Unflappable

by Suzie Gilbert

  Cole gave her a look of mild exasperation, and returned to his salad.

  “If I want to piss him off, I call him Frannie,” said Bailey. “Like St. Francis.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Bailey,” he murmured.

  “Eat some more casserole, Frannie,” she said.

  • • •

  Roland parked his rented SUV in front of a strip mall in Kentucky. He watched the shoppers push their carts, selecting the ones he wanted to grab by the throat and pound into bloody pulp. He tapped his phone, and Adam’s voice came through immediately.

  “Luna?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “What happened?”

  “You didn’t tell me about the goddamned hillbillies!”

  “The what?”

  “What about the shooter? Is it the same guy?”

  “I don’t care about the shooter! He missed! Looks like the two of you have something in common!”

  Roland watched the skin along his knuckles tighten as he gripped the steering wheel, observing a disconcerting phenomenon: without any conscious effort, his mind had turned the steering wheel into Adam’s neck.

  “Did you talk to her?” asked Adam.

  “Yup.”

  “Well? What did she say?”

  “You really want to know?” said Roland, the edge in his voice a signal Adam always recognized, and from which he had always backed away.

  “Yeah, I want to know!”

  Roland felt another surge of fury. “She told me fuck you, and she said to tell you fuck you, too! And then while Animal Freak Nation were all pointing their guns at my face, she climbed into a piece of shit van with the bird and the white boy model and laid tracks!”

  “What white boy model? What happened to the guy with the long hair?”

  “Somebody cleaned him up!”

  “It’s the same guy?”

  “Yeah, and he looked pretty good until I hit him!”

  When Adam finally spoke, his voice was low and harsh. “You think she’s fucking him?”

  Roland rubbed a hand over his eyes, then glanced at Celia’s phone on the seat beside him.

  elias@wpwc.org RED ALERT We think Matheson’s goon took Celia’s phone. DO NOT EXCHANGE ANY FURTHER INFO!

  He scowled at the word “goon.” There was another brief silence.

  “Roland. You said it looked like the people on her phone list were from those animal places.”

  “Looked like it.”

  “Then it would make sense that she’s staying with them on the way to wherever she’s going, because they would have a cage big enough for the eagle.”

  “Right.”

  “They said she’s going to New Mexico. Where do you think she’s going?”

  “North. Other than that, I don’t know.”

  “All right. Come back to Florida.”

  “I need a day. If you don’t care you’re getting shot at, I’m going up to see Lyllis.”

  “That’s fine. Take a couple of days, if you want. But when you get to Chicago, do me a favor. Take the phone to the office, get the tech guys to copy the list, then you keep the phone.” There was a pause. “Has Lyllis been in contact with Luna?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Find out. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Adam disconnected. Roland tossed his phone beside Celia’s. From his left, two beefy, red-faced men walked toward the car. “What you looking at, boy?” asked one.

  Roland’s eyes moved behind his sunglasses. A woman with a child in front of him, three teenagers at one o’clock, a single man reflected in the rearview mirror. Too many witnesses. The two men continued past him, unaware of their luck. Roland slammed the car into gear, and headed for the highway.

  • • •

  Harper pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript motel. She pulled out her phone, found the texted photograph, and smiled at Warren’s selfie, his face blackened, bits of debris sticking to his beard. She walked to the back of the building and opened a door. Warren lay propped against the pillows, his chest bare, the sheet tucked around his waist. He looked up from his newspaper.

  “Reading about yourself, Grampy?” she asked, locking the door behind her.

  Warren peered over his readers. “l’ll give you Grampy,” he replied.

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” She reached into her bag and tossed a printout onto a table. “New itinerary.”

  “Hot dog!”

  “By the way, why did you clean up? I kind of liked your swamp mammal look.”

  “Better to be captured on digital than experienced in person. Trust me.”

  Harper stripped off her shirt, stepped out of her pants, and tossed them both onto a chair. “I had a hard day at work,” said Warren, removing his glasses and flipping the sheet back. “Come here and let me bury my face between your spectacular breasts.”

