Catching the Cat Burglar: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 3) Read online

  "Out of tricking me!" I finally let my outrage show. "Letting me go on and on about Elon, about the library - you should have told me you were coming in as the head librarian, not the assistant."

  The corners of his lips turn up in that quietly amused way of his I'm starting to recognize. That devilishly handsome way of his. He turns and picks up another book. "A gentleman never contradicts a lady." I can hear the ripple of amusement under his words. "Especially when she's so sure of herself."

  "A gentleman," I say, glaring at him. "Would not set up a lady to gape like a fool in front of Mr. Elon and Mrs. Palomino."

  He pauses, spins a book slowly around in his hand before setting it down neatly atop the stack. His eyes gleam, a suddenly dangerously smoldering light in their depths. "My apologies, then, Ms. Kilmarten. But you blush so prettily. You can't fault me for wanting to see it again."

  What? Where did that come from? I feel myself go weak at the knees. He's not looking away. "Again?" My voice sounds weak. Oh god. Please don't let me blush. Not now. Not while he's watching!

  He nods. "You blushed when you first saw me."

  "I - um -" I splutter, my blush burning across my face. It takes all my strength to meet his jade eyes. He's unflinching, direct, amused and something more. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? I draw myself up, and lift my chin. "Regardless. It wasn't polite."

  He nods, acceding the point. "You're right. Let me make it up to you. How about lunch?"

  "Lunch?"

  He nods, expression disarmingly innocent. "Yes. Lunch. That's when two people sit down together to eat food and talk. You can tell me more about the library. Catch me up to speed."

  Am I disappointed he wants to talk shop? Of course he would. What did I think he meant? Wine and intimate conversation? "Thanks, but I'll have to take a rain check. I want to head down to the police station and report that wolf. And call a tow truck."

  He holds my gaze. Oh, how can a man's eyes be so captivating, so intense? I once visited Montana with some college friends, and we hiked in Glacier National Park. His eyes remind me of the skies there - deep and endless. I spent hours just lying on my back gazing up into that sky - and I know I could spend just as long searching the depths of his eyes.

  He nods his head. "Of course." He takes up the books and turns to leave, and then looks back and smiles roguishly at me. "So I'm forgiven?"

  I gulp. That smile makes my knees weak. "I think I can find it in me to forgive you."

  His eyes gleam. "I'm glad. I was beginning to worry that your impression of me had been completely ruined."

  My throat is dry. Am I going to be working with this man from now on? Taking orders from him? I can't tell if this is going to be hell or heaven. I know it's going to drive me crazy to be around him all day long - I just don't know if it's a good crazy or bad. "Not completely ruined," I hear myself say. "Just mostly."

  "There's room for recovery, then." His smile makes me weak in the knees. "I'll be in my office if you need me, Ms. Kilmarten. Don't hesitate to knock."

  With that, he turns and saunters away, and when he's gone, I finally allow myself to sag against the table edge and take a deep breath. Oh boy. This is going to be trouble.

  Chapter 2

  I slip out the front door, zip up my coat, and head over to the police station to report my morning's accident. The sunlight gleams on the berms of snow that line the street, and Honeycomb Falls is looking its festive best, with garlands on doors, decorations wrapped around street lamps, and the large fir tree set before the town hall done up beautifully with Christmas decorations. We're only one week out from Christmas itself, and the town is alive with excitement and cheer.

  I wave and smile to friends as I head to the station. It's a two story, red brick building right on Bridge Street, an American flag hanging by the door, everything neat and tidy just like the chief likes it.

  "Woof," says a scrunchy little misfit of a dog by the door. I pause. The little dog didn't bark. It had actually said the word 'woof'. I frown and stare down at him. He's a mutt, and a pretty amazingly ugly one at that, so much so that he actually looks comically cute. His back legs are larger than his front, he's got an awful overbite that makes him look like he's wearing fake vampire teeth, and his hair is a wiry mess of different colors. He looks up at me with bright, intelligent eyes, and wags his broken stub of a tail.

  "Did you..." I trail off. I'm clearly more out of it than I thought. Am I actually asking a little dog if he said the word 'woof' to me? He cocks his head to one side, a bright little red tongue sticking out from his bushy whiskers. "Never mind," I say, and push into the station.

