For Your Paws Only (Supernatural Enforcers Agency #2) (11 page)

“So what are you going to do?”

Cutter shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t done anything wrong, so there isn’t any evidence against me.”

That was kind of a half-truth. He still intended to look into Clayton’s death. Whatever little faith he had in Diaz’s abilities had completely evaporated during the meeting they just had. Cutter didn’t trust the cat to give Clayton the justice he deserved. However, Cutter wasn’t going to do it to exonerate himself; he was doing it for Clayton.

Lucie nodded. “They’ll see that they’re making a mistake soon.”

“I hope so,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry about what’s happening, but I have to go,” she told him reluctantly.

“Got a date?” he asked hotly, thinking of the lion shifter.

The warmth and feelings between them disappeared in an instance, and Lucie almost burst into tears at his abrupt change, but she stood her ground and jutted her chin.

“No, actually, I have work to do. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

She ducked out of the closet with her head held high, and Cutter punched the wall. What the fuck was wrong with him? She provided him comfort and helped him, even though nothing he had ever done warranted that tender attention from her, and then he turned around and virtually slapped her in the face.
Couldn’t he have just said thank you?!

He shook his head as he tried to reach out to his wolf. His mood swings were just another reason why he forced himself to stay away from Lucie, why she couldn’t be his mate. The sucker-punched look on her face said it all. How could he live with seeing that look every time he acted like a bastard? Because he would, again and again.

There was no point in dwelling on the matter. He’d been over it more than a thousand times, and every time he did, he came to the same conclusion – that Lucie was better off without him. So why couldn’t he just let her go and be done with it?

“Fuck,” he breathed, on seeing the fist-sized dent he just made in the wall.

He moved some cleaning products in front of it and made his way out the closet, making sure no one saw him. Could have been anyone…

*

“Move out of the fucking way, grandpa!” Cutter muttered furiously.

He swerved around the Buick, pushing down on the accelerator. The rain pelted his SUV, rolling down the screen in waves. The wipers squeaked as they worked overtime to clear the view of the road. Cutter growled and squinted through the glass. Even with his enhanced vision he could barely see anything.

Vaguely, he considered that maybe he should slow down a bit, but he was too pissed and too eager to get home. His run-in with Lucie had made him horny and his altercations with various other people throughout the day had depleted his short fuse. He wanted to get home, try and get his dick into a more manageable state and then crash in front of the TV while drinking as many beers as he had in his refrigerator.

He had spent a frustrating hour on the phone to his bank, yelling at them to correct their mistakes and trying to return the money they had put in his account. But, no matter how much he screamed, it seemed that they didn’t want to do that. They were adamant that the money was meant to be his, and that someone – they refused to reveal who in spite of all his threats – had purposefully wired it to him. The perky bank employee on the phone suggested that maybe he had a rich uncle who had died. Cutter hung up at that point.

His team – or at least, the three remaining team members – had caught another case. It was a murder-suicide, which pretty much solved itself, so he sent Wayne and Avery to deal with it. Realizing that other agents were giving him the cold shoulder and looking at him askance, Cutter left and went out searching for homeless people who knew his hedgehog victim. Apparently, false rumors of his involvement in Clayton’s death had started to spread. It didn’t take much for people to think badly of you. The Agency was worse than fucking high school he thought, grimly.

So, to recap, one of his oldest friends had just been murdered, his colleagues suspected he had something to do with it, he was being treated like a leper at work, he was no closer to solving his case, he’d managed to treat Lucie like crap, he was in possession of two hundred grand of unaccounted money and it was raining.
T-fucking-riffic.

Well, at least the weather matched his mood.
Miserable
.

Dale tried to entreat him to go out to the bar, but damnit if he wasn’t sick of that place. Knowing his luck, he’d run into Lucie and Doctor freaking Perfect. No, his current situation called for drinking alone.

