Bill stayed where he was. He leaned against a wooden pillar, looking like he was about to go to sleep when she found a loose board.
With the discovery, she felt her heart beating a little faster. She set her lantern down and found a finger hold to lift the dusty floor board and peered into the cavernous hole. Perfect in the summer for a nest of rattlesnakes to escape the noonday sun. There, she witnessed the imprint in the dry soil of several elephant-size tusks.
Outside the building, rapid footfalls headed in the direction of the schoolhouse.
She whipped around to see a rifle pointed through the wooden slats of another broken out window. "Get down!" she shouted to Bill.
Getting out of the shooter's line of sight, she dashed for the window that she and Bill had entered. They were sitting ducks inside the schoolhouse.
Shots were fired. In slow motion, Bill barely stood before he collapsed on the floor.
Oh God, no!
She quickly put out her lantern light and head lamp, casting the schoolhouse into relative darkness. She heard the footfalls running for another window so whoever the shooter was could get a bead on her. She shoved the board over the window aside and looked out. No one. She quickly climbed out through the window, the sun setting, but it was still much lighter outside than inside the boarded-up building, the snow making it that much brighter. She headed around the building, listening for heavy breathing, footfalls, talking, anything.
Two sets of footfalls sounded, one coming around the schoolhouse from the north and another from the south side of the building. She was going to be in the middle of a shootout.
Praying Bill would make it, she couldn't quit thinking about him. For now, she had to draw the gunmen away, and she had to stop them before they killed her and finished off Bill.
She raced to the next building over, wishing she was in her cougar form so she could spring and attack. Though even at that, she would only be able to take down one man at a time.
A shot was fired. Instinctively, she ducked. To her surprise, a man cursed a blue moon on the south side of the schoolhouse.
The one on the north side poked his head around the corner of the schoolhouse, and she fired three shots at him, splintering wood on the corner of the building as he fell back. Then she headed for where the other man must have been hit. Bill had to have fired at him from inside the schoolhouse, which gave her hope that he'd be all right.
She reached the front of the building and saw a trail of blood. The gunman had been wounded. Good. But not fatally, or he wouldn't have gotten away.
She needed to get the other man. The uninjured one. Though both could be just as great a danger to her and her partner.
She peered around the side of the schoolhouse and saw the uninjured man heading for her. She fired several shots—stomach, chest, heart. Yet the man still managed to raise his gun to fire at her, and she dove behind the building. Rounds pinged off the edge of the wooden schoolhouse.
Her heart racing, she sucked in cold breaths of air. She listened, hoping to hell the two men would collapse, unable to shoot anyone any further, and she could see to Bill.
But it made her think of what her boss had told her once—how some men could take a lot of rounds and still kill someone before they went down for good. He'd learned that from real life experience. She couldn't chance making a mistake when she was outnumbered at least two to one, if the other man wasn't down for good.
She heard footfalls from the east and realized someone else was coming. The man she had shot had to be gravely wounded. The one that Bill must have hit, might have a minor injury, she couldn't be sure. Now, there was another? She couldn't hope that it was someone who would be on the agents' side.
"Where are they?" a man growled on the other side of one of the hotels.
"The woman's outside of the schoolhouse," one of the men gritted out, sounding like he was in pain. "The other agent is inside the schoolhouse. He has to be dead. I got him, but damn if he didn't graze me."
The gunman wasn't badly wounded then. Damn it.
"Where's Crowley?"
"He's badly wounded near the saloon."
"Shit. Which side of the schoolhouse was the woman on?"
"She was on the east side, but she could have moved by now."
She leaned her back against the north side of the hotel to steady her nerves. Then she came around the edge of the building, staying close to the wall before either man could move from their location at the end of the hotel. Running as quietly as she could on top of the soft snow, thankful that she could hear them with her enhanced hearing, while they couldn't hear her, she reached the corner of the hotel. She peered around the edge to ready a shot.
Dressed in an olive green parka, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, a blond man was holding his arm against his body, dripping blood all over the pristine snow while he was watching in the direction of the schoolhouse. He was a big man and she suspected it would require a lot of firepower and well-aimed shots to take him down. The other was dark-haired, blue eyes, and he was wearing a gray parka, blue jeans, and snow boots. She wondered where he'd been all this time while his buddies were involved in the shootout. The barely wounded man's parka sleeve was covered in blood. He appeared to be getting ready to move around to the front of the hotel away from her.
She needed a better angle, but as soon as she came out into the open, she'd have two guns blazing at her.
She had to take the chance. If either man reached the schoolhouse—if Bill was still alive—they could finish him off, wait for her to make an appearance, and kill her.
She came out from behind the building, fired several rounds at the two men, hoping to hell she hit some vital spots. With her cat reflexes, she dove behind the building while they leaped for cover and shot back at her. Their response was too late. She had already raced to the west side of the schoolhouse in case they hadn't been wounded enough and came after her.
She came around the end of the building to see the badly wounded gunman she had shot earlier propped against the wall of one of the saloons, his brown parka wearing a dark wet spot in the center of his chest, the snow beside him soaking up some of the blood. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened a little. He raised his gun to shoot her, but his reaction was way too slow. Damn it. She wanted to take him alive.
