Tempting Faith

She looked shocked. “No, why?”

He shrugged, as well as he could, supported by the crutches. “You seemed upset. I thought maybe you were afraid your husband or significant other would get the wrong idea.”

“No husband,” she said shortly. “I live here alone. We’d better get your leg bandaged.”

“Good idea.” The mention of his wound made it ache more.

He followed her toward the main building. They passed the narrow road. “What’s down there?” he asked.

“The Big House.” She reached the glass door and held it open. “I don’t live there anymore. There’s an apartment in this building, at the end of the hall. It’s easier to stay here. I use the Big House for fund-raising parties and that sort of thing.” She closed the glass door behind them.

He turned and looked at it. “No lock?”

“Just on the side facing the parking lot. The scent of the cats keep four-legged intruders away. I need to be able to get out of here quickly, in case something happens.”

He swung the crutches forward and moved to the front door. Cheap lock. He shook the door. It rattled. He shook it again. “Some security. Anyone over a hundred and forty pounds could break through this just by running up and hitting it with his shoulder.” He glanced around at the foyer. A couple of chairs and a vinyl sofa stood on either side of the front door. Long hallways stretched out toward both ends of the building. He looked at the low ceiling, then at the wide windows on either side of the front door. “Alarm? Video?”

She shook her head.

“But you have special cameras to watch the cats?”

“They get priority.”

“Not anymore. I’m going to call Jeff with a supply list. You need new locks and a decent gate. Some kind of security system. How often you get up in the night?”

“Depends. Why?”

“Motion detectors.”

“Wouldn’t work. Sparky usually has the run of the place. Come on, that bandage needs changing.”

He followed her down the left hall. The linoleum had seen better days, and the walls needed painting, but everything was clean. Prints of big cats hung on both walls. Sparky?

“Who did you say named him?”

“Edwina. He was her favorite.”

He should ask exactly what kind of cat—or lion or tiger— Sparky was, but he didn’t want to know. Faith led him into an examining room. From the placement of the metal table and the size of the cage in the corner, he knew she treated her cats here.

“Have a seat,” she said, patting the metal table.

He set the crutches against the wall and swung himself up. “You know what you’re doing?”

She opened a metal cupboard door and rummaged around inside. “Does it matter? I’m the only one here.”

“I could change it myself.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I know enough not to kill you.”

“Great.”

He shifted his weight and scooted back on the table until he rested against the wall. The throbbing in his leg increased. “I assume the ‘package’ Jeff wants me to protect is really a three-hundred-pound feline.”

“Nope. Closer to twenty pounds. I’ll introduce you to them in the morning.”

“Them?”

She looked amused. “Twins.”

Twins? Cort fought back a sigh. Jeff was going to owe him big-time for this one, he thought, then turned his attention back to Faith.

She placed scissors beside him, along with clean bandages, antiseptic and a damp cloth. Her long light brown hair fell over her shoulders. She reached in her front jeans pocket and pulled out a rubber band, then drew her hair back and secured it. After washing her hands, she looked at the bandage.

“This may hurt. You want a stick to bite on?”

He looked at her. “A stick?”

“You’re a spy. That’s what they always do in the movies. I thought it might make you feel better.” Her lips remained straight, but humor danced in her eyes.

“You’re not digging out a bullet.”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

She picked up the scissors and cut through the bandage. It fell away revealing his blood-covered leg. Cort told himself it looked worse than it was. Faith didn’t even blink. She picked up the damp cloth and began cleaning his skin.

“Here,” she said, pointing at but not touching the incision.

“You pulled two stitches. I’ve never sewed up a person before. Would you mind if I used a butterfly bandage instead?”

“Not at all.”

She worked quickly. After wiping away the dried blood, she doused the wound with antiseptic and then taped it closed. She wrapped gauze around his calf and secured it firmly.

“That must hurt a lot,” she said sympathetically. “There should be pain medication with the other pills Jeff gave me. I’ll grab them from the truck. Be right back.”

He was too busy staring at her to answer. Faith Newlin knew about guns and big cats and did a great field dressing. None of this made any sense.

