Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  The lion continued its pacing close to the fence.

  Cudge’s voice was making him sleepy, but Davey couldn’t give in now. He had to stay awake and plan how to escape.

  “Come here,” Cudge said hoarsely, crooking his finger for Davey to get up and go to him. “Making me come and get you ain’t gonna help now.”

  Davey didn’t waste a minute. The second he was on his feet, he bolted off into the trees, away from danger, away from the man. Cudge crashed through the trees after him, grunting and panting, but Davey was running fast now, down the hill, towards the level ground. The earth was muddy and soft, making it difficult to run, but he wasn’t going to stop until he was safe.

  Suddenly he heard a bark from behind him. The sound pierced him. Duffy! He had run away and left Duffy!

  “Hey, kid! Guess what I got that’s yours!” The bellowing laugh was followed by an angry yipping and a whimper of pain. There was nothing else to do. He had to go back. He couldn’t let Cudge hurt his dog.

  Heedless of the branches scratching his face and neck, Davey stumbled back up the incline, gasping as he fell over tree roots and slipped on the wet leaves. At first, he thought Cudge had gone and taken Duffy with him. He could hear Samson snarling, but couldn’t see him.

  Then Davey heard that hated voice. “Up here, kid. I thought you’d come back. Look what I’ve got—but I won’t have it for long!”

  Davey looked up at the fallen tree straddling the fence. Cudge was lying on his belly along it, his arm hanging down over the wire. He was laughing. Duffy swung from the belt looped around her middle, just feet away from Samson’s reaching claws, her short legs twitching, her head arched back in terror. The lion snarled, its jaws snapping, saliva stringing from its mouth.

  Davey felt as if his heart would burst. “No! No!” His feet found a hold on the tree trunk; it was slippery and wet, and he had to dig into the bark with his fingers to hold on. It was so high, higher than he’d ever been before.

  Duffy swung out again, lower this time. At the last second, Cudge yanked on the belt, pulling her out of Samson’s reach.

  The lion stood on its hind legs, clawing at the furry object swinging overhead. Growling, it attacked again, just falling short of its prey.

  Davey climbed higher, faster, reaching out for his dog. The trunk was too wide for him to hold on to, and he slipped, falling into its lower branches, nearly going over the fence himself, right down into Samson’s mouth.

  Cudge didn’t seem to notice that Davey was just underneath him. He swung Duffy out again and the belt came to within inches of Davey’s grasp. It hung there for a breathless moment before Cudge hauled Duffy out of Samson’s reach.

  “Hey, kid, come and see. Where are you? Don’t you want to feed the lion?” Cudge shouted out, laughing nastily. “You’d better answer before your dog turns into this cat’s breakfast!”

  Davey stretched out, feeling the branch bend under his weight. He held his breath. He had to be ready; his hands had to be strong to grab Duffy away from Cudge.

  The next time Cudge swung Duffy out over the lion’s head, Davey reached out as far as he could. He caught the dog but she was too heavy to hold. He felt himself losing his balance. Grasping the end of the belt, Davey swung the dog toward the fence. He prayed it wasn’t too high, that Duffy would survive the fall. At the last second, he released the belt, and waited for what seemed an eternity to see that Duffy had cleared the fence and dropped to safety on the other side.

  “Hey! What the—?” Cudge looked around wildly, then spotted Davey below. He reached down through the branches to grab him but Davey ducked, avoiding Cudge’s hand by a narrow margin. Again, Cudge groped for him. Cowering backward, Davey was afraid to move for fear he would fall into Samson’s mouth. Curses sounded above him. He couldn’t see Cudge, but he knew where he was by the arm searching through the branches.

  Samson roared again, his yellow eyes staring at a point above Davey’s head. The strength flowed back into Davey’s limbs. His brain started to send signals to his body. Wait, he told himself, wait.

