Deputy Mason escorted Griff to his parole hearing. He was led down a tunnel that then took an elevator that rose up to the main floor. Griff’s wrists were bound behind his back and his feet shackled, but it was his heart and lungs that were wound up tighter than his restraints. He’d paced back and forth all night. He knew he looked like a mess, but God, he had to get out of this place.

“No smart statements, Griff?”

“No.” Griff’s tight throat barely got the word out.

“For what it’s worth, hope the trial goes well for you.”

Griff nodded, but didn’t answer. His heart beat faster than the damn elevator. All his hopes were piled into his sexy mate that waited behind these doors. The doors opened up to a court room. Not like when he’d been convicted, but just as foreboding.

Two men and three women sat in stuffed chairs behind a long mahogany table. Microphones were posed at each one of them. Not one of them smiled at him.

He forced his shaking legs to move.

Lara Black sat at a smaller table and gave her winning smile that eased some of the tightness in his chest. Mason led him to the chair and unlocked his wrists.

“Behave,” he whispered in his ear.

Griff rubbed his wrists.

“Are you ready?” Lara clasped his arm.

Tingles swept over him like lightning, ending right at his cock. He groaned inside. How could he concentrate when all he wanted to do was rip her clothes off and fuck her?

“Yes.” It was all he could choke out.

Sweat trickled down his temples and he thought he’d melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.

Behind Lara and the small table, there were three rows of chairs where people could watch the outcome of his future. Seth and Cora set in the first row, but they were the only ones here. His mother was sadly absent. Seth gave him a thumb’s up and Cora pressed her palms together as if in a prayer. He took a shaky breath. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad they were there.

But then the door opened. Heat swelled inside him, every muscle tensed ready to pounce, and his tiger roared. Grant Sellars swaggered into the room like he owned it.

With his patch over his left eye, he looked like a pirate. He stared at him with a green eye full of hate.

Lara leaned close. “What’s wrong?”

“Why is Grant Sellars here?”

She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “That’s Grant Sellars?”

“Yes.” Something about her voice made him study her. Her hands were shaking, and he inhaled the scent of her perspiration. Fear was lurking right below the surface, but her face showed anything but fear. Her eyes were fierce and her chin lifted high as if she were the one who owned the courtroom, not Grant.

The hackles on the back of his neck stood up. “Did he do something to you?” His tiger threatened to burst through, his muscles expanding, rippling underneath his shirt, but the silver cuffs cut into his wrists. He winced and hissed. Pain pushed on his muscles, forcing them back.

Lara touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” But his voice shook, and he was far from fine. Acid burned in his gut and slowly crawled up his throat.

A fortyish looking man with slick dark hair and a suit looked at them, then spoke into the microphone. “We are here for a possible parole for Mr. Griff Reese. My name is John Rears, and I’ve been a law officer for the Buena Vista Sheriff’s Department for five years. I will be the chair for this hearing.”

A young woman with blond hair answered next. “I’m Cynthia Williams, and I was a probation officer for Chaffee County for eight years.”

“I’m Jillian Doyle. I have served as a prosecutor for the county of Chaffee County.” She had glasses on the end of her beak nose and could win a contest for the most judgmental librarian.

The fourth man could be Santa Clause with his white eyebrows and fluffy beard. “I’m Frank Evans, and I’m a former judge of the eleventh district court of Chaffee County.”

The last one was a thirty something man who kept looking at his watch with an annoyed look on his face. “I’m Steve Chambers, and I was a former defense attorney for the Chaffe County’s Public Defenders Office.”

“Now, that we have made introductions of the parole officers on this hearing. We can begin,” John said.

“I’m Lara Black, defense attorney for Griff Reese.” Her voice was clear and strong despite Grant shaking her up just a few minutes ago.

“Griff Reese,” Griff mumbled. He could barely get the words out and forced himself not to turn around and glare at Grant.

John picked up a paper. “If the board members can look at the report in front of them. We have a report from the warden, Sam Wallace. If the board could review it and make comments.” His bored voice sent Griff’s over-taut nerves to the point of unraveling, but he managed to keep his good prisoner face on.

“If I may,” Lara interrupted. “According to the report, Mr. Reese has been a model prisoner and has attended therapy while incarcerated. His therapist, Randy Denham, has stated that Mr. Reese is ready to be released into the community.”

Steve Chambers put down the paper. “Mr. Reese, do you plan on continuing therapy if you were released from this institution?”

No.

But he lied. “Yes, I do.”

The uptight librarian, Jillian Doyle, looked at him as if he were a bug that needed to be squished. “I’d like to know why you were at Graystone Manor.”

It was in the record. The bitch was testing him.

“I went there to buy weed.” He almost blurted out Grant’s name, but that would send him down a mine shaft.

“And what happened after you bought the weed?”

“I smoked it. I passed out, then woke up to people screaming.”

She clicked her tongue. “I see.”

“Arson is a very serious crime, Mr. Reese,” the little blonde said. “How do we know that you will not commit such an atrocity again?”

