Wild Cat (6 page)

The leopard returned from the bathroom to leap onto the bed. The movement, as fluid and graceful as it was, sent waves of excruciating pain through the animal—through Siena. The cat forced its head out the window, looking at the tree branch that curved invitingly close. One leap and she would be gone. It was close to midnight and few people would be out. She could get to her car and escape.

The sound of a gunshot was loud, reverberating through the house—coming from downstairs. Deep inside the leopard, Siena froze. Opened her mouth in a silent scream. She knew. She knew the gunshot had come from downstairs, and her grandfather was down there. Four more shots were fired. She winced with every one.

The leopard whirled around as Siena, without any real thought, seized it, forcing herself to the forefront, shifting back in a sea of pain as her ribs protested. She found herself on the bed, naked, the itch settling down as the leopard withdrew. It had wanted to run free, but it had immediately obeyed when she called it back.

Siena pulled on her clothes as fast as she could with her ribs screaming at her. They hurt far more now than earlier and she knew shifting had somehow aggravated whatever damage Paolo had done. Quickly she moved the dresser and chair and hurried out of her room to the landing to lean down over the railing.

Men moved in the house, guns drawn, as if searching. She recognized Alonzo as he raced up the stairs. His eyes
were moving around, searching every alcove before coming back to rest on her face. For the first time ever that she could remember, there was compassion in his gaze.

Her knees sagged. She gripped the bannister for strength. “Nonno?” She hadn't kissed him when she left the room. She hadn't told him she loved him. She did love him. He was her only relative. The only person in her life that cared about her. He'd done terrible things, but she loved him.

“Siena.” Alonzo said her name. And that told her everything.

She started down the stairs. He caught her arm, bringing her to a halt. “He was executed, sweetheart, and it isn't pretty.”

She nodded, swallowed hard and inhaled the scent of gunpowder. It was on his clothes. All over him. She didn't react, but moved away from him, down the stairs. She had to see for herself.

Paolo met her at the doorway to the sitting room, reaching for her. She evaded his hand, but she caught the scent of gunpowder again. It was much stronger and she knew. Siena raised her eyes to the man who had murdered her grandfather. Maybe both had. Alonzo and Paolo.

Paolo ignored her attempt to elude his grip. He caught her bicep in a strong grip and tugged her to him. “He's dead, Siena,” he told her.

She knew that already without looking. Death smelled. Her leopard recognized the unique scent. She smelled the blood as well. She nodded and looked away from Paolo to the chair where her grandfather always sat. He was slumped back, blood pouring down the back of his head into the fine material of his chair.

“You can't touch him, we've called the police.”

“I want to go to him.”

“It's a crime scene, Siena,” he explained, as if she were a child. “You can't touch him or anything around him.”

“What happened?” She already knew what happened. “I heard you arguing.”

He didn't deny it. He nodded. “Yes. We argued.” His grip on her tightened. “Over you. What I did to you. It got heated. I was angry and I went to the kitchen to cool off. He wanted his nightcap, and Alonzo had come in to take over for me and he went to the bar to get it for Tonio. We heard the shot. Both of us ran, each from a different direction, to the sitting room.”

He was lying. She heard the lie in his voice, but it was not only plausible, he was so good at telling the story that she would have believed him had she not been able to smell the lie. Smell the gunpowder. Smell the rage lingering in the room. Already sirens could be heard in the distance.

“I heard more gunshots.”

“We saw a man disappearing through the connecting door, over there.” He indicated the door behind her grandfather. One had to have intimate knowledge of the house to know the door existed. It looked as if it was part of the wall.

“A man?” she echoed.

“We were fairly certain Elijah Lospostos would retaliate, but this soon?” Paolo shook his head.

She shook her head. Now he wanted to make her believe that she had sex with the man who murdered her grandfather. She couldn't tolerate his touch one more moment. “I need to sit down, Paolo. I think I'm going to pass out.”

