White Tiger

He glared at Jaycee and she glared back at him but she began to falter. Ben strode off down the porch.

“While you’re arguing, that bastard has Addie’s family. Are you coming with me to crush him or not?”

Zander’s anguish drained out of him from one heartbeat to the next and he swung around after Ben.

Addie ran after them, reaching Zander’s motorcycle at the same time he did. “I’m going with you.”

Zander opened his mouth to argue, his dark eyes still filled with anger and sorrow, then he closed it, understanding.

“All right.”

Behind them Jaycee started to splutter. Addison ignored her. She knew that between Jaycee and Ben, they’d arrange for the cubs to be safe. The cubs were becoming her family, but Ivy and her kids were Addie’s family, and she’d never abandon them to their fate.

*   *   *

Kendrick had never lived in a house in a Shiftertown. He knew of Shifter clans’ propensity to hoard valuables through the years—though his Shifters had always kept their prized possessions in safe places around the world, while living simply and traveling light. Because they didn’t wear Collars, Kendrick’s Shifters could usually use banks or highly secure storage facilities without a problem.

Collared Shifters didn’t have the luxury of anonymity or of traveling anytime they wanted to, so they’d built secret places in their homes to keep their valuables. Each clan had its own treasures, which they kept from humans’ notice.

The San Antonio Shiftertown leader’s house was small, at least aboveground. The single floor held a living room and a kitchen, plus a narrow hall that led to bedrooms.

A door in the hallway led to a closet that housed a false wall. Tiger depressed a catch that opened the wall to reveal stairs descending into a chill basement—the way to this Shiftertown’s store of treasure.

Kendrick had to take off his sword to go through the low doorway and down the cramped stairs. At the bottom, another false wall gave way to reveal lit paneled corridors that led a long way underground. The walls bore faded rectangular patches, all regular and evenly spaced. Kendrick touched one.

“Dylan’s stash,” he murmured.

Tiger gave him a questioning look.

“Ben told me the Shifters he’d overheard said they wanted to find Dylan’s ‘stash’,” Kendrick explained. “He must have meant the treasures of Dylan’s clan—some Shifters collect artwork.” Artwork, precious stones, and historic pieces kept their value through the centuries, while currency and investments might go up or down or vanish altogether. Regardless of how much paper money was worth, someone would always want a Rembrandt.

“Most of it is down there,” Tiger said, pointing to the darkness at the end of the hall.

“Of course it is.” Kendrick hadn’t slung the sword over his back again, and now he loosened it in its sheath.

He and Tiger continued down the hall toward the gloom. Rooms opened out onto the corridor, but Kendrick heard nothing behind them, scented nothing. Apparently neither did Tiger. Tiger was scanning the walls, taking in scent, stopping to listen.

Nowhere did they see or sense any hostages, other Shifters—anyone. They were alone down here.

The ordinary-looking door at the end of the hall opened to reveal a steel door behind it with a coded lock. While the rest of the house appeared to have been built in the seventies, this door looked to be brand-new, the keypad lock state-of-the-art. Dylan must have installed it as soon as the old leader had died.

“Know the combination?” Kendrick asked.

“No.” Tiger moved past Kendrick and let his finger hover over the keypad. “But . . .” He hesitated a few seconds, then touched numbers.