by Terry Spear
Sitting high in the pinyon tree as a cougar, she was a pretty golden color. Her green eyes widened a little when she saw him, and she jumped down from her perch.
He rubbed his body against hers in a way of greeting, to let her know he was glad she was safe. He brushed his whiskers against hers, making her smile a little. When she did, she showed off a gorgeous set of cougar teeth. Then they ran off to meet up with Dan and Stryker.
"Hopefully, we won't run into anyone who isn't a shifter," Dan said as Hal and Tracey joined the men. "It's going to look highly suspect if I have to tell anyone the two of you cougars are under arrest, and I'm hauling you to jail."
Hal smiled.
Stryker was checking Tracey out, in part because they always learned what each of their own kind looked like in their cougar coat in case they chanced to run into them in the wilderness and had to know if it was one of them and not a cougar that was all wild cat.
But in part, Hal suspected it was because Stryker was just as interested in the single she-cat as he was.
Dan was on his cell right away telling Chase that he and Stryker had found Tracey and Hal. He smiled at Hal. "I'll let him tell you exactly how we found them."
Chapter 5
As soon as Tracey and her escort arrived back at her cabin, Chase unlocked her door for her and opened it, saying, "Do you mind if Hal shifts and dresses inside your place for safety's sake as late as it is?"
She shook her head, grateful that they had come to her rescue and certainly not minding at all. In fact, she welcomed the opportunity to return a favor.
Until she turned to enter the cabin and saw her blue, silky, barely-there nightie on the floor next to the door for all to see. If a cougar could blush, she was blushing. What should she do? Grab it with her teeth and head to her bedroom, embarrassed not only that the four guys had witnessed it, but that she was such a slob? Which she wasn't. Not normally. She'd just been in a hurry to shift and run and would have been back way before she had to meet Hal. He would never have seen her nightclothes like that. Nor would Stryker, Dan, or Chase.
Or should she just run by it like it was no big deal? Her cabin. Her way. It was already too late to do anything about it. And she could just see herself trying to grab the slinky nightie in her cougar's teeth, fumbling with it as everyone watched, making it worse.
Screw it. Her place. Her business. That was now everyone else's business. Note to self: go for run, put away nightie, first.
She ran right over her nightie, rather than around it—which would emphasize that it was there—and headed for the bedroom, feeling overheated as Chase, Dan, and Stryker said their goodbyes and then one of the men closed the door.
In her bedroom, she shifted and quickly dressed in a pair of jeans, sandals, a short-sleeved blouse, and then she grabbed a sweater. As soon as she left the bedroom and headed down the hall, she looked first for her nightie, which wasn't there, and then at Hal, who was sitting on the couch dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and cowboy boots, her nightie draped over the arm of the couch.
Her face heated all over again, and she knew this time it had to be plain to see.
"Ready?" she quickly asked.
"Sure am. I'm starving. You?"
"Yeah. That run turned out to be a little more of a workout than I had planned."
"Do you want to run again tomorrow?"
She smiled at him. "Sure. Do you know of a safer area?"
He chuckled and led her outside to his pickup.
***
Before they reached Hal's ranch house, Tracey marveled at the pinyon pines covering some of the hills, the panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains, and four spring-fed ponds.
He pointed out one of the ponds. "Excellent fishing and if you ever want to take pictures of waterfowl, numerous different species make their home here during the spring, summer, and fall seasons. The creek running through the property is large enough to sustain brook trout and beavers. Massive rock outcroppings rise over 8,000 feet above lush treed forestland. Maybe we could take a run up there. I could show you something really special. The whole area is great for climbing in our cougar coats."
"Wow, I'd really like that." She was just so in awe. She noted the no hunting and no trespassing signs posted all over and was glad he didn't allow any hunting on his land.
"The four-bedroom, three and one-half bath home has over 4,000 square feet of living space, and I own over 1,500 acres. Large herds of elk graze on the ranch, using it as a passageway between mountain ranges. I've seen mule and whitetail deer also. A bear and an occasional mountain sheep have passed through here also. I try to avoid running through the meadow area as a cougar."
