Falling for the Cougar: Heart of the Cougar Book 7 Read online

  Falling for the Cougar

  Heart of the Cougar, Book 7

  Terry Spear

  Contents

  Falling for the Cougar

  Book Synopsis

  Letter to the Reader

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Terry Spear

  Falling for the Cougar

  Heart of the Cougar, Book 7

  Terry Spear

  Falling for the Cougar

  Copyright © 2019 by Terry Spear

  Cover Created © 2019 by Terry Spear

  ISBN: 978-1-63311-053-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Discover more about Terry Spear at:

  http://www.terryspear.com/

  Book Synopsis

  Army Captain Nicole Welsh’s premonitions of danger warn her more trouble is headed her way after her parents died in an unexplained car accident. Is it just her imagination that someone bad is out to get her? Her vacation to Galveston Island is meant to be a break from her awful job, breaking up with an unfaithful boyfriend, and getting over her parents’ deaths. But her best friend skips out on her, now a tropical storm wreaks havoc, she’s certain someone is stalking her, and she runs into a fellow cougar who might just be her salvation. Unless, he’s one of the bad guys.

  Scott Weekum is a finance officer at Fort Hood, Texas, having every intention of having a good time at Galveston Island, and rescuing a mermaid from the Gulf, who he envisions is in trouble. Supposedly, the tropical storm is moving out of the area, so he should be fine. What he doesn’t expect to find is that the mermaid is also an officer from Fort Hood, she has premonitions like he has, she’s a cougar, and she believes she’s in danger. Since he’d just broken up with a she-cat who had transferred to another post and he’s all alone, and she’s all alone, he’s determined to spend the time with Nicole. Except she seems to think someone’s stalking her, and her paranoia is beginning to rub off on him. Is she in danger? He’s not sure what to think, but has every intention of protecting her, whether she needs his protection or not.

  Letter to the Reader

  I was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas while I was in the army and I did go to Galveston Island with my family during the brunt of a tropical storm. What I described happened to me—all except the bad guys, the hunky hero, the usual. My mother insisted we go to Galveston Island just like we had planned, saying that the storm was moving out of the area, but it didn’t. It circled and everything was as I said. It made for the perfect romantic suspense.

  I used to go to Salado with my mother and we loved the area, so it suited my characters for having another adventure. And we had lived in Amarillo and Canyon, Texas, so that was the perfect place to have some more fun! As you read the story, guess which is true, and which is fiction! In an alternate reality, all of it could be true!

  Thanks to Gail Dockery for loving all my shifter series. You made my day!!

  Prologue

  Tyler, Texas

  One more day of trying to cope with the fresh pain that seared her to the core every time army Captain Nicole Welsh walked into her parents’ home. One more day and the estate sale auction would be over, the house had sold, Christmases past would be just that, birthdays, just fun family get-togethers, all just memories and she would never make any new ones with her family. She walked down her parents’ brick path for the last time.

  FREAK CAR ACCIDENT KILLS TYLER, TEXAS COUPLE—the headlines still burned a permanent image in her mind.

  And she’d never seen it coming. Why hadn’t she seen it beforehand? Way beforehand so she could have warned them? Told them not to drive that way, or not to leave the house at all. She could have premonitions about the inanest things. The microwave would be going out soon and she’d have her microwave roast beef dinner sitting in a cold oven after a long day at work. Or that she’d invite friends over to swim in the pool and they’d closed it for the day. Though she guessed that had been a help and she was able to move the swim party to the next weekend. But something really important like saving her parents’ lives?

  Nicole Welsh glanced at the auctioneer’s bright red pickup parked in her parents’ driveway. Jed Ballantine had been a lifesaver, cataloguing the inventory and taking care of all the details of the auction. None of which she could handle at the moment.

  One more day and her emergency leave would be up, and she’d have to return to duty at Fort Hood, Texas.

  She opened the front door to her parents’ home. And immediately had a premonition that something wasn’t right. Her darned sixth sense was kicking in again. Now. When she could have used it when she really had needed it! Then again, she sensed something was terribly wrong here.

  She paused, listened, but everything was quiet except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

  Something didn’t smell right. The usual scent of vanilla candles was tinged with…

  She sniffed the air, her cougar senses heightened. She noted a whiff of gunfire, like she’d smell on the Fort Hood firing range. And more. Blood.

  Then she saw a well-worn cowboy boot sticking out beyond the end of the royal blue couch, and she was certain the boot belonged to Jed. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.

  Adrenaline surging, she ran to the end of the couch and found Jed lying on his side. His hand clutched his chest and blood pooled on the carpeted floor of the living room. He was not a cougar shifter like her. He wouldn’t heal faster as a shifter would with their enhanced shifter genetics. He could die.

