She left the staff area and started across the huge compound. There were hundreds of gators here, in various stages of growth. Then there was the special pen with Old Elijah. He was huge, a good fifteen feet. He was never part of any show; he was just there for visitors to look at. Next to him were Pat and Darien, both of them adolescents, five feet in length, the gators that were wrestled for the amusement of the crowds.
Jack Pine, a tall, well-muscled Seminole, was standing by the pens with Hugh Humphrey, a wiry blond handler from Australia. Hugh had experience with Outback crocs, and Harry valued having him. When she walked over, the two men were talking quietly with a tall, white-haired man and a veritable giant.
The white-haired man said goodbye, starting away before Lorena got close enough to be introduced to him.
The big man followed. He seemed to grunt, kind of like the alligators, but she assumed that was his way of saying goodbye.
“Ms. Fortier!” Hugh called to her, seeing her as he turned away from the pair who were leaving.
“Hi there!” she called back as she crossed over to the western arc of the building complex. “Who was that?” she asked.
“Who was who?” Hugh asked.
“The men who just left. Do they work here?”
“No, no. They do work for Harry now and then, but they’re totally independent. The old guy is Dr. Thiessen, a local vet, and the Neanderthal is the doc’s assistant, John Smith. I should have had Doc stay to meet you, but I didn’t see you, and he’s always busy. He just checks in with us now and then. Doc Thiessen is a hero among the local kids—he’s the only guy out there who can really treat a sick turtle or a ball python. You’ll meet him soon enough, I wager. He’s something. Also knows cattle, gators—and dogs and cats.”
“Ah,” she murmured. “The big guy is kind of...big.”
“Creepy, is that what you mean?” Hugh asked with a laugh.
“No, just...big.”
“And dumb. But he’s a good worker. Thiessen needs someone like that. He works with some big animals.”
“That’s certainly understandable. You guys work with some big animals, too,” she reminded them.
Hugh offered a grin. “But we’re fit and muscled—perfect specimens of manhood. You’re supposed to notice that.”
She laughed. “You’re both in great shape.”
“Thanks,” Jack Pine offered. “You’re welcome to go on about us if you want, but...how are you enjoying the work so far?”
“So far, things have been quite easy. I know you need a nurse on staff, but I haven’t even had to deal with a skinned knee yet.”
“But you like the place all right?” Hugh asked.
“Yes, just fine.”
“A lot of women would find it incredibly weird,” Jack told her, inclining his head in a way that made her feel special. Like Preston, he was an intriguing man. Unlike Preston, there didn’t seem to be anything cerebral about the attraction. His hair was dark and slick, his eyes nearly as black as his hair; he was bronzed and built—just as he had said. She had liked him instantly—but warily, as well.
He had proudly shown her when they’d met that he’d lost the pinkie finger on his left hand to a gator when he’d learned to wrestle the big reptiles as a boy growing up at Big Cypress Reservation. He seemed to be fearless.
“I like animals,” she said.
“These guys are hardly cute and cuddly,” Hugh remarked. As if they’d heard him, a number of the alligators set up a racket. They made the strangest noise, as if they were pigs grunting. The cacophony was eerie. She shivered, then thought about the animal’s deadly jaws.
She thought about her reasons for being here. Whether she liked the guys who worked here or not, she had to remember to be wary.
She shivered again, suddenly uneasy about being with either man around the prehistoric predators.
Come to think of it, she thought, she didn’t want to be here at all, not at all.
But she had to be. It was that simple. She had to be.
“You both seem to like gators a lot,” she said.
Hugh shrugged. “Well, I made a good living off crocs, so I figure I can make a good living off their cousins, too.”
“Like ’em? Hell, no. Respect ’em? Hell, yes,” Jack said with a shrug. “But if you’re going to work with them, you need to know them. And I can definitely say I know them. I was born and bred in the swamp, so I knew about gators long before I knew about lions, tigers and bears.” He grinned and shrugged. “But you, young lady, need to remember a few things that will be important if you ever get in trouble down here. Never get closer than fifteen feet to one of these suckers. And if he’s hissing, back away slowly and get the hell away.”
“And if you can’t get away, make sure you get your weight on its back and push down hard on the nose. It’s the top jaw that exerts the pressure. The lower jaw is pretty much worthless,” Hugh said.
“I don’t intend to get that close to any of them,” she assured the men. “You’re right—alligators definitely aren’t cuddly, but so far, I like this place a lot. I seem to be working with great people,” she said, forcing herself to sound nonchalant. They were giving her friendly warnings, nothing more. Despite the grunts from the creatures, which seemed more eerie and foreboding by the moment, she couldn’t scream and run away.
“Why, shucks, thanks, ma’am,” Hugh teased.
“Thank you both, and good night. See you guys in the morning.”
She walked away. She could have sworn she heard the man whisper in her wake. Her skin crawled as she wondered what they were saying.
