Dog moved with smooth, lithe grace. A second later a match flared and the tip of a cigar glowed almost merrily, lighting his expression with a red, dangerous glow.
“Last I heard, you had a hold on one nosy little reporter,” Dog growled back. “She’s none the worse for wear from my gentle handling. A few bruises perhaps.”
Cabal snarled again, the sound sending a flare of trepidation surging through Cassa.
“Shall we call this one a draw then?” Dog questioned mockingly as he glanced around at the Breeds surrounding the men with him. “Three against six seems rather unfair odds to me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Cabal snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Perhaps the same thing you are, but with quite possibly different reasons,” he answered. “We’re searching for the same Breed, I do believe, Bengal. Shall we lay odds on who finds him first?”
They were both searching for a killer. Well, my, my, my, didn’t that just make three of them?
Cassa rose slowly to her feet and brushed off the seat of her jeans with what she hoped was a carefully casual move. She bit back a wince at the bruises she knew would be showing soon.
Placing one foot behind the other, she stepped back once, then again.
“Go home to your handler, Coyote,” Cabal ordered him coldly. “Or I’ll have you carted home.”
Cassa took another step backward. Just a little farther, she thought, then she might have a chance of actually getting out of Cabal’s sight before he decided to focus on her. If angels were watching out for her, then she could actually make it back to the Jeep and to her hotel without having to face him.
“You have such an amazing capacity for self-confidence, Bengal,” Dog drawled. “Sorry, but I’m here to stay for the time being. There seems to be quite a bit of a mess that needs to be cleaned up in these mountains.”
A mess? That was an understatement if she had ever heard one.
One more step back.
“Cassa, make another move and you won’t be sitting on that perky little ass of yours for a week.”
The utter sincerity in the threat had her freezing.
“Dog has taken care of that for you,” she snapped out, glaring at both men. “I won’t be sitting for a week anyway.”
When Cabal moved, it was with such swiftness that even Dog’s rumored lightning fast reflexes couldn’t help him avoid that fist that planted itself in his face.
He hit the ground with a thud that Cassa swore she could feel even from where she was standing.
To give Dog credit, he didn’t come back swinging. He rescued his cigar from the ground, brushed the tip off and replaced it between his obviously swollen lips before breathing out heavily.
“Bengal, that one’s free,” he stated as he propped himself up on his elbows and stared up at Cabal. Cassa swore she saw a gleam of red in his eyes. “Don’t try it again.”
“Touch her again and I’ll kill you.” The promise was harsh, Cabal’s voice vibrating with rage.
“Felines are so dramatic,” Dog sighed, rising lithely to his feet as he glanced at Cassa.
“Drama” wasn’t exactly the word she would have used for it.
“They’re something, that’s for sure,” she muttered. It wasn’t a compliment.
Dog gave a brief, hard laugh. “He’s Bengal. You should have him explain exactly what that means.”
It could be worse than just being a Breed? She eyed Cabal suspiciously. She’d hate to imagine he could be more arrogant or stubborn than most Felines. It would be her luck though.
“Shut up and get the hell off this mountain,” Cabal snarled. As he spoke, Cassa cocked her head and listened. Swinging around, she turned and lifted her head. The silhouette was dim. The black against the clouded night sky was hard to detect, but the gleam of metal and the soft, almost undetectable hum was unmistakable. A Breed heli-jet.
She had been so close, almost within sight of the little valley she had been searching for. And now it would all be gone: Alonzo’s body as well as any proof that it had ever been there.
She turned back to Cabal slowly, feeling that familiar sense of betrayal rising inside her.