Hollywood Tiger: BBW Tiger Shifter Paranormal Romance (Hollywood Shifters Book 3) (12 page)

The guard approached. Dennis saw the telltale bulge of a weapon under the man’s armpit as he held out the tumbler. Dennis took the drink he didn’t want. He pretended to sip as he watched Mindy, who from the looks of it was not gulping hers down either.

Unlike Torvaldsen, who drained his, then slammed the crystal tumbler down on the table so it rang. “That is good! What is it?” He squinted against the bright afternoon light at the bottle.

“Bruichladdich,” the guard replied.

“Ha, the four times distilled,” Torvaldsen said. “Jim Wells, he has good taste. Expensive taste! Pour me another.” He flicked the crystal tumbler with his nail, and after the guard did so, he said to Hank, “Take the girl in. Show her the paintings.”

Mindy said, “I’ll stay with Danny. I want to hear all about the film.”

Torvaldsen flicked his chin again, and Hank gripped Mindy’s arm. She didn’t resist, but cast a worried look back at Dennis from those soulful brown eyes.

The tiger nearly leaped out.
Not yet
. Dennis gritted his teeth, watching Mindy vanish.

She had to be safer away from Torvaldsen, and Dennis was convinced she would use any opportunity she could.

***

Mindy exerted all her control not to pull away from those fingers gripping her arm. Payton wouldn’t yank free. Payton liked any attention from men, even repulsive gorillas like this Hank. So she shoved down her irritation, aware of the emotions below that she hadn’t had time to sort out yet, far stronger than heat—stronger than the sun and the stars and the planets. She had never expected to be in love. Never wanted to be in love, but here she was.

And she didn’t want to get out of it.

Okay, she could do this. They just had to talk themselves out of this mess and away from that horrible Torvaldsen and his grunts, and get away alone. Assuming Dennis felt even remotely the same, she would go with it. And it wouldn’t be like lying, if she was very careful to completely avoid certain subjects with Dennis. Because she knew whatever happened, she could not be the one to say goodbye.

All this passed through her head within the space of five steps, then they reached the doors, and she pasted a smile on her face and blinked up at Hank. “You don’t need to hold on so hard. I’m not wearing heels—I won’t fall.”

Hank stared down at her, his mouth mean. Mindy wondered if he was one of those creeps who liked pushing women around. But then he let go. “Just stick with me.”

“Okay,” she said. “What paintings are we seeing? Whose house is this?”

“Guy’s name is Jim. One of the investors. At Cannes right now. That’s all I know. There’s a bunch of art in this hall, and more in the rooms down that way.”

“Oooh, I love pictures of farms and stuff,” Mindy said, looking up at what seemed to be an original Dutch painting of the 1600s, though from a minor painter.

Hank grunted, obviously bored.

Mindy smiled, a sort-of-plan opening up before her. Hank was standing close, stiff, obviously on guard. If she could convince him she was a total airhead, would he relax a little?

Like, enough so she could claim to need the ladies’ room so she could run away?

Only how would she rescue Dennis?

Think
, she scolded herself.
And in the meantime, let’s bore this jerk into catatonia
.

“I wonder who painted that one? How much did it cost? Wow, did they have magic markers in those days? That color is bright enough for a magic marker . . .”

Chapter Twelve

Outside on the terrace, silence stretched as water poured into the pool, and the hawk swooped overhead once, and away.

Torvaldsen motioned for his guard to pour a third glass of Scotch, which he examined in the sunlight before sipping with his eyes shut.

He’s enjoying this, the bastard
, Dennis thought.

Torvaldsen finished the glass, set it down, then turned to Dennis, his blue gaze flat and cold. “So. You are with this man-owl?”

Greg
. Dennis did his best to look confused. “What did you say?”

Torvaldsen struck the table with the flat of his hand. “My English is good. This owl-man. He is not alone. Who is with him? You?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ben. My man-hawk who strikes down the owl-man out of the sky, who is following us. Ben goes to watch Haskell and he follows Hank. You follow Hank. Ben becomes man. Calls me,” Torvaldsen said slowly and distinctly, his gaze merciless. “He tells me two things. One, a tiger appears, and then is gone. A male tiger. Two, you and that woman follow Hank in the little white car, though Hank says over the phone that he told no one to follow.”

“I told you, we saw Hank and followed him because we thought he was going to the producers’ meeting that Haskell kept yapping about. I’m a producer now.” Dennis increased his injured air. “I paid up. So what’s the problem?”

Torvaldsen ignored the question. He set the tumbler down again and leaned toward Dennis. “I think this tiger is you. I want to know how many spies there are. Where they are.”

Dennis’s mind worked fast. He felt the hunt closing in, but he would fight for time—and to keep Mindy safe. “Why don’t you ask Haskell?” he asked loudly, bluffing hard.

