by Snow, Nicole
Shit.
I haven’t been physically responsive to a woman in ages, and sure as hell don’t need it now.
“What was her illness? If it isn’t too personal, I mean...” Her breath is warm on the back of my neck.
“A rare, aggressive neurological disease. Something closely related to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or CJD, I think. It took her down quickly.” Too fast, I think to myself, biting my lip. “Within a few years, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Grady. That must’ve been awful.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I snarl, pinching my lips together, wondering what’s gotten into me.
I don’t share Brittany’s illness with strangers.
The girls don’t even know the name of what killed her.
They’ve never asked, and I’ve never offered.
Am I really letting my mutinous dick loosen my tongue this much?
Am I really fucking having a heart-to-heart talk with a tiger thief?
“Life has a way of throwing hidden punches that just don’t seem fair...” she whispers again, her voice rubbed raw.
It’s almost worse that she isn’t faking sympathy, that she actually feels shredded over my clusterfuck situation.
“Sure does. All we can do is keep moving forward.” Steering down the small embankment to a creek, I add, “Hold onto your butt. This is gonna be steep.”
She hugs me even tighter and stays silent till well after we cross a second creek and climb up the other bank. “Don’t you wonder about that sometimes? Life. How things work out?”
“Don’t know. Do you?”
I think I’m done with question time today.
“I have to. My mother died of an aneurysm when I was just three. She and my father were eating in a restaurant. She suddenly got a headache, and before the waiter arrived with their check, she was gone. Right there at the table. My dad blamed himself for years.”
A shiver tickles my spine. “Why? Doesn’t sound like he could’ve done anything different.”
“No, he couldn’t have, but he felt like he should have done something. Get her to the hospital faster or maybe demand an ambulance. I don’t know, really. I just know it weighed heavy on him for years. When I was young, I was afraid he’d get remarried again, foolishly. But that’s how kids are. Now, I wish he had. He was so young when it happened and he deserved to be happy.”
Unsure why she’s spilling her guts to me, I just nod, holding my tongue.
“Sorry to make things awkward. That was...a lot. A load I didn’t even know I had,” she says. “Sorry. Must be because of all the talking I’ve done with Sawyer and Avery. Yesterday they had a lot of questions about my mom dying when I was young, and I’ve tried to be honest. You know, explain how everyone’s situation is different, yet there’s always comfort, especially for kids. Life isn’t over if they find people they can relate to.”
I nod again, sharply, having never thought about it in her terms.
The girls don’t remember Brittany, yet I’m sure they’ll have more questions coming the older they get.
“How’d you know your father shouldered so much guilt? Did he tell you?”
“No, not quite.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “My dad wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Especially me. He was my dad, my protector, my hero. But I just knew the way kids know sometimes.”
I stop the ATV so I can look over my shoulder at her.
“Did Avery and Sawyer say something? Do they think that I’m—”
“No! God, no. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Grady. Not at all. They were just asking me about my mom. The illness—the one your wife had—was totally different. You took care of her, from what I understand. Remodeled your house and everything. There was nothing more you could’ve done.”
Now she sounds too much like Hank.
I grip the ATV tighter, trying not to grind my teeth.
This isn’t the time for heavy shit.
Also not the place to have this angel clinging to a ticking bomb.
“They haven’t said anything like that,” she whispers in my ear. “And...I’m sorry if it sounded that way. Like I said, I didn’t mean for all of that to come falling out. I’m sorry to have dumped on you. Must be my nerves. The stress with Bruce wearing on me because I...I never do deep talks with anyone.”
We stop for a second and I look back at her. The sincerity etched on her face makes me believe she’s telling the truth.
Hell, hadn’t I just admitted the same thing? Spilling secrets I’ve never told anyone.
“You’re right,” I growl back to her. “It’s the stress of this weird crap getting to us.” I turn around and shift our ride back into gear. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she says, wearing a sad smile I can hear in her voice without seeing it. “Do you think we’re almost there?”
Glad to change the subject, I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
“Check and see. I need both hands for the damn prairie dog town coming up. Keep holding on.”
I’m hardly exaggerating. The big-ass rodents out in these rural parts make their mounds in big clusters, what they call a town. Looks like the area ahead of us is covered with mounds and critters chirping warnings to each other.
“Looks like it’s two more miles,” she says, reaching around me to drop the phone back in my breast pocket before grabbing a tight hold on my waist again. “Ever gone prairie dog hunting?”
What North Dakota boy hasn’t?
I’m not sure I want to admit to that, her being Miss Zoologist and all.
She laughs, must sense me tensing up, and punches me playfully in the arm.
“Hey, you’re holding out on me, aren’t you? You don’t have to be scared to admit it, you know. I believe in wildlife management, especially when it’s not an endangered species.”
“You do, huh?” I crack a grin.
“Duh. Overcrowding any species causes freaky diseases and cannibalism. Mother Nature knows when certain numbers are getting too high.”
“Have you gone prairie dog hunting yourself?” I ask, going slow over the mounds so we aren’t jostled off.