"You live there all by yourself?" She had a studio apartment, no need for anything else. She couldn't imagine roaming around in a place that big all by herself.
"Yeah. I'm finally ready to set down roots."
Wife? Babies? She wasn't ready to settle down anytime soon.
"On the western 800 acres, it's more heavily treed, but has some grass meadows. The ponds are great for fishing and birdlife, but it's also great for other wildlife passing through. We're surrounded mostly by a national forest park, so it will remain in its natural pristine state."
She continued to gaze at the breathtaking vista. "It's like a beautiful wildlife sanctuary."
"It is. And I aim to keep it that way."
She thought how wonderful that was. She was attempting to put wildlife traffickers out of business while Hal was giving the wildlife a safe place to stay.
"Do you ever have problems with poachers?"
"Not often. Everyone knows a deputy sheriff owns the ranch and surrounding lands. Or at least, most do. I caught three men one time out here hunting. It really isn't a good idea to poach on a cougar shifter's land. I heard the gunfire, got in my ATV, and tracked them down. And promptly arrested them on the spot. It helps to have a badge too. I got them on so many charges, they won't be doing that again for a while."
"Good. I love to hear it." She only wished it was that easy to catch her perps.
As soon as she saw an old bunkhouse and corrals, the weathered gray wood, and no glass in the windows on the bunkhouse, Hal said, "That's the original bunkhouse and corrals, which I've preserved for historical sake. They're not used, except by wildlife. It's the perfect refuge for a variety of birds that nest in there. The old building and corrals are just a nice reminder of how long this ranch has been here."
"That's wonderful. I love old history. Reminds me a little of the ghost town of Anderson, except instead of it being a mining town, it was an old ranch." Then she spotted a two-story log cabin on top of a ridge, a wrap-around deck that afforded views of the forest, mountains, creek, and the hay meadows below. A round pen was off in one area for exercising and training horses, stack yard for hay, a horse shed, and a large barn.
Six beautiful paint horses and an all reddish-brown horse were eating grass in a corral.
"The mostly red bay with the all-white face is Fanny. She's an old, retired pony that's had several foals, and she will act as a nanny for the new foal. She can teach the foal acceptable behavior."
"And the others?"
"Breeding mares. And four trail horses for riding."
She studied them. "Are any of the breeding mares foaling?"
"Both. They're not as far along as Misty. She's in the barn. I'll take you out to see her after I serve you up some breakfast." He pulled into a garage, then got on his cell. "How's Misty doing? Okay, be out there in a bit." He guided Tracey into the house. "Ted Weekum, my ranch hand, has been watching Misty for me this morning."
"And he's a shifter?"
"Yeah, most of us in the area employ shifters. It makes it easier that way. He was working on another ranch down south of here that was human-run. When I decided to go into this venture, I asked him if he'd like to work with me. We've known each other since we were kids. He calls me boss man, which took some getting used to. He's a little rough around the edges, so you ne
ver know what he might say. Just wanted to warn you."
"I'm sure I can handle it." At least she thought she could.
Feeling like her head was riveting like an owl's, she took in as much of the home as she could see, the carpeted living area sporting floor-to-ceiling windows and a door to the deck. The tiled dining area, with the same kind of windows through which she could see the blue sky, a smattering of clouds and mountains off in the distance. The kitchen had a white marble-topped counter with an extended bar, perfect for quick meals or visiting with the cook while he or she prepared the meal.
"Take a seat, and I'll fix the breakfast."
"Do you need my help?"
"Nah. If you'd rather have a look around at the view, feel free."
It seemed rude not to keep him company while he was fixing the meal, but she really wanted to see the views from the deck. "Thanks. I'll be right back." She headed through the dining area and opened the door to the deck, then walked outside. Nice temperature. Maybe seventy degrees. Perfect.