“
Sheet
,” Torvaldsen exclaimed in disgust. “Haskell, he knows nothing. I make certain he knows nothing. He is the front window. Finished. He thinks your money will pay for this clown show today, but I take that, too.” His teeth showed. “I think you know more. Much more. You say the same things over and over, and yet there are questions you do not ask.”

He turned his head. “Bring out the girl.”

One of the three guards ran to the door, spoke, then returned, and at a nod from Torvaldsen, joined the other two in a half-circle around Dennis.

Hank appeared a minute later, walking next to Mindy. She tried to head for Dennis, but Torvaldsen flicked a forefinger and Hank took hold of her arm and steered her to the other side of the little pool, some thirty feet away.

Torvaldsen then turned back to Dennis, and his smile was merciless. “You will now answer my questions, or you will watch while Hank takes each lie out on the girl.”

White heat flared in Dennis. JP wasn’t here, but he’d taught Mick and Dennis a few things when the three of them were in Afghanistan with the Signal Corps.

He grasped his cane and whirled up. A swinging strike to the side of the head dropped Thug One like a stone. The backswing caught Thug Two in the knee—Dennis heard the crunch—and the man crashed into the table, fouling the approach of Thug Three—

And red pain jolted Dennis, whose right arm suddenly went dead. He stared, shocked, into Torvaldsen’s cold blue gaze over the pistol he didn’t even know the guy had, as Thug Three looked back and forth between Dennis and Torvaldsen.

Hank slid his hand inside his jacket.

Dennis swayed on his feet, shock flaring through his nerves to pool in his belly as his hazy gaze locked on Mindy’s.

She gave him a wistful, hopeless look, and then she reached behind her neck, and in one motion, with all the grace he loved so much, ripped off her dress.

Torvaldsen, Thug Three, and Hank were scum-sucking villains, but they were also men. All three froze at the sudden sight of a naked woman, then in the blink of an eye she blurred into a small brown shape that leaped from the ground to a patio table and then straight into Hank’s face, little claws raking.

Hank screamed and recoiled away from the totally unexpected attack. The gun went flying as Hank’s arms wind-milled and he fell backward into the pool. Splash! Went Hank. Sploop! Went the gun into the deep end.

Dennis stared for a heartbeat in sheer disbelief.

Mindy? A
dog?
Not just a dog, but a dainty, adorable chocolate brown poodle with a cloud of fluffy hair on top of head and tail. She skittered, diving under a table as both Thug Three and Torvaldsen turned their guns toward her.

Oh no you don’t, fuckers
. And the tiger roared, bursting out.

God I hate ripping clothes
, was Dennis’s last thought as he shifted.

The seams of his shirt and pants felt like whips cutting his fur and flesh before they gave, sending burning spears of pain through his wounded shoulder. Then his tiger stretched out, and with a massive bat of front claws, sent Thug Three crashing backward into the furniture, slash marks from his face down his torso. The man dropped and didn’t move.

Dennis turned on Torvaldsen.
Yeah, shoot me again
, he growled,
but I’ll get you first.

And leaped.

***

Mindy’s vision blurred into the dog’s world of grays, dim yellow and washed-out blue.

Her nose was fifty times better than human smell, but this time it could not be trusted as the scents changed wildly. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening, beyond crashes and clatters that hurt her sensitive ears.

She scrambled out from under the table and peered at the water. A vague shape moved beneath it, but she couldn’t determine Hank’s details from the mass of gray-blue water, and because Hank was below the surface, she couldn’t smell him.

So she shut her eyes and shifted back to herself, crouched naked on hands and knees, her dress puddled a few feet away. She snatched it up and wriggled into it as she looked wildly from left to right.

Hank, surging up in the water to gasp, roared cusswords in her direction before diving down to retrieve his gun.

And in the other direction—

She froze, trying to make sense of what she saw. Dennis and that horrible Torvaldsen were gone. In their place a gigantic dull green snake with black spots had wrapped itself around a tiger.

The tiger snapped at the snake, trying to sink its teeth in. Blood dribbled in horrid streaks from one big shoulder.

Shoulder.

That beautiful tiger—the same one she had seen at the film location in Hollywood—
could that be Dennis?

Whoever it was, that ginormous snake was trying to squeeze the life out of him.

She cast one quick look back. Hank was diving down into the deep end. Mindy finished tying the halter top and ran barefoot toward the epic battle, giving them a wide berth. As she circled cautiously around, she saw another pistol lying near the foot of the guy with the tiger claw marks down his front. He was moaning and stirring.

Mindy picked up the gun, and looked at it. She had never held a gun in her life, much less fired one. She didn’t even know if the safety was on. Or how many bullets it had—or if it would kick back, like in the movies.

She closed both hands around it and tried to aim at the snake, but it and the tiger were rolling around, the snake desperate to squeeze the tiger, the tiger frantic, his yellow eyes wide and hazy.

