Speed Dating Page 2

It didn’t save him.

  Five long strides up the sidewalk a narrow alley cut between storefronts. Dillon looked in as he darted past, and just had time enough to register a bright white grin and a ragged moustache before the cat grabbed him and dragged him off the street. He hauled Dillon behind a pair of dumpsters and threw him against the wall of a building. With care and in all gentleness, but still.

  So fast he never had a chance to get his gun out.

  “Couldn’t wait, could you? A man who acts quickly. I knew I was going to like you.” He pressed himself full-length against Dillon’s body, gripping Dillon’s wrists above his head. Dillon couldn’t exactly call it pinning because, in spite of his obvious strength, the man had little weight to speak of. He was all lean, sinewy muscle. No body fat met Dillon’s desperate thrashing. It wouldn’t take much effort to buck his captor off.

  Instead he went still, save for a quick shiver up his spine that had nothing to do with fear. Go with it. He’s no leopard. A leopard would have ripped out my throat by now. Find out who he is, what he’s up to.

  The shifter rubbed his cheek against Dillon’s. “Mmmm. Stubble. I love stubble. Do you taste as good as you feel?” He laved his tongue along the cheek he’d just rubbed. “Yes, you do. You’re the one who’s meant for me. I knew it the second I saw you. Destiny brought us together again at the restaurant. Don’t fight me, sweetie. It’s Fate.”

  Another pleasant shiver raced along his spine. His heart began to pound. “So you were out there. Watching me.”

  “I’m a curious fellow.” His hips rocked against Dillon’s. Dillon felt the hard bulge in the shifter’s pants strain against his own shockingly firm erection. He’d started posting a boner back in the luncheonette, before he sussed out Smiley’s species.

  He shouldn’t be reacting. He shouldn’t be responding. Not to a shifter. Not to a cat.

  The cat leaned against him. Dillon’s cock jerked with sudden wanting.

  “I wasn’t expecting to find you,” the cat went on, in a purr that set Dillon’s blood rushing with need. “Chancing on your true mate like this happens only once in an age.” He grinned into Dillon’s face. His mouth hovered an inch away from a kiss. The slightest move on Dillon’s part would bring their lips together. “Yet here we are.”

  “So now what? You going to rape me?”

  Aghast, the cat reared back. “Certainly not! A mate is someone to be cherished. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He combed his fingers through Dillon’s hair in a teasing, tender caress. “Poor clueless human. You’ll be pampered and protected and loved for a lifetime. Your world just took a turn for the divine and you’re not even aware.”

  “Prove it. Let me go.”

  The cat sniffed. “No. You’ll run away. Or try to shoot me with that gun you think I didn’t see. I know what you are, love. You hunt my kind for a living. I’ll try not to hold that against you.” He slid back a half-step and eased up on Dillon’s wrists. “All right, then. Run, if you must. I’ll just chase you down.”

  “Like you did those other three poor fucks?”

  He hissed sharply. “That wasn’t me. He was already dead when I came across him. And there were two others? No wonder you’re testy. I hope this won’t become a problem between us.”

  “You shouldn’t have jumped the gun, speedy. I’m not your mate.” A sudden lurch and twist sent the cat tumbling backward. Dillon whipped his gun free and took aim. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

  The shifter’s eyes and teeth flashed. “So it’s to be a chase after all. Oh, this will be fun. I always catch what I run after. When I catch you, you’ll enjoy it. That’s a—”

  “Police! Hands in the air!”

  Both of them started, and looked toward the street end of the alley. Barrows stood there in classic cop pose, legs apart and service revolver pointed at the cat. “You okay?” he called to Dillon.

  “More or less. Cuff him. He’s a shifter, and he’s quick.”

  “You have no idea,” the cat said, and took off. Dillon barely saw him move. Between one blink and the next he was gone. Zero to sixty from a standing start. Neither Dillon nor Barrows got off a shot. There just wasn’t time.

  Barrows stood with his mouth agape. “Son of a bitch! That’s our killer?”

