The Sierra Files Box Set: Books 1-3: Plus a bonus Christmas novella! Page 2

  I glanced over at Sage’s desk. That’s when I saw the picture of her . . . cat.

  I stood so quickly that my chair flew out from beneath me and collided with the desk behind me. “Mr. Mouser.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The police are probably at Sage’s apartment right now. They’re most likely going to take Mr. Mouser to the pound, where there’s already an overflow of cats needing a home. He’ll have no hope of survival. Besides that, the poor thing probably hasn’t eaten for days.”

  Kyla’s hand went over her heart. “How could we have forgotten about Mr. Mouser? We work for Paws and Fur Balls. We’re all about the animals. What a disgrace.”

  “You’re telling me.” I grabbed my purse. “I’m going to go over to her apartment and check on him.”

  “Godspeed, dear one. Godspeed.”

  “Sierra!”

  I paused in the parking lot. Uh oh. This wouldn’t look good. I knew exactly whose voice that was, and now I was going to have to explain why I was cutting out early on my job.

  I turned and waited for Rupert to catch up with me. He was a short man in his early fifties with thinning brown hair. He was a sharp dresser, could give a killer protest speech, and he was a master schmoozer. His life seemed to be his work and, as far as I knew, he’d never been married or had children.

  He was the definition of an entrepreneur and had started more than one business. He oversaw several of them now, but was fairly hands off with Paws and Fur Balls, probably because we were the organization, as he said, that he’d started with “his heart” and not for the paycheck.

  That could be because there really was no paycheck. No, we depended on donations from concerned donors from across the country. That meant that this job was mostly a labor of love, and I was okay with that.

  My parents, on the other hand, wished I had a more stable, reliable career where I could build a nice nest egg. They also wished I’d settle down, start a family, and come to visit them up in Connecticut more often.

  “I wanted to catch you before you left. How’s it going?” he asked.

  I pushed my glasses up higher on my nose. “I can’t complain. Especially not after seeing Sage.” Morbid, but true.

  “I heard you found her. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to her. I only hope the police can find the person who did this.” He paused. “They don’t think this has anything to do with her job here, do they? She hadn’t made anyone madder than usual, had she?”

  Sage was known for pushing buttons and being diehard and focused—when she actually showed up at work. I was no expert on people—not even close—but I definitely hadn’t figured Sage out. She was almost—almost—the kind of person I could see secretly planning some dastardly deed to prove her point, something that would land her in jail and ruin the reputation of the company. There was reason for Rupert’s concern.

  “She had been working some kind of undercover assignment, but she didn’t talk about it a lot. She was afraid people here in the office were too chatty.” People like Kyla.

  “I hate to hear something like this has happened to one of my employees. You know I think of you all like family.” He shifted. “There’s one thing I can’t figure out, though. Why didn’t she take anyone else with her on the Hessel’s Hairstreak assignment?”

  As touching as his words sounded, I knew where this was going. Rupert was worried about public relations for the company. I supposed that was his job.

  And I supposed that I needed to be diplomatic here. “Probably because no one else wanted to go with her. For several reasons. First of all, everyone is busy with their own projects.”

  “So, she recorded herself? Don’t we have it in the budget to hire someone to do it professionally?”

  I shook my head. “Things have been tight. Anyway, she was probably using her phone. I’d guess it was stolen after the crime was committed. Makes sense to me, especially if the video might have given away anything about the bad guy.” I said “bad guy” with air quotes, feeling like there should be a better word. However, perp or suspect just seemed too intense or like words that should be reserved for law enforcement officials only.

  “I only wish she’d brought someone with her. Maybe none of this would have happened if she had.”

  Or they could have both ended up dead. I kept the thought silent.

  “This isn’t actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” He put his hands into his pockets and jangled some change there. “It’s actually about Paws and Fur Balls. I feel like we need a leadership change here. Between you and me, I think Bryan is getting burned out.”

  Bryan had been the Executive Director of the company for the past ten years. I wondered if Bryan knew that Rupert thought he was getting burned out. I had to agree with Rupert, though. Bryan hadn’t been acting like himself lately. He’d run off our office manager Bernard, as well as three other employees. Maybe the man was going through a midlife crisis or something. He really needed to get a grip on things.

  “Okay.” I had to approach this cautiously.

  “Let me just be straight with you. I want you to take over, Sierra.”

  I pushed my glasses up on my nose again. “Me? I’m . . . I’m honored that you would consider me.”

  “I really think you have the passion for the company, Sierra. I can see that animals are your life and that you’d do anything to protect them. That’s the kind of dedication I’m looking for.”

  “I’m flattered.” And I wasn’t easily flattered.

  “I think we’re cut from the same cloth. You have great ideas, the dedication to follow through with them, and the common sense to know where to draw the line.” His hands came from his pockets. “So, you’ll think about it?”

  “Of course. I’ll think about it.”

  He offered a tight smile and a handshake. “Great. I’ll be in touch then.”

