“I’m not thinking, I’m just reacting. Look, look, there it is,” he said, pointing at the sudden blaze of lights above the tree line. A sharp searchlight swept the area where it was evidently going to land, just across the fence, on ranch land. It slowly descended to the ground.
The noise from the rotors upset some of the birds, especially the vocal one who squawked and screeched Who—are—you? Exactly, Jace thought. Who the hell was landing a big chopper just over the fence on ranch land in the middle of the night and why? He jumped again as two flamingos, looking like gray ghosts in the darkness, ran across the open patio in panic.
“I’ll get them back later,” Brit said. “The helicopter is going to the ranch.”
“Exactly.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning maybe nothing, like maybe it’s just a jumper flight in from the Miami or Fort Lauderdale airports, new high-paying guests here to live it up and shoot game for a few days. Or maybe something sneaky that needs to be brought in at night.”
“Exotic animals to kill?”
“Or illegals that work there. It’s a big chopper. Nick mentioned that as a possibility, something Helter maybe had to hide—who knows, maybe something your dad or Jackson were on to. And here we are, waiting for our own guest. Since that chopper’s down, let’s light up here again.”
“Jace, I do want to marry you,” she said, tears in her eyes as she hugged him hard. “But I still want to work with lions and tigers, not bears—oh, my.”
“I like the want-to-marry part, but is that from some kid’s song?”
“The movie The Wizard of Oz. You never saw that? What am I ever going to do with you?”
“Love me—and tell me the truth up front, when it happens, before you do something dangerous, not after. Promise?”
“Till death do us part.”
25
“It may be broken, man,” Mitch, alias Falcon, told Jace when he looked at the discolored, swollen ankle. The FBI contact he seldom saw for security’s sake wore a blue denim jumpsuit and had shaved his blond hair so close he looked bald. Jace had been told never to contact “Falcon,” that he would contact him, unless there was an emergency, and Jace had figured this was. He huddled with him and Brit in the trailer office.
“I told him it could be broken, but he’s a tough one,” Brit said. “He’d be no help if he stayed here, and he needs the ER, so I hope you can fly him out. I usually have a vehicle and our guard used to be here at night, but no one and no car right now.”
“My car’s being towed,” Jace said.
“That strands you out here, so you better both come with me,” Mitch said. “I can fly you both to the chopper pad, then drive you to the ER if you want to keep things quiet from the cops, which is always my option of choice. Look, Jace, I read about the problems here at this place, but what’s the latest? Someone taking potshots at you, Ms. Hoffman? No offense, but I have to keep an eye on my guys in the sky, like Jace.”
“I understand,” Brit said. “But those spike sticks could have been planted by picketers. Some radical pro-wildlife groups have been protesting our little petting zoo, and some have been after the ranch next door where they shoot animals.”
“Brit, I don’t think there are picketers out here in the boondocks in the middle of the night,” Jace protested.
“Copy that,” Mitch said. “But I understand multiple suspects. You know, Jace, this attack could have been aimed at you. Stingray really annoys the big drug importers. Maybe they’re on your six for being with me. There have been a couple cases in other states where the Stingray pilots were located and attacked.”
“My phone has been hacked, but then so have some of my friends’ cells. I can’t help but think this has to do with the BAA’s problems.”
“I’ll have to report to my superiors what happened to your car tonight, but first things first. I get you don’t want Brit to stay here alone or to leave the animals unguarded, but I got to go. You both with me, or not? You got a weapon on-site here?”
“Not on-site,” Jace said. “There’s a Glock in the trunk of my car. I couldn’t get to it so—”
“I have both a pistol and a rifle here,” Brit interrupted. “One’s in the small apartment next door, and the other’s locked in that filing cabinet in the corner. Neither have ever been fired on-site as far as I know.”
Jace frowned, not from ankle pain this time. Brit should have told him. Again, what else did he not know about her or this apparently harmless place?
“Brit,” Jace said, “I know you’re worried about the animals, but you’ll have to come with me. Guns or not, I can’t leave you alone, not with all that’s happened here.”