  I head to the chief's office, but stop in the common room at the sight of cake, plastic cups filled with champagne, and the whole station gathered in one place. Which is a grand total of three people: Chief LaBonte and officers Bardwell and Grange.

  "What's the occasion?" Even after nominally being part of the station for almost six months, I still feel out of place. I'm a curvy, red-headed lass; they're all much older guys with graying hair and the kind of solid intimacy that comes from spending decades together on the job.

  The chief raises his plastic up. "It's a wake, Kilmarten." He's a heavy-set man, built like a black bear but with thick, snow white hair. "We're mourning the dearly departed."

  "Someone - died?" I'm all kinds of confused. Why do they look so cheerful?

  "I did," says Bardwell. "This is it. I've given my notice. Two weeks left, and I'm a free man."

  "Free to sit on your porch and drink from sunrise to sundown," says Grance, and then sighs and shakes his head. "I'm a jealous man."

  I feel a surge of sudden hope. "Chief, can I have a word?"

  He looks disconsolately at his empty plastic cup, then sets it down and stands with a melodramatic groan. "In my office, then."

  I follow him in, and close the door behind me. He rounds his desk and sits heavily. "What can I do you for, Kilmarten?"

  "Two things." I step up. "On the way into town this morning I almost ran into a wolf. A huge one. I drove off the road, and then it attacked my car."

  The chief sits up, all levity gone from his face. "Can you describe it?"

  His tone is so sharp that I almost take a step back. I didn't know he cared so much. "Old-looking, all scarred, with black fur."

  The chief reaches up and waves around the left side of his head. "His ear? Was he missing an ear?"

  "Yes. How did you know?"

  "Well, shit. And you said that this happened this morning? What time?"

  "Almost exactly at nine. Chief, what's going on?"

  He sinks back into his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Trouble, is what. There's a shifter that's been working his way down from Montreal over the past few months. A serial killer. A real monster. All the shifters are on alert, and their elder from the local Cairn called me a few weeks back to give me a heads up. Damnation. I'll have to send Grange over to the Cairn and let them know its been spotted."

  "I'll go!" I've never been to the Cairn, but I've always wanted to go. It's a mysterious place, off-limits to town folk without official business.

  "No, Grange had better handle this. This is serious business, Kilmarten. We'll let the shifters hunt this monster down. It's one of theirs, so they'll handle it."

  "Oh," I say, trying not to let my shoulders slump. "All right."

  "And the second thing?"

  I take a deep breath. "Chief. I've been thinking about this for a long time. You know the library isn't doing well. We're down to three days a week, and they're cutting funding. If Bardwell is stepping down, I want to take his place."

  "Take his place?" The chief's eyebrows shoot straight up. "You?"

  I let that slide. "You know I'm dedicated. I haven't missed a single patrol. I've been studying for the entrance exam, and -"

  "Kilmarten." The chief sits forward and rubs his jaw in the way he does whenever he's looking for a way to break bad news. "Bardwell is a very exp
erienced officer. We're going to need somebody very good to replace him."

  "But - I can be good! Give me a chance. What do I have to do to convince you?"

  The chief sighs and tugs at his left ear. A very bad sign. He only pulls that ear when he's really losing his patience. "Kilmarten. You've got passion, I'll give you that. But zero experience, and zero accomplishments to your name."

  "I arrested Oliver Whitmas three months ago!"

  "True, but to my understanding he was already unconscious and covered in cake. That's not what I'm talking about."

  I feel like I'm going to burst. "Fine. How about I arrest this serial killer? If I catch him before Bardwell resigns, will you hire me on?"

  The chief is about to take a sip of his coffee when he splutters and almost chokes. He puts down the mug and stares at me. "Are you crazy? No! I forbid it. You'd get yourself killed. Or worse."

  Worse? What could be worse than being killed? He continues, waving a hand in the air. "Look, you want a challenge? Fine. Catch me the burglar that's been stealing valuables around town, and I'll think it over."

  I resist the urge to stand on my tiptoes. "A burglar? Sure thing! What clues do we have?"

