Dean felt the sides of a large wire cage and peered into the gloom. Maybe a hundred parrots were crammed into a thirty-by-thirty space, miserably huddled together, listlessly staring at him. He didn’t see any food. The water dish was empty. Several dead birds lay on the floor of the cage.
He smothered a curse, understanding in that instant why June waged her battle against bird smugglers. This treatment was beyond cruel.
The office door opened and light flooded the interior of the structure. Dean dropped low.
Gillis emerged from the office with a cell phone plastered to his ear. He raised his voice, sounding angry. Dean couldn’t make out the words, but damn if Gillis didn’t move in his direction. Dean relocated, moving quickly but quietly, keeping out of sight.
Gillis terminated his call and made another, staring into the bird cage.
The cell phone on Dean’s belt vibrated. Shit. Was Gillis calling him? Why? Dean didn’t dare twitch to check caller ID.
Gillis’s call connected. He walked away from the cage, spoke briefly in the tone people use when leaving a message and pocketed his phone. Returning to the cage, he stared inside again, hands on his hips.
“Where the hell are you?” he muttered.
Wondering if he’d find a voice mail from Gillis on his cell phone, Dean watched Gillis turn on a hose and spray the birds with water. The ones with any energy roused themselves, flapped their wings and began to screech in earnest.
Dean itched to slam his fist into Gillis’s smug face. What a hypocrite this jerk was. An officer sworn to protect wild animals was using them to make a profit, torturing them in the process. No telling how many helpless creatures he’d murdered. Dean knew of five humans, for sure.
Gillis trickled water into the birds’ water dish, but in this heat Dean knew it would evaporate within an hour. He couldn’t leave these birds like this. Or they’d soon be added to Gillis’s kill list.
Gillis turned off the hose and moved to the open freight door. He received a phone call after two steps.
“June,” he said. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Gillis slammed the freight door shut, the rumbling noise drowning out his next words. He moved back toward the office, out of Dean’s earshot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I’M IN THE KEYS,” June told Agent Gillis. “Just a little trip to get away. What’s up? I got several messages from you.” No point in telling Gillis what she’d been doing. Like Dean, he’d think it a waste of time.
“Well, I need your help, June. I’ve got a rescue for you,” Gillis said.
“Oh, no. What happened?”
“I intercepted a batch of smuggled gray parrots and one of them requires your tender, loving care. Can you meet me tonight to take him?”
“Sorry. I won’t be home until tomorrow.”
After a pause, Gillis said, “That’ll work. Can you take a detour and meet me in Everglades National Park on your way north? I’m working a special assignment in the park tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday?”
“I switched with a buddy. It’s his wedding anniversary. Lucky guy,” he added, with a hint of melancholy.
Stung at the thought of Gillis’s own dead wife, her ersatz aunt Janice, her mother’s best friend, June glanced at Brad. What was another hour or two? Her protectors were being paid well. Besides, she needed something useful to do after the frustration of this trip. How would Lazarus react to a roommate? Smiling, missing her aviary, she said, “Sure, but it’ll have to be early. I need to get back and feed Lazarus.”
“Early is perfect.” Gillis gave her directions where he’d be working tomorrow morning and they disconnected.
Before returning Gillis’s call, she’d listened to multiple messages from Dean on her home phone. Sounded as though he really wanted to talk to her. To apologize? Probably not, but he’d seemed agitated because he couldn’t get through on the cell. There must have been a break in the case. Had he found Kublin? Or maybe the shooter. Now, wouldn’t that be great?
When she’d called Dean back, he didn’t answer his cell, which was strange. She left a message, reassuring him she was fine, that she was in the Keys. He’d know what that meant, so mentioned someone else had also been searching for Kublin, she’d explain everything when she got home, that they needed to talk. And didn’t they ever! Then she’d called Gillis. Sweet of the agent to think of her for his rescue.
She’d have to tell him Dean’s new theory when she saw him. He’d be thrilled to learn that his best friends had been innocent after all.
* * *
DEAN PHONED SANCHEZ as soon as Gillis left the warehouse. The rookie answered immediately.
“I was about to call for backup,” Sanchez said. “Gillis returned to his vehicle.”
“If I’m not back by the time he leaves, follow him,” Dean barked, searching for the catch on the freight door.
“What about you?”
“Just stay with Gillis. I’m fine.” Dean found the release and disengaged the door. “Don’t lose him.”
Dropping the phone into his pocket, Dean jerked up the freight door. He welcomed the blast of fresh air that met him as he stepped outside. His shirt was drenched in sweat. Leaving the door wide-open to cool off the parrots, he hurried back to the front of the warehouse. The Lexus remained in place. Dean jogged a route to his partner so Gillis couldn’t spot him.
“Damn, Hawk,” Sanchez said when Dean entered the vehicle. “Did you jump in the river for a swim?”
“It was a furnace inside that warehouse,” Dean said. He found Tropical Bird Society’s emergency number and placed a call, hoping someone would answer. What were the odds someone would respond to a bird emergency on a Saturday night?
