He set up a security detail to watch over his cousin and those in the residence while he was absent, and he indicated to Kirill and Matvei to accompany him. He wanted to slip away from the Amurov estate without his woman’s knowledge. Her office was at the back of the very large house and unless Ania noticed and mentioned his absence to her, she wouldn’t be the wiser. In any case, he came and went often. She rarely asked, but if she did, he didn’t want to try to lie to her. He would have to tell her the truth and that might not go over very well.
The sun had already set some time ago as they made their way silently through the streets toward the large estate Franco Matherson had leased on the outskirts of San Antonio. They took a roundabout route so if their vehicle was caught on camera, their destination could easily be Evangeline’s bakery or one of the many businesses the Amurov family owned. Sevastyan would make certain to stop somewhere along the way long enough to make it appear as if he had a destination that would hold up in court if necessary.
He had reports on Matherson, none of them good. It seemed to him that the man’s mental condition was deteriorating slowly over time. He had become somewhat of a megalomaniac, much like Sevastyan’s uncle Lazar, who had ruled the lair with such cruelty. He had gotten away with murder so often that he sunk lower and lower over the years, thinking he was entitled to kill anyone who crossed him. That meant that Matherson was doubly dangerous to Flambé, because it made him unpredictable.
“The estate is a few blocks over, Sevastyan. Your club is up two blocks on the left. We could leave the car there, walk to the park and shift and make our way to his home. It’s a little risky because it’s still a bit of a distance and there’s bound to be dogs out, but it’s a cover,” Kirill ventured.
It was a solid plan. He could go in after he took care of business, talk to Cain for a few minutes and then get back to Flambé. “Sounds good. Let’s go for it. But keep your leopards under control. We can’t start killing any animals in the neighborhood no matter how obnoxious they are.” Dogs were always barky around cats. It was more than annoying.
“If you have to spend any time at the club,” Matvei added, “you have your locker there. You can get dressed, wander around and let the cameras pick you up. The fucking cops aren’t going to know what you do or don’t do there.”
That wasn’t a bad idea either. He’d have that for an alibi when Matherson and his bodyguards disappeared and people started asking questions. The cops always came to the Amurovs. Knowing Matherson had been stalking Flambé, they would question Sevastyan straightaway.
The club parking lot was full, not a bad thing at all. That meant more witnesses to him being there. The three quickly made their way through the dark streets, avoiding any street lights. They jogged through the empty park and cut through a lot that took them to the upscale neighborhood where Matherson leased his estate. It was a two-story contemporary home on one acre behind a tall wrought-iron fence. With a custom pool and multilevel decks, it was a dream home for people and would have been nice for leopards with the landscaping, but Sevastyan doubted if Matherson allowed his men the use of the amenities the place provided—the game room and spa.
He had the blueprints of the house and had memorized the layout of the yard. As they approached the fence, they stripped, rolled their clothes and placed them in the small bags they could sling around their leopards’ necks when traveling. In this case, they stashed them. Shifting, they easily leapt over the fence and landed in the yard. All three let the leopards take a few minutes to inhale, to prowl around in silence to get a feel for the shifters guarding Matherson.
Scents were everywhere, heavy on the ground, in the trees and shrubs. Male leopards had sprayed and raked, claiming territory. Tracks were in the dirt, but there was no sign of anyone, human or leopard. The three split up, Matvei jumping up on the deck to walk around the outside of the house and then up on the roof to look for sentries while Kirill and Sevastyan made their way around to look for a way inside.
Doors were locked, but one window was open about half an inch. It appeared to be stuck and Matherson’s men were too lazy to bother with it, or it was a trap. Kirill carefully worked at it until he got it to move. Cautiously his leopard stuck his head in and looked around. He sniffed the air and jerked his head out again, shifting head and shoulders. Sevastyan did the same.
“Something’s dead inside,” Kirill warned. “Someone,” he corrected. “You’re going to need that alibi.”
“Let’s see what we’re facing.” Sevastyan hoped whoever they found was Matherson, but he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Men like Matherson seemed to have the devil guarding them.
Kirill pushed his way inside, Sevastyan right behind him. The house had been abandoned hastily. There were three bodies, two women and one man, all human. All three had been killed by a bullet to the head. None wore clothing. It looked as if there had been a huge party thrown, with wine, champagne and various sorts of liquor bottles strewn everywhere along with glasses and broken bowls of chips. To Sevastyan, the room looked staged.
