A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (28 page)

“He needed money.”

Ferretto smiled. “Odds are always on the house. Now, where’s the key?”

I had two choices. Tell the truth and run the risk of them getting the key and promptly shooting us, or lie and if they caught on they’d shoot us on principle.

“It’s in the tiger enclosure.”

From behind me, Brooke sucked in a shocked breath.

“Really?” Ferretto glanced at Boris. The tiger growled. “Clever.”

“I’ll help you get it,” I said. “But you have to let everyone else go.”

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate.”

“Sure I am. Unless you want to get eaten.”

“What if,” Mancini said, almost to himself, “I just shoot the cat?”

He raised his gun and pointed it at Boris. My blood turned to ice at the sight, but I managed to force a short laugh.

“You shoot him and you’re never going to get your stupid key.”

He glanced at me, that creepy half smile widening into a grin that would make a hyena wince.

“What?” I asked, letting my voice drip with as much distain as I could manage. “You thought you could kill a tiger with that little thing? Shooting him will only piss him off.”

“So you say.” Mancini locked his gaze onto Boris. The tiger lowered his head and snarled.

Bad.

Boris was seething with the need to pounce on Mancini. The emotion rolled over me and I clinched my hands into fists.

Striving for calm, I pulled my mental shield into place and turned to Ferretto. If I was going to make him believe my lies, I didn’t need the homicidal thoughts of a tiger muddying my mind.

“Listen,” I said, “he could shoot until the gun is empty and you know what you’d have? Six hundred pounds of wounded, angry tiger between you and what you want. Not the best idea, is it, Frankie?”

Ferretto’s eye twitched at my use of his first name but he turned his attention to Mancini.

“Vincent,” he snapped. When Mancini didn’t lower the gun, Ferretto stepped forward and held out his hand to take it.

Mancini didn’t respond. Just when I was sure he’d pull the trigger, he aimed the barrel skyward and said, almost meekly, “Sure, boss. No problem.”

He handed the gun to Ferretto. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he locked his eyes on me and murmured, “I prefer my knives.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand up and over his head to reach the back of his neck. I blinked in disbelief at what I was seeing. From what must have been a hidden sheath somewhere under the collar of his sports coat Mancini produced a sword.

No, not a sword. A
machete
.

Crap.

Then Mancini did something that would have been laughable—if it hadn’t been so friggin’ creepy.

Never releasing my gaze, he brought the machete to his lips and
licked
the blade.

It freaked me out so much I reflexively employed the only weapon I had available—sarcasm.

“Why, Vincent,” I said in a breathy, Scarlett O’Hara drawl. “People will say we’re in love.”

Ignoring our little tête-à-tête, Ferretto turned to me, casually aiming the gun at my chest.

“The key.”

I was more than happy to have an excuse to look away from Mancini.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my sister inch a step closer to Logan. She had a plan—I hoped. Maybe to get ahold of his gun or . . . it didn’t matter, I didn’t need to know.

The only way I could help was to keep everyone’s attention focused on me.

I moved forward, away from where Brooke and Emma stood, and pointed to the small building at the rear of the enclosure.

“That’s the tiger house. The best way to get the key is to put the tiger inside. Once he’s secure, you’re free to get what you want. No muss, no fuss.”

Ferretto regarded me for several moments then turned abruptly and pointed the gun at my sister.

“You,” he said to Emma, “tape the little bitch to big mama. Don’t want her running off again.”

Logan released Ozeal, stepped to the side, and tossed the giant roll of tape to Emma.

“Ankles first,” Ferretto ordered.

Emma knelt, and with a rip, began unfurling the tape. She tore a piece off with her teeth and began binding Ozeal and Brooke together. She slid me a glance and flicked her gaze at the keys clipped to Ozeal’s belt.

I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me at first, but then she moved to reposition her weight. She was getting her feet under her so she could move fast.

“I need the keys,” I said, hoping I’d read her right. “If I’m going to put the tiger up.”

My sister’s face was unreadable but the set of her jaw told me to be ready—though for what, I had no idea.

She unrolled another length of tape, this one much longer than the first, and paused.