“Guns or not? I’ve never shot anything more than a tranquilizer gun anyway. Those weapons were for Dad or Jackson. I—I was so panicked when Dad was attacked, I didn’t run back to the trailer to get it, then the Naples Zoo people used their tranquilizer on Tiberia when they got here. My—my fault for panicking when I saw Dad—that way,” she stammered. Hugging herself and blinking back tears, she turned away from them.
Behind her back, Mitch rolled his eyes, and Jace shook his head. “Let’s get out of here,” Mitch said. “From the ER you can call someone, Brit, get back here ASAP after daylight to tend to the animals. Jace, next time so much as your phone gets hacked, let alone your car slams into spike sticks, call me fast, and not just ’cause you need a lift, okay? I repeat, this could be about your work with Stingray.”
Jace nodded and kept quiet for now, but there was something else he had to know. He waited until Brit went to the shed with a flashlight to get a wheelbarrow to roll him to the chopper, since his ankle was starting to look as big as a grapefruit and he couldn’t put any weight on it now.
“Listen, Mitch,” he said, speaking fast, “there’s a lot going on here at this Backwoods Animal Adventure that has nothing to do with me, even stuff that the media hasn’t covered. I’ll fill you in later. But do you know anything about a large helo coming from the east to land near here, across the northern fence line, at the Trophy Ranch next door? A big one came in there just before you arrived.”
“Saw it on radar, but have no idea about it. I don’t make it a habit to fly over wilderness and the Glades this hour of the night, man. Maybe you should ask the owner of the ranch.”
“Yeah, right,” he said as Brit rolled the wheelbarrow in. Feeling like an invalid and furious he wasn’t going to be much help, he shifted his big frame into it.
* * *
Claire tried to keep her promise to Nick about staying on the sidelines of the Tiger Cage Case. All afternoon she tended her Clear Path website, gave some advice about fraud to an independently owned women’s clothing store client and sent out a newsletter to a sponsor list she and Darcy were assembling to help support some of the Comfort Zone kids. It wasn’t the same as doing things for others up close and personal, but it helped some.
Yet she couldn’t just let things go at that. She decided to check out several items she hadn’t had time for lately. First, she researched Irv Glover’s road rage assault trial where Nick and his team had sent Duncan’s dad to prison. A mug shot of him filled the screen. She downsized it so it wouldn’t seem so threatening. The man seemed to leap at her with that defiant glare. He was clean shaven and not bad looking but still seemed sinister. She could see Duncan in his older features, especially the mouth and eyes. She prayed that was all the boy inherited from this man.
She read about the assault trial, then, after his release from prison, the murder he’d committed, about how it was assumed he had fled and was living incognito out of state. The man was still missing, but how much were poor Marta and Duncan missing—peace, reputation, decent financial support, happiness—because of this horrid man?
She read up next on Stan Helter, but he seemed to have no past. Oh, one bio said he came from Montana where he
had worked on and inherited part of a cattle ranch when the owner had died in an accident. The original newspaper coverage of the Trophy Ranch opening mentioned that there were several local, wealthy investors, and she found Grant Manfort’s name among them. She followed a link to corporate news about Grant taking over the Florida Gulf Coast Life Insurance company when its founder and CEO Steve Rowan was presumed drowned in a storm with his granddaughter, Leslie. They’d been out in Rowan’s small yacht fishing just off Marco Island nearby.
She skimmed the story about the Coast Guard’s searching for the boat. It had washed ashore on nearby Keewadin Island, but their bodies were never found. Claire enlarged the photo of the missing pair. It was in color, first page of the Sunday paper. The grandfather was very tall. Another picture of him, a close-up with the girl, showed he had a gap between his front teeth, so unusual today with orthodontists, but he was probably not one for modern ways. And the girl, Leslie, was pretty, her smiling face framed by straight, long red hair that fell past her shoulders.
A kindred soul, Claire thought, fingering her own red tresses, though her hair was shorter and naturally curly, the bane of her early years before she learned to appreciate it. She skimmed the article. Leslie Rowan had been just twenty-one and loved to fish with her grandfather. She was his only grandchild and, with her mother, his heiress. Claire recalled seeing Leslie’s mother, Steve’s daughter, at the symphony.
