One Growl [A Tigers of Twisted, Texas Novella] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  A Tigers of Twisted, Texas Novella

  One Growl

  As a survivalist instructor, Kendra Johnson is used to taking on the wild and taming it. Animals are easy to handle, but men? They’re a different kind of beast.

  Weretiger Rusk Fortran is an agent with the Texas FBI. His partner, Wash Timberton, knows everything about him—except that he can grow fangs and claws. When they’re assigned to capture escaped convicts, Rusk doesn’t tell his friend that they’re tracking men who are more than human.

  Searching for the convicts in the wide open space of Texas, Rusk and Wash run into the beautiful Kendra. Although duty calls, a stronger call hits them, drawing them to her. The Texas sun isn’t the only thing that’s blazing hot.

  When Kendra turns up missing from her campsite, Rusk and Wash have to find her before the convicts do the unspeakable. Can they free her before the convicts show her their fangs?

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 24,110 words

  ONE GROWL

  A Tigers of Twisted, Texas Novella

  Jane Jamison

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  ONE GROWL

  Copyright © 2015 by Jane Jamison

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-596-6

  First E-book Publication: August 2015

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of One Growl by Jane Jamison from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Jane Jamison’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Jane Jamison’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  DEDICATION

  Dear Reader,

  You are the reason I write. Thank you for reading my book.

  Best wishes,

  Jane Jamison

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ONE GROWL

  A Tigers of Twisted, Texas Novella

  JANE JAMISON

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  “Yeah, Zan, what’s up?”

  Rusk Fortran sauntered into Commanding Agent Zanag’s office at the FBI building located in downtown Lubbock. He’d gotten the call earlier to “get his ass” off his ranch in Twisted and into Zan’s office as soon as possible. Although he was supposed to be on vacation, spending much-needed time doing chores on the ranch, he knew he didn’t have a choice. If Zan, as the agents called him, wanted him on a case instead of another agent, then there had to be a reason.

  He had a good idea what that reason was.

  The large, burly man swiveled his chair around, butting his belly against his desk. Gray peppered his black hair, showing every bit of his fifty-four years, but the black eyes were as intense as they’d been when Rusk had met him ten years earlier.

  “Where’s your partner?” groused Zan.

  “I’m here.” Washington Timberton strode into the office.

  Rusk and Wash stood side by side in front of Zan, knowing damn good and well he wouldn’t want them to take a seat. They’d been partners for the past four years after Wash had transferred from Detroit to the Lubbock, Texas office. From the first day, they’d hit it off, soon becoming great friends. Close friends made the best partners. The more an agent knew his partner, the better they worked together. After the first few months of working together, Rusk had invited Wash to live with him on his ranch. Surprising both of them, Wash had accepted and had taken to ranching like a fish to live bait.

  They shared everything. Their past lives, their work, the ranch, the house, and even, on occasion, a woman. The only thing Rusk hadn’t shared with Wash was the fact that he was a weretiger. Somehow, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to reveal that other half to his friend. He had, in fact, hoped that, after a few months of living in Twisted, Wash would figure it out on his own. Yet although his friend was a good and observant agent, Wash had remained blissfully ignorant.

  Rusk glanced at Wash. Did he know that Zan was a werewolf? He doubted it. After all, why would anyone guess what they were when they didn’t believe supernatural beings existed?

  “You took your sweet time getting here.”

  Zan was usually in a foul mood, and Rusk often wondered whether it was the job or being a werewolf having to work with a weretiger that made his boss growl.

  “We’re here now. What’s up?” He wouldn’t let Zan get him riled. Working with a werewolf was difficult, but he’d learned to temper his dislike of the pack. As werewolves went, Zan wasn’t half bad.

  “Two prisoners have escaped from Brownfield.” Zan picked up a couple of file folders and tossed them onto the desk in front of them.

  Rusk was surprised. The prison had a damn fine record of security.

  He picked up one file while Wash took the other and flipped through the pack
et. “Caleb Downin. Aggravated armed robbery along with a list of other felonies.”