She shut the door and walked all the way around the deck, seeing the view from different angles. Just amazing. A stone outdoor barbecue sat nearby, a stone fireplace on one corner and it looked perfect for roasting marshmallows on a starry night. She could stay here forever and enjoy this.
Returning to the house, she smelled bacon sizzling on the grill. She climbed onto a stool and watched Hal fill the omelets with shredded cheese, chopped ham, fresh chives, and lemon and pepper seasoning, then masterfully flipped them closed. "Are you sure you don't want me to help at all?"
"No, too many chefs in the kitchen—you know the saying."
"I can be a good little helper."
"Nah, you're my guest. My treat."
She couldn't sit still and got up to pour them cups of coffee. "Cream in yours?"
"Extra cream, just like the big cats would like. Half and half."
Yum.
"I serve it with whipped cream in the winter," he said.
Even better. Typical cat. She smiled.
"So, tell me about what you do on your job exactly." Hal served up the omelets and then the bacon.
"Well, a little background first. The U.S. is the second-largest retail market for selling illegally obtained ivory. China has the dishonorable spot of being number one. For the U.S. to be that high on the list? It's shameful."
They sat down to eat and Hal said, "Yeah. The problem is that it's a big moneymaker for some and they don't give a damn about the animals."
"Right. You probably heard about Colorado destroying the stockpile of elephant tusks they'd confiscated in raids—six tons worth! Once they'd used the evidence to conclude the cases against the men on trial, they destroyed it so no one else could get hold of it and use it to make more money. The wholesale slaughtering of animals for profit is just so awful. Makes my stomach turn."
"I so agree."
"Being that you're with law enforcement, you probably know that a wildlife repository is located at the Rocky Mountain National Wildlife Refuge outside of Denver. The Fish and Wildlife Service stores most of the illegal wildlife they seize there. What you might not know is that stored on shelves, rows and rows of dead animals are categorized by species. A million specimens are there! It's just unbelievable. And that's just of those that have been seized. Can you imagine how many more never are? Heads of tigers, leopards, lions, jaguars, cougars, and that's just some of the feline species. But you name it, they're there. One was a tiger fetus, stuffed, that an American woman had been trying to sell for $1,500. In one case, a man and his son are up on charges of poisoning bald eagles so that they don't hunt the animals he wants to hunt. As if a couple of bald eagles are going to eat off all the animals and he won't be able to go kill his own! So you have a lot of different kinds of people involved in this. Any of them who kill wildlife for greed are sickening."
"Who the hell would want to buy a stuffed tiger fetus?"
"Agreed. The thing of it is—a lot of criminal networks and terrorist organizations across the world are finding animal trafficking is a great way to finance their future terrorism. In the Congo, rebels murdered wildlife officers and took over their eco-tourism facilities to serve themselves instead—since so many high-paying tourists were paying for the service. Can you imagine being a tourist, paying all that money, and not even realizing that the men running that particular operation are doing so illegally because they murdered the real wildlife operators?"
"You're right. I didn't know it either."
"Exactly. Most people don't. The same situation exists in Nepal. Maoist rebels did the same when they took over legitimate eco-tourism business and also trophy hunts. The attacks on the wildlife is widespread, orchestrated by criminals. If it's allowed to go on, eventually no more of the animals that they're murdering wholesale will exist. Then what's next? They're not going to suddenly become legitimate businessmen. The other thing is that they're using those funds to murder people too."
Hal believed it, and yet, it was hard to imagine that people would buy dead animal parts for any reason. But the bastards who were selling the parts wouldn't be doing it if people weren't buying them. He couldn't even envision working in the business of trying to stop the traffickers. He had a lot of respect for the job Tracey did.
"So what about this case that you're working on now?" He finished off his coffee and noticed she needed a refill also. He got them both another cup.
"Well, the Colorado Parks and Wildlife requires that every harvested lion be presented for inspection within five days of the kill."
"Right."