  Harper unhooked her bra, slid off her panties, then climbed onto the bed and straddled him. “Think of me as your bonus package,” she said, as Warren clasped her breasts together and leaned forward. “Good God,” he groaned, his voice muffled. “I am so overpaid.”

  Harper sighed, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes. “Tell you what,” mumbled Warren. “I’ll be the panther, and you be the dolphin.”

  “Atlantic Bottlenosed dolphins have between 80 and 100 teeth,” said Harper, sliding downward. “They’re really sharp. If I were a dolphin, you would not want me to do what I was about to do.”

  “Return to human form, you water witch! And carry on. Ohhh pleeeease, carry on.”

  • • •

  The last of the sunset faded from the sky. Bailey and Cole cleared the dinner plates and put them into the dishwasher, refusing offers of help, having slipped from polite conversation into tight-lipped silence. The sound of a car engine hummed, then ceased. Bailey glanced at the clock. Cole pushed the hair out of his eyes, his hand trembling slightly. Luna looked out the window into the twilight. A car door opened, and a white-haired man climbed out.

  A second kitchen door led to the back of the house, and a man appeared so silently Ned and Luna both jumped. He was medium height, solid and muscular, with dark hair turning gray. A Red-tailed Hawk stood on his left arm.

  “Sean?” Luna uncertainly. “Hi. We thought you weren’t here.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t here,” said Bailey quietly. “I said he was busy.”

  “Welcome,” said Sean. “I’m sorry I couldn’t join you for dinner.”

  The kids stepped forward. Bailey reached out and touched the hawk’s foot, then Cole ran the back of his index finger down her wing. The bird regarded each of them with fierce dark eyes, then she raised and lowered her cascade of feathers.

  “I’ll be back,” said Sean, and left the room. The front screen door banged softly.

  Ned looked at Bailey, who was trying to swallow, and at Cole, who was gritting his teeth. “What is it?” cried Luna. “Is she sick?”

  Cole nodded, grasping his hands behind his head. “She has a mass next to her lung,” he said, as tears spilled down his cheeks.

  “She’s in pain,” said Bailey, curling into a ball on the window seat. “She won’t eat. That’s why Dr. King is here.”

  “Oh, no,” said Luna, a sheen of tears in her eyes. She sat beside Bailey, and took her hand. “How long was she with you?”

  “She was with Dad almost 20 years,” said Bailey, as Cole settled on Luna’s other side.

  “How did they come together?” asked Luna, reaching for Cole’s hand.

  “She was hit by a car,” he said. “It healed but she couldn’t fly well enough for him to release her.”

  “Dad said Mom used to call her ‘the other woman,’” said Bailey, futilely trying to wipe her tears away.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Athena.”

  “Dad said we had to be strong because she’s so sensitive,” said Cole. “If we were upset she would be upset, so we had to say goodbye from a p
eaceful place.” He looked up at Ned. “Were we okay?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Did we do a good job?”

  Ned looked at them, their faces soaked with tears, their fingers entwined with Luna’s. “Yes, you did,” he said. “You made it a very peaceful place.”

  A car’s engine broke the stillness, and Bailey rose and pulled the lace curtain back from the window. Outside was a patio, arranged with wicker furniture and illuminated by a half dozen small lights. Sean sat alone, his face turned toward the moon. In his arms he cradled the hawk, still fierce and graceful in her stillness.

  Cole and Bailey hurried from the room. Luna watched them go, wearing a look of desolation. She beckoned to Ned, and he lifted their duffel bags and followed her up a staircase to a bedroom. One of the twin beds was neatly made and ready for a guest. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and took her bag. “I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” She continued down the hallway, and disappeared into another room.

  Cole’s bedroom was filled with books and video games, the walls covered with rock band posters. Falconry equipment lined two shelves. Ned looked out the window to where Sean sat on the wicker couch, his face in his hands. Cole and Bailey sat beside him, their heads against his shoulders.