  Her heart raced with panic. She grabbed an afghan off the arm of the couch, held it against his wound, and pulled out her phone to call 911. His eyes were wild with fear. He pointed weakly to the kitchen. “In there, he’s in there,” he warned under his breath.

  Her skin chilled. “Hold this tight to the wound,” she whispered, pocketing her phone. She should have considered the shooter could still be in the house.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, she darted for her parents’ bedroom and the 9mm gun her father kept in his bedside table, praying that it was still there. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have stripped out of her clothes, shifted, and killed the gunman with her cougar claws and teeth.

  She slid the drawer open, saw the gun, and gave a silent prayer. She yanked it out, and then ran back down the hallway, planning to confront the attempted murderer in the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. She had every intention of getting the shooter to give up at the point of a gun so she could get help for Jed.

  She glanced at Jed, his eyes now shut. To her guarded relief, his chest still heaved with a ragged breath. She quickened her step toward the kitchen. As soon as she entered the room, she saw a man dressed all in black, his back to her. Shorts, a halter top, and sandals weren’t the greatest clothes for fighting a bad guy. Then again, a gun helped to even the odds.

  Hearing her, he whipped around and just as she saw the Glock in his hand pointed in her direction, she also saw him pull the trigger and fire. So did she.

  But he hadn’t aimed properly, not like she had. His bullet missed her neck by mere inches and slammed into the tile wall behind her with a crack.

  Using both hands, she fired once, hitting him in the heart. He crumpled to his knees, all six feet, four inches of him, and landed on his face.

  Her heart racing, she observed him. He appeared to be quite dead, but his fingers still grasped his gun.

  She swallowed hard, her throat dry, then she inched toward him.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. Was he dead?

  Adrenaline coursed through her blood at an all-time high. She pulled the gun from his hand and set it on the counter, then felt his pulse, or lack thereof. Before her brain could fathom what she’d just done, she heard Jed groan in the living room.

  Jed. She grabbed her phone and rushed back into the living room.

  “Jed! Don’t you dare die on me.” She dropped to her knees next to him, setting her father’s gun on the floor next to Jed. Holding the afghan to his chest, she attempted to stop the flow of blood from his wound. “Jed, stay with me. You’re going to be fine.” She quickly called 911.

  She couldn’t bear to lose him now. The crusty old gray-haired man had an equally crusty old gray-haired wife. They were meant to be together. He couldn’t die on her now.

  “Two men have been shot.” She gave her parents’ home address. “We need an ambulance, now!”

  The 911 operator was asking her questions, but all Nicole could do was hold the afghan tight to Jed’s chest and say, “Jed. Don’t. You. D
ie. On Me.”

  1

  Killeen, Texas, 2 months later

  After weeklong Army field maneuvers at Fort Hood, army finance Captain Scott Weekum was headed home when he had the strangest premonition, again: a boat plowing through rough water. A mermaid trying to swim away. He’d had the visions the whole time he was at field maneuvers and he was certain he would see the scene play out for him in real life soon. At Galveston Island where he was vacationing, starting tomorrow? Had to be. He had every intention of rescuing the mermaid from the sea.

  He finally reached home off-post in Killeen and pulled slowly into his home’s driveway. His house looked strangely dark, though as a cougar he could see well enough at night without lights.

  Both front porch lights had gone out. It made sense. He replaced the light bulbs at the same time—they’d both go out simultaneously.

  He hit his remote garage door opener. No response. He tried again. Nothing.

  “Damn. That’s all I need.” A power failure at home? There went a long hot shower and a steak and baked potato dinner.

  He glanced at the red brick homes that sat on either side of his place. Their outdoor security lights shone brightly. “What the hell?”

  Unless his circuit breaker had tripped while he was away. He rubbed his bristly chin. Still the circuit breaker usually tripped only when he ran his air conditioner full blast on the most blistering, hot summer days while everyone else was too. So what the hell happened?

  Had he forgotten to turn the air conditioner off while he was away? He stared at the dark house. “Great. Nice high electric bill, just to keep my furniture cool.”

  Then he reconsidered. Maybe the power had been off for most of the time. That would mean a fridge full of food would have gone bad. Hell.

  He shoved his car door open and pulled out his olive drab duffle bag. After slamming the door shut, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and stalked toward the front door.

  “It better be the circuit breaker.” He wasn’t in the mood to go out to eat, as grungy as he looked and smelled.

  He fumbled with the key in the lock, then turned it upside down. It slipped in. Twisting the key, the lock clicked open. A sliver of accomplishment slid through him.