One more thing she’d wanted to do. She searched for the Tampa area Family Friendly Zoo that was supposed to receive Tiberia/Thunder. It was privately owned too, like the BAA. She checked to see if they had tigers and they did, but a link came up to an article about a “tiger escape.”
She checked it out and gasped. A tiger had been shot and killed on the grounds there! No, not exactly on the grounds. In 2002, an escaped Sumatran tiger had gotten out of its cage and wandered through an unlocked gate into a reconstruction area. They had tried to tranquilize it, but that had provoked it, and he had charged at a person standing nearby. So they had shot it—killed it.
She reached for the phone so she could read that to Nick, then recalled he’d be in a partners meeting. She glanced at the clock. It was her turn to pick up Lexi and Jilly from preschool today, and she had to go now if she didn’t want them waiting. Anyway, Nick had said he’d be home early. This tiger death had happened a long time ago, yet, knowing Nick, he could probably make something of it, something to help keep Brit’s tiger in Naples.
* * *
Claire picked up Lexi and Jilly from preschool, listened to their chatter, dropped Jilly off and made her own chatter with Darcy. So normal, so calm, though her thoughts were still on the case—both tiger cases now.
To her surprise, Nick phoned at about four to tell her he’d be there in an hour—early for him. “I need to drop something off at the courthouse, but I need to tell you what happened to Jace and Brit after they left last night. Lexi isn’t right there, is she?”
“She ran to her bedroom to change clothes. Are they all right?”
“Pretty much.” She gasped as he told her Jace and Brit had had an accident, but were okay and were rescued from the BAA by a pilot friend of Jace’s. He had called Nick since Claire had said she was trying to stay out of things a bit more. “I wanted you to know so you wouldn’t hear it somewhere else first,” Nick explained.
“Like on the news?”
“They kept it quiet, but you never know. Anyway, his car was taken by a tow truck, and he’s getting the tires replaced. He hid the spike sticks that caused the damage.”
“Those things the police use?”
“Right. And he’ll need to stay off his own tires, so to speak, because he broke his ankle and is in a cast. His pilot friend got him to a walk-in Urgent Care—not that he could walk in.”
“At least they weren’t seriously hurt, but it gets worse and worse! Can he fly?”
“Not until he’s in a soft cast instead of a plaster one,” Nick said. “Right now he’s on crutches, so he won’t be much help for Brit at the BAA at night. Wish Bronco wasn’t a newlywed who is going to start working for Helter soon. Did you hear from Bronco and Nita? They probably had to check out of the Ritz around 11:00 a.m. today, so I thought they might stop at the house.”
“No, but I hope they’re still on a honeymoon high, so why would they want to see me or us? Oh, you mean to give us their decision on the house bribe Helter offered them?”
“Which I hope has now, thanks to Grant, been reduced to a reasonably priced place they can pay for. Lexi have a good day?”
“I swear, she’s always obsessed with something new, but at least she’s off her name-that-baby kick. They were playing some memory game today in school with items hidden under cups, and she says we should do that for the next Comfort Zone meeting instead of playing freeze tag.”
“Hmm. Now where did she ever get that tendency to organize things her way?”
“I hear you. But I have some news of my own. The Family Friendly Zoo that is supposed to get Brit’s tiger had to shoot an escaped tiger there years ago, and the reviews of the place were bad, and not just for that.”
“Whew. This is why you’re still on my personal payroll. Yeah, their lawyer’s being sticky, but that could help. Great job. I’ll have Heck call you to get more details for me. See you soon, sweetheart—and partner.”
“Just be prepared for a memory game. And I do hope to talk to Brit later about maybe going to the Naples Zoo with the Comfort Zone kids, but I don’t want her to know Lexi spilled the beans about Uno.”
“Okay. I’ve got to go.”
“Nick, I hope that tiger info helps. Brit deserves some good news after everything she’s been through—and so do we.”
* * *
Nick and Claire had a late dinner and were just getting ready to head for showers and bed when the doorbell rang. Claire looked through the peephole.