  He heard the shift of Cudge’s body above him, and saw the man’s change of position in the lion’s yellow eyes. As Cudge’s arm came reaching out again, Davey gripped it with his knees, locking his ankles together. He heard Cudge grunt and saw the lion ready itself to spring. Swiftly, with all the strength he possessed, Davey pulled hard at the trapped limb.

  The sudden action caught Cudge off guard and he lost his balance. He began to fall through the branches and reached out for something to stop his fall. But there was nothing. Only the yawning jaws of fate waiting for him.

  Davey closed his eyes and forced himself to shut out the terrible sounds from inside the lion’s cage. He was safe at last. Safe.

  He slid down the tree limb, feeling a sense of his own power. But the minute his cold, numb feet touched the wet ground, his legs gave out on him. He needed to rest a minute. Rest. Just for a minute.

  There was a soft sound close by. Duffy. He wanted to see her, to check if she was all right. But it was still too dark. He needed the flashlight. A sigh escaped him as he forced his fingers to work. Off came the jacket and down came the pocket zipper. His fingers worked at the switch but nothing happened. He banged it against his knee; it was too wet. Again, he flicked the tiny switch and this time was rewarded with a feeble light. Quickly, before it faded, Davey shone it on Duffy. His fingers felt all over her dark fur, searching for bloody gashes and wounds. Only once did the little dog yelp with pain—when Davey was removing the leather belt from around her middle.

  “You’re gonna be fine, girl. Your tummy’s just sore. Let’s see you walk, Duff. Can you walk?” The optimistic tone of her master’s voice revitalized Duffy. She could be her old self again if Davey could.

  “Come on, Duff,” Davey said. “We’re going to find Aunt Lorrie.”

  Davey wasn’t sure which way to go to find the hole in the fence. He started toward the Ferris wheel then heard someone call his name.

  “Aunt Lorrie?” he called back. “I’m here! Aunt Lorrie, I’m here.” He tried to run but his legs and feet were too painful.

  Lorrie stopped. “It’s Davey. Oh, my God. It’s Davey.” She began to move again, listening carefully to work out where Davey’s voice was coming from. A moment later, Duffy came tearing toward her. Behind her, Lorrie could see Davey limping.

  She held out her arms and Davey fell into them, hugging her with all his might. “Oh, honey, are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you, so afraid for you.”

  “I’m okay,” he said against her neck. “I’m better now.”

  “Hey, Davey,” Stuart Sanders said.

  Davey leaned back. “Hi, Mr. Sanders. I did what you said and called you, but all I got was an answering machine. I couldn’t leave a message because that man was chasing me.”

  “What’s his name, Davey?”

  “Cudge.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Davey looked back the way he’d come. “He fell out of the tree and . . . and Samson got him.”

  “Samson?”

  “The daddy lion,” Davey explained.

  The color drained from Lorrie’s face. She pulled Davey closer and pressed his head against her shoulder. “Don’t think about it, Davey. Don’t think about anything but going home.”

  “I’m hungry, Aunt Lorrie.”

  Lorrie swallowed hard. “I bet you are.”

  “I lost one of my shoes.”

  Lorrie grinned. “Who cares about that?”

  “And I ruined my new jacket.”

  “No big deal.” She was still grinning.

  “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

  Lorrie looked to Sanders for help with that one. The agent ruffled Davey’s hair. “They’re still in Florida, son. But you’ll see them soon.”

  Davey’s features closed up. “Did you call Mom and Dad and tell them I was lost?”

  “You bet. Right away.”

  Davey nodded. “I’m
kind of tired, Aunt Lorrie.”

  Concern filled Lorrie’s face. “Then let’s get out of here and get you back to the motor home and into bed.” Tenderly, she held Davey against her and began to walk toward the exit.

  “Are you coming, Stuart?” she asked, when he didn’t immediately follow.

  “Yep, sure am. I’ll take care of this mess later. Right now Davey’s the most important thing.”

  Lorrie sat next to Stuart on the motor home sofa, waiting for Davey to wake up. A little over an hour ago, Feeley had called and given them the news about Sara. Lorrie hadn’t been able to believe it at first. Sara dead—it just didn’t seem possible. She had always believed Sara to be indestructible.

