THIS WOULD BE A lot more comfortable in my cat form, Griffin grumbled. She was lying in wait in the small forest next to Jorie Price’s house. Branches dug into her side, and the ground had never felt so hard when she had settled down to wait for prey while she was in her animal form.

She didn’t have a choice, though. A ligerlike creature ambling up to Jorie’s house in the middle of the day wouldn’t escape notice in the small town, and Griffin didn’t want to waste any time changing back once Jorie was finally gone.

The front door opened.

Griffin ducked behind a shrub of wild blackberries. Eyesight wasn’t necessary anyway. She breathed in the scent that the wind brought to her. A mental picture of a stroll through the forest in springtime flashed through her mind. The unique scent let her know that it was Jorie Price who was leaving the house.

Jorie got into a battered-looking car and drove off, probably running some errands before meeting Griffin for coffee. This was Griffin’s chance to take a closer look at the house. She wasn’t proud of invading another person’s territory in this way, but she accepted it as necessary. Searching Jorie’s computer hadn’t amounted to anything, so they needed to do this the old-fashioned way.

Her thigh muscles, which had been ready to pounce for the last hour, stretched powerfully, propelling her toward the house much faster than most humans could have gotten there. She pressed her big body against the side of the house and listened.

Nothing.

Everything was quiet inside the house and in the neighborhood.

Looking left and right to make sure no one was watching, she took her lock pick kit from her pocket. Slowly, she inserted a pick into the keyhole while applying pressure with the tension wrench.

A moment went by. Two. Then she felt and heard a slight click as the first pin fell into position. Yeah! This is a cat’s job. Griffin had always enjoyed the challenge of picking locks and liked that she needed all her considerable patience and her sense of touch to get the door open.

She listened attentively, but instead of the second click, she heard the crunching of gravel.

“Hello?” It was the voice of a human male. He was shouting through the hedge that separated Jorie’s house from that of her neighbor. His steps were coming closer. “Anybody here? Are you searching for Ms. Price?”

The urge to spin around and lunge at the human like a startled tiger defending its kill threatened to overcome Griffin. Then she shoved her tools back into her pocket and sprinted around the corner before the human could appear on her side of the hedge and really see her. Well, obviously he has already seen you, or he wouldn’t know that you aren’t Jorie. She realized that he was probably the next-door neighbor. He must have caught glimpses of her through the window of his own house. Her body had covered what she had been doing, but he had still come to see what she wanted. That damn small-town curiosity.

In two big leaps, Griffin reached the back of the house, determined not to let the nosy neighbor see her face. She cursed herself for getting caught like some inexperienced cub who was doing this for the first time. Sure, the neighbor had been downwind, and she had been focused on picking the lock, but it was still humiliating. This assignment is not off to a good start. Jennings wouldn’t like it. He was a perfectionist — and so was she.

Pressing her back against the rough wall behind the house, she paused and listened to see if he was following her. She crouched down — and froze when the flap of a kitty door that someone had installed in a basement window opened.

The acrylic glass swung back, and Griffin came eye to eye with a cat.

Half in and half out of the kitty door, the cat stopped and hissed at Griffin.

Griffin was tempted to hiss back and show the small feline who was top cat in the area. “Hush,” she whispered. “I’m a fellow cat. Don’t rat me out to the human.”

The three-colored cat smelled of coconut and Jorie Price, so it was definitely her cat, not just a feline neighbor sampling the food. The cat hissed again. Its eyes were wide with fear, and its nose wrinkled as it took in Griffin’s scent. Finally, almost in slow motion, the cat backed away. The flap fell closed behind the disappearing cat.

Great. A curious neighbor in front and a snobbish cat inside — alarm system Osgrove-style. I’m beginning to think that breaking in was not the best idea I ever had. Now I need to call Jennings and have him send someone over to make Jorie and the neighbor think it was just a salesman or a Jehovah’s Witness going from door to door, not a burglar. Griffin drew her watch from her pocket. Only a half hour left until she had to meet Jorie at the local diner. There have to be easier ways to get inside the house, she decided and turned to sneak away.

