We huddled together, thinking. Though all I could think about was how loud our breathing sounded in the still night.
“Wait!” Brooke’s exclamation was more of a gasp. “The alarm!”
“There’s a burglar alarm?”
“No. It’s an escape alarm. For the big cats. If one escapes, we’re supposed to hit the alarm. It flashes a red light and announces there’s a code ninety-eight.”
I knew some zoos used radio codes. Hearing “We have a code ninety-eight, Panthera pardus” over the radio didn’t usually incite panic like “The leopard has escaped.”
But I wasn’t sure an alarm spouting codes would do much good. “How is setting off the alarm going to help?”
“Maybe they’ll think they messed up and tripped it,” Brooke whispered. “It doesn’t notify the cops but they don’t know that.”
I looked at Emma.
“It could scare them off,” she said.
It was worth a shot.
“Where’s the closest alarm?”
“The office, but it’s probably locked. There’s the barn but . . .” She seemed to be going over the facility’s layout in her head. “The next closest would be by the cougars. Between their enclosure and Boris.”
I remembered the cougars’ pen. It was just before the tiger enclosure, on the same side of the path.
We might even be able to hit the alarm and, if we needed to, make a break for it through Brooke’s little rabbit hole in the fence.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “Brooke, you know this place, you lead the way. Keep us in the shadows. I’ll follow next and stay tuned in to the animals closest to us as we go. If they sense something, we’ll hide. Em, you bring up the rear.”
Edging around the tree, we ran to the wood fence that ringed the commissary and Ozeal’s apartment above. The only light was on the corner of the building, flooding a section of the path leading toward the big cats. We’d have to pass under its beam, but if we were fast and lucky, we’d make it to the shadows on the other side in seconds.
An overgrown oleander draped over the fence near the path. We paused in its ragged shadow to listen—Emma and Brooke with their ears, and me with my mind.
I lowered my shield slowly, trying to partially block the donkeys’ fear and remain open to everyone else. It wasn’t easy. Boris was just outside my range; I could sense him but nothing more. The lion was closer and I picked up grumbling waves of agitation from him.
Hungry.
I moved over to the cougars, whose enclosure sat catty-corner to the lion’s. They were pacing as well, bellies rumbling.
“Crap.”
“What?” Emma breathed the word.
“I’m not getting a good read on the animals,” I whispered. “Dinner’s late and no one’s happy. Food is what’s on their minds and not much else.”
“Keep the channel open anyway,” Emma said.
“I will.” I paused then said, “Okay—we make a run for the alarm on the count of three. If something happens, split up. One. Two. Three!”
We sprinted out of the dark, through the bright beam of the floodlight and down the pine-straw-covered path. Zipping past the cougars, who watched us with startled jerks of their heads, we hopped, one after the other, over the short wooden fence that separated the path from the enclosures.
Brooke reached the power pole, lifted the plastic cover on a little box, and pressed the button.
She looked up. I followed her gaze to the large, dark square jutting out above us. I assumed it would blink or flash. It didn’t.
Brooke pressed the button again.
Nothing.
“What the hell?” She slammed her finger against the button.
“It’s broken,” Emma said.
“It can’t be.”
“It is,” I said, remembering Ozeal mentioning an electrical issue caused by lightning. And, like a lightning strike, I remembered something else.
“Crap.”
“What?”
“I left my Glock in Bluebell.”
“Too late now,” Emma whispered.
She was right, of course. But I still lamented the absence of the one thing that might save our skin.
Kai had encouraged me to get a concealed-carry permit for my gun, saying, “Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
Boy, wasn’t that the truth.
Smart—real smart.
A sudden surge of excitement and joy rolled through me, cutting through the frustration I felt at my oversight. Boris had seen Brooke. He bounded to the fence and blew out a friendly chuff.
“Hi, Boris,” she whispered and took a step toward the big cat, but there wasn’t time for a reunion.
“Come on,” I said. “We have to try another alarm. Is there one close by?”
Brooke turned away from Boris with some reluctance and nodded.
“Just past the commissary across from the bobcats.”
“Lead the way.”
I followed Brooke and Emma back toward the path. They scaled the small fence, but just as I’d made it to the other side, a bobcat whistled, quick and excited.
The sound made me pause. It took a few seconds to zero in on the cat. I felt a flutter of happiness, similar to what Boris had expressed at seeing Brooke, but this emotion was clearly aimed at someone else.
Ozeal.
Hungry!
The cat’s jubilation was cut short, replaced by confusion and a dash of fear.
The bobcat had seen Ozeal, but she wasn’t alone. She was with someone . . .
Someone who frightened the small cat.
I ran forward and started to call out a warning to Emma, but it was too late. She and Brooke had jogged ahead and had almost reached the corner of the commissary when Logan materialized out of the shadows, holding Ozeal at gunpoint.
Her hands were bound with duct tape and a piece had been pressed over her mouth. Logan had pushed the oversized roll of tape onto his wrist, like a giant bracelet.
Emma grabbed Brooke’s arm and yanked her to a stop. They pivoted and bolted back toward me.
They’d only sprinted a few yards before skidding to a stop.
