The spirit of a 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,