***

Jesus Christ! Jorie ducked down in the driver’s seat of her car and stared out the window. Do I really want to go over there and sit down to have coffee with her?

In the small diner right next to her parked car, at the very first table where she could see the street, Griffin Westmore sat and calmly regarded the other patrons of the diner.

Jorie didn’t need the printed-out newspaper article on the seat next to her to identify the zoologist. The photo didn’t do her justice anyway. Griffin Westmore was the only stranger in the diner, and the locals were staring at her. Not that Jorie could blame them. She was staring too.

Griffin Westmore wasn’t just tall; she was large. Not fat, exactly, but she didn’t have the thin limbs and rangy body of some tall people either. The expensive-looking silk shirt she was wearing couldn’t hide the strength that lurked beneath it.

It wasn’t just her size that made Jorie hesitate to go in. Most of her opponents at the poker table had been men, and some of them made Godzilla look like a harmless lizard in comparison. She also knew that sometimes, the biggest person wasn’t the most dangerous.

Still, that niggling sixth sense that had always told her when it was time to fold her cards just wouldn’t shut up. Even Griffin’s gleaming, coppery hair seemed to shout a silent warning at her, like a fire that set off the smoke alarm.

The waitress came over to the table and extended her arm as far out as it would go to set a cup on the table, preferring to keep her distance from Griffin Westmore.

She’s afraid of Griffin. Not that Jorie could blame her. She looks like someone who could break a bobcat’s neck rather than put a radio collar around it.

The cup rattled on its saucer, and the liquid threatened to spill over.

Jorie flinched when Griffin’s hands shot out.

But the long fingers were gentle as they took the cup from the waitress’s shaking hands and set it safely onto the table. For someone so big, she moved with a flowing grace that Jorie hadn’t expected. No hint of irritation was visible on Griffin’s face. She just gave a gentle nod, took a sip from the cup, and smiled at the waitress.

Why is she so calm? Jorie thought of herself as a levelheaded person, but she wouldn’t have reacted so pleasantly at almost having a cup of hot coffee or tea dumped into her lap. Something about Griffin’s body language seemed... off. She’s holding back, putting her temper on a tight leash. Does she know I’m here, watching her? The thought rushed through Jorie’s mind, but she dismissed it. She can’t even know what I look like. Maybe she’s just used to strangers being intimidated by her size and wants to show them that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Probably as perplexed by the intimidating stranger and her unexpected friendliness as Jorie was, the waitress hurried away.

Okay, Jorie thought. Do I go in, or do I run for the hills too?

***

Griffin felt gazes resting on her — and one gaze in particular. As a predator, Griffin was always aware of what was going on in her territory. For now, Osgrove was her territory and the diner her hunting grounds. All her senses came alive, and her skin prickled. For once, the predator was the one being watched. Jorie Price had been sitting in her old car in front of the diner, studying her, for the last ten minutes.

Ten minutes in which Griffin had done everything to convince her captive audience that she was perfectly harmless. She had smiled at the waitress, had greeted the other patrons with what she hoped was a nonpredatory expression, and had said “please” and “thank you,” trying hard to put the people around her at ease. It wasn’t easy when you looked like a six-foot-two leader of a street gang. Griffin cursed the scar that the target of her last mission, a renegade bear-shifter, had left behind on her face. It would take a few more changes for it to heal completely and disappear. For now, there was nothing she could do about it, but she tugged her collar-length hair over her left ear that had been injured on another mission two years ago.

She was careful not to look in Jorie’s direction, instinctively knowing that it would scare her prey away. Instead, she focused on her herbal tea. Not that the brew deserved the attention. With every sip, Griffin had to fight against the urge to snarl at the tea or the person who had wasted a hot cup of water on it.

Outside, a car door slammed, and Griffin suppressed a triumphant purr. She’s coming in.