“We can’t stay here, Sevastyan. You have to get to that club fast and make an appearance. The timing has to be right,” Kirill said. “Matherson is missing and could be presumed dead if they don’t suspect him for this. For some reason, he always seems to get a pass.”
“I wonder why that is,” Sevastyan said, and shifted back fully to his leopard.
10
THERE was pure satisfaction in watching a barren landscape transform into something lush and beautiful. Flambé loved putting her hands in soil. She found the soil grounded her. She also found that watching the people who worked with her moving the trees into position with confidence and sometimes outright joy made her happy.
She loved what she did at every stage. One of her gifts was talking with the client and catching images of what they really wanted when most of the time they were unable to describe with actual words what they envisioned or needed. Often, the client had no idea what they really wanted and she would look at a space and know, after spending time with them, what would best suit them. She loved providing something special and unique for them.
She enjoyed picking out plants that would suit the various landscapes. She worked in all sorts of areas, the urban and rural. She worked in malls and business buildings as well as clubs and private estates and modest homes. She had very wealthy clients who owned acres of land planted with grapes. Others had ranches. The fact that her clients were so different provided the artist in her with continual varied canvases to work on.
Knowing that Sevastyan had bought the Dover estate and her father had done the original layout and planting of the trees, shaping them into an arboreal highway for the leopards, gave her an extra joy in working the property. She felt as if she needed to make certain every single tree she planted added to the beauty of the original vision. Sevastyan wanted the woods continued all the way to the very edge of the property lines between the Dover and Amurov borders. Her father had planted the trees on the Amurov property as well.
Her goal was to eventually grow the trees to connect the branches, make it easy for leopards to run along the limbs and leap from one tree to the next without hindrance. The trees had to be sturdy, with broad trunks and thick, strong branches that she could twist and shape with wire to get them to grow into the positions she needed. The first step was the planting, and that meant primary spots with plenty of room. The roots had to take hold and grow deep. Other taller trees couldn’t block the younger ones from the sun. She took great care to give each tree the best start possible while filling in the woods as best she could.
Flambé had two newer leopards, Rory and Etienne, both strawberry, working near the house planting low shrubbery, plants that flowered at various times of the year but wouldn’t ever grow high enough to cause Sevastyan concern when it came to security. No leopard could use the flowers or shrubs to hide in if they tried to sneak up on the house or the residents. She had chosen those plants carefully. Both strawberry leopards were men and they’d been with her working in the field about four months. Both had completed two years of college and done very well prior to coming back to work with her in the business.
Rory had lost his mother to a poacher and had taken a bullet in his left side. He limped when he was tired and probably always would. Flambé had been with him when he’d been shot and she’d pulled him into the cave they often used to shift, held off the poachers until her team showed up and gotten Rory out of there. There had been nothing she could do for his mother but stay with her until the life left her and then burn her body and bury the ashes. There had been too many shifters she’d done that for—sat watching helplessly as the life flowed out of them. It was always quick. Some strawberry leopards bled profusely. It was just the reality.
Blaise Brodeur had worked with her father for years before she had taken over the business. She had come home from college and he was well established, a valued member of the team. She relied heavily on him to help teach the newer shifters after they had completed their educations. He was crouched down beside Etienne, pointing to the roots of a plant as the other shifter gently placed it in the hole dug out for it.
She liked Blaise. He was older than her by several years, but sometimes seemed younger. She liked quiet and he was boisterous. It was just his personality, but she knew, when he persisted in asking her out, that they weren’t in the least compatible. She needed sex, and had been tempted a few times to give in to his advances, but she hadn’t, mostly because he worked for the company. She had a strict policy about mixing business with pleasure. She was very glad now that she had been careful.
They worked well together and had she been silly and let her need for sex get in the way, she knew it would have become a huge problem between them. Blaise still hadn’t found anyone. It was difficult as a shifter. It wasn’t like he didn’t pick up women, but like most shifters, they looked for another shifter so their leopards had a mate. Mostly, they wanted to find the right leopard for their cat.
“How’s it going?” she asked, putting a hand on Rory’s shoulder and leaning over him to inspect his work. She was very particular about her flowers and how close they were planted. How deep they were put into the earth. It mattered to her to give them the best opportunity to grow.
He tipped his head back to look up at her. “We’ve almost got this section finished. Once we started, they went in fast. I like these little flowers. Why did you alternate the varieties?”