Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  “Let them out!” she screamed.

  I picked up the poker stick. The end had been whittled to a sharp point. “What’s the password?” I shoved it between the bars and poked her in the shoulder. “You filthy animal.”

  She cried out. “Screw you!”

  “I see,” I said. “You want to play the guessing game.” I plopped down, crossed my legs, and fiddled with the phone like a kid with a puzzle. “Your little pups have names. What did George call them, Frick and Frack?”

  She glared at me.

  “Wouldn’t be George. I mean, you don’t really love him, right?”

  She turned and wouldn’t look at me.

  “But Carlos. Tu hermano. Now there’s definitely some love between you, no?” Her head swiveled around. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. What was it that he called you? Mariposa?” I purposefully enunciated, emphasizing the proper pronunciation in Spanish. She winced. “M-a-r-i-p-o-s-a.” I typed in the letters and the main screen came up. “For a big shot smuggler, you’re not so bright,” I said, shaking my head at her. I pulled up her email account and scanned through it—her contact list, her accounting files. “Tsk, tsk. Tú eras una niña muy traviesa.” You have been a very naughty girl. I looked up from the phone. Her eyes were filled with rage. “You better get used to living in a cage.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Sirens came roaring from the valley, first police, then the ambulance. The two remaining guards ditched their weapons and fled into the jungle. Dalton and I came out into the open to greet Nash.

  I stood back and let Dalton do the talking while I chewed my thumbnail into a bloody mash. I hadn’t exactly followed procedure. Or the line of command. Or the law. I switched to the other thumb.

  Dalton was too stubborn to go in the ambulance until he’d told Nash everything. The shoulder wound needed immediate attention. He’d be taken directly to the hospital and into surgery right away, the paramedics told me. They paced. I paced with them.

  Finally, he gave in and I watched the ambulance bump down the two-track driveway and disappear.

  “We’ve got a lot to sort out here,” Nash said to me. “But you two did a fine job.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Hm. What exactly had Dalton told him?

  “Do you have anything to add?”

  I was tempted to tell him about Felix, to look for his body nearby. But the investigative team would search every inch of the grounds anyway. “No, sir.” I hesitated. “If you don’t mind, though, I do have a request.”

  Nash regarded me with curiosity. “Go ahead.”

  “The dogs, sir. I know a good home, someone who would love them. May I?”

  He shrugged. “I supposed they’d end up at the local shelter anyway.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get some rest.” He eyed my tangled hair. “ You look like hell.”

  “Yes, sir.” I scooped up the dogs, put them in their saddle bags, mounted the horse, and headed back toward the house and the car.

  As I rode, I thought of how I was going to tell Isabella about Clyde and the tears finally came. Poor Clyde. He had looked at me with those sad eyes, pleading for my help and there was nothing I could do. Maria might as well have ripped my heart from my chest for the hole that was left. I had filled it instantly with self-preservation, then rage. But now, there was nothing but an emptiness, an ache for the innocence of one little monkey. What do I say? How do I explain?

  By the time I got to the horse barn, I had found my resolve. I didn’t know quite how, what words I’d use, but I was going to tell Isabella he had been brave, that he died saving me.

  I went straight to the tree house. The sun ducked below the horizon as I drove up. I let the dogs run free and they scampered along at my heels. A fire was crackling in the pit, four silhouettes encircling it. As I got closer, I could see it was Isabella, Noah, Claudia and Matt.

  I stopped and drew in a deep, calming breath.

  The dogs romped ahead.

  Noah stood when he saw me, waving hello, a smile spread across his face, but I went straight to Isabella and wrapped my arms around her.

  She knew. I didn’t have to say anything. “Di’ you get her?” was all she said.

  I nodded. Her muscles relaxed as the tension left her body. I held her tight. Finally, she pulled away from my embrace. “I’m okay,” she said. “I knew when her man show up at The Toucan and he want Clyde. I knew.”

