I notice the walk-in door just in time and fling my hand out, grabbing at the handle.
Just as I start to pull, the side of the building rumbles like a small earthquake.
Something hits it hard, from the inside.
I throw open the door, leap in, and come skidding to a halt.
I’m frozen with my gun raised, trying to process what the fuck I’m seeing.
Bruce is loose, very much not in the trailer anymore.
He’s standing on his hind legs, front paws on the wall, so pissed he looks like he could maul a small army in no time.
And someone’s under him, pinned against his chest, having their life crushed out—if they’re not missing their head already.
All I can see is a high heel kicked out under the tiger on one side, a leg twitching, curled, almost like a certain wicked witch crushed by a falling house.
But that’s good news.
Willow wouldn’t wear heels to this party, thank fuck.
I spin around and spot Weston’s truck and the trailer.
The back door hangs open like a busted jaw.
Glancing back at Bruce, making sure he doesn’t move, I jog over to look around the side of the trailer.
Weston and I make eye contact, even as he’s doubled over, barely standing. His face only makes me angrier, a network of harsh bruises, knots, and swollen red pain.
“Uncle Grady?” He almost collapses with relief, catching himself at the last second. “Holy crap, am I glad it’s you.”
“Same, my boy. Can you walk? Where’s Willow?” I ask, throwing an arm around him for support.
He leans into me.
“She...” Weston pauses, pointing at the door he was about to open. “She told me to get in the truck.”
I’m about to ask him if he can stand when an angel’s voice rings out a few feet away.
“Grady?” she whispers in a soft rush.
“Willow!” I round the back of the trailer, pulling Weston along with me, and see her standing there inside.
Smudged with dirt, dried blood on her forehead, hair looking like more of a chestnut mess than ever, but hell.
She’s alive, she’s gorgeous, and she’s mine.
Running as fast as those long legs can carry her, she uses the open trailer door as a springboard and lands in my arms. “Grady! I thought I was seeing things when you ran through the—”
I stop whatever she was about to say with a world ending kiss that could shock Robert Oppenheimer.
I know we’re not out of the woods yet.
I know common sense should rule.
I know I should be very fucking concerned about the fact that there’s a raging tiger less than twenty feet away.
But I also know a man can’t stop a star from going supernova, and right now that star is my heart.
You’d better believe I throw myself at her, press her to my chest, kissing and hugging and hellbent on never letting her out of my sight.
“Um, Grady, I hate to interrupt, but...” she trails off with a fading smile.
I break the kiss and set her down, my rifle swinging back up.
“Hey, Unc, uh...you really might want to let her go,” Weston’s voice penetrates the blood roaring in my ears as he staggers to the cab of the truck.
I look over Willow’s head to see why.
Bruce, head swinging with fury and eyes flashing like an entire jungle at war, slowly approaches. Behind him, near the wall, is the crumpled body of a woman on the floor. Not moving.
Shit.
I keep my rifle up, looking for blood on Bruce’s face, hating like hell that I might have to put this beast down if he’s got a taste for human flesh now.
“Hey, Grady, go easy. He’s just upset,” Willow whispers, looking at me oddly. “He won’t—”
“Yeah. I know.” I nod over her head, hoping to everything holy she’s right.
I want like hell to believe her, but the bloodlust shine in that cat’s dark eyes right now would make any grown man piss himself.
“Stay back, guy,” I mutter, my hands frozen on the gun, the trigger scalding my finger.
She twists, forcing a smile, and releases me to turn all the way around. “It’s okay, Bruce. You know Grady. He’s a friend.”
But the monster cat doesn’t look the least bit friendly.
Bruce stiffens in this weird way that reminds me of a barn cat getting ready to chase down a mouse. Christ, if he jumps, he’ll knock us both flat before we even have a second to realize it.
Worse, he’s growling. This low, ominous thunder oozing out of him.
My lungs turn to concrete.
I don’t want to shoot him.
Not at all.
I damn sure don’t want to put him down in front of Willow, but if he doesn’t back his big orange-and-black furry ass up right the fuck now—
Another roar comes exploding out of him that shakes my bones. Even Willow gasps.
Only, it’s not aimed at us, not with the way he’s got his fierce head twisted...he’s looking past us, looking up.
I whirl, throwing Willow to the ground, just in time to crouch down and see a tall man on the metal walkway overhead firing off a shot.
A hot bullet soars through the air where our heads were a second ago, and ricochets off the side of the trailer with a booming clatter.
Scope up, focused, eyes like knives, I catch his sneaky arm in my sights and pull the trigger.
The high-pitched, girlish shriek and the dull thud of his gun hitting the metal walkway under him tells me I nailed my target.
The man staggers back and slumps against the wall, clutching his arm, dark red rapidly pouring through his starched white sleeve.
“Keep Bruce distracted,” I tell Willow. “If there’s any way to get up there, he’ll find it as soon as he smells that bastard’s blood.”
Thankfully, the hero of the hour releases another booming growl, paces a few steps back, and then sits down on his haunches and lets out a gaping yawn.
Willow turns back to me as I help her up. “How did you get here? We haven’t been here that long, have we?”
My rage renews itself as I get a good look at her eye. It’s swollen, and there’s an ugly gash on the side of her temple marring her beautiful face. The whole side of her face is swollen like she fell face-first into fire ants.
“Who did this?” I growl.
“Niles! Niles Foss. He’s...up there. I think you got him.” She looks up just as the man lets out another loud groan above, but I catch her arm. “He’s trying to transfer the money they stole from my dad. We have to stop him.”
“We will. Faulk’s outside,” I say. “Just give me a minute to find—”
“Right behind you,” Faulk says, sticking his head in the door. “And I ain’t moving till that pussycat gets penned up again. The cops are on their way. I heard a couple gunshots—got it under control?” He nods at the body by the wall with her loose heels curled out in front of her. “Shit. Who’s that?”
“Priscilla Foss,” Willow says, spitting her name like a curse.
“Is she dead?” Faulk asks, taking a tentative step inside.
“Not unless she died from a heart attack,” Willow says. “Bruce didn’t hurt her. He just pinned her against the wall. I think. More importantly, Grady shot her husband right before he put a hole through my head. We’ve got to find some way to get him down.” Pointing, she gives me a quick kiss, and then turns to the tiger. “Come on, Bruce. Everything’s wrapped up now. Time for a nap.”