  When he walked into the house, he smelled the odor of two strange male, human scents, while heat and stale air enveloped him. His attention rivetted to the hall to where his bedrooms were located when he tripped over something. Instantly, he glanced down at the floor and saw his brass floor lamp at his feet. His heart thundering, he carefully set the duffle bag down on the floor without making a sound. Whatever hope he had that he was getting closer to that well-deserved steak dinner and hot shower quickly slipped away.

  If someone had broken into his place and stolen anything…

  He moved quickly into the living room and he reached into a side table drawer for his emergency flashlight that he could use as a weapon.

  The sliding sounding like a drawer shutting in his bedroom, then a clunk caught his attention.

  A shot of adrenaline coursed through his body. He stopped breathing and turned his head in the direction of his bedroom. If the thief found Scott’s 9mm gun hidden under his mattress…

  Scott grabbed his heavy-duty flashlight that had a good club-like weight. Without turning the flashlight on, he headed for his bedroom, a cougar in human form moving silently in the dark. Thankfully, nothing obstructed his progress down the carpeted hall, and he could see well in the dark with his enhanced cougar night vision.

  Two flashlight beams swept back and forth in the bedroom. When he reached the room, two men wearing battledress uniforms stood with their backs to him. One searched through a chest of drawers. The other peered out the window that viewed the front yard.

  “Hey, Joe,” a greasy, scruffy-haired male whispered, peeking through the window curtain, “someone’s parked in the driveway.”

  Scott tightened his grip on his flashlight and clenched his teeth. Yeah, Joe, and here that someone is, asshole.

  Scott’s attention shifted to the tall, lanky, black-haired Joe who reached under the mattress.

  The gun.

  Scott raced forward swinging his makeshift club and connected with Joe’s head. Joe let out a grunt, then collapsed on the floor.

  The other shined his light in Scott’s face, blinding him for an instant.

  “Shit!” the would-be thief shouted, then tried to rush toward the hall.

  “No, ya don’t!” Scott swung his weapon at the man’s head.

  Thwack!

  The second man crumpled to the floor. Scott turned his light on the man. He appeared to be the same age as the other, early twenties, tall and thin, but blond.

  Scott leaned over and examined the faded nametag. Rogers. Joe’s said Mulligan. Scott shook his head. “Nice going, fellas.” He considered the shaggy length of their hair and assumed they’d been out of the service for a while. Used fatigues bought at Army and Navy Surplus stores wouldn’t have the nametapes still sewn on them. He assumed these men had served in the military but weren’t bright enough to remove their nametags.

  He felt their wrists. Both had a steady pulse.

  He lifted the phone off the hook. No dial tone. No juice for the portable phone while the electricity was off.

  His stomach tightened with aggravation.

  He set the phone back in the cradle and pulled his gun from underneath the mattress. Half past eight already. And damn, his cell phone needed recharging after being out in the field all week. If he’d had his phone charger in the car at least, he could have charged it up already. He stormed toward the garage with the illumination from his flashlight leading the way.

  His concentration switched to the kitchen where drawers hung open from the cabinets. One lay broken on the floor. Now he didn’t feel a trickle of guilt for knocking the thwarted burglars out.

  He rushed into the garage and reached the electric box. After flipping the main circuit breaker, he punched the garage door opener. The light came on and the door opened.

  Electricity! Time to call the police.

  Scott returned to the kitchen and turned on the light. After grabbing the portable phone and dialing 911 he began to inspect the damage. The thieves had stacked his new DVD player, DVDs, and music CDs by the back-patio door. A sack of silverware sat next to them. Nice little haul if they’d gotten away with it.

  The operator came on and Scott said, “I’m Scott Weekum and I want to report a break-in at—”

  The sound like the window shattering in his bedroom cut his words short.

  “Damn it!”

  Heated blood coursed in his veins at record speeds as the adrenaline surged through them. He bolted for the bedroom, gun in one hand and phone in the other.

  “Joe, shit. Joe, hurry, I hear that captain coming back,” Rogers said.

  Damn right. No one breaks into my home, gets caught, then gets away with it. But the fact one called him a captain, owing to the double black bars on Scott’s BDUs, confirmed the man knew military ranks and further cinched the notion that they were prior military and that they hadn’t just picked up the uniforms somewhere.

  Scott dashed into the bedroom.

  A gun blast instantly shattered the quiet.

  A round struck the wall inches from Scott and he dove for the floor. “Shit!”

  Sirens wailed in the distance and Scott scrambled to his feet. Both men appeared to have vanished through the demolished window.

  “Damn it.” Scott lifted the cell phone to his ear. “The two men just took off down the street,” he said to the 911 operator. “Hello?”