She returned with his duffel bag and the containers of medication.

“Just as I thought,” she said, tossing him a bottle.

“Great,” he said, as he caught it. “First thing in the morning, I’ll get on the horn to Jeff and get your security under control.”

He slid to the edge of the examining table and stuffed the medicine in his pocket. She handed him his crutches and led the way into the hall. Two doors down she entered a small room. There were rows of file cabinets, a bare wooden desk and a cot against the far wall.

“It’s not much,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to get a bedroom ready for you up at the Big House. Plus, I want to keep an eye on you tonight.”

He lowered himself onto the cot. The blankets were soft, the pillow down-filled. “I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a bathroom across the hall. It has a shower built in. Do you want to try it or wait?”

He shifted his injured leg, and pain shot up to his thigh. His head still throbbed. “I can wait. Thanks.”

She set his duffel bag on the desk and opened the top side drawer. After clicking on the desk lamp, she pulled out his shaving kit and began putting his clothing in the drawer.

“I can do that,” he said.

“You’re dead on your feet. I don’t mind. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He leaned back and let the exhaustion flow through him.

When she finished unpacking, she folded the duffel bag on top of the desk and left. She was back almost immediately, carrying a glass of water.

“For your pills,” she said.

He raised himself up on one elbow, dug the pills out of his pocket and took one out. As he reached for the glass of water, the light from the lamp caught the side of her face and her neck. Dark bruises stained her honey-tanned skin. He drank from the glass, then set it down on the floor without taking his eyes from those marks. Time and his job had changed him, he knew. But when had he crossed the line and become a brute?

She sat next to him on the cot. “What’s wrong?”

“I hurt you.” He raised his hand and gently touched the side of her throat. She stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. Her warmth contrasted with his cool skin as he brushed one finger down the smooth length.

“I told you I understood what happened,” she said. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“A high price to pay for a mistake.” He dropped his hand back to the cot.

“I’m not afraid. I won’t startle you again, so you won’t have reason to hurt me.”

“A hell of a way to live.”

“For you or for me?” she asked.

Blue eyes searched his, looking for something he knew didn’t exist. Humanity, the connection, the bonding of two souls. It was beyond him, always had been. He held her gaze, let her search, knowing she would seek in vain.

When he didn’t answer the question, she leaned forward. “You don’t believe me. That it doesn’t matter, I mean.”

“No.”

She thought for a moment, as if trying to find a way to change his mind. “We had a mountain lion here once. I was pretty new at the time, still idealistic.” She sat up straighter on the cot. “He’d been a pet, then abused and abandoned when he got bigger. By the time he was brought to the way station, he was skinny, bleeding and mean. We patched him up and fed him. It wasn’t enough. His leg got infected and required surgery. After the operation, he was pretty out of it. I went in the cage to change his bandage and give him water.”

She moved down a little on the cot, so that she was sitting by his thighs instead of by his waist. She began unbuttoning her blouse. He ignored his surprise and forced himself to hold her gaze and not follow the movements of her fingers. But in the periphery of his sight he saw the blouse fall open. She held it together just above her breasts.

“I hadn’t bothered to check to see if he was still sleeping. I crouched down to pick up his water bowl.”

She turned away from him and shrugged out of the shirt. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Her blouse slipped off her left shoulder. Cort stared. From just below the nape of her neck, across the top of her back, along her shoulder blade and ending on the back of her arm, four scars traced the route taken by the lion’s claws. The parallel lines puckered in some places, as if the depth of the slashing hadn’t been uniform.

“He was awake and he attacked me.” She pulled up her blouse and turned to face him. “I was lucky. I got out before he really hurt me.”

Though she held the front together, he could see the paleness of her chest and swelling curve of her breasts. Her choice in lingerie matched the rest of her wardrobe. Sensible cotton trimmed in a thin ribbon of lace. A female who dismissed the need to entice a man with satin, though her choice in perfume was anything but pedestrian.

“Do you see why I’m not afraid of you?” she asked.