A concert of bells clattered when the door swung open.

Griffin recognized the scent of the writer before she stopped in front of her table. Once again, Jorie’s scent made her think of a walk through the forest... or through a coconut grove.

“Dr. Westmore?” Jorie asked.

Griffin looked up with her most charming Cheshire-cat grin. “Yes. Ms. Price?”

“Yes.” Jorie’s smile was polite, but Griffin felt the wariness behind it.

Like a deer that has stopped grazing and lifts its head to catch a glimpse of a possible predator. One wrong move and she’ll run away. I’ll need to work harder to get her to lower her head and munch on the grass again. “Then call me Griffin, please,” she said, still smiling. Unlike the Kasari, she didn’t stand on ceremony, and she had noticed that humans opened up faster when they were on first-name basis.

Jorie nodded politely but didn’t return the offer.

Either she’s a really private woman, or she got into the habit of using her pseudonym and assumes that I’ll just use that. That was what Griffin would have to do since she officially didn’t know Jorie’s first name yet. She vowed to be careful not to let slip any information about the writer that she shouldn’t have yet.

Even though her Wrasa instincts screamed at Griffin to avert her gaze, she forced herself to keep eye contact. Humans didn’t find it threatening. They seemed to think it was the polite thing to do. At least it gave her a chance to study Jorie more closely and take in all the details she had missed on her late-night investigation in front of Jorie’s house.

The lithe body and the shining black hair, revealing small ears and a slender neck, reminded Griffin of a black panther. Almond-shaped eyes added to the feline image, but the sparkle of intelligence in those Asian eyes was all human — precise, analytical, and cautious.

It wasn’t tradition among her kind, but Griffin reached out a hand. She noticed the confident movements of Jorie’s slender hand that took hers in a short, but tight grip. She might be a recluse, but she’s not shy. Jorie’s hand was soft and felt good against hers.

Jorie let go first and gave her a nod. “Dr. Westmore,” she said, ignoring Griffin’s offer to call her by her first name. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

Meeting at the diner had been Jorie’s suggestion. Apparently, she thought meeting in a public place with a lot of people around them was safer. Well, she doesn’t know that if the Saru want her dead, there’s no place on earth where she’ll be safe. But they weren’t at that point just yet, and Griffin hoped it wouldn’t become necessary. Right now, she was still investigating.

Jorie sat down across from her.

The waitress came over again, carefully keeping on Jorie’s side of the table. “Can I get you anything?” she asked Jorie.

She’s treating her like a stranger, Griffin thought. Either Jorie is not very well liked in town, or she just recently moved here and doesn’t socialize. She would have Leigh or one of their other techies find out for how long Jorie had lived in Osgrove.

“Just coffee, please,” Jorie said.

Coffee, the secret weakness of humankind. While the scent was nice, her nose wanted to wrinkle as she imagined the bitter taste. Coffee and nothing else. Now she congratulated herself on having a big lunch just before she had left for her meeting with the writer. This way, she could concentrate on Jorie instead of being focused on eating or on the smell of frying bacon.

When the waitress left, Jorie took a bound, well-worn notebook from her backpack.

Leigh was right. Whatever notes she has on her story, they are not on her computer. She has them in her notebook. Griffin stared at the little book. Somehow she had to get her paws on it, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Jorie probably kept the notebook close at all times, just in case she had a sudden idea while she was away from her computer.

After thumbing through it for a few seconds, Jorie stopped at a page with a neatly numbered list of questions. “Then let’s get started so that I won’t waste more time of your vacation than necessary.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Griffin said with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind if this takes a while. I have a lot of built-up vacation time, so an hour more or less doesn’t matter. I haven’t taken any time off in almost three years.” That was a lie. She took time off as often as the Forest Service allowed it. Sometimes she just needed to get away from it all — her life among humans, the Saru, and the expectations of her family. But with faint dark circles under her eyes, Jorie looked as if she was overdue for a vacation and might sympathize with a fellow workaholic. This meeting had just one purpose: getting a foot into the door by earning Jorie’s trust. Every word Griffin said was tailored to bring her closer to that goal claw-length by claw-length.