  “Poor Davey,” she said, squeezing Stuart’s hand. “Don’t say anything to him right now. He needs to recuperate from this trauma first.”

  Stuart had expected Lorrie to go into shock, but she hadn’t. He supposed it was because she was a doctor and dealt with death on a daily basis.

  The moment Davey stirred, Sanders got up and tiptoed over to the bunk. Davey lay with his eyes wide open, staring at the roof of the RV. Duffy, freshly bathed, was snuggled against him.

  “How’s it going, kid?” Sanders asked as he sat down on the edge of the bunk.

  “Okay, Mr. Sanders.”

  “I’m real proud of you, Davey. I think you’re the bravest little boy I’ve ever known. You can join my team anytime.”

  “You aren’t leaving, are you?” Davey asked.

  “Not on your life. I made a date with Duffy to buy her the biggest steak in town. I have a date with you too, and your aunt.”

  He could feel that lump in his throat again.

  Roman DeLuca was being escorted down the studio corridor by an assistant director. The jury had reached its verdict during the early morning hours, and now DeLuca was going to be interviewed on a television news program.

  The accused had been found guilty, which made DeLuca a winner in the public’s eye. It would probably help to put him in the governor’s seat. He was ready to smile for the cameras, and tell the world that justice had been served, but inside he was seething. It hadn’t been meant to turn out this way, and all because he had miscalculated the determination of one person—Sara Taylor. He had achieved his goal—Jason Forbes’s killer hadn’t been linked to the syndicate, and probably wouldn’t be now—but it would all have gone a lot more smoothly if Sara Taylor had been more cooperative.

  The moment DeLuca stepped into the studio, the reporters began shouting out their questions. They liked Roman DeLuca, they knew he was climbing the ladder to success. He even looked the part with his bronzed face, his immaculate white shirts and custom-made suits.

  Flashing his brilliant smile, DeLuca listened attentively to the first question. He sobered at once as he replied: “I’m shocked. There are simply no words at a time like this. My sympathy goes out to Mr. Taylor who made such a brave and admirable contribution to justice.”

  “Mr. DeLuca, do you know of any reason why Mrs. Taylor would ignore the warning shouts to get off the runway? Is there something the press isn’t being told?”

  DeLuca put on what he called his sincere, humble smile. “Haven’t I always been open with the press?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued somberly: “I understand there was some personal problem at home concerning the Taylors’ son. Mrs. Taylor was distraught so Federal Agent Jonas was assigned to take care of her. The whole incident was very unfortunate and I’m truly sorry. Mrs. Taylor was a remarkable woman in many ways.”

  “What kind of personal problem, Mr. DeLuca?”

  “Now, if I told you that it wouldn’t be personal any longer, would it?”

  “The Taylors have a hemophiliac child, don’t they?” A chunky man in a sweat-stained blue shirt shouted to be heard over the chattering throng.

  “Yes, they do. Now, if that’s all, gentlemen, I have a hard day ahead of me and I’m expected at WKBA’s television studio.”

  “Mr. DeLuca, do you still have ‘no comment’ on your plans to run for governor?”

  DeLuca grinned: he was on solid ground now. “I think, ladies and gentlemen, that . . .”

  Agent Jonas listened to the suave, controlled voice. That bastard. He hadn’t lied, he hadn’t fabricated a thing. Up front all the way with the media. What right did the attorney have to use him like that? Implying that he, Jonas, had overplayed his hand and used a thug’s tactics. DeLuca was the one who’d said “take care of her.” How could he have known that the prosecutor just wanted her kept out of the courtroom. Christ, even Sara Taylor had misunderstood!

  Davey’s mind wandered as he sat quietly in the small chapel. He wished he could be outside with Duffy, running through the leaves, or talking to Digger on the CB. He didn’t understand the meaning of the words the minister was saying, and he didn’t like the way people kept looking at him. Most of all, he didn’t like the words Memorial Service. He began to fidget.