“Run!” Emma shouted.
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me.
I looked over my shoulder. Two figures stepped into the floodlight.
Mancini and Ferretto.
Too late, I realized we were trapped, penned in on either side by enclosures—the lion’s to our right, Boris’s to our left.
There was nowhere for me to go but to join my sister and Brooke. I moved to where they stood. Emma and I instinctively positioned our backs to one another, shoving Brooke between us, like elephants protecting a calf from hungry hyenas.
Mancini held a gun pointed casually in our direction. Though Ferretto’s hands were empty, I assumed he was armed as well.
“The police are on their way,” I said. “Leave now and you might have time to get out of here before they show up.”
“So sweet.” Mancini stepped forward, his dark eyes bright as they focused on me. “Worrying about us?”
I felt my sister tense behind me. If Mancini got close enough, she’d be on him like a spider monkey. But I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
Brooke might be tough, but bullets cut through more than street cred. As much confidence as I had in my sister, I knew she couldn’t take on three armed men.
We only had one chance: stall.
I looked past Mancini to Ferretto.
“You’re not going to get what you came for without our help, so call off the psycho.”
“Oh? And what is it I want?” Ferretto asked in a cool tone.
“The key,” I said.
His gaze shifted to Brooke.
“So, you did know I wanted the key.”
“I guessed,” Brooke said from over my shoulder.
“Why?” I took a step forward. “What’s in the box?”
“The one thi
ng that will give me the power I need to finally take control of this organization. A book. A detailed account of everyone who owes Charles and why.”
“A little blackmail book?”
“That’s funny, Miss Wilde. Yes. A little blackmail book. Though I’m told it’s not little at all.”
“But you can’t open the box,” I said. “Your name isn’t on the account.”
“True. But Anne’s is. And I’ve made sure she’s . . . malleable.”
Suddenly, I realized why what Sensei had said about having a strong mind kept popping into my head. Anne Ligner had been pushed around physically but her mind was the greatest threat.
“You had Ligner drug her.”
“That was Bob’s doing, actually. He’d been replacing her antidepressants with narcotics for a while. It made her easier to handle, I suppose.”
“Charming.”
Ferretto shrugged at my remark. “Whatever works. He called me one evening with a proposition. He’d heard I was interested in a certain key and he felt he could get it for me.”
“Ligner worked for you?”
“Not at first. I couldn’t trust him not to say something that might get back to Charles. But once he started gambling . . .”
“He needed money.”
Ferretto smiled. “Odds are always on the house. Now, where’s the key?”
I had two choices. Tell the truth and run the risk of them getting the key and promptly shooting us, or lie and if they caught on they’d shoot us on principle.
“It’s in the tiger enclosure.”
From behind me, Brooke sucked in a shocked breath.
“Really?” Ferretto glanced at Boris. The tiger growled. “Clever.”
“I’ll help you get it,” I said. “But you have to let everyone else go.”
“You’re not really in a position to negotiate.”
“Sure I am. Unless you want to get eaten.”
“What if,” Mancini said, almost to himself, “I just shoot the cat?”
He raised his gun and pointed it at Boris. My blood turned to ice at the sight, but I managed to force a short laugh.
“You shoot him and you’re never going to get your stupid key.”
He glanced at me, that creepy half smile widening into a grin that would make a hyena wince.
“What?” I asked, letting my voice drip with as much distain as I could manage. “You thought you could kill a tiger with that little thing? Shooting him will only piss him off.”
“So you say.” Mancini locked his gaze onto Boris. The tiger lowered his head and snarled.
Bad.
Boris was seething with the need to pounce on Mancini. The emotion rolled over me and I clinched my hands into fists.
Striving for calm, I pulled my mental shield into place and turned to Ferretto. If I was going to make him believe my lies, I didn’t need the homicidal thoughts of a tiger muddying my mind.
“Listen,” I said, “he could shoot until the gun is empty and you know what you’d have? Six hundred pounds of wounded, angry tiger between you and what you want. Not the best idea, is it, Frankie?”
Ferretto’s eye twitched at my use of his first name but he turned his attention to Mancini.
“Vincent,” he snapped. When Mancini didn’t lower the gun, Ferretto stepped forward and held out his hand to take it.
Mancini didn’t respond. Just when I was sure he’d pull the trigger, he aimed the barrel skyward and said, almost meekly, “Sure, boss. No problem.”
He handed the gun to Ferretto. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he locked his eyes on me and murmured, “I prefer my knives.”
As he spoke, he raised his hand up and over his head to reach the back of his neck. I blinked in disbelief at what I was seeing. From what must have been a hidden sheath somewhere under the collar of his sports coat Mancini produced a sword.
No, not a sword. A machete.
Crap.
Then Mancini did something that would have been laughable—if it hadn’t been so friggin’ creepy.
Never releasing my gaze, he brought the machete to his lips and licked the blade.
It freaked me out so much I reflexively employed the only weapon I had available—sarcasm.
“Why, Vincent,” I said in a breathy, Scarlett O’Hara drawl. “People will say we’re in love.”