She entered the gym feeling winded, gasping for breath, though she hadn’t walked far at all. She didn’t want to work out; she wanted to lock herself into her room. Still, in case she was being followed or watched, she had to act normal. She’d come here to work out, so that was what she would do. She walked to a stationary bike, crawled on and pedaled away.
Fifteen minutes was enough for the night.
She exited the employee gym, more tired from feeling nervous than from her workout. She opened the door a crack, then paused, looking out.
There was a man in the compound. He was standing between two of the alligator pens, hands on hips. At first he was very still, nothing but a dark silhouette in the moonlight. He was tall, broad-shouldered, yet lithe-looking, somehow exuding energy, even in his stillness. He stood in plain view; then he walked around one of the pens, and she noticed that he moved with a sure, fluid stride that was both graceful and, somehow, menacing. Dangerous.
And oddly familiar.
It was her mind tonight, she thought. Everyone she saw seemed furtive, dangerous.
He might just be the security guard. There were several of them, she knew. And, she had been assured, their backgrounds had been checked out by the same careful procedures that casinos used.
No. This man wasn’t a security guard. Somehow she knew it.
As he moved and her eyes became more accustomed to the shadows, she could see him more clearly.
He was in black jeans and a black T-shirt. The short sleeves were rolled, and in the moonlight, she could see the bulge of his arm muscles beneath the rolled cotton. His hair was on the long side, sleek, touching his shoulders. Very dark.
The cop! It was the jerk who had given her the ticket!
He turned toward the gym suddenly, as if he knew he was being watched. He couldn’t, of course. The light was out. He had no way to know the door was open even a crack.
She continued to study him from her safe distance, trying to determine just what made him so imposing and unique.
His features were compelling. Hardened, fascinating. He was a combination of Native, white and God knew what else. His skin was bronzed, his cheekbones broad, his chin square, like that of a man who knew where he was going—and where he had been. His nose
was slightly crooked, as if it might have been broken at some time. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes against the darkness of his hair and the bronze of his flesh. He couldn’t possibly see her; still, she felt as if he was staring right through her. She almost stepped back, feeling as if she had been physically touched, as if a rush of smoke and fire had swept through her.
“Jesse,” a soft feminine voice said from behind her.
She gasped, then spun around. Sally Dickerson, the head cashier and bookkeeper, was standing behind her. In her early thirties, she was an attractive redhead. Harry said she had a temper, a way with men, and one heck of a way with numbers that had dollar signs attached to them.
“Sorry, you startled me,” Lorena said.
Sally glanced at her, and she realized the woman hadn’t even heard her gasp. Her attention had been on the man in the moonlight.
“No, I’m sorry—I came in the back way, and I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard me.” She was still staring at the man and didn’t offer anything more.
“Jesse?” Lorena pressed lightly.
Sally’s eyes flicked her way, and the woman smiled broadly. “Yeah, Jesse. He’s a cop. A local cop. On the Miccosukee force. He hasn’t been back long.”
“Oh, I realize that he’s a cop,” Lorena murmured, wondering if Sally could hear the slight note of bitterness in her tone. “But...he’s back from where?”
“Oh...the city. He’s something, huh?”
Lorena turned back to study the man in question. Sally didn’t need an answer.
Yes, something. He seemed to be both pure grace and pure menace. Powerful, smooth. Sensual, she thought, with some embarrassment. In a thousand years, she never would have admitted that she understood exactly what Sally meant.
No, no, no, no. He was definitely a man with an attitude, and that attitude definitely contained an element of disdain for her. She shook her head slightly, mentally emitting an oath. It now seemed likely that she would meet him again.
Apparently, he hung out around here. And that made him...suspicious.
Cops had been known to be dirty, dirtier even than other men. Sometimes they needed money. Sometimes even good men went bad, seeing how the rich could buy good lawyers and get away with all kinds of things. They had more chance to abuse power, to sneak around, to bribe...
To threaten.
To kill?
“Interesting. We have security guards. Why is he here?” Lorena asked, looking at Sally once again.
“He checks in now and then, makes sure everything is running smoothly.”
“Why did he come back?” she asked.
“Oh,” Sally said slowly, “his wife was murdered. He was devastated.”
“How horrible.”
“I know. Damn, I have a busy night ahead of me...but still... Jesse. Excuse me, will you, honey? I want to talk to the man.”
“Sure...friends help when you’re devastated,” Lorena said pleasantly.
Sally shot her a quick glance. “Honey, I said he was devastated, not dead. Take another look at the man, will you?” She opened the door fully and exited the gym. With a sway of her hips, she approached him, calling his name. He turned to her, arching a brow, acknowledging her presence. Sally went straight to him, placing her hands on his chest. She said something softly. He lowered his head, grinning, and the two turned to walk toward the staff quarters.
When they were gone, Lorena left the gym and hurried back across the compound. The alligators began to grunt in a wild, staccato song.
She let herself into her own room, closed and locked the door. She was breathing too heavily once again.
Maybe she was the wrong woman for this job.
No, there was no maybe about it, but that didn’t matter. She had to become the right woman, and she would.
