Chapter 1
Three years ago,
Sheriff’s Department, Rosewood, Tennessee.
“Ms. Ames, why should I hire you over any of the other applicants?”
“I, ah—” Ashley faltered, mind blank. She had an answer for this question, dammit. But when Cage Delgado stared at her with those amber eyes like he knew what she was thinking, intelligence jumped ship.
Just keep looking at those eyes, her lioness purred. Shut up. We can’t handle him, and you know it.
Ash swallowed.
Blinked.
Opened her mouth to try again. “Well. You see— the thing is, Sheriff—” She waited for the words to come. “After finishing my degree in business administration, I began working at the law firm of Sullivan and Rhodes. In just two years, I was promoted to assist one of the partners as a senior administration officer. I—”
The sheriff interrupted. “I read all that on your resume, Ms. Ames. What I want to know is, why you?”
“Why me?”
“Why,” he said slowly, “you?”
Ash tore her eyes away from his gaze. The way he’d said ‘you’ three times now . . . like she held the secrets of the universe and he was coaxing them out of her. She took a deep breath, decided there was no way she could work for a man who was so hot and dominant that he turned her to goo, grabbed her leather portfolio and stood.
Cage rose with her.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t think—” She sidestepped away from the chair she’d been occupying in front of his rosewood desk then took a hesitant step backwards. “This isn’t going to—” Oh, for god’s sake, woman. Finish at least one complete sentence.
Instead, she kept back-stepping until she was in the doorway, careful not to make eye contact lest her resolve weaken.
Why did she want to move home anyway? Or work at the sheriff’s department as office manager? She should have stayed in Nashville and to hell with needing a challenging, engaging job.
Sheriff Alpha Hotness could hire one of the other two applicants he’d interviewed before her. Both were non-shifters and had been friendly enough while they were all waiting their turn to be interviewed.
“Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee in the break room? Take a breather then come back and finish the interview?” Cage said, tone neutral.
Why the hell did he have to be nice? She was about to refuse and cement her escape when she heard a scuffle behind her.
Ash glanced over her shoulder.
Rosewood, or Shifter Town, as everyone called it, had the biggest shifter population in the state, which included a large number of predatory species who were not known for being passive. As such, the sheriff’s department, which occupied a three-story, red-brick building on Main Street, had a few more deputies than average for a town their size.
The room behind Ash held about a dozen desks. Half that many officers had been present when she’d walked in for her interview an hour earlier, crossing paths with two female deputies who’d been leaving.
While chatting with the other candidates, she had discreetly observed the remaining officers. The first five minutes she’d spent imagining them as a male shifter revue.
The job might have been worth it for the eye candy alone.
When the scuffle behind her escalated and the unmistakable crack of a gunshot deafened her, Ash ducked instinctively.
“Nobody fuckin’ move!” The words were almost as loud as the shot and layered with panic.
Ash registered Cage beside her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and drew her back into the office behind the protection of the wall. She barely had a chance to glimpse a big male, whose hand was locked around the grip of a nine-millimeter as tightly as his arm was wrapped around the throat of a young deputy with an empty holster.
The remaining officers had their weapons drawn and leveled on the shifter.
“You aren’t puttin’ me in a fuckin’ cage,” the shifter screamed.
Ash scented Bengal Tiger and a whole lot of alcohol.
And blood.
That shot had hit someone.
“Stay here,” Cage muttered subvocally. Then he drew his nine mil as he eased out into the bullpen.
“Put it down,” he ordered when he was in position, voice granite.
Ash’s heart raced as adrenaline flooded her body. She listened, hidden from view, while Cage tried to talk the shifter down.
But the Bengal only became more agitated.
She took a chance and peeked through the window in the wall, between the slats of the venetian blinds.
Cage had moved further into the bullpen, drawing the shifter’s attention away from his office.
He and his deputies had their weapons locked on the tiger. All his deputies, that is, except the one on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the chest.
Oh, God.
A leopard shifter slowly holstered his gun, showed his empty hands to the tiger, and eased towards to the wounded man.
“Don’t move!”
“Easy. I’m just trying to help my buddy. You don’t want him to bleed out.”
“I said don’t fuckin’ move!” The tiger pushed the gun harder against his hostage’s head.
“He’s dyin’ man.”
“I don’t fuckin’ care. You’re not lockin’ me up.”
There was so much blood on the floor. If Ash wasn’t a lioness, it would have turned her stomach. The longer the man went without help, the lower his chance of survival.
She recognized him from earlier, when she’d been watching the officers. He had been clowning around with the leopard. There was a stuffed bobcat on his desk—someone’s idea of a joke—and a framed photo of a pretty brunette, arms wrapped around two tiny feminine replicas.
Jeezus. Ash pushed thoughts of the small family from her mind and focused on the standoff.