His wolf was still out of sorts and off balance about what happened earlier. The sullen beast was sulking and licking his wounds. He really had been ready to tear both Diaz and Primrose new a-holes… Thank every god in the heavens that Lucie had been there to stop him. Maybe he should say thank you to her.
With his dick
. Cutter scowled at the thought. He was too damn randy to be thinking about anything with any clarity at that moment. Although, if he spent the night with her, she might forget about a certain lion shifter…

Cutter let out a roar as he pulled into his buildings parking lot. His fucking neighbor, Wozniak, was in his space. He fought the urge to jump out and shred all the dickhead’s tires with his claws. Hey, the idiot was driving a Volkswagen Beetle – what kind of grown man drives one of those?! They were sweet sixteen gifts to perky girls.

Ah, what was the fucking point? Tires screeching, Cutter pulled into the spot next to him and only dented the Beetle ever so slightly when he slammed his door into it. He didn’t have time to call Wozniak out on it; he had bigger fish to fry.

He trudged up to his apartment, shaking his head, dislodging the beads of rain from his body. He made his way into his apartment and froze.
Something was wrong
.

Quietly he closed the door behind him; standing stock still, he sniffed. He couldn’t scent anybody else, but there was still a strange smell in his apartment. Usually, the place smelled of his natural scent, sweat, beer, pizza and the shower gel he used –
it was blueberry shower gel, okay?
He took great pleasure in spreading it all over his body – well, he took great pleasure in spreading it up and down one particular part of his body.

Tonight, however, there was a strange lack of scents. There wasn’t a new scent; it was just that the old scents – the ones that should have been present – weren’t as powerful. It was almost like they were neutered - like someone had been spraying deodorizing spray, purposefully to cover up their own scent. Shit, maybe someone had been there.

Cutter pricked up his ears, trying to detect foreign noises. He heard the ticking of his bedside clock and the gentle thrum of his air conditioning unit. The patter of rain strummed against the windows. Through the apartment on his left, he heard the whiny barks of Wozniak’s dog and to the left the muted sounds of a TV. They were watching a game show if he wasn’t mistaken.

Hesitantly, Cutter stepped inside the hall, making the way to his kitchen. He didn’t really think anyone was there, but he needed to be certain. He left the lights off and moved through the dark with stealthy ease. He may have blindfolded himself numerous times when walking through the apartment when he first moved in to ensure that he knew the layout. It was a trick he’d learned from his army days when he went on black ops missions.

As he made his way into the living room, a faint metallic smell caught his attention. He ignored it for the moment and checked out the other rooms. Finding them all clear, he returned to the living room and sought out the origin of the strange smell.

Cutter knelt on the floor and peeked under his battered and scarred coffee table – something that came with the apartment.

“What the fuck?” he breathed.

He ran to the kitchen and found a dishrag. He used it to pick up the gun that was lying underneath his coffee table.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he muttered, eyeing the piece.

Cold dread poured through him. This definitely wasn’t his gun. He didn’t leave it there. So, someone broke into his apartment and left it there. Someone who managed to do it without leaving a trace other than a weird lack of smell. Why would someone go to the trouble of doing that?
Someone was trying to frame him
. That had to be it, otherwise, why go to all that trouble?

What the fuck was he going to do? He knew what he should do; he should take it directly to the SEA and tell them everything. But would they believe it? It was a pretty unlikely story. His gut instinct, one that his wolf actually agreed with, was to dump it. But, no, he couldn’t. He was a federal agent – he couldn’t just dispose of potential evidence? What if it was the gun that killed Clayton and Marie? They needed to analyze it. It might lead to the real killer. Although, if it was that gun, clearly the killer was confident that it wouldn’t.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck fuck!
What if he…

His thoughts were interrupted by ferociously loud banging on his door. He looked at the door, trying to sniff out who was on the other side. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Open up, Cutter, we know you’re in there,” yelled Diaz.

“We’re going to count to three and then we’re coming in,” added Primrose. “Don’t make us use force.”

His wolf howled. They were here to arrest him. If they wanted to talk, they would have asked him to come into the office. They were going to arrest him.

No, he couldn’t allow that. If he were trapped in a prison cell, how could he prove his innocence? No, he wasn’t going to let them take him.

The door burst open, shattering off its hinges. Cutter dropped the gun as agents streamed into his apartment. He ran for the bedroom as agents shouted out stop and don’t run. Yeah, like he was really going to stop!
When did shouting that ever work?