Mindy met that gaze, light bursting somewhere behind her ribs.

I know you
, she thought, emotions still some way behind her and scrambling to catch up. Right now she was numb, and shaky and desperate, her brain racing—
And I have to do something about that snake
—

Yes.
Her gaze snapped to the bottle of Scotch, which was three-quarters full. She tucked the pistol into the front of her dress, picked up the bottle, and with all her strength smashed it directly onto the snake’s face. Glass and pungent alcohol splashed everywhere.

The snake jolted as if electrified, then slumped into loose curls.

A second later the tiger blurred, and there lay Dennis, one shoulder bleeding copiously, his gorgeous body sprawled in the blood and glass.

He croaked, “Mork. Pool.”

Mindy swung around as Hank surged up, one hand holding his dripping pistol.

Before he could blink the water from his eyes, Mindy yanked the pistol from her dress and pointed it at him. “Drop it,” she yelled.

He brought his pistol up. Mindy gripped hers tighter, aimed in front of Hank and pulled the trigger—and to her surprise, the gun leaped in her hand, water geysering up about six inches from Hank’s left hip.

He let out a surprised yelp and fell back into the pool. Mindy backed away, aware of a high, thin wailing somewhere in the distance. She glanced at Dennis, who was in the process of yanking the pants off the snoring guy he’d konked with the cane.

He struggled one-handed to get the pants over his legs as the wailing increased to the sound of sirens.

“Dennis?” Mindy asked, still pointing the gun at Hank in the pool.

A flicker at her right, and Torvaldsen was back as a man again, with tiny cuts all over his face. He lay naked amid the scraps of his ruined clothes as Dennis picked the pistol out of one of the fallen guards’ hands, and pointed it at him.

Torvaldsen stilled, blinking rapidly, his lips drawn back into a rictus.

Maybe two minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, the back doors of the house banged open and a SWAT team poured out, weapons to bear. Dennis raised his hands, and Mindy copied him, but anxiety didn’t turn into relief until she saw Agent Sloane come through the doors behind the team.

She dropped her pistol on the table and ran to Dennis, and he closed his one good arm around her as if he would never let her go.

“I love you, I love you,” she sobbed into his chest.

“I love you, too, my darling Mindy,” he whispered, and her ear pressed up against his tawny chest hair.

She heard a low purr.

***

“You are so amazing. How the hell did you come up with that?” he whispered.

Mindy snuggled tighter against him, and a wash of tenderness almost defeated the throbbing pain at the way she carefully avoided touching his right shoulder.

“The Scotch?” she said in that small voice. “It was after you talked about the Amazon. I was reading. About the scariest creatures there. And how to defeat them if they attack you. And they said snakes like anacondas will go blind and its nose will blank out if you throw alcohol at it. I figured Scotch would work.”

“Talk about overkill! No wonder you dropped the bastard like a stone. That kind of Scotch is something like putting jet fuel into a moped.”

“Good,” she muttered into his chest. “And I hope it hurt. He was trying to
kill
you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured into her hair.

She gulped on a sob. “I wanted to.” Then she tipped up her head, her curls flying wildly around her face as her eyes rounded, full of question. “But you could’ve gone first.”

“I—it’s not that simple,” he said, knowing he sounded weak. Stupid. “That is, not just me—”

“O’Keefe, sit down so the EMT can tend that shoulder before you fall.” Agent Sloane appeared next to them, one finger pressed against the earbud in his ear.

Dennis was afraid that if he moved, he would fall flat on his face. Mindy seemed to read his mind, or maybe it was only his muscle movement, because she closed her arms around his chest and held him steady as an EMT put one of the patio chairs against Dennis’s knees.

He sank into it, and the dizziness struck all of a sudden.

Agent Sloane said, “Miss Maurek, may I request you to step this way—careful of that glass with your bare feet—and we can talk?”

Dennis watched her cast a worried look back at him, then Sloane said, “He’s not going anywhere.”

“I have questions, too,” she said.

Sloane flicked her a glance, then with his toe nudged the edge of a ripped shirt lying in a tangle in the mess on the patio. Then he cast her a questioning look.

“Then you . . . know?” she asked in a low voice, casting another troubled look Dennis’s way.

Agent Sloane gave a single nod.

“Do they?” she indicated the SWAT team busy taking away Torvaldsen and his minions.

He shook his head, as the EMT slid a hypo into Dennis’s arm. A sting, then the pain dropped under a cottony cover. He knew he was going to fade out, as his tiger tapped all his energy reserves to begin the healing process.

“Mindy,” he whispered. “Don’t go . . .”

He didn’t think his voice was very loud, and his eyes began to close, but two warm hands brushed his cheeks, soft lips touched gently to his, and she breathed, “I’m not leaving you.”

***

Mindy watched Dennis lean back, eyes closed as two EMTs worked on him, muttering back and forth in Medicalese.