No. He and the mountain lion had little in common. The creature of God killed for food or to protect itself. Cort killed because it was asked of him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Sleep now,” she said. “I’ll be right down the hall. If you need anything, call me.” She rose and walked to the door.

She stood there watching him. Although her hands clutched her blouse together, he could still see the top of one breast. The unexpected view of that female curve hit him low in the gut, spreading need throughout his body. All cats are gray in the dark, he reminded himself, then closed his eyes. Maybe. But something told him Faith Newlin was a special brand of cat…and one he should leave alone.

* * *

He could hear the tide lapping against the pilings that supported the dock. And he could smell salt air.

The warehouse.

Cort shook his head to clear it. Was he meeting someone, or picking something up? Why couldn’t he remember?

Something was wrong. Danger! He heard it, felt it. A voice called to him. Dan? He had to get out, to run. The explosion! There wasn’t time. He spun to leave, but something blocked his way. Danger! Run!

“Hush, Cort. You’re safe now.” Gentle hands pressed against his shoulders.

He forced his eyes open. Instead of a damp South American warehouse, or even the fires of hell, he stared into wide blue eyes and inhaled the scent of French perfume.

“Je t’aime.” he murmured.

“A lovely thought,” the woman said, then smiled. “But you’ve just met me.”

“Your perfume.”

“Ah. Yes. That’s it.”

He blinked several times to clear his vision and his head. Everything came back to him. The time in the hospital, the cats, the woman. “Faith.”

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

He sat up. Sometime in the night, he’d woken up enough to strip off his clothes. The sheet pooled around his waist. He raised his arms above his head and stretched. “Like a new man. What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

He’d been out almost fourteen hours. “Guess I was tired.”

“Guess so. You want some breakfast?”

His stomach rumbled.

She chuckled and rose to her feet. She looked fresh and clean. Her long brown hair had been pulled back into a braid. Jeans and boots covered her lower half, but the plaid work shirt had been replaced by a pink T-shirt. She handed him the crutches.

“I put your shaving kit in the bathroom,” she said.

He took the crutches and pulled himself to his feet. As he rose, he realized he was wearing nothing but his briefs. A quick glance at Faith told him she didn’t even bother to look. Yeah, he’d impressed the hell out of her.

He took an experimental step. The leg felt stronger and his head didn’t hurt anymore. He rubbed one hand over his face. Stubble rasped against his palm.

“I need a shave,” he said.

“When you’re done, I’ll have breakfast ready.” She ducked ahead of him in the hall and tossed a pair of jeans and a shirt into the bathroom. “The towels are clean. I put a plastic bag out, so you can shower without getting the bandage wet.”

Before he could thank her, she was heading down the hall. Her braid swayed with each step, as did her curvy hips. He stared after her until she turned the corner.

By the time he’d made himself presentable, he could smell food cooking. He followed the delicious odors past two more offices, through a door marked Private and into a small living room.

“Faith?” he called.

“In here.”

He maneuvered the crutches around the maple coffee table and rocking chair into a cheery yellow kitchen. A Formica table stood in front of a bay window that looked out into the forest. The stove appeared to be older than he was and the refrigerator older still by ten years. But everything gleamed in the morning light. He sniffed, smelling mint along with the cooking.

Faith looked up from the stove. “I hope scrambled is all right.” She motioned to the table. “Have a seat.”

She’d set a place for him and lined up all his medications in a row. A glass of orange juice sat next to a cup of coffee. He looked at the setting, then at her. “Very nice. Thanks.”

He pulled out a chair, sat down and sipped the coffee. She served his breakfast, then poured herself a cup and took the seat opposite him. A stack of papers rested in front of her. As she studied them, she nibbled on the corner of her mouth. Was it worry or simply a habit? Who was this woman who took in stray lions and spies? He buttered the toast she’d made, then sorted through the jars of jelly.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Mint. I can smell it. Can’t you?”

She looked down. “Yes.” He could have sworn her shoulders were shaking.

“What’s so funny?”

She looked up, her face expressionless. The innocence didn’t fool him. “Nothing,” she said.

“Sure.” He cautiously took a bite of the eggs. “This is great. I was half-afraid you’d feed me cat food.”