A gun fired a couple of times and bullets seared their way into his leg and shoulder. Blistering pain immediately burned through him. His whole body felt like it was on fire. The urge to stop and clutch at his wounds was immense, but his wolf pushed him on, driving him to escape.

He heard Diaz yelling, “What the fuck, Harvey?”

Cutter ignored it and slammed his way into the bedroom. He was out the window and down the fire escape before they even realized what he was doing. The moment his feet hit the ground, he shifted, tearing through his clothes.

His wolf pounded away from his building, whining at the pain coursing through him but not daring to stop for a second. He ran and ran, slipping through back alleys until the sirens petered out. He stopped, panting and whimpering. The rain was slick against his coat and blood dripped off him, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain.

His body was cramping, and the pain was only getting worse. His vision started to blur, and he feared the worst – they had used silver bullets. At that moment, the poisonous metal was making its way through his system, tainting his body. He wasn’t sure if he could survive them.

He felt the pangs of sadness over death, but he gave himself a mental roar and told himself to get it together. He wasn’t dead yet. He pushed himself to move, and, instinctively, he started making his way to the one place he wanted to be at that moment.

Chapter Eleven

Lucie waved at the car again. She clutched her umbrella and inwardly grimaced as she plastered a fake smile on her face.

“Please, just go,” she hissed quietly through gritted teeth.

With one final wave, the BMW drove away, and Lucie sighed in relief. Fumbling in her purse, she searched for her keys.

It had seemed like such a good idea to walk to work that morning. How was she to know the heavens would part, torrential rain would fall, and she’d grudgingly agree to get a ride home from work with Rick rather than risk being swept away? She was in absolutely no mood for his flirty behavior and his smiles and honeyed words had just served to irritate her.

Lucie immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t Rick’s fault she was in a bad mood; she shouldn’t blame him for it. She was sure any other woman would find him charming -
any other woman who wasn’t hung up on a moody, asshole wolf who was confusing the hell out of he
r. Her hedgehog sighed. Earlier, she thought they were really getting somewhere until he turned stone cold in the blink of an eye.

She got it. He struggled with his beast and his moods. But surely if today had taught him anything, it was that she was capable of dealing with him when he was at his most deranged. Why did he persist in thinking that she couldn’t handle anything he dished out? Sure, they’d fight now and again, most likely over his unreasonable behavior, but they’d make up, too. She didn’t expect their relationship to be cupcakes and sprinkles every second of every day, so why wouldn’t he give her a chance? Maybe she should kidnap him, tie him to a chair and smother him with love and kindness until he gave in and admitted he loved her.
She was veering into Misery territory again
.

She pushed the door open, shook out her umbrella and gladly stepped inside. Oh, she was looking forward to a nice, hot bath, a glass of wine and then a bit of alone time with her battery operated boyfriend. Yeah, she was pissed at Cutter, but having been in close contact with his body, and being pressed up against his obvious arousal, had definitely riled her up and she could do with a little tension relief.

Lucie shucked out of her coat and frowned as her hedgehog snuffled uneasily.
Something was wrong
. She prickled as she sensed another presence in her house. Please no, not an intruder. Would they mind leaving quickly so she could get on with her night? She hesitated by the door, trying to scent who or what was there. She almost gagged at the blood mixed with what? Wet dog? And something else, something else much more enticing; mmmm, it smelled like fresh apple pie - Cutter’s delectable scent.

“Lucie…” breathed a faint voice.

Oh no, Cutter.

Lucie rushed into her living room; she flipped on the light and squealed as she found Cutter, naked, lying on her couch and bleeding profusely. Her eyes flickered up and down his body, taking in every inch of muscle and a collection of wicked scars that adorned his torso.

“Cutter!” she wailed as she ran to him, kneeling beside him.

His eyes flickered open, barely focusing on her. “Lucie,” he smiled faintly.

Gingerly, she pressed the skin around the two wounds on his body. “Cutter, can you hear me? What happened?”

“Shot… silver bullets…”

“Oh! Cheese and crackers!” Lucie bit her lip. “How long ago? I don’t want to turn you over,” and doubted she was strong enough to do so, “do you know if the bullets are still in you?”

