Wake a Sleeping Tiger

Five in the morning was too damned early for a knock on his front door. He

was barely out of bed and showered. His coffee was still dripping into the

cup and he hadn’t even had a chance to strap his weapon on.

Cullen Maverick liked things in order whenever possible. It made life a

hell of a lot easier.

Pulling his weapon from his side holster, he made his way to the front

door, confident that if a threat awaited outside, then it wasn’t directed by

forces other than a normal workday upheaval. As commander of the Navajo

Covert Law Enforcement Agency, he’d made a few enemies over the years.

Those enemies weren’t the ones he watched out for, though. It was the

enemies he’d made as a teenager that worried him.

The knock came again, firm though not masculine in the least.

Recognizing the sound, a direct knock without pounding, he knew instantly

who it was without questioning how he knew. His lips almost quirked into a

smile.

A quick look outside the narrow window next to the door showed a

slender feminine figure dressed in jeans and a light jacket. One of the junior

members of the force, she’d been on a few operations, though he’d refused

to give the go-ahead to move her higher.

Chelsea Martinez, with her black hair, brown eyes and dusky skin of

combined Navajo and Caucasian parents, stared at the door as though she

could will it open. She was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to

be.

He should know; he was usually the one butting heads with her.

Swinging the door open as he leaned against the side of the wall, he

stared down at her somber, implacable expression with a slight smile.

Dawn was barely lighting the land outside, giving it an otherworldly,

quiet sense of solitude belied by the homes along the side of and facing his

own.

“You didn’t call, so I assume this isn’t life or death,” he remarked when

she just stared up at him silently.

She’d been doing that a lot in the past few months, just staring at him as

though she expected something from him, as though he’d forgotten

something.

She cleared her throat, lips thinning, her gaze sliding from his for just a

second before jerking back.

“I need to talk to you.” Quiet, intense, her demeanor wasn’t threatening,

just too damned serious.

“Come on, I’ll give you the first cup of coffee,” he sighed heavily.

No doubt she was there to argue over her place in the Agency again.

She’d been pushing for some of the more dangerous assignments in the past

months. Covert Ops agents were kept quiet. They had no official uniforms,

didn’t call attention to themselves. Chelsea was one of their more covert

agents, though she mainly worked in an assistant capacity at the office. She

could streamline files and people like nobody’s business. Hell, her name

wasn’t even officially listed with the Agency and he liked it that way. It

lessened any danger she might face and ensured he didn’t have to worry

about losing a damned good friend because someone else blinked.

She was too young to be part of operations, he’d tried to explain to her,

to make her understand that he couldn’t put her in the line of fire until her

training was far more seasoned.

“Here you go.” Stepping into the kitchen, he removed that first cup of

coffee and placed it on the round table that sat in the middle of the darkened

room. “Flip a light on if you need to.”

He rarely turned the lights on in the place simply because he spent the

least amount of time there as possible. It was a place to sleep and keep the

few possessions he owned. Mainly, his clothes.

Sometimes, the television screen set in the fridge door was on, but not

this morning. He hadn’t had time yet to turn it on, and music would get on

his nerves after an hour or so.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

His night vision had improved over the past years. At first, he’d

questioned the change until realizing his twin, Gideon, was in the area. For

some reason the appearance of the Primal Bengal sibling had sharpened a

few of the recessed Breed traits Cullen possessed, but not enough to change

his life. Not enough to worry him.

“Let me get my coffee before we start, minx.” He shot her a grin. That

solemn, sad expression was beginning to bother him in ways he couldn’t

put a finger on.

“Of course.” The answer wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. “I

know how you are without that first cup.”

There was no amusement in her tone, no teasing.

What the hell was up with her?

Leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest,

he frowned at her. Damn, she looked so sad, not angry or upset. There was a

sense of loss emanating from her, and he couldn’t find a reason for it.

Pulling the cup free of the coffeemaker when it finished, he lifted it,

sipped and continued to regard her. She wasn’t fidgeting in front of him,

wasn’t acting in the least nervous as she usually did whenever she was

ready to put forth yet another position she could hold on an operation.

Anything to get her out of the office and to put her training to work, she’d

demand.

She was a member of the Breed Underground, she’d pointed out the last

time. She’d helped move juvenile and adult Breeds more than half a dozen

times, keeping them just ahead of the Genetics Council or pure blood

fanatics searching for them.

And yes, she had done that, but he didn’t command the Breed

Underground. He couldn’t disqualify her as a member of the forces that

aided hidden Breeds or mates, so he ground his teeth each time she went out

and argued with her cousins over it on a constant basis.

She was too innocent for covert work, too innocent to be scarred by the

crazies in the world.

“Spit it out,” he sighed, lowering the cup and facing her quiet, intense

expression. “What have you come up with this time? What argument do

you think will sway me?”

She blinked a few times and if he wasn’t mistaken her eyes actually

looked as though—were those tears?

What the hell had happened? Setting his coffee aside, he prepared to act,

to fix whatever had been done to bring tears to her eyes.

“Chelsea?” he questioned gently. “What’s going on, honey?”

Cullen watched as she pulled back the front of her jacket, removed a

folded piece of white paper from inside it and slowly laid it on the table.

Cullen swore he felt the need to growl. One of those deep, dark rumbles

of dangerous warning he’d heard come from his twin’s throat more than

once.

Every muscle in his body tensed and he knew, knew to the soles of his

damned feet what that simple piece of paper represented.

His gaze lifted to hers once again.

“You don’t want to do this, Chelsea,” he sighed. “Come on, honey, we

can talk about this.”

They had to talk about it.

They were going to talk about it.

He’d be damned if he’d let her—

“It’s my resignation from the Agency,” she told him, her tone soft but

firm, determined.

She’d made her mind up. By God, she actually thought she’d made her

mind up to leave him—to leave the Agency. That she could just walk away.

He stared at it, glared at it.

If he had his way it would burst into flames and the memory of it would

dissipate along with the paper.

“The hell you are.” Lifting his head, he directed that glare at her.

And she met it.

Not once did she flinch or look away. Not one time did she even pretend

to acknowledge his dominance. Hell, she didn’t even consider it.

“The Agency isn’t going to work for me, Cullen—”

“Because I don’t let you run it?” he snapped. “You don’t make the

decisions there, girl. If you did, ‘Commander’ would be sitting in front of

your name instead of mine.”

There were times, few though they had been, that standing firm would

encourage her to back down. She had to back down on this.

She nodded sharply. “Agreed. But I never wanted to run it. I just wanted

to be a part of it, not a glorified running girl for you and the other agents.

That’s not happening, so it’s time I leave.”

His jaw tightened with a surge of anger at once confusing and filled with

frustration.

“You won’t give it time,” he began, his back teeth grinding.

“I don’t have any more time to give it, Cullen.” Her lips tilted in

remorse as she lifted one hand out to him before dropping it just as quickly.

“It’s just time, okay?”

“Time for what?” He stepped closer, though she chose that moment to

look away from him, unaware he was coming closer, that his refusal to

accept this was about to get up close and personal.

“Grandfather agrees it’s time I go. That I find my own way . . . Cullen?”

She turned back, her gaze going first to where he was supposed to be, then

to the shadow suddenly at her side.

“Cullen?” Breathless, a woman’s sound, one filled with surprise, a bit of

shock and a hint of apprehension as he swung her around, pulling her

against him, letting her feel the erection he had no intention of hiding from

her any longer.

And damn her. Her lips parted; her eyes, like soft melted chocolate,

stared up at him, widening, then turning slumberous as her breathing

escalated, her breasts rising and falling faster as he held her to him.

What the hell was wrong with him?