Blood surged through him. Griff wanted to claim his innocence, but he knew if he did, he would land back in his cell with no option of parole. “Because I know I won’t.”

A low growl emitted from behind him.

“Seth,” Cora warned.

“There will be no transformations in this hearing.” John’s voice had a hint of fear.

“If you look at the report, Ms. Williams…” Lara pointed on the paper. Her matter-of-fact voice seemed to distract the board from the pissed off tiger behind him. “On page two, paragraph four, Mr. Reese’s therapist, Mr. Denham, has reported that Mr. Reese is at minimal risk for committing another fire.”

Ms. William turned the page and remained silent.

“I have character witnesses who were not allowed to testify at Mr. Reese’s trial, and would like to testify on his behalf.”

“Very well. Who is your first witness?”

Lara stood. “I call Gerri Wilder.”

A storm of flutters flew around Griff’s gut. He jerked his head to Lara, but she didn’t look at him. What could Gerri Wilder say? Besides whoever was his mate.

“Bailiff Jacobs, would you please escort Ms. Wilder into the court room?”

“Yes, sir.”

The bailiff returned with Gerri Wilder who was shorter than he’d expected, but she held her chin up high and her black and white streaked hair rolled down her back. She sat in the witness chair and didn’t flinch at the board’s curious stares.

“Raise your right hand, Ms. Wilder,” Bailiff Jacobs said.

Gerri raised her right hand.

“Do you tell the truth and nothing but the truth?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you, Bailiff.” He returned to stand next to the door, leading back to jail.

John motioned. “You may proceed, Ms. Black.”

“Thank you.” Lara looked at Gerri. “Ms. Wilder, could you tell us what happened on May twenty-eighth?”

“I was at my friend’s apartment, Sandy Mason. She lived at Graystone Manor.”

Lara walked toward the witness stand. “What was her address?”

“Her address was two-twenty-one Moore Street.”

Griff stilled and squeezed his fists, trying to remember Gerri being there, but his mind drew a blank.

Lara put her hands behind her back. “What time was this?”

“About seven o’clock.” Gerri seemed so sure, but he was positive that Lara had coached her.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“We were drinking wine when we heard noises next door to an empty apartment.”

“What kind of noises?”

“Scratches and furniture moving.”

John and the bitch librarian scribbled on paper.

“We thought it was strange. She went to look outside and came inside, saying she thought someone was in the apartment next door that wasn’t supposed to be in there.”

“Then, what happened?”

“Nothing, but about an hour later we smelled smoke. We ran out of the apartment and the whole place was on fire. We ran downstairs. Smoke was everywhere.”

Griff looked down at his hands that were clenched on the table. His heart beat swiftly. The smells, screams, and chaos rolled in his mind as Gerri talked.

“People were screaming. Two children were trapped in an apartment.” Gerri wiped her eyes and put her shaking hand down. She smiled and gestured toward Griff. “Mr. Reese transformed into a tiger and climbed the burning building to save those two children. Flames and black smoke were pouring out of the apartments. If he hadn’t risked his life, those two children would have died.”

“Ms. Wilder, many arsonists set fires in order for them to perform acts of heroism.” The tight-lipped librarian, Ms. Doyle, looked down her glasses at Gerri.

Griff’s muscles tensed and he clenched his teeth. She was damn lucky his tiger was subdued.

Gerri glared. “I didn’t get that impression.”

“But you didn’t see who started the fire, did you?” The bitch shuffled her papers.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Ms. Wilder.” Lara stood. “Did anyone else try to go into the apartment?”

Gerri shook her head. “No.”

“Thank you.”

John turned to the rest of the board. “Does anyone else have any more questions?”

“No,” they all responded.

“You may step down, Ms. Wilder,” John said.

“I have another witness, Ms. Sharon Stephens–– ”

“I think we have heard enough,” Steve Chambers interrupted.

Perspiration was rolling down his temples as if he were the one on trial. He looked more nervous than Griff. The question was who or what was making the guy sweat silver bullets?

“I have not finished my presenting my case, Mr. Chambers.” Lara’s sharp tone was like a gunshot. “I have the right to represent Mr. Reese to my full ability.”

John frowned. “Yes, Mr. Chambers, this is highly unorthodox.”

Griff hung his head and his heart slowly cracked. It was happening again. He was being railroaded back to prison.

Steve pulled on his collar. “I believe based on his record and his therapist’s report, Mr. Reese, should be paroled.”

Griff jerked his head up. Steve was staring at someone behind them. Griff’s chest tightened and chills crept down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder. It was Grant Sellars. He had moved from his seat in the back and was now in the first row, right across from Chambers.

Something was up. He’d talked to other prisoners about their parole hearings and no one was released quickly. Why all of a sudden was his parole being pushed?

“Mr. Chambers…” The uptight librarian glared. “I’d like to hear the testimony of Ms. Stephens. If you don’t mind.” Her emphasis on ‘if’ made Steve slink back in his seat and sigh heavily.