  “Maybe.” Dillon moved away from the wall. “He’s a cat shifter for sure, and I think I know now what breed he is. He also admitted to watching us this morning. Plus, he’s got a thing for me.” Something else he’d learned about during his study period. Goddamn shifter mate-bonding. Dillon made a face.

  Barrows grunted and lowered his gun. “Lucky you. I don’t suppose you got his name?”

  “Not yet. Let’s run his description through the database and see if he pops up. Did the other two vics get autopsies?”

  “The first one, yeah. The second sat out for a while. The buzzards had a field day. We think we know who he is, but we have to verify it.”

  “I’d like to take a closer look at those.” His thoughts were already sliding back to the shifter. His bottomless amber eyes. The way his entire body seemed to vibrate when he pressed his hips against Dillon’s.

  With an effort, Dillon shook it off. He shouldn’t have responded at all. Once he learned the pretty man wasn’t human, he should have gone in with gun blazing. The way he should have with the leopard. That was the hunter way. That was his way.

  The mate-bond, as he knew, was very real. He also knew humans weren’t supposed to be affected. If a human and a shifter hooked up, for simple sex or something more, it was only because both parties wanted it.

  He’d never slept with a shifter, not for any reason. Never reacted to one with anything other than suspicion. Falling for a target was one quick way for a hunter to get himself killed.

  I’m not falling for this one. If he’s the one responsible, he’ll get what he deserves. He secured his gun in his waistband. I’ll see to it personally.

  Chapter Three

  Dillon thought, This has got to be the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  He was standing alone in the nighttime desert under a sliver of moon. Way out here, far from light pollution, the stars were free to show themselves and did so with a vengeance. It looked like a million diamonds had spilled themselves across a black velvet blanket.

  His mouth twisted. That was a thought lovesick assholes had when going to meet the objects of their desire. Sure, he was hoping the suspect would return to the scene of his latest crime, but not for any tryst. Dillon was playing bait tonight, not desperate yearning swain.

  Humans are not affected by the mate-bond. That’s been proven.

  Or so he had been told.

  No one matching the cat’s description had turned up on the criminal database. Dillon had learned some interesting facts from the first victim’s autopsy report, and hoped to confirm them when tests came back from the third. That first report didn’t bode well for his target, if Dillon’s guess of his breed proved correct.

  He stood over the empty spot where he’d knelt beside a body roughly twelve hours earlier. The police had learned no more from this crime scene than they had from the other two. Whoever’d wiped up the evidence was an expert. Someone who knew exactly what law enforcement personnel would look for.

  Off in the darkness, a coyote howled an alarm. Two yips answered from another location, and then silence hit the land again.

  That sense of being watched settled over Dillon like a shroud. He turned around.

  The arrogant shit. He didn’t even try to hide himself, or bother with his human form. He crossed the desert at an easy lope that still chewed up the distance, with Dillon as his obvious destination. The stars laid a silver sheen on his golden fur. Every single inky spot on his body stood out against it.

  Score one for the hunter, Dillon thought. He’d been right about the breed. Now to hope he’d guessed correctly about the shifter’s intentions. Otherwise yet another body might get left behind in the desert tonight.

  Nine yards
out the cat fluidly shifted back to his human form. He swept up to Dillon, magnificent in his nakedness. The starlight seemed to zero in on his cock, long and narrow and rapidly swelling toward a full erection. Dillon’s mouth watered in spite of himself.

  “I was hoping I’d find you here,” the cat said in a purr.

  “I was hoping you’d come.”

  “You were? Then let’s not waste any more time.” He launched himself forward, then stopped abruptly, suddenly coy. “Unless you plan to pull a gun on me again.”

  Dillon spread his arms wide. “No gun tonight.”

  “Perfect.” The shifter accepted his invitation and lunged into Dillon’s embrace. His hands buried themselves in Dillon’s shaggy red hair as he slammed his mouth onto the hunter’s. When Dillon’s jaw dropped in surprise the cat took it for assent and darted his tongue into Dillon’s mouth.

  What the hell. As bait, with his life on the line, Dillon had every right to indulge himself.