  Rusk studied the photo in his packet of the Hispanic man. “Juan Salazar. Drugs. Armed robbery, prostitution ring, and more. Yep, the usual boy-next-door type.”

  “Regular stand-up guys.” Wash traded files with Rusk.

  “I haven’t seen or heard anything about the escape. Why wasn’t an APB put out? Or anything on the news to warn the public?” asked Wash.

  Zan leaned back in his chair. One of these days, his bulk was going to send him falling backward. Rusk wouldn’t mind being there when it happened. Not that he disliked Zan. He was okay as far as werewolves went, but seeing a werewolf fall on his back would give him a laugh.

  “We’re keeping this on an as-needed basis. These two robbed several banks but were only caught with a small amount of the money. Enough to convict, yeah, but the powers that be want to know where the rest of it is. There was a couple of hundred thousand taken, some of which were marked bills. They couldn’t wait to spend it, which is how they got busted. However, the rest of the loot hasn’t shown up. They’ve got it hidden, no doubt thinking they’ll grab it and run—now that they’ve gotten out.”

  “You want us to not only find them but let them lead us to the money.” Rusk didn’t need Zan to confirm his guess.

  “Exactly. If we let it be known that they’re out, solid citizens, as well as some of their lowlife friends, are going to start hunting for them, hoping to get their hands on the money. Things could get complicated. I don’t want a bunch of amateur bounty hunters getting in our way, either.”

  “We have a duty to warn the public,” argued Wash.

  “Not yet. We’re guessing they’re going to stay away from people and get to where they hid the dough once the heat is off.”

  “Where do you think they’re hiding out?” Rusk had a gut feeling he already knew, but he wanted confirmation.

  Zan gave him a smug smile. “Out near Twisted.”

  “Why there? There’s a lot of open land in Texas.”

  Rusk gave the answer. “Think about it, Wash. Twisted’s remote with only a few small towns scattered around it. Plus, the land’s flat in spots, but there are still places to hide out.”

  “Plus, Downin is from the area.”

  “Does he have any family that might hide them?” Rusk studied Zan.

  “Nope.” Zan returned Rusk’s stare.

  “And we know the area, which is why you want us on the case,” added Wash.

  Wash was right, but Rusk was sure there was more to it. Silently, he dared Zan to say they’d been chosen because Zan wanted a shifter for the job. And if that was part of the reason, then that meant the convicts were shifters, too.

  “I always knew you had a brain underneath all those good looks.”

  Wash laughed. “Wow, Zan. I didn’t know you had a man-crush on me.”

  Rusk suppressed a chuckle at commanding agent’s snarl. Wash was considered by most of the women in the office to be very handsome. “Sexy with a capital S” as one female agent had put it. With his bi-racial cocoa skin color and his startling blue eyes, Wash had the women practically drooling over him. Rusk thought he wasn’t half bad looking, either, but he didn’t have the sex appeal that Wash had. Still, his inner animal magnetism often drew women his way.

  “Knock it off, Timberton.” Zan leaned forward, dropping his attention to the papers scattered across his desk. “You’ve got what you need. Now get your asses out there and round those two fuckers up.”

  Rusk let Wash lead the way out of the office, figuring that Zan would call him back in soon enough. He made it to the door before he did.

  “Rusk, get back here for sec.”

  Wash turned around, ready to come back inside along with him.

  “Did I say I wanted you, Wash?”

  Wash stopped, his brow furrowing, but didn’t question his superior. “Fine. Meet you outside at the car, Rusk.”

  Rusk nodded and, along with Zan, waited until his partner strode through the room before turning back to his boss. “They’re shifters. Am I right?”

  Zan motioned for him to close the glassed-in door. “You got it.”

  “It didn’t take much of a genius to figure it out.” He winced inwardly, realizing he’d just set himself up for a jab.

  “Then I picked the right man for the job.” Zan’s humor died fast enough. “They’re two weretigers. I don’t know how they made it in prison for two years without showing their animals, but they did. I’m not about to send human agents after them and have their existence come out that way.”