He immediately led her to a chair just outside the door to the sitting room. Alonzo had already let in the police. Paolo and Alonzo immediately turned over their guns and gave their stories. She knew the bullet that had killed her grandfather wouldn't match either gun. Still, she knew Paolo and possibly Alonzo had killed him.

The first questions the police asked after inquiring if she had seen anything or anyone were about what had happened to her to get the cuts and bruises on her face. She made up a story about working out with Paolo in the gym, boxing earlier, and she'd taken a couple of hard punches. They discovered the state-of-the-art gym complete with boxing ring and martial arts equipment and they seemed to believe her.
Paolo raised his eyebrow at her and nodded as if he was pleased with her story when the detective went to him to confirm what she'd told them.

Hours later, after answering question after question, her ribs burning and her head throbbing, after crying her eyes out until she was certain she had no tears left, her grandfather's body was gone and the detective was still talking to Paolo and Alonzo. She knew it was now or never. Paolo was watching her like a hawk. Her grandfather's murder had been about her. About her declaration that Antonio find her another man to marry because she wouldn't accept Paolo or Alonzo. She knew her grandfather had known she meant what she said and he argued with Paolo about it.

Maybe the two men had conspired to kill her grandfather in order to take over his business. And they needed her to do it. She was directly responsible for her grandfather's death. There was no other way to look at it. She knew Paolo had mentioned that her grandfather was in a feud with Elijah Lospostos. She knew because she had been questioned closely. She denied knowing anything about it, because she didn't know they were in a feud. Only that her grandfather had sent a hit man to kill him, and no one mentioned that.

“I'm exhausted and I need to lie down.” She looked up at Paolo as if for permission. As if she were looking to him now that her grandfather was gone.

Instantly satisfaction crept into his eyes. Solicitously he went to her, taking her arm to help her out of her chair. “The house is a crime scene,
cara
. You will have to sleep in the guesthouse. The detective said the gatehouse and the guesthouse can be used. You take the guesthouse. Alonzo or I will be watching over you.”

She bit her lip and looked up at the officer who had come over to stand beside her. “I'll need clothes,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again. She had to allow Paolo's hands to steady her when her ribs screamed at her and her legs
shook. “I don't know what I'm going to do.” And she didn't. She felt more lost than ever.

“I'll go up with you,” the officer said gently. He looked compassionate.

“Alonzo, keep an eye on her,” Paolo said. The officer raised an eyebrow, and Paolo shrugged. “We're not losing her too. They shot him right under our noses.”

Alonzo trailed after them. She packed as many clothes as she could without looking suspicious. Most importantly, she packed one of her best suits, and went out to the guesthouse with the policeman and Alonzo. An idea for escape had formed. Two years earlier, on a visit home, she had overheard Paolo and her grandfather talking.

Her grandfather had mentioned a man named Drake Donovan. The reason the conversation and name impacted her so much that she remembered was because Antonio sounded admiring. He had told Paolo that Donovan headed a security company and the man was incorruptible. He said if any of Donovan's team or Donovan himself was involved in any way in security or any of the problems the man took on, everyone else should stand down and walk away, no matter the cost of losing to him. She'd also heard that Donovan was a friend of the local billionaire, Jake Bannaconni. She had no idea where to find Donovan, but Bannaconni had offices in downtown San Antonio.

The moment she was safely in the guesthouse, she took a long hot shower, wincing as she lifted her arms to try to cope with the mass of wild hair falling past her waist. So much of it. She thought about grabbing scissors and whacking it off, but it would only grow thicker and longer and drive her crazy, so she left it down to dry after squeezing all the water out of it with a towel. Very, very carefully, she applied makeup over her bruised, swelling eye and the lacerations at her temple. Thankfully, most of the damage Paolo had done couldn't be seen when she wore clothes.

He would come to check on her, or Alonzo would, so she left her bag packed, slipped into the bed and waited, praying they would come while it was still dark enough for her to slip away. She couldn't drive her own car because the garage she'd parked in was attached to the house and part of the declared crime scene, but there was another garage down by the winery where the cars her grandfather collected were installed. All keys were hung in that garage and she had the password to the lock.