“Vincent.” Ferretto motioned for him to retrieve the key ring.

Before Mancini moved he flicked his wrist, making the machete’s blade whir through the air between us like a propeller. He stopped the display as abruptly as he’d started it, then strolled past me, casually resting the machete on his shoulder.

Ozeal’s eyes blazed at him as Mancini unclipped the keys, but he ignored her. Then he did something stupid. He turned his back on my sister.

Silly psychopath.

He’d only taken a few steps when Emma surged to her feet. Just as he was giving his machete another showy twirl, she swung the heavy roll of tape like a mace. It smashed into the side of Mancini’s head.

He lurched sideways and crashed into the short fence. The machete kept moving, cartwheeling through the air in the opposite direction.

Never losing momentum, Emma whirled to face the second-nearest target, whipping the tape in an arc. The blow caught Logan squarely across the jaw.

He staggered back and Ozeal and Brooke charged him like contestants in a three-legged race for their lives. They plowed into Logan and the trio went down with a thud.

Mancini pushed himself away from the fence and squared off against my sister, hands raised like a boxer, ready for Emma to swing for his head.

She knew better.

My sister struck out with the tape, letting it whiz by Mancini before dropping to one knee. In the same instant, she swung the roll around again, aiming low. Momentum sent the tape winding around his ankles. Hobbled by the sticky straps, he stumbled, off-balance, and Emma had him. Like a cowboy roping a calf, she stood and yanked.

Mancini went down hard, his head bouncing back against the ground with a
thunk
.

Ferretto and I stood frozen and watched, too transfixed by my sister’s Jackie Chan moves to react for the few seconds it had taken Emma to execute her attack.

We exchanged a glance and, in that moment, both of us seemed to realize one important point.

Ferretto still held a gun.

Swinging his arm, he lifted it to aim at Emma.

“Look out!” In utter panic, I lunged for the pistol and missed. My crazed leap slammed me into Ferretto’s shoulder instead. He fumbled the weapon and it dropped to the ground.

Ferretto moved to grab the gun. I reacted in precisely the wrong way. I kicked it, sending the gun skidding out of sight.

This was wrong because I should have focused on my opponent instead of his weapon. It was a mistake I paid for.

Ferretto backhanded me hard enough to make my teeth rattle and send me sprawling to the ground.

“Gra—” Emma’s cry was cut short. Mancini tripped her as she came at Ferretto. She landed on her hands and knees and was moving to stand when Mancini snagged one of her ankles.

Emma snapped her leg back like a whip, planting her foot in his face. He crumpled face-first into the ground and didn’t move.

As this was happening, a glint of metal caught my eye.

The machete.

I scrambled toward it. Just as my fingers wrapped around the handle, something hit me. My breath exploded from my lungs in a painful
woosh
. It took a moment to realize what had happened. Ferretto had kicked me. Hard.

I collapsed on my side and he plucked the machete from my hand. I didn’t fight to hold on to the weapon because suddenly, all thought focused on one thing—air.

I needed air.

But my lungs weren’t working. Pain burned through my midsection as my diaphragm spasmed. I couldn’t do more than draw in the tiniest sip of air.

Not enough.

Though my vision was blurred, I saw Ferretto turn to Emma. She was standing, Mancini unconscious on the ground behind her. Ferretto raised the machete and my sister assumed the relaxed and ready stance I’d seen so many times in the dojo.

Ferretto was toast.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on bringing air into my lungs.

My pulse pounded in my ears, making my head throb.

I opened my watering eyes and saw something that made my already racing heart slam even harder in my chest.

Mancini lay on his side, silently cutting through the tangle of tape that bound his legs. How many knives did he have?

Didn’t matter. I had to warn Emma.

I tried to call out, but no sound escaped my lips.

Emma was focused on Ferretto, who was drawing her attention by feinting from one side to the other and keeping her back to Mancini, who began to slowly rise to his feet.

I tried again to shout a warning, but couldn’t force more than a whisper from my lips.

I had to do something.

This was mind over matter. I was not dying, but my sister might if I didn’t warn her. I opened my mouth, determination burning through me. But all I managed was a strangled “hem.”