"Outfitter and hunting guides usually obey the rules. They take the hunting party out, help them locate the prey, the hunter kills his quarry, and takes home his trophy. Nice and legal like. Hunting license, in season, right animal, correct limit, all above board. Then we have this guy named Tobias Mooney, outfitter and hunting guide, who takes his prospective hunters up to the Book Cliffs mountain range along the border between Colorado and Utah. But something's not right. We had reports that mountain lions and bobcats were being caught, caged, and maimed—shot in the paw or legs, and then released right before the hunters were sent out to chase them down."
"Hell."
"Yeah. What's the sport in that? Like, uhm, tranquilizing a big cat and saying, 'There! Shoot it.' Or chaining it to a tree and doing the same thing. Except we couldn't get any evidence to prove he was doing any of this. Just a couple of anonymous calls. Once we received that information, Peterson, my partner, and I began searching for substantive evidence. But we still didn't get any reliable witnesses who would attest to the crimes. Then we'd heard that when he wasn't guiding hunters on tours because the season was over, he was involved in the trafficking of elephant ivory. From an informant, we were told that evidence was possibly located at Anderson, though the man suspected that it had already been moved. We did find evidence that the elephant tusks had been stored under the abandoned schoolhouse floor."
"So was it a setup? Instead of finding only evidence, you were faced with a shootout? Or was it unintentional? Right place, wrong time?"
"We never knew." She finished eating her eggs and licked the cheese off her fork.
He smiled, glad she liked his cooking.
"My informant was found murdered before we could question him. It looked like he was also involved in trafficking and he was trying to destroy his competition."
"It's a bad business to be in all way around."
"Right. And from what I learned later, no animal tusks, or other illegal body parts, were located anywhere else in the ghost town, though investigators searched all of the abandoned buildings."
He thought back to the way Tracey and her partner had gotten in. "From the way the window slats were configured, it appeared the traffickers had been using the place for their illegal business for some time."
"Exactly. But we couldn't locate any new leads. So we're back to square one." She sat straighter in her chair.
"Except this time,
he tried to murder two investigating officers. That has to take more priority."
She let out her breath. "Oh, they're looking into it. Sure. One dead and then one wounded Special Agent. The traffickers could have taken even more of us down. But investigators combed the whole area and came up with nothing. The wounded man they took into custody said he didn't know the man and when the police gave him a picture to I.D. him, he couldn't. Said he didn't know the man, again. Neither my partner nor I actually saw Mooney at the shootout. But I smelled his scent at both places. I certainly can't say that I know he was there for sure because I smelled him, but didn't see him. The story the guy taken into custody shared was that it was a drug sale gone wrong. My partner and I were buying the drugs and wouldn't pay up. That's probably what Mooney told him. I suspect that Mooney set up his prey and then he came along for the ride to watch the hunters take the animal down—or in our case, hit men were paid to hunt down two Special Agents. And in this case, he was paying the men to do the job, instead of them paying him to locate the prey."
"You trusted your informant completely, I take it. The one who sent you into the second firefight, I mean."
"Yeah, I do. His information has always been correct. At least on the last four assignments, it's been on the money. I don't believe he's in the trafficking business like Honey had been."
"Okay, so where do you go from here?"
"I'm on administrative leave, remember?"
"Right." Hal took their empty plates into the kitchen. "No hunting is allowed again until November. How are you…were you going to learn more about his illegal hunting practices?"
"We really thought we had a lead this time. I thought of going after the informant who sold us out the first time, but I then learn he's dead. I can't get a search warrant for Mooney's place without more evidence, and I can't get more evidence…"
"Without a search warrant."
"Right. We believe he's got to keep the income flowing in so he's involved in the wildlife trafficking when he's not serving as a hunting guide. He's got a really beautiful place in Aspen, Colorado—seven bedrooms, nine baths, four-car garage, four-stall barn, with its own two-car garage. Breathtaking views of four ski areas and major peaks. Stone patios with fireplace. Separate guest wing. Summer stream on six acres. A full gym with bathroom and sauna, outdoor riding arena. And he bought it for fourteen million dollars."