  “I get why you want me on the case, especially since they’re tigers, but what about Wash? Am I supposed to let him in on what they are? What we are?” It was past time he told his partner that shifters existed. And that he was not only living right outside a town full of them but that his best friend was one, too.

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t figured it out already.” Zan shrugged. “What you do is up to you. If he finds out, just make sure he keeps his trap shut about it.”

  “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

  “Get going. I’ll bet he never made it to your truck.”

  Rusk heeled around, yanked the door wide, and strode out of the office. Sure enough, instead of meeting him at his pickup as he’d suggested, Wash was hanging out by the elevator.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something from me?” Wash’s gaze slid from him and back to Zan’s office. “That both of you are.”

  He hated lying to his friend, but he wasn’t about to tell him right then, especially not at the office. “You’re getting paranoid in your old age.”

  Wash snorted as he stepped into the elevator. “Old age, my ass.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who just turned thirty-nine. One more year then it’s all downhill.”

  If Wash had one major fault, it was that he could get easily distracted. At least by Rusk.

  “You’re only a year younger.”

  “I am.” Rusk pointed at his head. “But my mind’s a decade younger than yours. Not to mention my young, hard body.”

  “You’re lucky you’ll never have to buy fertilizer to plant any flowers.” Wash exited the elevator first and led the way to Rusk’s F-250 pickup.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you sling enough shit for a thousand gardens.”

  He had to hand it to his friend. What Wash might lack in concentration, he more than made up for in humor.

  * * * *

  Kendra Johnson loved the outdoors. As soon as she could walk, she’d spent as much time as possible outside, preferring exploring nature to playing with other children. Although her mother had tried to instill more “girl-like” behavior in her daughter, the strong-willed Kendra had persisted in defying her mother’s wishes. Instead, she was always with her father on their small farm outside Denver, taking care of the animals and learning how to shoot and hunt. She could keep up with any man in the wilderness and had later turned her love for the outdoors into a part-time profession. As a nature survivalist instructor, she took people into the rugged terrains of the country as well as into many other areas of the world. She’d even taken trips to South America and a remote island where she’d lived off the land for a month. Yet one place she’d visited had stayed with her, beckoning her to come back. While spending time visiting a friend in Lubbock, Texas, she’d fallen in love with the laid-back demeanor of the people as well as the rustic beauty of the Texas landscape.

  After her father’s death when she was seventeen, and then, later, her mother’s death, she’d left her home in Colorado and moved to the Lubbock area. As a freelance graphic designer, she worked out of her home and set her own schedule, giving her the time off she needed whenever she booked a survivalist instructor job.

  Still, even with jobs taking her into the wild, she craved her own solitary time on the land. Texas, with its reds and purples in the ebb and flow of hills and valleys, had a
natural beauty she loved.

  Kendra dipped her homemade fish trap into the lake. She could go hunting instead but had concentrated on catching her food without the use of a gun. Standing erect, she looked around, loving the feel of the water against her bare legs. If there was anything better than being in the outdoors, she didn’t know what it was.

  Unless, of course, it involved a man.

  Or men, if she got really lucky.

  Was it a fantasy she’d only read about in books? Or could a real, live woman get lucky enough to find two men who’d love her?

  Man was the one animal she didn’t understand. Most of them wanted a girl who would look to them to be the provider and leader, especially when it came to doing things like hunting. The few who acted as though it didn’t bother them that she could outrun them, outshoot them, and survive in the wilderness without their help were often liars. As soon as she put them to the test, they failed, growing angry when she was more capable than they were.

  Was it simply how men were? Were their egos so fragile that they couldn’t respect a woman who didn’t need them for their brawn? She was strong enough to love a man who knew his limitations. What she needed was a man who was strong enough to love her for her strengths.

  She strode out of the water, rolled down the legs of her jeans, and walked back to her camp. Her one comfort-concession to the trip this time was the small pup tent. She could’ve made her own shelter but had preferred to spend her time making animal and fish traps. Half the time, she wouldn’t even eat the animals she caught and, instead, use the food she’d brought with her. Why kill when she didn’t have to?