LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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