  Ned stretched out on the guest bed and stared at the ceiling. Lifting one hand he touched his jaw, a place of simple pain.

  • • •

  The suite at the top floor of the Ritz-Carlton was luxuriously decorated and filled with flowers. The lights of Charleston shone below. Adam lay on the king size bed, physically exhausted but wide awake. Beside him Darcy lay on her stomach, her green eyes closed, her black hair fanned across her back.

  Adam rose, pulled on an extravagant white robe, and poured himself another drink. In the doorway he turned and regarded Darcy, her beautiful face resting on a pillow, her sculpted body cushioned by a down comforter. One arm hung languidly off the edge of the bed, a diamond bracelet and stack of rings catching the light.

  Shiny objects, Luna would have called them.

  Darcy was so cheerful, so helpful, so mind-bogglingly skillful. He had summoned her, livid, immediately after his conversation with Roland. By the time she arrived he had put out half a dozen financial fires, talked to a trio of detectives about the rooftop shooter, and spent the remaining time trying to picture the Harrelson guy with a haircut and a decent set of clothes, his hands all over Luna. When Darcy walked in, he practically ripped off her dress. But then, somehow, his body failed him. His body never failed him. Not that part of it, anyway.

  Immediately his rage escalated, and Darcy downshifted. She lowered her legs from his hips, and pushed him away from the wall against which he had her pinned. Steering him into the bedroom, she suggested he remove his clothing. She turned on some music and handed him a fresh drink, undulating slightly to the heavy-breathing blues, then she let her damaged dress slip to the floor.

  Adam squinted, unable to figure out exactly what she was wearing. Delicate silver chains began at her neck, crisscrossed her breasts, and snaked around her waist. They disappeared between her legs, rose again between her buttocks, and some kind of wispy black lace held it all together. Adam felt a familiar stirring in his groin.

  Who takes care of you better than me? she whispered, after she interrupted his merciless pounding and transitioned him to something more detailed.

  He paused in the doorway while Darcy slept. Once she closed her eyes she was like a spellbound princess, untroubled as a child.

  Adam, Luna had said. Don’t wake me if I’m dreaming.

  He wandered through the living area and stood by the window, remembering that first tipsy night when she had transported his body and cracked open his consciousness. He had planned to stay awake and watch her, but sleep fell like a shroud and when he awakened she was gone. He pulled on shorts and a shirt and eventually found her curled in her own bed, asleep in the moonlight. He couldn’t remember how long he stood outside her window before retreating to the house.

  Why didn’t you stay? he asked her the next day, when he made some excuse to stop by the zoo.

  I like my own bed, she said. I don’t sleep well.

  There was no schedule. She refused to accompany him off the property. Women had used every trick in the book to ensnare him, to appear in public with him, but Luna made it clear their relationship existed only sporadically and only within the borders of Cielo Azul. Attempting a strategy of his own, he invited a Brazilian model to have lunch with him by the pool, knowing Luna would walk by. Infuriatingly, she smiled, waved, then never brought it up.

  Adam tightened the belt on his robe and swirled his Scotch, picturing her in his bed in Florida, her eyes closed. The first time he awoke to find her sleeping beside him he was exultant, his patience having finally paid off. But she was trembling, the heat rising from her body, her breathing quick and uneven. Don’t wake me if I’m dreaming, she had said with no explanation, and he hesitated. But then a sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, and he couldn’t stand to see her in such distress.

  Luna, he said quietly, touching her shoulder. Luna?

  Her backhanded fist caught him on his cheekbone, and snapped his head to the side. She scrambled to the end of the bed and turned to face him, a savage look in her unfocused eyes.

  Oh, Adam, she said, when she was fully conscious. I’m sorry.

  Every ounce of common sense told him to bail. She said she couldn’t remember her dreams, suggested they returned to an occasional dinner, and offered to look for another job. No, he said as calmly as he could, as by then she inhabited nearly every hour of his days and nights, and he couldn’t begin to imagine the void she would leave behind.