“TBS Rescue. Jared speaking.”
Of course. Dean almost laughed at the image of June’s friend, the one who didn’t like him, waiting by the phone.
“Gillis is on the move,” Sanchez said.
Watching Gillis drive away, Dean gave Jared the details of the parrots in distress, painting a gruesome picture and emphasizing the need for a rapid response, and disconnected. No way could he get the department involved. There would be too many questions to answer, and those birds didn’t have time to wait for a warrant, especially on a weekend. He’d left the warehouse door open. Jared understood he had to claim he heard the birds squawking in distress and acted as a Good Samaritan to help mistreated animals.
Sanchez shot him a look. “Parrots again?”
“Don’t ask,” Dean said.
The legalities of all this was the bitch. He didn’t have probable cause for an arrest, because he’d entered the warehouse illegally. The case would never stand up to a good lawyer. Besides, what was the case? A bunch of sick birds. Might not even be a felony. As June said, nobody took animal smuggling seriously.
He needed to gather evidence to prove Gillis was a murdering sniper or else the scum would walk. He’d no doubt flee with money in offshore accounts before a solid case could be built.
Remembering the call he missed when Gillis was too close for him to answer it, Dean checked his messages and discovered a voice mail from June. He closed his eyes, relieved to hear her voice. Ten minutes ago she’d been alive and, thank God, still in the Keys, a long distance from Gillis. And in the care of two bodyguards from the Protection Alliance? What the... He listened as she explained how her guards had stashed her phone to block the signal.
He’d heard of the Alliance. They were hypersecretive but had a professional reputation. He hadn’t wanted June to leave her apartment, but maybe this was better.
She’d called Gillis after him, and Dean wondered if she’d told the sniper her location. Alliance operatives would have cautioned against that, so maybe not. Although knowing June, she might ignore them.
Dean snapped his phone onto his belt. Too many questions. June was out of reach, but no matter. He’d stick to Gillis until he heard from her again and not let the bastard anywhere near her.
He dreaded telling June her parents had been murdered by their best friend. Even worse, that it was Gillis who was trying to kill her.
* * *
AT 6:00 A.M. Dean stretched long in an attempt to relieve cramped muscles, then blew out a hot breath. He rotated his neck one way, then the other, wincing at the cracking sound.
No way to get comfortable. He hated all-night stakeouts but wasn’t budging from Gillis’s residence until the man went on the move again, which shouldn’t be long. At five thirty a light had gone on inside the house.
Dean rubbed his face, feeling the scratch of his morning beard. No chance of falling asleep on his watch. Not with Sanchez in the backseat snoring louder than the gun range during a competition. He’d told the rookie he could go home, but the kid wasn’t having any of that and took the first watch while Dean slept. Or tried to. He probably caught an hour, but kept worrying the rookie would nod off and let Gillis sneak off into the night.
Dean took a sip of cold coffee, which made him hungry, but the only thing left to eat was a soggyfrench fry. At a particularly loud snort from the backseat, he remembered how he’d chafed at the idea of training a newbie. Amazing how he’d actually enjoyed the process of watching the kid grow and learn. Sanchez was a stand-up guy and would make a first-rate cop. No, he was already a good cop. Dean hadn’t expected Sanchez to remain with him all night to watch Gillis. From the one-sided conversation, he knew the blushing bride wasn’t happy about that decision.
Would June be understanding about the need to work all night? Was she the type of woman who could be a cop’s wife? That life was tough. His sister was Exhibit A of how rough it could be. His mom, too, although for a different reason. Did June have what it took to put up with constant uncertainty, not knowing whether your man was coming home, of his foul mood when he did from the stress of the job?
Two years ago, he’d have bet a million dollars his sister had the right stuff, and would have lost that bet. He didn’t know what went on in the dissolution of Kat’s marriage, but he knew his sister had loved her cop husband with her whole heart. Probably still did.
Did June love him that much? Hell, did she love him at all? They’d never said those magic words to each other, the words that women all craved to hear. Words he wouldn’t mind hearing himself.
Mostly they just peeled off each other’s clothes and argued afterward. Maybe that was all she wanted, all she needed. Not him, though. He wanted more, a lot more. He needed the whole package with June, including marriage and a couple of kids.
He should have told her. What made it so hard?
Perhaps because she was barely speaking to him. He ought to be grateful she’d even returned his calls. She’d sounded friendly enough in the message, but who the hell ever knew what June was thinking? Still, she’d had sense enough to secure protection for her trip to the Keys. Hadn’t she once told him she could take care of herself?
Shit. Maybe he did try to control people. He’d have to think about that. Was June a real-life lesson in sensitivity training who’d made him aware of his faults?
He saw movement behind the curtains in Gillis’s front room.
“Time to roll, Sanchez,” Dean barked.
Sanchez bolted up in the seat, his face contorted in wide-eyed confusion. “What the—”
“Gillis is on the move.”
Dean cursed when he recognized the gun case in Gillis’s right hand. No question this time. Remington M24, the same weapon he used.