  The chief snorts. "Nothing yet. We're dealing with a real professional. Or professionals. They hit Honeycomb Hall two nights ago, stole a valuable staff from Rachel Wilder. The night before that they broke into the mayor's office and stole his mayor's seal."

  "Have we taken their statements yet?"

  "We have the mayor's, but Bardwell was going to go over to Honeycomb Hall for Rachel's today." He pauses and studies me. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

  I raise an eyebrow. "Is there any reason I shouldn't be?"

  The chief hesitates, and then shrugs. "No. I guess not. I'll speak to Bardwell, and tell him to let you take Rachel's deposition. All right?"

  "Yes!" My enthusiasm comes roaring back. "Thanks, Chief. You won't regret it. I'm going to catch this thief. Just you wait and see."

  I turn to the door, but the chief's voice stops before I can open it. "Kilmarten." I turn back to him. "If you, for some crazy reason that I can't foresee, somehow come across this thief, you are under no circumstances to try to apprehend him, is that clear? Call for backup, and wait."

  I want to argue with him, but I nod instead. "Sure. Of course."

  He eyes me suspiciously, and then nods. "On your way, then."

  I waltz out of the station, floating on cloud nine. It's true I enjoy my job at the library, but anybody can see it's rapidly becoming a part-time job. Maybe Chase will be able to turn it around, bring it back up to full hours, but I don't think so. No; I can always volunteer there when I'm a police officer. Run a regular reading hour with Mrs. Paloma's class, or just help with odd jobs. This is what I want to do: help keep the peace in the wonderful town of Honeycomb Falls.

  I skip down the steps, and belatedly notice that the little scruffy dog follows right after me, as if he's been waiting by the door ever since I entered. I turn and walk backwards for a few steps, watching as he trots along after me, his eyes bright, his mouth open, little tail wagging.

  "And where are you going, my little friend?" I pause and place my hands on my hips.

  "Bark," says the little dog.

  "You just did it again. You said 'bark'." I stare accusingly at him. He sits, but wags his tail so that his rear shifts from side to side. "Well?" I lean forward, giving him my best librarian stare.

  He wags his tail a little harder, and then, almost experimentally, says, "Arf?"

  "Arf? Dogs don't say 'arf'. They might 'bark' or 'woof', but they sure don't 'arf'."

  An old lady walks by, almost lost in her fluffy purple winter coat, and gives me a worried look. I straighten and glance around. Nobody else has noticed me arguing with the little dog. Probably a good thing. Whatever is going on here, I don't want the chief hearing that I've been getting into debates with animals.

  I turn and begin striding down the sidewalk again, heading down the street toward the bridge. Honeycomb Hall is close enough that I can walk there. The little dog trots up alongside me, glancing up at me as he goes, his little front legs going twice as fast as his larger back legs.

  "What?" I hiss my question as discretely as I can, so that a small family walking our way chomping on candy bars purchased at the general store don't look at me funny. "Why are you following me?"

  "Arf," says the little dog pointedly. "Arfedy arf arf arf."

  I stop and wheel to face him. He looks up at me with what I can only call a cheeky grin, his massive overbite making him look ridiculously adorable. But what can I do? Nothing. Nobody would believe me. I can't make him talk. And since I'm forced to walk, I can't leave him behind. So I sigh and pick up the pace, walking quicker, hoping to leave him behind.

  He doesn't seem to mind, however, and just trots a little faster so as to keep up with me. We reach the truss bridge, and I walk on the narrow concrete sidewalk, hurrying over the Conway's rushing waters below. "Well, fine." Nobody is close enough to hear. And anyway, people do talk to dogs. They just don't argue with them. "Follow me if you like. It's a free country. But I'm on to you. I don't know what your game is, but I'm not going to fall for any of your tricks."

  He only wags his stumpy tail when I glance down at him. We reach Conway Street, which runs parallel to the river, and the little dog immediately runs across the two lanes to Anita's bakery. The line has finally disappeared, but I can see she's got plenty of customers inside. The little dog stops at her door and looks at me with clear hope in his little eyes. "Woof?"

  "Don't you 'woof' me." I keep walking, but then I hear him whine and can't help but turn. He's sitting down, and as soon as I turn he falls onto his back and wriggles from side to side, kicking his legs in the air and whining very piteously. "Stop that. I don't care how cute you look, I'm not going to get you something."