“Think… hour… yes…”

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No… can’t… no…”

“Cutter…”

“You smell like… like the lion,” he murmured. Even in his weakened state, he managed to look furious. “He didn’t… he didn’t touch you?”

“Of course not,” she growled as forcefully as a hedgehog could.

He raised a hand and ran his fingers over her cheeks. She choked back a sob at the tingles his touch elicited. How would she cope if she lost him?

Cutter rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “These lips… these are all mine. So beautiful… all mine.”

“You’re delusional,” she said dismissively, ignoring the thrill she got from his words. “We need a doctor.”

“No… no one but you.”

She thought of Rick. “I could ask…”

His eyes flashed to dull amber. His beast may be in agony, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight. “No… not the… fucking… lion… he’s a… a… fucker.”

If Lucie weren’t so worried, she would have rolled her eyes.
At least Cutter was consistent
. She dithered for a couple of seconds before jumping to her feet. “I’m going to…”

“Don’t leave me!” he cried hoarsely as he moved to stop her. He gritted his teeth as no doubt pain shot through his body.

“Relax,” she ordered authoritatively. “I have to get those bullets out. I need some tweezers. Wait here,” she added unnecessarily.

She ran from the room to the kitchen, she set her kettle going before digging out some tweezers, bandages and filling a bowl with water and searching for a new washcloth. Her hands shook, but she didn’t falter. She’d worked in an ER before; she could handle gunshot wounds. Of course, she was always assisting a doctor, and she’d never worked on the man she loved before… but darn it, she could do this.

Lucie pulled on some plastic gloves and carried everything into the living room. She bit back a whimper on realizing that Cutter’s breathing was slowing. “No, no, don’t you dare.” She slapped his face a couple of times. “You are not allowed to die on me, mister. We still have unfinished business.”

Cutter wheezed out a chuckle. “Not… going… anywhere…”

“You better not,” Lucie muttered as she set about cleaning the wounds.

He hissed at the pain but forced himself to remain still. He was struggling, and she could only imagine what he was going through. While she remained calm on the outside, her insides, and her hedgehog were quivering worse than jelly.

“Okay, baby, you’re doing really well.”

“Thank you… nurse…I get a… will I… get a… treat?”

Lucie gave him a wan smile. “I need to dig the bullets out; I have some painkillers, but they will make you drowsy and...”

“Just… just do it.”

“This is really going to hurt,” she warned him uncertainly.

“I can take it,” he told her firmly as he dug his fingers into the couch, claws and all.

Lucie let out a deep breath before grabbing the tweezers and digging into his shoulder. Cutter’s whole body tensed and a deep growl reverberated in his throat. She worked quickly and felt collected enough that her hands didn’t shake. She wouldn’t allow herself to mess this up. Soon enough, she found the bullet and then moved to his leg and found the second bullet.

She sat back on her heels panting as if she’d run a marathon.
Yeesh, that was the hardest thing she ever had to do.
Cutter relaxed back into the couch and closed his eyes.

The worst of it was over. The silver was out of his body and it meant that he could actually heal himself. She considered whether it was worth trying to stitch up the wounds, but decided against it. His shifter healing ability would take care of that pretty quickly. He would be in some internal pain for a couple of weeks, but outwardly, he would be okay.

Collecting herself, she ran to the kitchen and got a fresh bowl of water to re-clean the wounds. She was pleased to find that they had already stopped bleeding; his body was already repairing itself. She had once operated on a shifter who had been shot with a silver shotgun cartridge, and his stomach was riddled with pellets. They couldn’t find them in time to prevent him from dying. His screams of pain haunted her to that day.

She worked diligently and soon had his wounds clean and dressed. She looked up to find him watching her.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice already stronger.

Lucie bit her lip as she looked over her bloodied and clawed couch. She could care less about the piece of furniture, but she didn’t really want Cutter to fall asleep on it. “Do you think if I supported you, you could make it upstairs?”

He thought about it for a few moments before nodding. She disappeared to turn down the bed for a few minutes and returned with some painkillers. She stood over him, tapping her foot until he took them.

Soon enough, they were struggling up the stairs. He grunted at the pain of trying to move his injured leg, and she puffed at the effort of trying to carry a huge wolf shifter.
Thankfully, she only had a small house.