“Eggs are cheaper.”

He heard a rumble, like a low-flying plane. The sound continued for several minutes as he ate, then it stopped. He chewed a mouthful of food and swallowed. “What do the cats eat?”

“Anything I can get my hands on. Chicken mostly. The bones keep their teeth clean and exercised. Sometimes hunters leave me extra venison.”

“Must get expensive.”

She nodded. “The biggest cats eat up to fifteen pounds a day.”

The rumble started again, broke, became an almost coughing sound, like someone sawing wood, then resumed. “What the hell is that?”

“What?”

“That rumble. Can’t you hear it?”

She chuckled. “I’m so used to it, I only notice when it’s not there.” She glanced at his plate. “Are you done?”

“I guess.”

“It’s never a good idea to have food around when you meet Sparky,” she said.

“Sparky?” He remembered his vision of the mean black alley cat. That was when he’d assumed Faith’s cats had been the ten-pound, domestic kind. “Sparky isn’t what I think, is he?”

“Probably not.” She pursed her lips together and whistled softly, first a high, then a low tone. “Sparky,” she called. “Come.”

From a room beyond the kitchen, the rumble stopped for a moment. Cort heard the scratchy coughing noise again, then the sound of a thick chain being dragged across the linoleum floor. What he thought was a shadow cast by the overhead lights quickly became a very large, very black, leopard.

“Holy—”

The animal approached slowly. Yellow eyes, more almondshaped than round, flickered around the room, then settled on him. As the cat walked over to Faith, the smell of mint grew. Cort realized it came from the animal. “Sparky,” she said, patting its head. “This is Cort.”

The black leopard continued to hold his gaze. The rumbling went on. The cat’s massive head rested on Faith’s thighs. Powerful muscles rippled as the animal sat down. A faint pattern of spots was barely visible in the dark coat. Its long tail moved back and forth in a slow but menacing rhythm.

“Is this your idea of a pet?” Cort asked, wondering what Jeff had been thinking of when he’d sent him here.

“No. Edwina is the one who took him in. He was less than four weeks old when his mother died. He was hand-raised after that. Edwina couldn’t bear to put him in a cage, so here he is.” She rubbed the animal’s forehead, then scratched behind its ears.

Like a huge house cat, the leopard arched toward the stroking and butted his head against her leg, asking for more. This gentle butt, however, nearly knocked her out of her chair.

“Easy,” she admonished, giving the animal a slight slap on its shoulder.

Sparky was properly cowed and broke his gaze with Cort to glance up at Faith and yawn.

A perfect domestic scene, if he ignored the glistening teeth designed to rip and tear flesh and bite through bone.

“Why does he smell of mint?” he asked.

“Leopards conceal their own scent. In the wild he’d use certain herbs or animal dung.”

“I can see why you’d want to discourage the latter.”

“You bet. There’s a mint patch for him out back.”

“Where does he sleep?”

“In the office.” Faith continued to stroke the leopard. “Or with me. Give me your hand.”

He offered his left.

Faith grinned as she took it. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

“I don’t take chances.”

“Sparky won’t hurt you without provocation. He’s just a friendly little kitty, aren’t you, boy?” She found a particularly sensitive spot behind its jaw, rubbed vigorously, and the purring deepened.

Faith laced their fingers together. “Sparky,” she said. “This is Cort. He’s going to be staying here awhile.” Her soft voice, slightly higher pitched than her normal speaking tone, soothed both him and the cat.

The leopard remained indifferent to the stranger’s hand being drawn closer and closer to his head. Faith continued to stroke the cat. She moved her free hand lower onto the animal’s shoulder and placed their joined hands on its head.

Cort resisted the impulse to pull back. The short black fur felt coarse under his fingers. Thick, not at all like a domestic cat. But everything else seemed familiar, just on a larger scale. Ears moved back and forth as if following the conversation. The rumbling purr continued, unbroken, except when Sparky shifted to lean more heavily on Faith.

Power, Cort thought, looking at the long legs and thick ropes of muscle visible under the fur. A perfect killing machine. Elegant. Beautiful. A creature without a conscience. Is that what Jeff saw when he looked at him?