Instead of asking about Griffin’s work or politely inquiring about her vacation plans, Jorie just nodded and clicked on her pen. “Allison mentioned you work on a project about mountain lions. Do you have any firsthand experience with tigers?”

“Bobcats,” Griffin corrected and mentally added, As you very well know. I bet you did your research before agreeing to meet me. “I’m part of a team that is trying to establish the home-range size and movements of bobcats in the Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas. We radio collared them.” She had a feeling Jorie was testing her, trying to verify the information she had found about her on the Internet. Mmm, nice. She’s gonna keep this interesting.

“Sounds adventurous,” Jorie said. Neither her facial expression nor her voice revealed any emotion beyond polite interest.

She must be a great poker player.

“It can be. But it also involves a lot of data analysis. I don’t spend as much time out on the trails as I’d like. A lot of my work is management, putting together proposals and giving presentations.” That much was true, but it was also meant to send a clear message: I’m a harmless, trustworthy researcher, not an unreliable adventurer. “I guess our jobs have something in common: a lot of paperwork.” Griffin tried to establish a connection with Jorie and introduce a little humor into their much too businesslike meeting.

Apparently, Jorie wasn’t interested in interpersonal connections. “So you never worked with tigers?” she repeated her question.

And here I thought the Saru were businesslike. Jorie Price puts us to shame. This woman has a seriously one-track mind. Does she ever think about anything but her writing? Griffin wondered. “You’re lucky,” she said although lucky wasn’t the right word to describe a human under investigation by the Saru. “I have a lot of firsthand experience with tigers.” As firsthand as you could get, actually. “So you’re writing a book about tigers?” she asked as if she didn’t already know. She could play clueless with the best of them. Cats were masters of deception, so it was a good thing that she had been sent on this mission instead of letting Jennings try his paw at the deception game.

The relaxed features and the controlled body language didn’t change. Jorie’s scent did, though. The visual image that always came with inhaling Jorie’s scent now showed Griffin a stiff breeze ruffling the leaves high up in the imaginary trees. She’s squirming internally, but she hides it well. Griffin’s admiration grew.

“I usually don’t discuss my works in progress,” Jorie said. Then, as if she realized how brusque that sounded, she added, “I don’t want to jinx it.” Jorie’s charming little smile didn’t reveal the uneasiness she felt at talking about her writing with a stranger, but her scent gave it away.

Oh, so she can be charming too if she wants to. Griffin got the feeling that she was sitting across from another master manipulator. “Writers are a superstitious bunch, huh?” she asked. Do you believe in the creatures you write about? Do you suspect you’re sitting here with a shape-shifter? Did your informant warn you about us, and that’s why you’re so cautious? She studied Jorie’s hand that held the pen, but it stayed relaxed and didn’t give anything away.

“Some of them,” Jorie said. “Muses are fickle creatures, so we have to be careful not to offend them.” The answer sounded matter-of-fact, but Griffin saw the twinkling in the dark eyes. Jorie looked down at her notebook. “A female tiger weighs about two hundred fifty pounds, right?”

Griffin did a quick calculation of her mother’s weight. “That sounds about right for a Bengal tiger, but it also depends on the subspecies. Some Siberian tiger ladies weigh even more.”

Again, Jorie’s facial expression didn’t change. Just a short bunching of her neck muscles gave away her tension.

“Something wrong with that?” Griffin asked. She had already guessed the problem: whoever Jorie’s informant was, he hadn’t gotten around to explaining how a normal-looking woman could change into an animal twice her weight. “Is that a problem for the plot?”

Jorie shook her head, not giving away any information about her book. Her eyes were already on the next question on her list. “What about catnip? Some say it does affect big cats; some say it doesn’t.” Nothing in Jorie’s expression gave away whether she had read the title of Griffin’s dissertation.