They tailed Gillis to the Florida Turnpike, where he drove south. He made a pit stop in Florida City, so Dean and Sanchez did the same, refueling at one of the many gas stations, believing they were headed into the Keys.
But Gillis turned west.
Several miles behind Gillis on a straight, flat road, Dean watched the Lexus through his binoculars. Gillis drove through the entrance to Everglades National Park without stopping. When Sanchez approached the station’s overhang, no ranger was on duty. Dean instructed Sanchez to wait.
“We’ll lose him,” Sanchez complained.
“He’ll recognize the car,” Dean said. “There’s no one else out here this early.”
Tension hummed in the vehicle as Dean brought up a map of the park on the laptop.
“Do you think he’s working?” Sanchez asked.
“Could be. Fish and Wildlife monitors the wildlife out here.”
Sanchez nodded. “And that’s why he brought the weapon?”
“Maybe,” Dean muttered, not convinced. His gut still told him Gillis had a human target in mind for that rifle.
Studying the map, he realized there weren’t many locations in the sea-level Everglades to set up a hide. Gillis needed height. Where would he find it?
* * *
ANXIOUS TO GET HOME, June and her protectors were on the road long before dawn, before even the fast-food joints opened. At five they grabbed breakfast at a drive-through in Islamorada. Brad and Tony eyed every vehicle with suspicion.
With nothing else to do, June worried about Lazarus on the long drive north. She’d left him plenty of food and water just in case, but she usually cleaned his enclosure twice a day. The macaw knew her routine and would get antsy when she didn’t return. Maybe it was just as well, though. Lazarus was healed. It was time for him to move to his new home.
Just as it was time for her to move on, too.
She longed to talk to Dean, to set things right with him. She needed to know how he felt. Could he let go of his need to control her once the case was over? Or would she scare him away with talk of love?
Tough. He was a big boy. Yeah, he was big, all right. She bit her lip at her thoughts. She imagined the grin on his too-handsome face when she told him he’d been right about her hiding from the world in her uncle’s penthouse. He’d be all smug and superior, and then she’d hit him with the fact that she loved him.
Would her big boy scoot out the door, not even telling her to set the alarm on the way?
Well, she’d just have to see. This girl wasn’t hanging back scared and timid on the pool deck anymore. She was diving into the cold water without a wet suit and relishing every single chill. The idea was frightening but exhilarating.
The journey would be a lot more fun if Dean came with her, even with his guns and ammo in tow. She sighed, realizing she’d used his hunting as another excuse to push him away.
“Will the park be open this early?” Brad asked from the front seat when they approached the entrance. It was growing light, but the sun hadn’t yet risen. One of her favorite times of day.
“The park is open twenty-four hours a day, but there probably won’t be anyone to take our money, since it’s off-season. Not many people want to fight the mosquitoes, humidity and heat.”
“Sounds delightful,” Tony said.
June laughed. Maybe the Everglades were an acquired taste.
When Tony braked to a stop at the park entrance station, they found a sign telling them to enter and enjoy the park, but not to approach the alligators.
June stared out the windows as the limo zoomed toward Royal Palm, where Gillis waited for her. Grasslands extended to the horizon, the emerging sun painting them a burnished gold. A flock of white ibis took to wing over the peaceful tropical prairie. She’d forgotten how much she loved the Everglades and its abundance of birds.
“Audubon studied the birds near here in 1832,” she said. “He fell in love with the place.”
> “Your uncle mentioned you were some kind of bird nut,” Tony said.
“Wouldn’t you love to see what this area looked like a hundred and fifty years ago?” she asked.
Brad nodded, also staring at the view. “It’s so tranquil. Feels as if nothing bad could possibly happen.”
Tony snorted. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen a photo of a gator and a python eating each other alive out there.”
* * *
ANXIETY CHURNED IN Dean’s gut when they arrived at Royal Palm, the area with services closest to the park’s entrance. They’d lost sight of Gillis’s Lexus. It was what Dean wanted, but he hated rolling the dice.
After studying the map, he didn’t think Gillis would drive the thirty-seven miles to Flamingo. Yeah, Flamingo was isolated, but also had a marina, and fishermen were known to set out early. Plus, he’d be trapped down there if things went bad. There were other exits to lakes and ponds, a hiking trail through a hammock, but no stops with any facilities or elevation. He doubted Gillis planned to climb a tree even if there were one large enough.
No. Gillis was waiting at Royal Palm, the location where he could make the quickest exit and disappear.
“Pull off,” he instructed Sanchez. “I want to approach on foot.”
Sanchez parked on the edge of the road.
“I need you to wait here,” Dean instructed his partner. “Call me on the cell if another vehicle approaches. Text if I don’t answer.”
“Got it.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear gunfire, call for backup.”
Dean retrieved his rifle from the trunk and moved toward the parking lot, remaining in the cover of vegetation. Did this decision fall under the category of risky behavior? No question about it.
But he had a bad feeling about today. June’s message said she’d be home this morning. Only one road out of the Keys, and that road led to Florida City, the gateway to this park.
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