  Adam regarded the lights of the city. Roland had seen her in Allentown, Kentucky, and believed she was heading north.

  Those animal people. Wildlife rehabilitators. She had spoken about them, but not in any detail. He had never met any of them, although, thanks to Luna, he had certainly given them enough money. They didn’t seem to be players, but the ones in Kentucky had given Roland the slip. They had to know where she was going. Were they all connected?

  Adam ran a hand through his hair, reminding himself that he had already done the impossible. When she refused to answer personal questions, he stopped asking. When she dreamed, he waited on the other side of the bed until she opened her eyes and stopped flailing, then he slid over and put his arms around her sweat-slicked body. Finally one night she tore herself awake, scrambled over, and slipped her arms around him. She held him silently, and in that moment he realized every dime he ever made had led to this, to the chance to cherish her, to guard her, to protect her from harm, and maybe even someday, to understand her. And when she adamantly refused to marry him, he’d come up with something so ingenious he’d wished he could market it.

  He thought of the swan maiden standing beside her prince. That’s the way he and Luna should be, he thought, sharing both joy and tears. He realized he’d never seen Luna cry. It was up to him to make sure that never happened.

  Chapter 12

  Gunderman sat in the neonatal room of Celia’s clinic, syringing formula into the mouth of a very small opossum. On the desk was a plastic container, and in the container was a flannel nest and three more opossums. Gunderman stared at the fuzzy little creatures, glad his fellow Fish and Wildlife officers couldn’t see what he was doing.

  Yesterday he had described how the theft of an eagle fit into the big picture of environmental crimes, stressing that they were really after Luna’s husband, not Luna. When he finished Elias nodded, and Wizzie asked if she could shoot his gun. Celia, however, excused herself soon after he began.

  “I have a theory,” he said to Celia, who now sat beside him. “Would you mind if I ran it by you?”

  Celia scooped her opossum back into the nest and picked up one of its siblings. “Not at all,” she said. “Go ahead.”

  “I think Ms. Burke is rehabber-hopping. I think she only stays
where there’s a flight cage for the eagle. I think she might be on her way here. Would you know anything about that?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want this to turn into something bigger than it has to be. You know, you and I are both on the same side. My job is to recover the eagle and reunite it with its mate, not get rehabbers in trouble.”

  Celia willed her pounding heart to slow. She refilled her syringe with formula, and offered it to the opossum in her lap. “Not get rehabbers in trouble?” she repeated, an edge to her soft voice. “Then why do you have a warrant out for her?”

  All of them, he thought to himself. They take their Band of Brothers thing to epic extremes.

  “It’s a means to an end,” he replied. “I know she didn’t mean to break the rules, but the reason they’re there is to protect the wildlife. The recovery of this eagle will send a message to all the people who want to hurt them.”

  “Can you personally guarantee that Mars will come back to us? And that Luna won’t go to jail?”

  “I don’t run the agency. All I can do is give you my word that I’ll try my best. But honestly? I think she might be giving rehabbers a bad name.”

  “And I think what you’re doing will backfire on all of you!”

  She put the opossum back in the nest, and Wizzie slid by the door. “No running in the clinic,” snapped Celia.

  Wizzie beckoned, and Gunderman followed her outside. There was an art to obtaining information from people who had no intention of giving it; he thought he was fairly skillful, although he was beginning to look at poachers and smugglers as amateurs.

  “I don’t think your mom believes what I tell her,” he said.

  “That’s because you’re Fish and Wildlife,” said Wizzie. “Pop says, ‘You gotta take what those critters say with a grain of salt.’”

  “Your grandpa called me a critter?”

  “Well yeah, because you work for the government. But I mean, we’re all critters, right? Look at that one! He just got out of the clinic. Isn’t he cool?”

  He followed her pointed finger to an enclosure where a porcupine sat in the sun, eating a banana. “He was caught in a trap,” she explained. “They said he was too far gone, but we saved him. You know why? Because everyone deserves a second chance.”