Ignoring our little tête-à-tête, Ferretto turned to me, casually aiming the gun at my chest.
“The key.”
I was more than happy to have an excuse to look away from Mancini.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my sister inch a step closer to Logan. She had a plan—I hoped. Maybe to get ahold of his gun or . . . it didn’t matter, I didn’t need to know.
The only way I could help was to keep everyone’s attention focused on me.
I moved forward, away from where Brooke and Emma stood, and pointed to the small building at the rear of the enclosure.
“That’s the tiger house. The best way to get the key is to put the tiger inside. Once he’s secure, you’re free to get what you want. No muss, no fuss.”
Ferretto regarded me for several moments then turned abruptly and pointed the gun at my sister.
“You,” he said to Emma, “tape the little bitch to big mama. Don’t want her running off again.”
Logan released Ozeal, stepped to the side, and tossed the giant roll of tape to Emma.
“Ankles first,” Ferretto ordered.
Emma knelt, and with a rip, began unfurling the tape. She tore a piece off with her teeth and began binding Ozeal and Brooke together. She slid me a glance and flicked her gaze at the keys clipped to Ozeal’s belt.
I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me at first, but then she moved to reposition her weight. She was getting her feet under her so she could move fast.
“I need the keys,” I said, hoping I’d read her right. “If I’m going to put the tiger up.”
My sister’s face was unreadable but the set of her jaw told me to be ready—though for what, I had no idea.
She unrolled another length of tape, this one much longer than the first, and paused.
“Vincent.” Ferretto motioned for him to retrieve the key ring.
Before Mancini moved he flicked his wrist, making the machete’s blade whir through the air between us like a propeller. He stopped the display as abruptly as he’d started it, then strolled past me, casually resting the machete on his shoulder.
Ozeal’s eyes blazed at him as Mancini unclipped the keys, but he ignored her. Then he did something stupid. He turned his back on my sister.
Silly psychopath.
He’d only taken a few steps when Emma surged to her feet. Just as he was giving his machete another showy twirl, she swung the heavy roll of tape like a mace. It smashed into the side of Mancini’s head.
He lurched sideways and crashed into the short fence. The machete kept moving, cartwheeling through the air in the opposite direction.
Never losing momentum, Emma whirled to face the second-nearest target, whipping the tape in an arc. The blow caught Logan squarely across the jaw.
He staggered back and Ozeal and Brooke charged him like contestants in a three-legged race for their lives. They plowed into Logan and the trio went down with a thud.
Mancini pushed himself away from the fence and squared off against my sister, hands raised like a boxer, ready for Emma to swing for his head.
She knew better.
My sister struck out with the tape, letting it whiz by Mancini before dropping to one knee. In the same instant, she swung the roll around again, aiming low. Momentum sent the tape winding around his ankles. Hobbled by the sticky straps, he stumbled, off-balance, and Emma had him. Like a cowboy roping a calf, she stood and yanked.
Mancini went down hard, his head bouncing back against the ground with a thunk.
Ferretto and I stood frozen and watched, too transfixed by my sister’s Jackie Chan moves to react for the few seconds it had taken Emma
to execute her attack.
We exchanged a glance and, in that moment, both of us seemed to realize one important point.
Ferretto still held a gun.
Swinging his arm, he lifted it to aim at Emma.
“Look out!” In utter panic, I lunged for the pistol and missed. My crazed leap slammed me into Ferretto’s shoulder instead. He fumbled the weapon and it dropped to the ground.
Ferretto moved to grab the gun. I reacted in precisely the wrong way. I kicked it, sending the gun skidding out of sight.
This was wrong because I should have focused on my opponent instead of his weapon. It was a mistake I paid for.
Ferretto backhanded me hard enough to make my teeth rattle and send me sprawling to the ground.
“Gra—” Emma’s cry was cut short. Mancini tripped her as she came at Ferretto. She landed on her hands and knees and was moving to stand when Mancini snagged one of her ankles.
Emma snapped her leg back like a whip, planting her foot in his face. He crumpled face-first into the ground and didn’t move.
As this was happening, a glint of metal caught my eye.
The machete.
I scrambled toward it. Just as my fingers wrapped around the handle, something hit me. My breath exploded from my lungs in a painful woosh. It took a moment to realize what had happened. Ferretto had kicked me. Hard.
I collapsed on my side and he plucked the machete from my hand. I didn’t fight to hold on to the weapon because suddenly, all thought focused on one thing—air.
I needed air.
But my lungs weren’t working. Pain burned through my midsection as my diaphragm spasmed. I couldn’t do more than draw in the tiniest sip of air.
Not enough.
Though my vision was blurred, I saw Ferretto turn to Emma. She was standing, Mancini unconscious on the ground behind her. Ferretto raised the machete and my sister assumed the relaxed and ready stance I’d seen so many times in the dojo.
Ferretto was toast.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on bringing air into my lungs.
My pulse pounded in my ears, making my head throb.
I opened my watering eyes and saw something that made my already racing heart slam even harder in my chest.
Mancini lay on his side, silently cutting through the tangle of tape that bound his legs. How many knives did he have?
A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) Page 29