“No, I haven’t spent much time in North Dakota, but I’d like to someday. Dad took me hunting for plenty of elk and deer when I was little, though. Mostly in Montana.”
Interesting.
So the Tiger Princess gets a hankering for a little blood, just like her boy, Bruce.
I don’t respond because I’m still trying to decipher that, make it jibe with the Willow Macklin I know.
“Just because I’m a zoologist doesn’t mean I’m against hunting,” she tells me, her tone insistent. “I’m no vegetarian either. I like a good Palak paneer or potato curry just as much as anyone, but...you won’t see me at a meat market putting flowers on packaged meat.”
“Come again?”
“That happens in California all the time. Impromptu funerals for all the animals in a meat market. Those rowdy protests make the news every week.”
I snort and shake my head, having never heard of it.
There are times when I’m glad Dallas is a small place tucked away from the outside world.
“It’s true!” she says. “You didn’t see me pitch a fit when you and Tobin carried in that mountain of beef, did you? Animals need to eat. Bruce needs to eat. But everybody has an opinion, just like I do, and I’m not going to hold theirs against them.”
“Knock it off, lady. You’re talking too much common sense,” I say with a chuckle. “Sure would be nice if the world worked that way, wouldn’t it?”
She squeezes my waist tighter in agreement, and I remember why I need to keep these conversations controlled.
If I’m not careful, my dick will be the main casualty of this excursion.
Something gleaming in the sunlight catches my attention.
“What’s that?” Willow must see it too.
“Looks like a strip of pavement,” I say,
half wanting to rub my eyes.
Make that a very out-of-place paved strip that shouldn’t be here in the middle of nowhere.
I shift into a higher gear now that we’ve made it through most of the prairie dog town.
We arrive in a couple minutes and start speeding along the strip of pavement. Even stranger, it feels like it was pressed down recently under my wheels.
“It’s a landing strip, all right. See those short poles?” I pause and point, slowing our speed to a crawl. “Portable lights to be set up along the strip.”
“Freaky,” she says. “We are still on the Bureau of Land Management turf, right?”
“Yep, and there’s no good reason for them to have a frigging airstrip out here.”
I slow down as we come to the end of it, this wide paved area, large enough for smaller planes to turn around. A gravel service road comes in from the north. One that looks fairly well used and maintained.
I recognize where we are completely.
How many makeshift runways did I cover with my rifle like this overseas?
“Oh. Oh, hell. This a pick-up and drop-off point. The perfect place for planes and vehicles to meet and exchange cargo.”
“Cargo?” She climbs off the four-wheeler. “What kind, do you think?”
I stroke my beard.
“Well...my first guess would be drugs, but in this case, I’m gonna bet it’s exotic animals.”
“God!” she gasps out. “But there’s nothing here!”
Willow tilts her head, walking around and scanning the area like she needs to convince herself I’m right.
“No proof for us to confirm that, I guess,” she whispers.
“You mean not yet.” I walk to the front of the ATV and open the saddlebag. “Once we get these cameras set up and hidden, we’ll have ourselves a live feed to find out exactly what happens here.”
“I love how you think.” She grins, all sunshine and teeth so white I wonder what they’d feel like nipping at my skin. “What can I do to help?”
“First thing’s first, let’s scope out locations.”
7
Paper Tiger (Willow)
We arrive home at Grady’s house by dusk, a little later than expected.
The first thing I do is run to Bruce. One quick look tells me he’s been pacing again.
The paw prints in the hay prove he’s putting weight on his front paw again, so I’m thankful for that, but I also can’t help remembering how the branded burn was for identifying his dead body. A way to match him to the tag that proved his chip was deactivated.
I wish I’d realized it when I was still at Exotic Plains. I would’ve gathered everything I could as evidence. But honestly, I never imagined I’d ever encounter black-market dealings.
It came up in my studies—just a formality.
Our instructors only told us what happens to the animals.
Not what to look for or how to stop the perpetrators.
Ugh.
That was left up to the professionals, and I hoped it’d be as simple as reporting the Fosses when I tried to get in touch with Officer Bordell.
Hell to the nope.
I tried calling Game and Fish, but that backfired in my face. Taking it any further by contacting others and waiting around could have gotten Bruce killed and me along with him.
“Need more meat?” a voice booms behind me like distant thunder.
I turn and shake my head at Grady, totally in Thor mode. When isn’t he?
“Something wrong, Willow?” he asks, no doubt seeing the stricken look on my face.
That’s a mammoth understatement.
I should be asking him the same question.
Ever since our outing to the illicit airstrip, I’ve caught him staring at me all day.
Probably questioning his sanity for helping me. Poor guy.
“It’s fine. He’s just a little restless. That’s to be expected, being in a new environment. It can take a captive tiger weeks to start feeling more at home. Also, he’s putting weight on his paw—that’s a good thing. Means it’s healing up.”
Grady nods. “Has Doc Walton sent you a text yet with the blood results?”