  His tongue and the cat’s did a little get-to-know-you tango. Dillon caught the cat by the hips and pulled him closer. One of the cat’s hands disengaged from his hair and dropped to start kneading his ass through the thin protection of his jeans.

  Better put an end to this. He was getting dizzy. Son of a kitty could kiss.

  The cat jerked when Dillon stuck the hypodermic into his naked ass cheek. Dillon shoved away and yanked out his knife. It might take a few minutes before the tranq took effect. Time enough for a furious cat to do some serious damage. He held the knife low, near his right hip. “I never said I came unarmed.”

  Instead of a snarl or a hiss, the cat smiled. “You cheeky ape. This is going to be an interesting—” His eyes rolled up, his long legs folded and he hit the ground with a little thump and a puff of dust.

  ****

  “About time,” Dillon said, when the cat finally stirred. “I’ve got questions. If you want to live, you’ll answer them.”

  The cat blinked groggily and looked around. It didn’t take him long. When Dillon went on a case, he didn’t bother with elaborate accommodations. A bare-bones motel room on the outskirts of Bedloe suited him fine. He watched the cat’s gaze sweep over the sparse furnishings and ugly generic landscape paintings before finally settling on him. Full awareness rapidly returned to his amber eyes. “Ah. Brought me back to your room, I see. And tied me up. I like where this is going.” A smirk touched his lips. “Why here, and not the police station?”

  “Because not all cops know about shifters. I’d like to keep it that way. Now, are you going to answer, or do I have to get persuasive?”

  The cat strained momentarily against the ropes securing him to the wooden chair. When they didn’t budge, he turned his straining into a careless shrug, still with that bit of a smirk. “Ask away. You have me at your mercy.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The cat’s smirk widened. “Barry Allen.”

  “Cute, but I grew up reading comics, too. Try again.”

  Another bit of a shrug. “Kaz Genovese.”

  Like his face, the name struck a chord with Dillon. Then it hit. “Kaz Genovese? The track star?”

  “The very same.” The cat’s lips relaxed into a hopeful grin. “I take it you’re a fan?”

  “No, but it makes sense. Why wouldn’t a cheetah shifter shine as an Olympic runner?” Now Dillon smirked. “You only got a silver in the 400 meter. What happened?”

  “Ben Mbotu was a nice fellow. He’d just gotten married, and his bride was in the stands. She deserved to see her man win. Besides, I had enough gold by that point. I could afford to be generous. Why are we chatting about my Olympic career when we could be making love?”

  “Because I want to know what you’re up to. Cheetahs have a rep for being pretty laidback, not like a leopard or jaguar. Your breed’s never been known to turn to murder for sport.”

  “Rather suggests I’m not the culprit then, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose you have a legitimate reason for being in Arizona?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m here for the hunting. Not humans,” he insisted. “Pronghorns. At least I was, until something scared them out of the area. I’ll bet it was your real killer.”

  Dillon frowned. “Pronghorns?”

  “I saw them on a nature show. The fastest land mammal in North America. No predator on this continent is quick enough to threaten them. So why are they so fast? The theory is, somewhere in prehistory something like a cheetah existed in North America. The pronghorns evolved high speed to stay alive. Then the cheetahs disappeared. The pronghorns kept the speed. Are they faster than me? I came here to find out. I need the challenge, you see. The thrill of the chase.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  Kaz made a face. “Not so well. The old, the sick, the injured, I could catch them easily. But where’s the sport in that? It’s not like I’m going to eat them. I’ve been running after the healthy ones. The fastest. Ones I can truly test myself against. And I will catch one, it’s only a matter of time.” His chin lifted proudly. “Them, and the jackrabbits. Those little buggers are quick. Not to mention tricky. I don’t think they even know how to run in a straight line.”

  “Enough of the Wild Kingdom. You expect me to believe you’re only out here to chase deer? That you wouldn’t run down a human if you came across one?”

  Kaz openly sneered. “Weren’t you listening? I need a challenge. Something to test my mettle. I could come up lame in three legs and still catch a human in seconds.” He stared boldly into Dillon’s eyes. “Now you—you’re a challenge. I like chasing you. And when I catch you—”

  “About that. Autopsy results for Victim Number One says he died of a heart attack. They think he was chased until he collapsed, then ripped open afterwards.”