“It’s Bronco and Nita. You’re psychic,” she told Nick as he joined her. She put her arm around him. They were in a great mood because this afternoon Nick had convinced the Family Friendly Zoo lawyer that their zoo didn’t need a resurrection of the earlier tiger-death publicity, which might be rehashed when they took in Tiberia. That made Claire feel she’d contributed.
“Well, hello to the post-honeymoon newlyweds!” Nick greeted them as he opened the door. But Claire saw the glow was gone.
Was there some sort of curse on this house, the way Brit had claimed there was on the BAA? Brit and Jace had been barely speaking when they showed up here yesterday, and they’d gone on to disaster. Now Nita and Bronco looked—well, upset and even at odds.
Claire was going to invite them in and finesse the tension, but Nick blurted, “What happened? Are you two okay?”
Bronco shuffled his feet but didn’t budge. “We’re here to say that I—we—decided I wouldn’t work at the ranch full-time. Nita doesn’t want me to even do it part-time, but I already signed on to help you out, boss. We want the house, but don’t need strings attached—at least not to someone else. Each other—remains to be seen, I guess.”
“What happened?” Nick repeated.
Claire knew he was relieved about Bronco not leaving his employ completely, so maybe the newlyweds had just been arguing about that. But she sensed this was something deeper.
“Come inside,” she said, tugging Nita in and gesturing toward the library, though that room was getting to be bad luck too. “A problem or disagreement?”
“First fight,” Bronco said, perching on the edge of the couch while Nita sank on it with a sigh. “Not my fault, ’cause I was just leveling with her. Trust, all that.”
“He didn’t think I should know it till I had signed on the dotted line!” Nita erupted. “I thought he just agreed to work where we could get a pretty house. But there are girls there for the taking! Why did he not tell me before?” She produced a wadded-up tissue from her
jacket pocket and blew her nose.
Nick said, “You mean at the Trophy Ranch?”
“Oh, yes,” Nita said, her voice surprisingly flippant. “Some trophy for him!”
“But he did tell you he didn’t do the taking, didn’t he, Nita?” Nick asked. He sat in the closest chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Didn’t he?”
“You mean that kind of girl at the ranch? Like prostitutes?” Claire put in, sitting on the arm of Nick’s chair. Nick was way ahead of her on this. Why hadn’t he told her either?
“Free ones! Fits Bronco’s budget!” Nita cried, blinking back tears again.
“I guess I’m learning not to tell the truth, ’cept to you, boss,” Bronco muttered.
“Now wait a minute,” Claire insisted, holding up both hands, palms out as if to halt a crash. “Nita, Bronco told you that when he went to his interview at the ranch he was offered a woman?”
“Turned that down right away,” Bronco put in. “Could lead to blackmail, but more important, only one woman I want, sitting right here and damn mad at me for nothing.”
“Nick,” Claire said, turning toward him, “you knew about this?”
“He told me right after.”
“Oh,” Nita burst out, “of course, he told you, man to man, but didn’t trust me! So can I trust him? And if Nick knew and didn’t tell you, can you trust him, Claire?”
Claire glared at Nick. Hadn’t they just been happy to be working together again, hadn’t he promised to tell her everything about this tiger/trophy ranch case if she kept her physical distance from it all? And had the fact he’d from the first tried to steer her clear of Stan Helter, “a womanizer,” meant he knew all about the women there—and maybe hadn’t kept his distance? Had he kept her in the dark because he’d availed himself of those freebies earlier, before she knew him—or even after?
“No, Nita, I didn’t know that,” Claire clipped out. “I believe it slipped my husband’s mind to tell me. I don’t know how I can help out, or even advise, when I don’t really have a clue what’s going on, what’s at stake. Now, I can see why Bronco didn’t want to spring that on you at this time, and he was committed to work at the ranch to help out Nick and me—that is, to help Nick, since I obviously had no idea about anything. I’ll take you to the guest bathroom so you can wash your face, and tell me—I hope—that you had a lovely honeymoon at the Ritz before that bombshell dropped. Come on, we’ll leave these men to figure out how to make that big secret, which we’re apparently too fragile or foolish to understand, up to us. At least Bronco finally told you!”