  Thankfully, I’d been to Sage’s apartment before. We’d met there to plan one of our rallies. It wasn’t too far from the Paws and Fur Balls’ headquarters. Speaking of which, if I were to become the new Executive Director, my first order of business would be to change the name. I would change it to something more respectful, something like HIPA—Humans for the Intelligent Provision of Animals. Or maybe The Sierra Agency. There were all kinds of possibilities.

  I quickly traversed the roads and pulled up to a boxy building with faded yellow siding and wooden steps traveling upward to second and third story apartments. Sage’s home was on the first floor.

  The police swarmed the place. I ignored them, acting like I knew what I was doing, and charged toward the front door. I went to knock when an officer stepped forward.

  “Can I help you?”

  Before I responded, I soaked in the interior of Sage’s place. It was a disaster. She wasn’t always the neatest person, but I knew this went far beyond her normal messiness. Someone had been here and ransacked the place. Interesting. That seemed to kill my random, Sage-walked-in-on-a-drug-deal theory.

  I cleared my throat. “My name is Sierra Nakamura. I’m a friend of Sage’s, and I would like to take care of Mr. Mouser until someone else comes forward and offers to have Mr. Mouser as their animal companion.”

  “Mr. Mouser? Animal companion? You mean pet?” The police officer stared at me.

  “Pet is such a derogatory term, don’t you think? Animals should be more than that.” I pointed to his black leather shoes. “They should be more than a comfortable pair of loafers, as well.”

  “Whatever, lady.” He stared at me like I was two floppy ears short of being a character on Looney Tunes. “Who’s Mr. Mouser?”

  “The cat.” Sometimes police officers were so dense. I’d dealt with plenty of them in my day, mostly at protests.

  “The cat. Of course. It took us an hour to corral that rodent from the closet shelf where he’d holed himself up. Let me get him for you.” He returned a moment later and thrust the cat carrier into my arms. “Here. The captain said he’
s all yours. But he’s got one mean, nasty temper. The feline already scratched my hand.” He rubbed a bandage there and scowled.

  I wiggled my finger into the cage. “Hello, sweet kitty.”

  The cat meowed in response and stayed at the back of the carrier, his tail twitching. Mr. Mouser was a tabby with brown and black stripes across his coat. He wore a thick collar with skull bones embroidered on it. Right now, his green eyes stared at me. I took that as a silent “thank you for saving me from the horrid police officer.”

  “He seems fine to me. He could probably sense your hostility.” I pulled the cage back away from the officer. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

  As I was walking toward my car, a conversation between two officers on the lawn drifted toward me. “Get this—there is no Sage Williams.”

  “What do you mean? She’s not in the system?” another officer asked.

  “No, I mean, there’s no record of her existence period.”

  “Maybe she’s in witness protection.” The officer laughed, as if the idea was absurd. “With our luck, the feds will be called in. They can ride in on their white horses and save the day.”

  I’d heard enough.

  I was not getting involved in this. Nope. I just wanted to take care of Mr. Mouser and put the rest of this behind me.

  Chapter Three

  I dropped Mr. Mouser off at my apartment, went back into work for a few hours, and finally decided to call it a day.

  As I stepped outside into the parking lot, I realized it was already dark outside. Another day gone, I mused, as my shoes clacked against the asphalt.

  I checked my phone as I walked to my car, making sure I hadn’t missed any calls. It was past eight, and Chad was supposed to come over after work. I’d already called him and told him I was on my way.

  I couldn’t wait to see him. It felt so good to date someone who actually got me. Even though he wasn’t a vegan—he actually loved eating meat, for that matter—he was always quick to help when I needed him. I could handle the meat thing as long as I had his support.

  We’d gotten to know each other when I showed up at a dolphin stranding at the beach and saw he was there. He’d been out surfing and volunteered to help. I had no idea he had any interest in working a crisis like that.

  Though we’d met seven months earlier, that dolphin stranding had been the first time we’d socialized outside of our normal little group of friends. Chad had fit right in with the crew on the beach. He’d made them laugh while also taking the situation seriously. When I saw him talking to the dolphin, whispering words of comfort to him, I knew Chad was much different than I’d thought.

  When we were done, we’d taken a walk along the beach and grabbed pizza—at a vegan establishment, of course. Chad and I had talked the entire time. We’d laughed. He’d promised to show me how to surf. I promised to show him how to start a successful email campaign sure to draw national attention—not that he had need for that, but he’d listened as if he did.

  We’d talked about our families, our upbringing. It turned out that both of our parents had wanted something different for our futures than the careers we were currently in. In our own ways, we both felt like a disappointment to them, but we knew we had to be true to ourselves.

  Being together had felt easy. It had felt right. Something in my world and in my heart had changed that day.

  That had been more than three months ago, and we’d been inseparable since then. When we weren’t working, we were together. And we were happy. He’d helped clean some ducks when a chemical spill happened at a local fertilizer plant. We did a Clean the Bay day together. He was all about the beach and preserving its beauty. I could even overlook that he was more of a dog person than a cat person.

  Back in the present, I climbed into my car and cranked the engine.

  That’s when I heard something behind me. Before I could turn to see what the noise was, I heard a click. Something narrow and hard pressed into my side.