She had no choice. Too many to still battle it out with.
Signaling her position—which irked her to the max—she shot him in the forehead. He fell over and planted his body sideways in the snow. Her heart thundering in her ears, she ran around the opposite side of the saloon before the other men came for her, and waited.
Her breathing still accelerated, she hated the waiting. When she didn't hear anyone coming, she hoped that meant her shots had injured the remaining two men badly enough that they had collapsed like this man had done.
But every minute meant her own partner could be dying. If she were wounded, she had the ability to heal faster than humans could, but her partner was strictly human.
She pulled out her phone. No reception. Great.
She peered around the saloon. She saw only the wooden buildings and snow caught up in the wind, making it look like a snow globe that had been shaken to scatter the snowflakes in the air.
No one was moving about anywhere. Then again, they could have left already, and she wouldn't have heard them because of her own footfalls, heavy breathing, and shooting.
She couldn't wait. Her heart pumping furiously, she crept as quietly as she could. She hated to be between buildings with nothing to duck behind. She finally reached the schoolhouse again, no one on the other side there. One more building to reach and peer around. Fingers crossed that the two men were lying in the snow bleeding out.
She held her breath, knowing as soon as she peeked around the corner, they could both be aiming for her, and she'd be dead.
Listening for heavy breathing, groans, or any other kind of movement that would indicate they were both still there, she closed her eyes an
d concentrated.
Nothing.
She peered around the church. The two men were gone. Red blood stained the white snow, and footprints and bloodied spots on the snow led away from the town.
They appeared to be on the run.
She wanted to take them down. God knew she wanted to stop them before they got away. But she couldn't. She had to go back to Bill.
She dashed to the schoolhouse and slipped in through the boards over the window. She grabbed her field pack and the lantern, and ran across the wooden floor to see to Bill. He looked ghastly pale in the light of the lantern. His pulse was thready, and she feared he wouldn't make it.
"Bill, damn it, you die on me, and I'll—"
He gave her a sickly smile. "Early retirement," he gritted out.
Damnable tears streaked down her cheeks.
"Are you puddling up over me, Agent?" he managed to get out.
"Dust in the room," she growled back.
"What of the men?"
"One's dead. The other two are wounded and ran off."
"Go…after them."
Ignoring him, she began to pull up his shirt.
He coughed up blood. "I'm not going to make it."
"Don't say it. You will, damn it. You're not going to leave me behind to fend for myself." As if that was her concern. She wanted him to think she needed his backup and just maybe he would hold on until she could get the paramedics.
He smiled a little. "You do good. Go. Get out of here. Get help."
She had to. She couldn't reach the police out here. She had to leave to get help. She patched him up with her medical supplies the best she could. But she knew just racing off to reach her Hummer three miles away, she could be ambushed anywhere along the route.
She had to take out the men. The best way she could in this terrain. As a cougar.
Chapter 1
Six months ago, Tracey had gone to investigate the ghost town of Anderson and had been in the worst gun battle she'd ever fought in and lost her partner. Now she was meeting with Tobias Mooney in Greeley, Colorado, close to her home in Loveland, at an old café decorated in western theme from the worn cowboy boots and Stetsons, to lassoes and pictures of cowboys hanging all over the wall. One of the signs on the wall caught her attention: I'm having a nice day. DON'T SCREW IT UP!
Tracey smiled as she was seated in a red-leather booth across from a covered wagon filled with the buffet for the day. She still believed Mooney had everything to do with her partner's death. Surprisingly, he had agreed to meet with her, as if he was the cat and she was the mouse. If he only knew.
She texted Mooney to let him know where she was seated. Then she saw him—tall, tanned, wearing high-priced clothes and looking out of place here. He nodded, gave her a half-smile and headed toward her booth.
"I'm only meeting with you because I have nothing to hide," Mooney said to Tracey as he joined her. His dark brown, curly hair was cut short, his dark blue eyes watching her, studying her reactions, like a hunter watched its prey—just like when he was on the hunt.
She wondered if he looked grungy when he was on a hunt, leaving chin whiskers to sprout and wearing old hunting clothes. She couldn't even envision him like that.
He'd refused to speak to her with her new partner present, which had irritated her partner and worried her boss. Did Mooney think she was just a woman and not as much of a risk as dealing with Anton? Her partner didn't have the wicked claws and teeth that she had. Or the enhanced sense of smell like she had either.
"So…exactly what do you believe I'm guilty of? I run an honest hunting guide business. I'm just as conscientious about wildlife conservation as you. The deer would eat down too much of the vegetation that's used by other wildlife to survive."
Tracey sipped her hot tea, allowing him to have his say. Maybe he'd incriminate himself. She was certain his lawyers wouldn't approve of him being here like this, but she thought it was worth a shot to arrange the meeting.
He drank his coffee." So, what do you think I've done, that is criminal in nature with regard to your area of expertise?"
She set her floral teacup on its saucer and looked him squarely in the eye. "We've had reports that you, or men working for you, have been maiming cougars and other prey, caging them right before the hunters arrive, then releasing them."