  Claudia softly said, “Are these her dogs?”

  “They need a good home now. I was hoping maybe…”

  Isabella scooped one up and hugged it tightly. I smiled.

  Claudia grinned and gave me a supportive nod. “Let’s go get them some water,” she said to Isabella. She grabbed Matt by the hand and tugged him along, leaving me alone with Noah.

  He’d been watching without comment. Once they were out of earshot, he said, “That was really cool.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “She’ll give them lots of love.”

  “I know.”

  He turned his hazel eyes on me. The flickering firelight made them look like they were on fire. We both sat down in the sand.

  “I’m sorry you got arrested,” I said. “I couldn’t risk my cover to—”

  He held up a hand and shook his head. “I would do it again,” he said. “But”—his eyes fell on my lips and I felt a surge of desire—“you do owe me one thing.”

  “Yes?” I managed, trying to keep the quiver from my voice.

  He leaned toward me. “Your real name.”

  I grinned. “Poppy.”

  He smiled wide. “Seriously?”

  “Special Agent Poppy McVie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Special Agent Poppy McVie. Noah Kingston.”

  He kissed me, a long, passionate kiss. Then he sat back. “What now?”

  I curled my lip. “I have to leave tomorrow. Back to Michigan.”

  His eyes got that then-we-have-all-night look. But I couldn’t stay, not with Dalton at the hospital. “What about you?” I asked. “What will you do now?”

  He eyed me with a thoughtful resignation. “I don’t know. Once the gang leaves for the season, and I no longer have to keep watch at the shed, I’ll get pretty bored, I imagine. I was thinking maybe I’d join the Sea Shepherds,” he said. “What do you think?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s just your style.”

  We sat together by the fire for a while before the others began showing up. Once the whole gang was there, I told them about Maria and the take down, as much as I could reveal.

  “Hear, hear!” someone said and the conversation turned to new adventures.

  It didn’t feel right to say goodbye. I’m like my father; he never accepted goodbyes. As we traveled, whenever we made new friends, he always wanted to believe we’d see them again. Instead of goodbye, he’d say happy trails and fade off into the sunset.

  I gave Noah a kiss on the cheek, and when he went for more beer, I slipped away from the fire. Happy trails my smoking-hot-set-my-pants-on-fire friend, I thought. Perhaps our paths will cross again.

  I fell asleep in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room. Sometime during the night, a nurse led me to the recovery room where I watched Dalton sleep for a while. His shoulder was bandaged with a mountain of gauze.

  Finally, at 8:07 a.m., his eyelids fluttered and he looked around the room, taking in his surroundings. When his eyes found me, he relaxed and managed a smile. He muttered something.

  “Don’t try to talk,” I said. I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “Go back to sleep.”

  His eyes drooped and gave in.

  Two hours later, he awoke, bright eyed. A few hours and lots of paperwork after that, the doctor said I could take him home.

  I drove toward the bungalow, but decided some fresh air and a nice view sounded much better. I picked up a take-out lunch, turned into the park, and took the short road to an overlook where I parked and we got out.

  With the cool ocean breeze in our faces, we walked
to the edge and peered out at the sea. A magnificent frigate bird soared overhead. Waves rolled in and lapped on the rocky beach below and the cry of the gulls echoed in the distance.

  As soon as we sat down at a picnic table, I heard chittering. From the top of a palm, perched in the crook of a frond, a white-faced capuchin sat, eyeing our sandwiches.

  “Look at him,” I said.

  Dalton smiled. “Right where he’s meant to be.”

  His phone rang and he tried to answer it with his left hand. I clicked it on and held it to his ear until he could comfortably take it from me. He nodded, agreed, nodded some more.

  I went back to the car, got my binoculars, and scanned the ocean while I waited. Far out from shore, I spotted dolphins playing in the waves.