“I haven’t checked,” I admit. “There are so many messages and calls from the rescue and their minions...I haven’t scrolled through them to see if there are any others, but I will. I haven’t forgotten what you said about opening things very carefully.”
A chill crawls up my back and wraps around the nape of my neck.
For a second, my brain plunges into dire consequences.
What happens if I ignore Grady’s wisdom? What happens if I just slip?
“You amaze me,” he says.
Words that surprise me.
My head snaps up and I stare, drinking in his eyes, whiskey-dark in the shadowy barn and ocean deep.
“Why? Because I’m not checking my phone every five minutes like anyone else?” I give Bruce a parting wave and walk over to the storage room.
Totally hiding the way those innocent words of his make me blush.
“No.” He closes the door to the storage room and steps up beside me, watching Bruce tear into a giant chunk of red meat with a low snarl of delight. “I meant you’re amazing because of how at ease you are around him. He’s a hell of a cat, but he could swallow you alive. One nibble and you’d be missing an arm.”
“True enough, but we’re familiar with each other. He trusts me. All animals—domesticated and wild—are unpredictable. They’ve got one thing in common: patterns. Things to watch for and behaviors a person should know to expect. Just like people, Bruce senses fear. If he feels you’re afraid of him, he’ll think he’s king. But if he realizes you’re the one in control, the person who feeds and cares for him, then he’ll be pretty docile.”
“Docile,” Grady repeats. “You mean you’re telling me he just up and forgets he’s big enough to dismember an elephant?”
“Not just him. All animals. Even a bear in the wild attacks when he thinks he’s in charge, but when a person scares him first, he’ll run like the dickens.” I let out a laugh that startles him. “Not all the time, obviously, so don’t try it, but...yeah, that’s a general analogy.”
He chuckles and walks over, opening the door.
“Can’t say I fancy trying that shit with any lions, tigers, or bears,” he grumbles. “I’m gonna get off your butt and trust you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” I say firmly.
Then I follow him out the door and wait while he locks everything up.
“Are you ever nervous? Did you ever handle anything that scared you?” he asks, still fumbling with the padlock.
“Not really. When you’ve seen it all with your dad, traveling to more wildlife refuges than I can remember before I was sixteen...it’s natural.” I huff out a sigh. “What does scare me is this mess that I’m in, and I’ve pulled you into. I never imagined it would run so deep, so convoluted. It’s one of those life punches we talked about earlier...a left hook that caught me unguarded, and I reacted on instinct.”
“You did what you had to,” he tells me. “It’s not like any of the black-market tiger shit comes with a handbook.”
“I’ve probably ruined my career.” It tumbles out, my throat burning as the words come. I hadn’t wanted to think along those lines, but he’s so easy to talk to, it just slipped out. “There I go again, huh? Dumping everything on you like you’re my shrink.”
“Nah. It’s nothing. I hadn’t thought about how this crap could impact your career, but if all goes right, it might not change anything. Hell, it could even open doors.”
“Oh, it’ll change things massively, Grady. All I ever wanted was to follow in Dad’s footsteps. With cats, not rhinos, but basically I’d love advancing to his level.”
Those big dark eyes of his cast me a searching look.
“He’s a world-renowned expert on rhinos. I wanted that with cats. Now, when people hear I was caught up with a black-market distributor
, if and when the Fosses get busted...who would ever hire me?”
“You don’t know that for sure,” he growls, a fierceness in his tone. “Listen to me. You’re young, smart, and pretty.”
“Um...you called me pretty.” I let out a laugh that’s as awkward as the little wobble of my heart.
Oh, shit. That’s what Grady’s face says.
But he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t take it back.
He just looks at me and smiles like it’s only natural.
“Seems like you needed to hear it. The world’s your oyster.”
“Oyster,” I echo.
Grinning wider, he shrugs. “Sure. All you need is a grain or two of sand to start making pearls.”
Even as I give him a smile that feels like it’ll slide right off my face, I wonder if he’s ever taken his own advice.
What were his pearls?
His bar? The Army? His funny, sweet little girls?
I swear, I’ve never wondered so much about someone like I do with him.
It’s probably the crisis we’re sharing, but something about Grady McKnight just lifts me out of my head, hoists me up, and puts my feet back on the ground where they belong.
Confession: I kinda like it.
I like it a lot.
We’re just entering the house when Grady’s phone rings.
He answers it and quickly swerves into the little reading room off the main living room. I sit down on the couch and start scrolling through my phone for a message from the vet, careful not to accidentally open anything from the rescue.
My mind shifts back to how focused I’ve always been on myself while I search.
Even when the first animal disappeared, I’d been more worried about yours truly.
Afraid that someone might think I’d done something and the animal escaped, rather than the fact that it was stolen.
I’ll never forget going into the office as soon as I realized it was gone.
* * *
Niles Foss was sitting at his desk, hunched over papers with a pen fatter than his thumb clenched in his talon of a hand.
He’s a tall, pale reed of a man, surrounded by faded-looking photos from the Virgin Islands.