grieving for the steaks." He sniffs at me, walking in a circle. "You ran into him."

"Yeah. Then he got away. He's damned fast."

"Uh-huh." Groofy sits and scratches behind his ear. "Shifters all are. You won't catch him by running after him. You have to make him come to you."

I go to say something sharp and witty and mean and then stop. First off, just because I'm in a bad mood doesn't excuse my being rude. Second, he's got a point. "How so?"

Groofy lowers his leg. "Well. Set a trap. Like a mousetrap, but for a werejaguar."

"OK, that sounds great in principle, but how do I do that?"

Groofy frowns, and I follow his gaze and see the flashing lights of Bardwell's approaching patrol car. "Set bait, and catch him when he shows up. Find something he would want to steal, and wait next to it."

I don't have time to answer. Bardwell parks sharply beside me and gets out, hand on his holster. His eyes are narrowed. He scans the road, then looks at me, then down at Groofy with some surprise. "You bring your pet on patrol, Kilmarten?"

"Woof!" says Groofy, and wags his tail.

"No, sir. He's a stray that just showed up."

"All right. I'm going to take a look. Make yourself useful and use my car to fetch Anita. The chief's on his way."

I gulp. Great. "Yes, sir."

Sighing, I get into his patrol car and drive over to the large house where Soren rents the top floor, and ring the doorbell.

The werebear opens the front door a moment later, and I gulp. He's only wearing pajama pants, and the sight of his broad shoulders, furry chest, and cobblestone six-pack is almost too much for a curvy gal like me to take. My face flushes as his dark eyes train on me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Jo? What's going on?"

I fight for a professional tone of voice. "Soren, um, hello." Anita is one lucky woman. I fight to keep my gaze from wandering all over his gorgeous body. To the pajama pants that are hanging dangerously low over his hips. "I'm afraid there's been a burglary at Anita's bakery. We'd like her to come take a look and see if anything's missing."

Soren's face immediately darkens with concern, and he nods. "One moment." He closes the door, and I step back to the patrol car. Wait. A shifter thief. I've never heard of the like. Arresting him would take a whole squad of men. Could I do it if I was armed? Maybe. But given how fast the intruder moved, I might just fire shots into the air as he danced around me.

The front door opens and Anita hurries out, face pale, putting on her black glasses. "Jo? What's happened?"

I give Anita a quick hug and then step back, remembering I have to be professional. "Jump in the car. I'll explain on the way over." Which I do, since there's not much to explain. By the time we get to the bakery, Chief LaBonte has shown up, and somebody has switched on all the lights inside. Anita jumps out of the car before it stops moving and runs into her bakery, looking around wildly until I see her calm. Soren and I follow in right after.

Chief LaBonte steps up. "Anita? Can you identify if anything is missing?"

She nods distractedly, checks the register, then moves into the kitchen. We all trail after. "Nothing seems to be missing," she says distractedly, touching everything as she goes as if she's counting off her belongings. We watch. Did I interrupt the thief before he could take anything? A thin ray of hope shines through my gloom. That would be worth something, wouldn't it?

"Wait." Anita pauses, then steps up to a little framed picture of a honeybee. She pushes it aside and reveals a small iron safe, whose face is no larger than a book. "Oh no." She opens the little door without any effort. We all see its empty interior. Anita clutches at her head and turns to stare at Soren. "It's gone! The Elysian honey! All of it, it's gone!"

Chapter 7

I crouch on the corner of the general store's roof, three flights above Conway Street, and watch the scene below as it plays out. One hand grips the brick, the other lazily tosses the fat jar of magic honey up into the air, and catching it neatly each time it falls back down. Nobody looks up. Nobody ever does. Even if they did, would they be able to make me out, silhouetted against the night sky? Maybe. Maybe not.

Joanna is below. She's standing to one side, wearing that police uniform that makes her look so unbearably luscious and delicious. I can recall her scent with ease. Oh, how I was tempted to shift into my human form when I had her in the bakery, and kiss her neck. Reveal myself to her, give up on my planned theft, and run my tongue over her skin? Sink my hands into her gorgeous hair, and pull it just tight enough to make her gasp?