I would bet a gourmet dinner against a can of cat food that she has, though. Jorie was smart and careful. There was no way she had agreed to meet Griffin before she had found out everything she could about her. “I actually did my dissertation on that,” Griffin said.

“Really?” Jorie lifted her eyebrows, but her pupils didn’t enlarge, so Griffin knew she was faking surprise. She had known the topic of Griffin’s dissertation, but admitting it would mean having to admit that she had googled Griffin. “And what did you find out?”

“Most lions are sensitive to catnip, but tigers usually aren’t,” Griffin said. It wouldn’t hurt to give Jorie this information even though Wrasa had the same reaction to catnip. “So I hope you’re not planning on having someone in your novel attack a tiger with a can of catnip. It won’t work.”
Jorie neither confirmed nor denied any plans she might have for her novel.

She’s not giving up any information. Very rarely had Griffin investigated someone who was so good at not giving anything away. It was a welcome challenge and completely frustrating at the same time.

Jorie’s pen moved smoothly over the paper, then paused. “What about ligers? Would catnip have any effect on them?”

Years of undercover work had taught Griffin to control her emotions and her body language when she was around humans. But now she had to fight against the impulse to lift her lip in a surprised snarl and gurgled into her tea. The fine hairs on her neck stood on end. “Ligers?” she repeated. She wasn’t a liger, of course. She was a hybrid with Kasari and Puwar ancestors. Her animal form came very close to looking like a liger, though, and she wondered if Jorie’s casual question was pure coincidence.

“Yes,” Jorie said. “I wonder if they would get ‘drunk’ on catnip like their lion fathers or if they wouldn’t react at all like their tiger mothers.”

“Well...” Griffin paused. She didn’t like to admit it, but this human had managed to throw her for a loop. “I didn’t have any ligers in my study, but I’d say it’s about a fifty-fifty chance.” It was. Kylin, her fraternal twin, went as crazy as their Kasari half sister when she smelled catnip while Griffin wasn’t affected at all.

Jorie asked more questions about cats’ senses and about feline metabolism. Every question told Griffin more about Jorie’s assumptions about shape-shifters. A lot of them were accurate. Much too accurate.

Every time Jorie asked about cat facts that could be applied to shape-shifters, Griffin gave answers that were as far from the truth as possible. She noticed that Jorie didn’t write down any of those answers, discarding them as something she wouldn’t use in her story... as if she already knew a lot about the Wrasa and the answers Griffin gave didn’t fit in with that knowledge.

She’s intelligent, and a lot of her assumptions go in the right direction, but if she needs to ask, it means she’s not sure. If she thought that conclusion through to the end, it would mean that there was no inside source. Where else would her knowledge come from? Can getting so many things right be mere coincidence? Griffin wondered.

She knew she wouldn’t get an answer today.

Jorie was already paying for her coffee and Griffin’s tea and putting her notebook back into her backpack. “It was nice to meet you,” Jorie said, again extending her hand. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me and for answering my questions. I’m sure I can use some of these things in my book.”

“You’re welcome,” Griffin said. She feverishly searched for something to say that would keep her in Jorie’s life and allow her to gather more information. Jorie clearly didn’t plan on ever seeing her again. “If you have more questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me. I’ll be around for the next three weeks. You can e-mail me anytime — or you could just call me.” She rifled through her wallet and offered Jorie a card with her cell phone number.

Surprise flashed through the dark eyes.

Damn. Griffin immediately regretted her offer. I moved too fast. This is not the kind of trusting woman who would casually give out her cell phone number to a stranger, so she didn’t expect me to do it either. If she were in Jorie’s place, she would have reacted the same way.

Within a second, a polite smile replaced the surprised expression. Jorie accepted the card that Griffin held out for her. “Thank you,” Jorie said and pocketed the card.

She won’t call, Griffin thought. Now that all her questions were answered, Jorie saw no reason for further contact.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your vacation.” The bells over the door rattled again, and Jorie was gone.