  Finally, Dalton disconnected. “That was Nash,” he said. “Maria’s phone was the mother lode. She had connections we had no idea about. Nash is downright giddy.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “He says that because she ran her business so secretively and mostly via email, he’s going to be able to step into her role, see who he can identify up the line. He’s going to offer George a plea deal to keep him in place as the front man.”

  “What do you mean by step into her role?”

  “He’ll keep her business going exactly as she has been to draw out a bigger fish.”

  “So he’ll actually keep selling and smuggling animals?”

  He sighed. “Yes, sometimes that’s what we have to do.”

  My hands tightened into fists. “But that’s not right.”

  Dalton stared at me with a blank face. He was exhausted, too tired to argue.

  I sat down at the picnic table across from him. “You’re saying we did all this for nothing?”

  “Of course not. As long as there is wildlife trafficking somewhere in the world, we need to infiltrate wherever we can. We’ve arrested Maria, she’ll get her punishment, but it’s all about supply and demand. As long as there’s demand—”

  “For the right price, someone will be happy to supply.” I sighed.

  “We took Maria out and we got Nash in. That’s huge.”

  It had been our objective. But it didn’t feel like a victory.

  “You and I both know the problem is cultural,” he said. “In the west, people want their own one-of-a-kind pet, something exotic that no one else has. It’s all about status, elitism, whatever. And in the east, there are those who believe eating crushed rhino horn or shark fin soup will make them more virile. It’s human nature. Only science and education will change it. It has to come from the top. Better laws. That takes time. Lots of time.”

  “And meanwhile?”

  Dalton sighed. “Meanwhile, you and I keep the wolves at bay.”

  I frowned.

  “Yeah, pardon the old saying. That’s an insult to wolves.”

  At least we agreed on that.

  We looked out at the ocean for a while.

  “One more thing,” Dalton said. “The nurse said the butterfly gardens received an anonymous donation for $200,000 on their web site. She said it was front page news. Know anything about that?”

  I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I tried to think of something else to say, but nothing seemed honest enough. My eyes dropped to the bandages taped across his chest and shoulder. “I should have told you earlier what was going on.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You weren’t exactly straight with me either, you know. Sleeping with Maria. Is that even allowed?”

  “I wasn’t exactly going to spell it out in the report.”

  “But you already suspected her. No wonder you were so frustrated with me showing up.”

  He wouldn’t acknowledge it.

  “I’m sorry you were saddled with me, you know, a probie agent.”

  He flashed a smile. “I don’t mind babysitting.”

  I kicked him under the table.

  He laughed. “Actually, I think of you more as a little bundle of bad ass.”

  I laughed with him. It felt good. “Where will you be headed now?” I asked.

  “Nash mentioned an op in Norway. Beautiful country.” He seemed pensive. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to share the details. “What about you?”

  “I’m headed back to Michigan. I have a few weeks left of my field training.” I still wasn’t quite sure what Dalton thought of me. I sat up straight. “I busted a couple of rednecks taking a live bear the day I got called to Special Ops. My SAC got to catch the bastard they were selling to without me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s anxious to have you back.”

  I shrugged. “He says I’m giving him an ulcer.”

  Dalton threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “Hey, it’s not that funny,” I said with a grin.

  His eyes settled on mine and for a moment I saw the kind, loving eyes of the man who had held me while I cried, who had kissed me so tenderly. He held my gaze, then turned away.

  “Well, hey, Norway. Wow.” I reached for my sandwich. “I’m super jealous.”

  With his one good hand, he fidgeted with his sandwich wrapper.

  I opened it and tucked the sides for him so he could hold it like a fast food burger. “Don’t you want to go?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, I want to go. It’s just, the cover needs to be just right, you know, to get approved.”

  Something in Dalton’s expression made me feel uneasy.

  He turned to face me and with a sigh of resignation, he said, “Nash says I have to take my wife.”