Mooney frowned at her, as if he couldn't believe anyone would do something that was so awful and unfair to the game. "I wouldn't risk losing my license over something so heinous. That's half of the sport. To hunt the wild animals down. If someone has been doing such a thing, it wasn't me or any of my men. Unless one of them has been doing some guiding operations on his own that I'm unware of."
"Can you give me a name of any of the men who would be a likely suspect? We have had word that your guiding operations are involved. So if one of your men has gone solo, but is still using your good name in conducting this unlawful business, we'd love to hear of it and clear you and your operation of any wrongdoing."
I can't imagine any of my current staff would be guiding on their own. But I did have one who left me last year and he might be. His name is Bear Tucker. I don't suspect he's doing anything illegal, but he's no longer working for me, so I can't really vouch for him. He knows my operation, so he could possibly be using my name to build his own customer base." Mooney shrugged. "I haven't heard of anyone else doing that. Of course, it could be one of my competition. We usually stay out of each other's way. But occasionally a new guide goes into the business and who knows what tactics he might use to discredit one of the other successful guide operations."
"Anyone you might suspect like that?"
"No. They always have new guys cropping up in the business. But I could see where they're not getting enough clients. Word spreads if they're unable to catch sight of their prey on a hunt and exasperate the hunters who hired them."
"What do you know about illegal trafficking of animal body parts?"
Mooney sat back against his seat, appearing to distance himself from the new discussion. Had she hit a nerve?
"Nothing. I mean, except for hearing about it in the news periodically."
"What about the trafficking of ivory?"
"That's a hell of a jump from hunting deer and elk to hunting elephants."
"When there's no hunting for the season, what do you do?"
"You mean, how do I afford my house and such?" Mooney smiled. "Wise investments, of course. But I'm sure you already knew that. Anything more, Agent Whittington? I have some other business to attend to."
Definitely, this was a topic he didn't want to get drawn into.
"Thank you for your cooperation in this ongoing investigation. If the rumors turn out to be falsified, I will push to have charges brought against the guilty parties." Tracey stood and so did Mooney.
He gave her a pleasant smile as if they had coffee and tea on a regular basis, but she smelled his nervousness, though he never showed any outward appearance of being nervous. That's what she loved about her enhanced cougar abilities. She could smell distress or other kinds of emotions, sexual interest, and more. It helped when she couldn't read an individual's facial expressions or body language.
Though in his case, he put on the air of being respectful, as if he was totally on her side and was eager to help her learn the truth concerning these false accusations. But the real truth was –as far as she was concerned—eyewitnesses were correct in what they had reported—three men, one fitting Mooney's description—and two hunters had taken off after two wounded cougars. Cages have been found nearby, according to these witnesses. But by the time she'd been called in to investigate, all the evidence was gone. Well, almost all evidence. She had smelled that the cats had been staying in one spot for some time, smelled the blood from their wounds, speculated they'd been sitting in a cage and had left their panicked smell. But only her boss would believe her. No one else could use that as evidence.
Before she could leave, a man caught her eye, wearing a cowboy hat, boot
s, jeans, and a western shirt as he grabbed a coffee to go and headed outside. He'd caught her attention because she loved westerns and hot cowboys. All he needed was a pair of sexy leather chaps.
Mooney paid for their drinks, but Tracey declined and left payment also. When Mooney headed out ahead of her, she took in deep breaths as she tried to smell the scent the cowboy had left behind. He exuded confidence, but she wondered if he was a real working cowboy or just liked to look as though he was. But then she got a surprise. He was a cougar shifter! Who smelled of leather and horse and was sexy as all get out.
She peered around the parking lot and saw him climbing into a pickup pulling a horse trailer. Her natural cougar instincts were aroused. She sighed, reminding herself that the last cowboy she'd hooked up with had ended in a messy divorce.
She headed home when she got a call from her new informant, Ricky.
"Yeah, Ricky?"
"Got a new tip. Ivory is being held at Anderson. You know the place? The ghost town?"
***
Even now as Tracey trekked up the rocky incline for three miles with her new partner, Special Agent Anton Genova, who had worked on several missions with her, she grew teary eyed.
She hadn't returned to her teenage haunt since the disaster on New Year's Day, and though she knew nothing would happen this time, she couldn't help feeling uneasy, like the whole situation could happen all over again—the shootout, her partner down, only this time she wouldn't be so lucky.
If her partner hadn't been so inebriated that day, things might have been different. Or if she'd just given in and said she'd do as he had suggested, and waited until the end of the week, maybe none of it would have happened. But he'd been in so many blue funks before that, she hadn't wanted to risk him saying no by the end of the week too.
Now, she wished she had let it go. The damnedest part of the whole situation was that they had found nothing. Sure, Honey had been right, like he usually had been. Someone had stored ivory there, right under the schoolhouse floor. The imprints in the dried mud proved that beyond a doubt. Casts had been made of it, and when they were analyzed, they not only had found the elephant tusk imprints, but fingerprints too. Except they had matched the perp she had shot in the forehead, so no help there. Her only satisfaction was that she'd managed to kill the one trafficker with her gun, and another with her cougar's teeth. But the third, despite being wounded, had gotten away.