Tears leaked from the corner of my eyes as I watched Mancini stalk closer to my sister.

“Hem-a,” I tried again. The sound was barely audible.

Emma, look out!

My mental plea was useless.

There had been times in the past when I’d wished my ability extended to human beings, but never as fervently as I did in that moment.

Then it hit me. I couldn’t call out to Emma, but there were others who could be my voice.

I let my mental shield drop and reached out. One by one, starting with Boris, then Larry, the old lion, and finally the cougars.

Come on, everybody. Make some noise!

And they did.

Chest-rattling roars erupted in tandem from both the lion and the tiger. Coupled with the cougars’ whining screams, it was an unearthly sound, startling everyone, including my sister.

Emma glanced around and caught sight of Mancini. He’d only broken stride for a moment but a moment was enough.

He lunged at her but she dodged, spinning away.

It was still two against one, but she’d at least managed to maneuver both men to where she could see them.

I glanced to where Ozeal and Brooke still struggled to hold Logan down. At least one bad guy was out of commission.

Drawing in a painful breath, I told myself it would be okay. This was like her aikido test. They would attack; Emma would handle it.

Then I saw the trickle of blood on her forearm.

Fear spiked through me. This wasn’t a test. I would have to do more than lie on the ground as my sister took on two armed men.

Ignoring the shooting pains in my abdomen, I rolled to my knees and felt something bite into my shin.

Logan’s gun.

I snatched it up and staggered to my feet.

“Stop!” I coughed out the word as I aimed the gun.

Ferretto glanced over his shoulder and froze.

“Drop it.” The command was raspy but it was all I could manage. My chest burned with every breath. I felt like I was trying to force air into lead balloons.

Both men stared at me. Ferretto dropped the machete and slowly raised his hands.

Mancini didn’t move.

“You, too.”

For a moment, I didn’t think he would obey, then that sly grin I’d come to despise slid into place and he opened his fingers to let the knife fall from his grasp. “Well, I guess you got me,” he said.

If I could have breathed a sigh of relief I would have.

Mancini paused to regard me then stepped toward Ferretto, bent, and retrieved his machete.

“Stop!”

He took a step forward and I shuffled back, wanting to keep my distance from the blade.

“Don’t move, Mancini.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” He angled his head. “I don’t think so.”

I planted my feet like Kai had taught me and leveled the gun at his chest.

“Try me.”

“I don’t have to try you. I already know. Have you ever shot anyone? Killed another human being?”

I didn’t answer.

“No?” A feverish glint lit his eyes and he breathed, “I have.”

“Don’t listen to him, Grace,” Emma said. “If he takes another step, drop him where he stands.”

I wanted to believe I could do it. “Spare me the psycho killer bit, okay? I don’t care.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

I was good at freezing people out and pretending I didn’t care. But it was a mask. Mancini wore the true face of a psychopath. I was outmatched and we both knew it. He took another step forward and when I didn’t shoot him, his smile widened.

I was screwed.

Then it dawned on me.

I was there, surrounded by predators. I could use that. Use them to bolster my courage.

The heart of a lion was within my reach.

Admittedly, Larry was old and grumpy, but deep inside the link to the wild was there.

My hands had begun to shake, from either fatigue or fear or both. It didn’t matter. Mancini could feel my desperation. It was now or never.

A dozen feet away, Boris paced and growled, and I decided the heart of a tiger was my best bet. I homed in on him. Instantly, his desire to tear into Mancini roared through me. The need to claw and bite. To rend flesh from bone.

I latched on to the primal spirit at the core of his need and let it burn into me. Welcomed the spark as it ignited the feral beast that lies dormant in us all.

It was more than lack of empathy or criminal insanity. The beast inside of me roared awake, savage and beautiful and blindingly pure.

Mancini’s eyes met mine and he stilled.

“Drop. Your. Weapon.” I growled the words slowly.

Mancini’s eyes widened for an instant and I knew he’d seen that beast rise within. His smug smile faltered and his gaze dropped—just for a moment, but it was enough.