Thinking these thoughts makes my jaguar want to prowl right down there and take her away. Steal her to a hidden place in the dark, where we can lie down and explore each other's bodies. Where I can taste her to my heart's content, taste her sweat, her lips, the slit between her legs. To feel her full body beneath mine, to trace her magnificent curves. To touch her in the way that will make her groan, make her plead for more...

It was a neat trick, that one she pulled. Breaking my grip like that. I thought for one moment, one terrible, aching moment, that she had figured out who I was, had put two and two together and was about to succumb. Then she utterly confused me, broke my grip, and tried to blind me from point blank range.

I grin. Now that's a woman I can admire. Not a pushover. Coming into the dark to find me. To arrest me. I scented her fear. Scented the copper tang of her adrenaline, thick in the air like blood in the water. Yet she still came back there. That took courage. That took will. Not a timid woman, Ms. Joanna Kilmarten.

I watch as Anita and her werebear boyfriend emerge from the bakery, and for a moment I wonder if the bear will look up. But no. He's a cave-dwelling animal. Used to rooting his snout in the dirt, looking for acorns and roots. Bears don't look to the sky. And true to form, he ushers the plump little baker into the patrol car, and one of the officers drives them away, leaving Joanna to get lectured by the police chief. Why is she in trouble? She did her job, as far as I can see. No telling, with humans.

Finally the chief leaves, shaking his head, and it's just Joanna and a little dog standing in front of the dark bakery. She's got her fists on her hips, and seems to be talking to the mutt. A talking dog? I strain and hear words. Indeed. How strange. Perhaps a witch's familiar. Or a spirit possessing the animal? Either way, he doesn't look to pose a threat. The two of them reach an agreement, and the dog trots away, its ridiculously-formed body ungainly and awkward.

Leaving just Joanna, alone in the night.

I stir. Should I strike? Swoop down and scoop her up? I could. I could take her where I will. She might even let me. Be eager. I take a deep breath, and then relax. No, she wouldn't go. Even if she wanted to be with me, she wouldn't let herself. She'd complicate things with her sense of moral duty. Her principles. She'd fight me, and that would ruin everything. I want willing prey. I want her as hungry for me as I am for her.

Then, to my surprise, she looks up. Straight at me. I fight the urge to draw back. Movement draws attention. Instead, I freeze, crouched on the corner, eyes narrowing. She stares up at me, her face a pale smudge below, and then turns to scan the other rooftops, before finally sighing and sinking her hands into her coat pockets and turning to cross the bridge back to the police station.

I relax, yet my esteem for her rises. She looked up. Nobody does that. She really does have good instincts. She'll have what it takes to be a good police officer.

When she's gone, I rise to my feet and consider the honey. I don't have any use for it. Perhaps I could find a way to sell it, but I don't need the money, nor can I be bothered with the effort. I could just throw it away, perhaps. Or return it. That would confuse them. In the end, I slip it into my black nylon bag. I'll keep it for now, a memento of the night's adventure.

I crouch, then leap down onto the roof of the bakery, landing as light as a whisper. Without hesitating, I bound down to the road, and when I step forth from the shadows, I'm in my human form. I open my bag and pull out my clothing, dress quickly, and set off toward my apartment.

Joanna. Dinner tonight was wonderful. Tantalizing. Teasing. She has such an amazing blend of wit and vulnerability: at one moment so shy she'd blush bright red, the next moment leading me on with a knowing glint in her eye. What a woman. And her bare shoulder, how it tormented me all night, speckled with freckles and begging to be kissed. I should have ordered another bottle, or invited her back to my place. To continue the conversation. We could have spoken of books. I could have shown her some of my first editions. Asked her to read me some of my favorite poems...