She arranged him on her bed and pulled the cover over him. “Not exactly how I pictured getting you into my bed,” she whispered to herself.

Cutter chuckled, and her cheeks turned pink. Clearly, she hadn’t whispered that quietly enough.

“Lucie,” he reached out and snagged one of her wrists, pulling her down to the bed, so she perched on the edge. “Thank you, for helping me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Hush now,” she soothed while plumping his pillows.

“If I’m going to die…”

“You’re not going to die,” she corrected him forcefully.

Cutter shook his head. “If I’m going to die, I need you to know… I really want to fuck you before I die.”

Lucie pursed her lips at his extremely unromantic sentiment. “How lovely.” She decided to put that down to the painkillers. With any luck, they would do their work, and he’d be snoring in a few minutes.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s just do it, but I’m sorry, I’m not feeling my best, you’re going to have to do most of the work. Climb on.”

He started pushing back the covers, unveiling his taut, delectable body and his surprising erection that pointed at the ceiling. Lucie made herself look away as she grappled with him to pull the covers back up. If she looked, she might actually be tempted to, as he said,
climb on
.

Finally, Cutter gave in, but only because he fell asleep, and she covered him. She sighed as she watched him sleep. He really was perfect - so masculine and so roughly handsome. She reached her fingers to his body, tempted to trace the scars that graced his frame. To leave marks, those injuries must have hurt and silver must have been involved, but they didn’t detract one iota from his gorgeousness. Now he had another two scars to add to his collection. Her hedgehog whimpered in pleasure at seeing him in their bed.
Although, she really wished it hadn’t been under these circumstances.

Lucie dragged her feet to the bathroom and took a long, scalding shower as she worried about what had led him to her. She couldn’t even begin to guess. Someone had shot him –
well, yes, obviously
. Someone who meant to kill him - given that they used silver bullets, that was a definite. Cutter didn’t want to go to a hospital. That part worried her the most. As much as she would like to think that Cutter came to her instinctively because he needed her above all other people, she knew his actual first port of call would have been a hospital. If he didn’t want to go to one, it meant he wasn’t prepared to answer any cops’ questions. That didn’t bode well.

Whatever had happened, she needed to wait for him to be coherent to find out. She was sure it would be reasonable. She was a little uneasy about that. She was sure that Cutter was a good guy, but he was also kind of prone to being hotheaded and irrational. She just hoped that whatever the situation, it could be salvaged.

Her fingers traced over her lip where Cutter had touched her. He said she had beautiful lips. He said they were his.
He was delirious from pain
. With a sigh, she finished her shower.

Lucie pulled on some flannel pajamas and curled up in the recliner in her bedroom reading a romance novel. She felt too wide-awake to sleep and wanted to be there in case Cutter needed her. Her eyes flicked between her book and her patient until, surprisingly, her eyes drooped and she slipped into slumber.

*

Cutter jerked awake and sat up abruptly. Ignoring the unusual throb in his shoulder, he bared his fangs and reached for his gun. He patted the bed beneath the pillow and frowned as he found it empty and discovered that the bed sheets were soft and silken under his touch – that made a change from itchy and scratchy.

His wolf stopped howling and instantly calmed as the smell of blueberries enveloped them. Cutter looked around the room and his eyes alighted on the huddled form of Lucie. She looked tiny curled up in the recliner.

The events of the evening flooded back to him and he rubbed his fingers over the bandages Lucie must have placed over his wounds. He remembered getting shot –
damn hard to forget
– but everything after that became a little blurry. He escaped his apartment and realizing that his injuries were serious – nigh on fatal – he made his way to the first person he could think of.

Perhaps he should have bit the bullet – pardon the expression – and took his chances at a hospital or a free clinic, but, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was going to survive, and he wanted to be with Lucie. A million regrets had fluttered through his mind, but chiefly among those was the fact that he wouldn’t get to see his son again and that he had never given Lucie a chance. In the absence of Dean, who was living with his mother back in Georgia, he ran to Lucie. Plus, Lucie was a nurse, so it worked out well. The sharp pain lingered, but he already felt better.