Most of the deputies were shifters and had the accompanying strength, reflexes, and senses. They could make the shot, but they risked the tiger reflexively pulling the trigger on the gun sealed against his hostage’s head.
They needed a way to take him out while keeping the hostage safe.
Ash scanned Cage’s office. Her eyes caught on a solid blue paperweight on his desk. She weighed the merits of interfering. She wasn’t a professional . . . she should probably stay out of it . . . could make things worse.
Then she thought about that photograph.
She crawled over, grabbed the glass paperweight and returned to her former position. She peeked out. She was a touch behind and to the right of the tiger.
Ash took a deep breath and stood.
Steadied herself.
Then she stepped into the open doorway. She was aware of several sets of eyes sliding her way, for just an instant, but she ignored them.
“Hey, Stripes,” she called and raised the paperweight.
The tiger jerked around in surprise and, as she hoped, pointed the gun at the unexpected threat.
Her.
She hurled the paperweight and in the next heartbeat took shelter behind the wall.
Just in time.
The weight hit the shifter full in the temple, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through the space where Ash had been standing a spit second before and lodged in the wall behind Cage’s desk. It shattered a framed glass certificate, which crashed to the floor. The sound was barely audible under the fading reverberations of the gunshot. That in turn was drowned out by the sound of body slamming into body, then skidding across the floor and crashing into furniture.
Ash peeked around the corner.
The paperweight hadn’t taken the tiger out, but it had given Cage a chance to do the job. He had the shifter face down, one knee in his back, cuffing him. But he was looking towards the office doorway, his amber gaze locked on her.
Ash tore her eyes away and dashed over to the fallen deputy, skidding to a halt on her knees beside the leopard shifter. His hands were over the wound, applying pressure. She heard another deputy on the phone, calling 911.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” she asked the nearest free body. He responded instantly, retrieving the red and white case from a nearby cupboard.
Ash tore into it, searching.
There.
She ripped open a package of combat gauze. The leopard was already reaching for it, applying it to the wound. Treated with a clotting agent, it would slow the bleeding until help arrived.
“On the skin,” she said.
The leopard ripped open his friend’s shirt and applied the gauze, pressing down hard.
“We need to see if there’s an exit wound,” Ash said.
He looked at her. As a cop, there was a good chance his first aid training surpassed hers, but it seemed to have deserted him.
“If he’s bleeding out the back, we need to stop it.”
The leopard lifted slightly while she checked.
“No exit wound. The bullet’s still inside.”
He gently lowered the deputy.
“How far away are the paramedics?” she asked the man on the line with 911.
“Five minutes.”
She heard the tiger behind her, struggling against his restraints. She ignored him. Even when, out her peripheral, she saw him lunge at her and scream, “You fuckin bitch. I’ll kill you.”
She was vaguely aware of Cage growling and yanking him away, slamming him against the wall.
“Get a blanket,” she told the officer who’d retrieved the first aid kit. “With this much blood loss, he’s in danger of going into shock. We need to keep him warm.”
He scrambled to follow her orders.
She checked the deputy’s pulse. Kept checking it, and his breathing, mentally reviewing CPR procedures in case they became necessary.
She was so focused that she didn’t hear the approaching sirens. Wasn’t aware of when the paramedics arrived. Didn’t register anything other than blood and fear and the need to protect . . . not until she felt Cage’s arms wrap around her as he gently picked her up and moved her out of the way.
It wasn’t until hours later, after the scene was processed and Ash had cleaned up the blood, drafted a media statement (which she’d read to Cage over the phone while he and most of the rest of the department filled the waiting room at Rosewood County Hospital waiting for Sergeant Reynolds to come out of surgery), and manned the phones while the two deputies left behind went out on calls, that she had a moment to catch her breath.
She was still wearing bloodstained clothes, though she’d washed the blood off her hands. She also hadn’t eaten in hours. A fact she only remembered when she detected the aroma of sweet and sour pork, beef in black bean and duck in plum sauce.
Her stomach growled.
Cage set down several takeout containers on the desk she’d commandeered.
She was startled. She hadn’t scented him coming over the aroma of the food—hadn’t even heard from him since he’d called a few hours ago to say that Reynolds was out of surgery and in ICU.
Cage sat down on the other side of the desk, opened one of the containers, and began eating.
After a few heartbeats, Ash did the same, concentrating on not looking at Cage.
They ate in exhausted silence.
It wasn’t until after they were finished that Cage finally spoke. “I told you to stay.”
She knew he was referring to when he’d told her to stay in his office, out of harm’s way. “I’m not a dog,” she muttered, not meeting his gaze.
If she knew that Cage Delgado was privately agreeing, thinking she was more kitten-lioness, sweetly submissive and ferociously protective, she probably would have tried to run again.
But she didn’t know.
“Ms. Ames.”
Ash finally met Cage’s eyes over the desk.
“You’re hired.”