  Lorrie watched Davey out of the corner of her eye. The little boy didn’t understand what was going on; he shouldn’t have to be here. Instantly, she was contrite. What an awful thought. Of course he should be here! After all, the service was for his mother.

  How sad, she thought as she let her gaze circle the small chapel. Aside from her and Andrew and a few of Andrew’s business associates, the only other person present was Stuart Sanders. Private memorial services were very lonely, but Andrew had wanted it that way. How sad that only she and Andrew were grieving; but, as long as she was being honest, she was also relieved in a way.

  The short service was soon over. Outside, in the brisk, autumn air, Andrew didn’t seem to comprehend where he was. His luggage was in the car parked at the curb; he was going away. He knew he should be saying something to Lorrie, but he couldn’t think of the words. If the service had been for him, Sara would have known the right thing to say. Now that he was on his own and had to think for himself, he felt lost. Davey. He had to say something to Davey before he left. God, what could he say? Where were the words? Where?

  Davey stood awkwardly between Stuart Sanders and Lorrie. His round gaze was speculative. “Dad?”

  “Yes, son.”

  “Will you be gone a long time?”

  “I don’t know, Davey, I just don’t know. But you’ll be fine with Aunt Lorrie. She’ll take good care of you.”

  “I know. Aunt Lorrie is going to get all my things and my CB and take them over to her house this afternoon.”

  Something pricked at Andrew’s eyes. “I know that, Davey.”

  Manfully, Davey extended his hand to his father.

  Andrew felt his eyes begin to smart. He took his son’s hand in his own. “I’ll call you when I get settled.” For an instant Andrew felt as though Sara were with him, arranging the last-minute details, offering her approval.

  “Okay, Dad. Drive carefully and don’t forget to stop for gas.”

  “I won’t, Davey. You take care now.”

  Davey nodded.

  Stuart Sanders’s penetrating gaze rested on the small boy in the gray suit. His lips narrowed to a grim, white line and he nudged Lorrie. “Is it my imagination or did Davey get taller in the past several days?”

  Davey watched his father climb into the blue sedan. His eyes didn’t leave the road until the car was long out of sight. Then he turned to face his aunt and Stuart Sanders. His eyes glistened momentarily in the chill October light. “Can we go now?”

  “You bet,” Lorrie said, smiling down at him. “Get in the car, we’re going home.”

  Davey ran for the car and climbed into the front seat. He concentrated on fastening his seat belt. When he’d finished, he looked out the window and saw Aunt Lorrie and Mr. Sanders standing by the driver’s door, kissing. They had been doing a lot of that in the last few days—kissing and giving each other mushy looks. And they’d been hugging and kissing him a lot, too. He had pretended not to like it, but he did. He liked it a lot.

  Aunt Lorrie had said that he’d suff
ered no ill effects—whatever that meant—from not getting his shots and that he was going to be just fine.

  Mr. Sanders opened the car door and Duffy jumped in. She climbed onto Davey’s lap and licked his face. Mom would have scolded Duffy and made her get down but Aunt Lorrie just laughed.

  The women of the Sisterhood have long been aided in their quest for justice by the men in their lives. Now for the first time the guys are stepping into the spotlight in a brand-new three-part adventure!

  Jack Emery, husband of Sisterhood member Nikki, finds himself at loose ends. Frustrated with the limits of the criminal justice system, he bands together with his friends. Along with Ted Robinson, Joe Espinosa, Harry Wong, Bert Navarro, and Jay Sparrow they form an off-the-grid spy group called BOLO Consultants. The “guy group” tackles cases overlooked by the D.A. and FBI with, of course, a little help from the Sisterhood!

  Don’t miss Fern Michaels’s

  UPSIDE DOWN

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  COUNTDOWN

  A Zebra e-book exclusive on sale September 2014!

  TAKE DOWN

  A Zebra e-book exclusive on sale November 2014!

  Photo by M2IFOTO © 2006

  FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood and Godmothers series and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are more than 75 million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.