  Kaz sniffed. “Sounds like that would take too long. I don’t have the patience for long chases. I work in spurts.”

  “But wait, there’s more. Both corpses had the same bite marks on the feet and legs we found on the one this morning. Ditto for scratches on the torso, probably when they were pulled down. Claws? Maybe. Too blunt for a cat’s. Except…” He strolled over to the chair and took Kaz’s hand. His skin was warmer than a human’s, the fingers long and bony. Dillon ordered himself to keep his mind on the interrogation and not on that feverish skin, that bound and naked body. “You don’t really have talons, do you? If I recall my nature shows, cheetahs are the only cats that can’t retract their claws. They get blunted from exposure, like a dog’s.”

  “Then I couldn’t have ripped their stomachs open, could I?”

  “That could have been done by fangs. Which a cheetah does have, same as any predator.”

  “Looks like you’ve got me, then.” His fingers closed hard around Dillon’s. An electric jolt shot up his arm, then straight down into his crotch. “I have one last request before you execute me. Make love to me. Let me die happy, with the memory of your hot, tight channel clamped around my dick.”

  Dillon jerked his hand away. “Speaking of dicks…” He described the state of the corpse’s penis, along with the missing family jewels. When he finished, Kaz looked physically sick.

  “Barbaric,” the cheetah spat. “Especially when there are far more delightful things one can do to a penis.”

  “So you had nothing to do with—”

  “Do I sound like I did?”

  No. He didn’t. That was the problem. As far as clues were concerned, everything pointed to Kaz. But doubts still niggled at Dillon. Those amber eyes held no murder. Lust, yes, but not bloodlust. And why would a cheetah run a human to death? It did seem rather pointless.

  He remembered the look in the leopard shifter’s eyes when it had charged him. That look still haunted his nightmares. That had been murder. That had been hate. Flat-out contempt for humanity. Nothing in Kaz’s eyes or voice or lean, twitchy body suggested he’d ever harbored such emotions.

  Could he actually be innocent? Or were those thoughts a pro
duct of Dillon’s clouded judgment?

  “Funny you should mention Barry Allen,” Dillon said. “If I recall my comic book trivia, the Flash worked for the police as a forensic scientist. He’d know what to erase from a crime scene to hinder the investigation. What is it you do for a living, when you’re not chasing things?”

  “A scientist? Pah. I wouldn’t have the patience for that either. I used my Olympic winnings to open a restaurant.”

  That brought Dillon up short. He vaguely recalled hearing something about that on ESPN. A restaurant opening in New York. Kaz’s smiling face. “Let me guess. Fast food.”

  Kaz pursed his lips. “Don’t be gauche. Grease makes me break out in—well, I can’t really say spots, can I? I offer fine dining. International cuisine. Not that I can cook. I hired a family of servals for that. They have a knack for gourmet cooking.”

  “All three crime scenes were sterile as a hospital room. You don’t know anything about that?”

  “How would I? Why don’t you ask the park ranger, or whoever the blazes he was?”

  Dillon came alert. “What ranger?”

  “The one from this morning. The young one. He was at the body when I got back. I had to run back to where I’d left my clothes, you see. To get my cell phone. Sorry, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I do that. I was out prowling for pronghorns when I found the body. That would have been around dawn. He’d obviously been dead for a while, and killed by an animal. I didn’t go near him. I’m not stupid. I ran back to my clothes and reported the body, then slipped back to wait for the police. When I got back, the ranger was puttering around the body. Then he trotted off into the desert. Not long after that, the first police arrived.”

  “Wait. You made that call to the cops?”

  “Well, the vultures certainly weren’t going to do it. Neither was the killer, I assume.”

  “The ranger told us he showed up after the cops arrived. You’re sure it was him?”

  “He wasn’t in uniform then. He had jogging pants on. But it was him.” Kaz widened his golden eyes. “I have excellent eyesight.”