“He likes most people,” she said, patting Sparky with his hand, then slipping her fingers away.

He hesitated. Their eyes met, and he continued stroking the cat. “Most? When do I find out if I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“He wouldn’t have come in here if he didn’t like your scent.”

Sparky straightened, as if he’d just realized Faith wasn’t the one touching him. He rose to his feet and walked the two steps over to Cort. Even though the kitchen chair was relatively high off the ground, Sparky practically stared him in the eye. The cat sniffed at his hand, then his arm. Cort wanted to get the hell away, but he held his position. He knew that much.

Predator to predator. He recognized Sparky’s need to understand the intruder. If this was her chaperon, it was no wonder Faith wasn’t married.

Sparky made the coughing sound again, then turned away and walked next to the refrigerator. The one-inch-thick chain trailed behind him. The rumbling purr became a humph as he laid down, then resumed.

Faith began to clear the table. When she went to put the butter away, she nudged Sparky out of the way so that she could open the door. Cort wasn’t sure if he should respect Faith or have her committed.

“Do you want to drive around the compound?” she asked. “I’ve cleared my morning so that I could show you anything you would like to see.”

Before he could respond, a loud shriek pierced the morning. Even Sparky stopped purring.

“Damn,” Faith muttered, apparently more annoyed than concerned as she walked out of the room. “What are you two up to now?”

Cort grabbed his crutches and followed her. The shrieks came again, this time followed by plaintive mewing.

“You can’t be hungry,” Faith said, moving down the hall toward a dim light in a room on the right. “I just fed you.”

The mewing got louder. Cort continued to hobble behind her. When they entered the room, he saw a big cage that filled most of the floor space. Inside, blankets formed a soft nest. Newspapers lined a far corner of the cage. The striped bundle in the middle of the blankets moved as they walked closer. Two white tiger cubs looked up and mewed piteously.

“Here they are,” Faith said as she crouched down beside the babies. “Jeff sent them along to me last week.”

“This is what the reporter was after?”

“Yes. They were confiscated at the border. Something about being added to the collection of some big-time crook.” She looked up and smiled. “Think you can keep them safe?”

* * *

William Thomas paced the small motel room. He needed a drink, but he couldn’t afford to miss his phone call. What would happen to him now? he wondered for the hundredth time. What would they do to him? Second chances didn’t exist in his organization. But it hadn’t been his fault. They had set the rules. No killing, they’d insisted. If he’d iced the border control officer none of this mess would have happened.

He swallowed thickly and again wished for that drink. Maybe he could run to the liquor store across the street. It wouldn’t take long and—

The ringing of the telephone cut into his thoughts. He picked it up immediately.

“Yes?” he said curtly.

“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Thomas.”

“I know. It was an accident. The rules I had to work under were too restrictive.”

“I don’t care about accidents. I want the job done.”

“Of course.” William forced himself to speak calmly. The fact that they hadn’t killed him yet meant he might be given the chance to redeem himself.

“Our mutual employer is still out of the country,” his caller said, the voice low and cold. “You have exactly twenty-one days until his return. If the cubs are recovered by then, he would be very forgiving of your little accident.”

“I can get them back. As soon as I find out where they are—”

The man on the phone cut him off again. “They were on the news last evening.”

“What? The cubs?”

“Yes. A reporter, a James Wilson, filed a story. Locate him and you’ll locate the cubs.”

“Consider it done.”

“Mr. Thomas, I shouldn’t have to remind you that you can’t afford to make another mistake.”

William wished he could ignore the implied threat, but doing so would cost him his life. “I need to be able to do whatever is necessary,” he said. “You can’t tie my hands and then complain that the job isn’t done.”

“Recover them. At any cost."

William nodded. He’d just been given permission to get rid of anyone who stood in his way. Better. Now he could finish the job. “You can count on me.”

“Twenty-one days, Mr. Thomas. Our mutual employer spent a lot of money on the cubs. They are the centerpiece of his collection. If you don’t succeed, we will be forced to discontinue our association. Do you understand?”