She sat for a long time, her hair falling all around her, afraid to actually go to sleep. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she was exhausted, and she couldn't miss her opportunity. By tomorrow, Paolo would have her grandfather's army of men looking for him to give the commands, and he would assume that role. He would also act as if she belonged to him, and the men would take it for granted that she did.

She tried to take a deep, calming breath, but her ribs protested and she forced herself to just sit, mapping out every move of her escape. They didn't know about her leopard. That would be her first line of escape, but she had to find a way to take clothes with her. When she heard the soft footfalls—and it was more a feeling than an actual sound—she slid between the sheets, swung her head to allow her hair to fall over her face, closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Paolo stood over her for a long time and then his fingers brushed at her hair with surprising gentleness. “Siena?”

She lifted her lashes instantly, but didn't move her head. “Is something else wrong, Paolo?” Her voice trembled. She knew she gave the appearance of being broken. Fragile. Lost. Because she was. Letting him see that vulnerability aided her this time.

“No. I'm just checking on you. The doctor said he could give you a sedative.”

“Please tell him thank you, but I'm so tired I think I'll sleep for a month. I don't want to face this. What will I do without him?” Her voice broke, and it wasn't even feigned.

“I'll look after you, Siena. Go back to sleep.”

“Paolo? If he was a leopard, a shifter like you, won't they find out when they do an autopsy?”

He brushed back her hair with his fingers. “Don't worry,
cara
, your grandfather's body will never be autopsied. There will be a fire tonight. Now, go to sleep.”

She closed her eyes obediently and was a little surprised when his thumb slid over the bruises on her face and the two cuts, as if he could erase them. She waited until she sensed he was gone and then she waited a half hour more, her heart pounding. If she did this, if she tried to escape and he caught her, he would be furious, worse than when she'd come home with Elijah's scent on her.

She could stay. Stay with a man who beat women. Who murdered her grandfather. Who wanted her for the money and power she could bring to him. Siena threw back the covers and sat up gingerly, one arm around her middle. It wasn't happening. She'd rather die trying to get out than be forced into a situation that would be that intolerable.

She packed her clothes, rolling them into a tight pile and slipping them inside a backpack she'd found in her closet when she was packing. That had given her the idea. She included her driver's license and credit cards and all the cash she had in her wallet. Makeup, hairpins and a brush followed, and there was really no room for anything else.

Stringing the backpack loosely around her neck, she stripped and moved to the window, raising it up quietly. She stood there listening. Scenting the air. She knew Alonzo was out there, on the other side of the house, by the front door. Outside the bedroom window, the manicured lawn stretched out for several feet to the strips of plants and then behind that, the wilder, bushier plants before the roses and grapes of the vineyards extending behind that.

She called up her leopard, uncertain what she was doing. Coaxing. Needing. At once the animal responded, pushing to the forefront. Siena had forgotten the agony as the cat
pushed against her sore ribs. It hurt so bad this time she saw spots on a field of black and had to blink rapidly to clear her vision.

Then the leopard stood where the human had been, the backpack hanging around her neck, heavy, but doable. She wanted to roar with elation. Instead, she directed her female out the window and across the lawn. The cat used a slow, freeze-frame stalk, crouching low, to cross the lawn. In the distance, she caught sight of Alonzo, but the wind was blowing in the opposite direction and if he was a cat—and she suspected he must be or he wouldn't have been named by her grandfather as a possible spouse—then he could catch the female's scent if the wind shifted.

Siena wanted to scream at the cat to hurry, but she left the leopard alone, allowing it to make its way safely across open ground. They made up time in the heavier foliage and then used the vineyard. The leopard made a wide circle, backtracking to the large building on the other side of the massive winery. She sent her leopard a million thanks, lots of warmth and shifted back to her own body. She found herself on her hands and knees, her body aching, her joints painful, but she was free—or almost. The door to the garage was right in front of her and she punched in the code without even dressing first. Once inside, she hurried to the bathroom there, dressed hurriedly in her suit, left her heels off, put her hair up, and flung the backpack on the front seat of the Mercedes.