John gestured. “Bailiff Jacobs, if you would call the next witness.”

“Yes, sir.” He headed back to the double door that opened to the hallway. He returned shortly with the same blond woman he remembered from the worst night of his life.

She smiled at him as she headed for the witness chair. Her hair was back in a ponytail and her suit was a little tight. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she may be pregnant. She was quickly sworn in.

“Good morning, Ms. Stephens,” Lara said. “Could you state your full name?”

“My name is Sharon Stephens.”

“Do you remember what happened on the night of May twenty-eight, two thousand fourteen?”

“Yes. I’ll never forget it. My apartment building was on fire–”

“Graystone Manor?” Lara asked.

“Yes. My two little girls would have died if it weren’t for Mr. Reese. He jumped from balcony to balcony to reach my babies.” Her voice choked. “He risked his life to save them. I don’t understand why he was arrested.”

“Have you ever seen him before?” Ms. Williams’s piercing stare and hard voice left little doubt she planned to vote no.

God, this wasn’t going well.

Sharon shook her head. “No. I would have noticed.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

Sharon’s cheeks turned bright red.

“Ms. Stephens?” John pursued.

“Because he’s very good looking,” she blurted.

“Did you have any reason to believe that he started the fire?” Santa Claus finally asked a question.

“No, I didn’t. He’s not a criminal. He’s a hero. I’d have lost my whole family if it weren’t for him.” She wiped away a tear and her lower lip trembled. “No one else did anything.”

John looked down at the panel of stiffs. “Does anyone have any other questions for Ms. Stephens?”

No one spoke.

Steve leaned into his microphone. “I suggest we take it to a vote.”

John scowled at Steve. “First, we need to have the witness be excused.”

“Thank you for your testimony, Ms. Stephens.” Laura gestured for her to leave with her arm.

Ms. Stephens left as she blew her nose into a tissue.

Griff held his breath and sat straighter in his chair. He wasn’t sure the testimonies helped and didn’t look at Lara. The board members covered their microphones talked in hush voice with each other.

John removed his hand from the microphone. “Are we ready to take a vote?”

“Yes.” The members all said at once.

He looked at Griff. “Please stand.”

Griff forced his shaking legs to stand. Sweat slid down his temples and he clutched his clammy hands tight.

John folded his hands and looked down the row of people who held Griff’s life in their hands. “Will each board member vote yea for parole and nay for parole clearly into the microphone, starting with Mr. Chambers?”

The walls shrunk Griff’s world into a narrow box. He felt like a coffin was being rolled in front of the committee, and the lid was about to be slammed shut on his freedom.

He gasped. Air, he needed air.

Steve didn’t look at him, but looked straight ahead at Grant who was twirling his pen around in his hand. Griff had forgotten that was Grant’s nervous little habit.

“Aye.” His voice was clear, but he was squirming in his chair.

Grant stopped twirling his pen and smiled.

“Ms. Doyle?”

“Nay.”

Griff slumped and his hope fled. One nail pounded into his coffin.

“Ms. Williams?”

“Nay.”

Another nail. His heart threatened to burst through his chest. Shit, he was dying.

“Mr. Evans?”

“Aye.”

A peek of light descended onto his darkness.

“Well, it appears we have a tie on the board, which is never a good sign, Mr. Reese.”

Another nail pounded into the coffin. The board’s stern faces swirled around and he’d had to draw on his strength not to pass out.

Death waited for him if he went back to his cell. His tiger whined. Blood roared through his ears, blocking out John’s bored voice.

“However, Mr. Reese––”

The air dropped twenty degrees. Chills drifted down Griff’s back. He froze, his lungs, his heart, and his last dash of hope for freedom.

“Based on the testimony of these two women, I believe you do have some redeeming qualities.”

Some? God, their lack of compassion was overwhelming.

“Therefore, I vote aye.”

Griff sucked in air and his heartbeat calmed down from rabbit speed to turtle speed.

“You are hear by paroled.”

“Thank you.” He managed to spit those two words.

“You should be released by Friday.”

Three days. Three days until he could feel the sunshine on his face.

Lara leaned close. “I told you I’d get you paroled.” Her scent was intoxicating, and in three days, he could do more than just smell her.

John handed the papers to the bailiff. “Bailiff Jacobs, please escort Mr. Reese to start the paperwork, and we’ll begin the next case.”

Griff turned around to snarl at Grant, but he was gone.

He should be jumping up and down, flashing a smile a mile wide, but misery settled onto him.

The parole had been easy, way too easy. A gnawing unease cramped up his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Grant Sellars had something to do with the hearing.

Something bad was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones.

He looked at Lara who was beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “You need to watch yourself.”

Her grin died. “Why?”

Bailiff Jacobs re-shackled him.

“Watch your back. Something’s not right.” His voice was grave.

She stared at him with her huge eyes, reminding him of a sad cartoon rabbit. He just hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid like investigating. Investigating would get her killed.