  Thank YOU for reading. If you feel as strongly as I do about the issues presented in this book and you want to help, PLEASE start by taking a moment to post a review on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com and tell a friend about the story. Help me spread the word. For the animals!

  THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES...

  The adventure doesn’t end for

  Poppy and Dalton.

  Join them in Norway as they pursue a notorious killer whale hunter in

  Operation Orca Rescue

  Order it today

  Chapter One

  Norway. Land of the midnight sun. Cascading waterfalls, deep fjords, breathtaking views and abundant wildlife—the mother lode to a notorious wildlife criminal.

  Sure enough, a few weeks ago, Headquarters received an anonymous tip that Ray Goldman, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service’s most-wanted, was sailing these waters, on the prowl for killer whales. Rumor was, he was planning a live-capture for the mega-aquarium industry. And I was going to catch him.

  Special Agent Poppy McVie, reporting for duty.

  Since U.S. law prohibits an American citizen from hunting, capturing, killing or even harassing a killer whale anywhere in the world, and we wanted him—we wanted him bad—here we were.

  “I feel like a damn circus bear jumping through hoops,” said Dalton as he ended the call with the informant. “I’m starting to think he’s just some crackpot getting his kicks.”

  My partner, Special Agent Dalton, up until now, had patiently dealt with him through every stage, even promised the man that his anonymity was a top priority, but the guy still wouldn’t even give his first name. We’d started referring to him as Johnny, as in: Here’s Johnny, the nutjob.

  “At least he stays on the phone longer than thirty-eight seconds now,” I said. “Maybe Hollywood called and told him that even they’d given up on that old drama ploy.”

  “Hollywood.” Dalton rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s why he believes agents are all ‘gun-wielding, cowboy cops who shoot first and ask questions later’.” He paused, looked at me. “Well, maybe he’s got you pegged.”

  “Hey!” I frowned. “We’re making progress with him. Now we have a time and location to meet, right?”

  “He said he’d be at the Vikinghjelm pub down on Bryggen wharf after lunch. I’m supposed to wear my sleeves rolled up and sit at the bar with a beer and wait.”

 
“That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “All right. I’ll go in ahead of you and scope out the place,” I said, “see if I can identify him, then I’ll keep an eye on him for any suspicious behavior before you arrive.”

  Dalton started shaking his head before I’d finished my sentence.

  “What? You don’t think I can handle a little reconnaissance.”

  “No, that’s not it.” The edge of his lip curved upward into a half grin as his eyes traveled down to my waist, then back up. A slight tilt to the head. “You don’t exactly blend in.”

  “What? I blend in.” I winked and, in my best Irish brogue, said, “Me Ireland’s jist a 'op, skip an' a jump dare, fella.”

  “I don’t mean your American accent, my dear.”

  I thrust my hands onto my hips. “What then? I don’t look Irish enough with this red hair and freckles?”

  “This isn’t a tourist pub. It’s a local hangout for dockworkers and fishermen.”

  “So,” I said. “I can blend in.”

  He frowned.

  Geez. “Have some faith.”

  I wasn’t going to give this informant a chance to change his mind and slip out the back door. Ray Goldman was a ghost. If there was any chance, any chance at all, that Johnny-boy actually had real intel, I wanted a piece of it.

  In the 1970s, Ray Goldman had single-handedly decimated the Pacific Ocean killer whale population. He had permits to capture, but so many died in his careless capture attempts, scientists say that group of whales might never make it back to sustainable numbers and have declared them endangered. During his escapades, some drowned entangled in the capture nets, some died after being tranquilized with darts, and in at least one instance, he and his cohorts feared the terrified orcas would capsize their boat and opened fire with high-powered weapons.

  His rogue methods started a political shitstorm and details only emerged later, when his help finally talked. By then, he’d fled to Iceland, where, at the time, whaling was not only acceptable, but welcomed. Fishermen wanted the competition gone, claiming the whales depleted their stocks. Which is absolute bullshit.