  My skin prickled. I knew what was happening. Someone was in the car with me. He had a gun, and its barrel was pointed at my ribcage with a straight shot to my heart.

  “You’re going to do something for me.”

  “I am?” My voice trembled. Stupid voice.

  He jammed the gun harder.

  “I mean, I am! Of course.” Sweat lined my brow. Where should I put my hands? In the air? On the steering wheel? I couldn’t think clearly. Instead I left them where they were—suspended above my legs.

  “You need to find the information,” he whispered.

  Did I know that voice? I didn’t think so. The man was obviously trying to disguise it. His rasp sounded purposefully low and soft. “What information?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  “I’m not. I’m a very intelligent person. Playing dumb is hard for me—”

  He pressed the gun into my skin with enough force that I yelped.

  “Shut up. Stop talking. I’m not playing. You’re the only one who knew Sage well enough to know where she put the information. I want it back.”

  Was it my imagination or did he say “Sage” with disdain?

  “I didn’t really know Sage that well, though.” He was sadly mistaken, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to convince him of that.

  “Tell the police and I’ll make you pay.”

  My throat tightened. “Okay.”

  “Have the information for me by Friday. Otherwise, I’ll be back. I’ll have my gun. And, next time, I’ll use it for its intended purpose.”

  “You’ll shoot me,” I mumbled.

  “No, I’ll shoot your cats.”

  With that, he slipped out of the car and disappeared, leaving me with the dilemma of a lifetime.

  That evening, Chad leaned his head back into my couch and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted. I knew his job was physically demanding, but I guess he’d had a lot of work to do today. He hadn’t counted on being questioned by police after we’d found Sage. The whole experience had eaten into his work time.

  I hadn’t told him about the man in my car yet. I was waiting for the right time.

  He’d come over to my place after his last job. I lived in what used to be a grand old house in the Ghent neighborhood of Norfolk, Virginia. Since the house’s glory days had ended, the building had been cut up into five little apartments. The area was fun, filled with interesting restaurants and interesting people. I liked to think that this part of town was filled with people who thought outside of the box. That made it a perfect place for me.

  Chad had brought a sack of fast food with him. I made myself a chickpea salad wrap with some fruit on the side and ignored the fact that my boyfriend was consuming a cow. I’d learned that if I wanted to keep friendships outside of my vegan circles, I had to let some things go.

  But it was really, really hard sometimes.

  We settled back with reruns of The Big Bang Theory on TV. As soon as Chad took the last bite of his food, he grabbed my hand and tried to scoot me closer. There were two cats, however, between him and me.

  He grabbed Freckles—my tabby cat—and set her on the floor and looked at Mr. Mouser. “Another cat, huh?”

  “He’s just been through a very traumatic loss.” I stroked the cat’s head.

  In the few hours since I’d known Mr. Mouser, he had decided I was his new person. Apparently, the cat was territorial and could only be kind to one person in his life at a time. Thankfully, that was me.

  Chad reached for the cat, trying to move him, when Mr. Mouser swatted at him. Chad pulled his hand back and shook it. “Wow. That cat isn’t happy.”

  “He’s traumatized,” I corrected, rubbing Mr. Mouser’s head. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get you a bandage?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Chad frowned at Mr. Mouser, who promptly hissed again.

  In fact, every time Chad tried to get closer, Mr. Mouser hissed.

  Most people thought I was a freak because I loved animals so much, but s
omeone had to look out for these critters.

  I’d grown up with two parents who had worked all the time. I’d had a slew of nannies watching out for me. But, as nannies had come and gone, my parents firing most of them for being “inadequate,” my cats had remained.

  I was the youngest child by far. I had a sister who was twelve years older and a brother ten years older. I was the surprise child who was “gifted” to my parents later in life. They’d already done the childrearing thing, sent my brother and sister to prep school, and were ready to focus on their careers. Then I’d come along and messed up their plans.

  They’d never said that. Of course. But actions spoke louder than words. Like the fact that they never had time for me. They checked on me like a doctor might check on a patient after minor surgery—every once in a while, just to ensure progress was being made, and that I was still alive and on target.

  One day, while playing in my backyard, I’d found a stray white kitten. I’d named her Snow and fallen in love. I sneaked the cat up to my room, fed her leftovers I slipped into my pocket, and used an old box for kitty litter—I’d convinced one of my nannies to buy some.

  My parents were furious when they found Snow. Somehow I’d convinced them to let me keep her. I think the only reason they’d agreed was to teach me responsibility. They’d thought I’d lose interest after a week, but I hadn’t. My love had just grown. Eventually, I’d even adopted another kitty that someone at my elementary school had been giving away after her cat had babies.

  When no one else had been there for me, my cats had always loved me. During those lonely days of my childhood, my cats had saved me from myself. In return, all I wanted to do was to save them now. Well, to save them and all the other animals that were treated poorly.

  “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Sierra,” Chad started.

  I turned to him. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about, as well.”

  “Ladies first.” He flipped his hand down, like a gentleman might do in times of old.