I frown. How is this going to work out? I'm a thief masquerading as a librarian. At some point people always notice my masquerade, or the chase gets too hot and I have to skip town. When that time comes, would Joanna agree to leave with me?

I pause and blow out a cloud of condensation, staring up at the stars. I try to imagine it. Joanna on the road with me. Finding a new town. A new identity. Looking for a temporary lair from which to strike.

I smile ruefully. No. Never. That's not who she is. The opposite, in fact. So why am I so attracted to her? Why do I want a woman who is my polar opposite? There can be no future between us. So why persist?

Because I want her
, growls my jaguar from deep within my soul. I need her. I need her lips, her body, her gasps, her legs around my waist. It's more than just her luscious body. It's her mind that takes her from gorgeous to irresistible. Her wit and intelligence, her caring and passion. I want her to love me, to need me, to care for me.

Again I stop walking. What does that mean? I'm confused by my new feelings. Would it not be enough to seduce her as Chase Xavier, head librarian of the Honeycomb Falls library? No. It wouldn't. That would be a lie, a distance between us that would prevent me from really connecting. I want her to love the real me, Chase the cat burglar, the thief, the liar and imposter.

Which... isn't going to happen. My upbeat mood crashes, and I scowl and start walking again, scuffing at the icy pavement with the toes of my shoes. If she knew the real me, she'd never come close. Even if she wanted to, she'd be obligated to arrest me.

I sigh. What a mess. Life after Sam seemed so simple. Hollow, yes, and unsatisfying, but I could always move to a new location when my boredom or depression grew too strong. Reinvent myself. Free, ghosting along with the breeze, moving where my fancy took me. But now? Now this woman has sunk her claws into me. I don't want to leave. I don't want to disappear, and put her behind me. I want to get to know her better. Court her. Seduce her. Spend time with her. But how can that ever be?

Instinct causes me to freeze. I snap my gaze to the left and see a huge wolf emerging from the mouth of a narrow alley. It's a monster. Broad across the shoulders, deep in the chest, with jaws like a primordial dire wolf and a pelt so shaggy and scarred it looks like its life has been one long war. Evil yellow eyes are locked on me.

I move. No hesitation. It may be a killer, but so am I. I shift into my humanoid werejaguar form without hesitation even as it explodes into a spring, lunging across the street at me. For all its size it's terribly fast. I leap straight up, my powerful legs sending me shooting up just as the wolf passes through the space I was standing in.

I land lightly on an iron fire escape, which groans and squeals under my weight. The wolf below crashes into the brick wall, and then gathers itself without hesitating and launches itself right up after me, shifting into its wolfman form. Huge claws latch onto the edge of the fire escape, and the whole iron platform shrieks and begins to tear free of the wall.

I curse and leap up again, climbing with all my strength and skill and speed. At the last moment the killer below props itself against the wall and heaves, and the whole fire escape tears free from the bricks. I roar in anger and surprise, and throw myself up, a desperate gamble that pays off. I grab the edge of the roof and haul myself up. The wrecked fire escape crashes to the pavement, but I'm free.

I crouch and peer down at the wolf, which growls impotently at me. It's so freaking huge. I hiss down at it, and then turn and run. I'm not going to give it time to find another way to attack me. I race across the rooftops, leaping over retaining walls, circling around chimneys, leaping over solar panels. I dart over alleys, and finally speed up, sprint with all my strength, and launch myself across the road to land on the ledge outside my window. I lift it open, slip inside, and then press it shut.

I prop myself against the wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths. That was close. It almost got me. I shift down to my human form, and wipe my hand across my sweaty brow. I dump the bag with the honey on my bed, and head straight into the shower. What the hell? The idea of Joanna patrolling the streets at night while that thing is out there chills me to the bone. But what can I do?

I turn the water on scalding and step into the steaming shower. Close my eyes and stand, hands curled into fists, allowing the delicious heat to wash away the tension and fear. Too many problems. Too many questions, and not enough answers. For once, the thrill of crossing lines and taking what I want has failed to cheer me. I feel conflicted, torn, angry.