  He stops wriggling, frowns, and then simply collapses and lies still. I hesitate. Wait. He doesn't move. Just lies there like a discarded dishrag on the cold and snowy sidewalk. "What. Are you playing dead? Do you expect me to run over in concern?"

  One of his eyes cracks open as if to check on me, and then immediately closes again. I roll my eyes and throw up my hands. "Fine. Look. I'll buy you something if you promise to leave me alone. Deal?"

  He springs to his feet. "Woof!"

  "Does 'woof' mean yes?"

  He hesitates, and then simply nods several times.

  I shake my head in amazement. "What are you, an escaped show dog of some kind? A magician's pet?" At that he sits back and gives me a look of refined disgust. I sigh. "Fine. Will a muffin do?"

  "Woof."

  "Good." I push open the door and step into the warmth and wonderful smells of Anita's bakery. It's amazing what she's done with such a small space. Three small circular tables crowd into one corner by the door, all of them taken, while an L-shaped counter seems to enclose them and the entrance like welcoming arms. The display cabinets are simple and their yummy contents are already depleted by the morning rush. Pigeonholes line the left wall behind the counter, only a quarter of them currently filled with loaves of all descriptions. Gentle acoustic music is playing from little tinny speakers up in the corners, their wires visible, and the whole place smells like a dream of endless good times and amazing, wonderful, heart-warming food.

  "Jo!" Anita waves from behind the counter, a smudge of flour on her nose and cheek. "Good morning!"

  "Hiya, Anita." I've been a regular since she opened up. Even if she didn't make the most amazing boysenberry bear claws, I'd still come by to say hi - Anita is just plain great, in a quiet, thoughtful, and genuinely kind way. "How's the shop?"

  She blows out her cheek and grins. "Busy. I think a whole busload of people on tour stopped by just as we opened. I was slinging croissants and coffee like a crazy thing. Which isn't a complaint, mind you. I just feel like I've been on my feet for two days already."

  I grin. "It's hard being so popular."


  She laughs and blushes. That's one of the other things I like about Anita. She's the only person I know who blushes as easily as I do. "Oh, shush. Now, what can I get you?"

  "Small coffee, a bear claw, and whatever you think a little dog would enjoy eating that's under two dollars."

  "Little dog? You adopted somebody?"

  I turn and scowl at where the little dog is peering in through the window, little paws on the glass. "No, more like been adopted."

  "Oh, he's cute!" Anita pauses. "In a been-run-over-by-a-lawnmower kind of way."

  I snort. "There's something off about him. Still, I'm going to bribe my way to freedom."

  Anita smiles. "Always a good idea. One sec."

  A minute later I emerge back into the cold December air, and stare down at the little dog, who sits very nicely and looks up at me, mouth open. "Now. As agreed. Here's your peanut butter cookie." I set it down on the pavement, and he immediately begins sniffing at it eagerly. "And I'm on my way. Bon chance, mon amie."

  I walk away, and for a good long moment I think I'm in the clear. I reach the end of Conway Street and turn off onto the road that leads past Honeycomb Hall. For a moment I get nervous about walking a street through the woods alone, but then I laugh at myself. I'm literally right outside of town. That murderous wolf wouldn't come so close.

  I hear the scrabble of claws behind me, however, and spin in a panic. Only to see the little dog racing to catch up, his furious bush of whiskers covered in crumbs. He reaches me and slows, panting happily.

  "What?" I stop, hands on my hips. "We had a deal!"

  He wags his tail happily.

  "How am I supposed to be an officer of the law if I can't even get a little dog to obey me?" I throw up my hands and march on, but secretly I'm glad for his company. The woods have taken on an ominous feel since my attack this morning.

  A few minutes later I walk around the last curve and see Honeycomb Hall's iron gate, with its two bare oak trees flanking the stone columns beside it. Once the forbidding demesne of Mama B, Honeycomb Falls' own powerful witch, it's since turned into a thriving bed and breakfast, of all places, taken over by Mama B's granddaughter, who came in from New York, settled down, and opened it to the shifter community.