She showered, slipped into a nightgown, and assured herself once again that her door was securely locked. Even then, she also checked once more on the small Smith & Wesson she carried. It was loaded, safety on, but close at hand in the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. She took one last look at it before she lay down to sleep.
Despite that, she dreamed.
She didn’t want to have nightmares; she didn’t want to toss and turn. She dreamed far too often of horrible things. She knew that dreams were often extensions of the day’s worries, and she was constantly worried.
But that night, she didn’t dream horrible things. She dreamed about him. The cop. The world was all foggy, and people were screaming all around her, but he was walking toward her, and she was waiting, heedless of whatever danger might be threatening her because he was watching her, coming for her....
She awoke, drenched with sweat, shaking.
She was definitely the wrong woman for this job. She was losing her mind.
No, she had to toughen up. What the hell was wrong with her? She had to be here.
Had to.
Because she, of all people, had to know the truth.
* * *
EAST OF THE deep swamp, Maria Hernandez plucked the last of her wash from the clothesline. The darkness had come; night dampness had set it. She pressed her clean sheets to her nose, deciding that they still smelled of the sunshine, even if she had cleaned up dinner late and gotten the clothes down even later. Sometimes it seemed that darkness came slowly. Sometimes it descended like a curtain, swift and complete.
But tonight...
Tonight was different.
There were lights. Strange lights appearing erratically down by the canal.
“Hector! Come see!” she called to her husband. He’d been picking all day. He picked their own crops, then rented his labor out like a migrant worker. This was the land of opportunity; and indeed, she had her nice little house, even if it was on the verge of the swamps, but one had to work very hard for opportunity.
“Maria, let me be!” Hector shouted back to her.
“But you must see.”
“What is it?”
“Lights.”
Hector appeared at the back of the house, a beer in his hand. He was a good man. One beer. Just one beer when he came in at night. He loved his children. They had grown quickly in this land of opportunity, and they had their own homes now. He was a hardworking and very good man. He had provided them with a dream.
But now he was tired.
“Lights?” He had spoken in English. Now he swore in Spanish, waving a hand in the air. “Maria, it’s a plane. It’s boys out in an airboat. It’s poachers. What do I care? Come inside.”
But the lights were so strange that Maria found herself walking toward them. The farther she got from the house, the stranger it seemed that there should be lights. What would children be doing out here? Or poachers? Yes, she was on the edge of the swamp, land just grasped from it, but...
Then she heard the noises.
Strange noises...
There was a big lump on the earth. She walked toward it, then paused. Instinctively, she knew she should go back. There were stories about things that needed to be watched out for—things that came from the swamp. Snakes...bad snakes. And there were reports of alligators snatching foolish dogs from the banks of the canal.
She started to back away from the lump on the ground, but then, just as she had instinctively felt that she was facing danger, she suddenly knew that the lump was a dead thing. She kept walking to it.
Clouds drifted against the dark sky, freeing the moon for a brief moment.
It was an alligator, but a dead one.
She didn’t know much about alligators. Oh, yes, she lived out here; she had driven along the Trail, seen them basking in the sun. They came in close—the canals were theirs, really, this close to the Glades. But she didn’t do foolish things. She didn’t try to feed them, heaven forbid! She knew enough to stay away, and little else. But this one was
dead, harmless, so she moved closer. And closer.
Because this one seemed very strange.
It had been big, very big. It lay on its back, and it looked almost as if it had been stuffed, and as if all the stuffing had been pulled out of it. There was a strange hole in the center of its chest, as if a fire had burned a perfect circle in the center of the white underbelly. Toes were missing. The jaw gaped open in death.
The lights started flickering again. Maria lifted a hand to her eyes so that they would not blind her.
Her heart quickened.
UFOs! Aliens, spacemen. She was proud of her English; she read all the papers in line at the grocery store. They came down to study earth creatures; they abducted men and women.
She’d seen lights before. Strange lights, late at night. In fact, she’d told her daughter, Julie, about them not so long ago, laughing at her own silliness, because of course Maria had never believed in aliens until now, and Hector scoffed at such silliness. But the lights...
And the alligator...
If they were UFOs, then her initial instinct to run had been right. She had to get back to the house and ask Hector to call the police. Maybe the tall Indian policeman was close by and could help them quickly, far more quickly than the white policemen from the city would make it.
She started to back away. At first it had seemed that the lights were coming from the sky. But now...
They were coming from the brush. From the foliage where the swampland that had not been reclaimed started, just feet from where her lawn began.
Suddenly she was very afraid. She looked at the alligator. A hole in its underbelly. Toes cut off. Eyes...
Eyes cut out.
She turned and started to run.
“Hector!”
A single bullet killed her. A rifle shot straight through her back, tearing through the anterior region of her heart.
Hector heard his wife’s scream. He came running out.
The shot that killed him was square between his eyes. He dropped dead still wondering why his wife had called him.
Chapter Two
It had already been one hell of a bad morning.
Tangled Threat ; Suspicious Page 19