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From Cape Town, Joss had managed to pick up a trail to Johannesburg. The trawler had docked in Hout Bay. A cooler truck had taken the boat’s fish cargo from there to Johannesburg. Clelia could’ve gone anywhere after going ashore. Luckily for him, the truck driver was back in Hout Bay to transport another batch of fish when Joss arrived in the harbor town. He had to cut the idiot’s finger and suck his blood to learn the truth, because the man refused to cooperate, and denied he’d ever laid eyes on a tiny, Japanese woman.
The driver had gotten such a fright when Joss had used his knife that he’d spilled the beans. He’d not only confessed to taking Clelia to Johannesburg, but also to robbing her of her money. The man had sworn he’d never laid a finger on her. If his blood hadn’t confirmed his confession, Joss would’ve sliced his throat. He did leave him with one finger less though, a souvenir to serve as a reminder of the wrongs he’d done.
Lying in the bed of his Westcliff suite, so near, and so far, Joss willed her to reveal herself. Unable to sleep, he stepped out onto the balcony. The November summer breeze ruffled his hair. From the hillside, he had a view over the zoo that, except for a few path lights, was obscured in darkness. A lion roared. A jackal replied with a cry. He thought back to Celia’s zoo, the animals she’d rescued. He made a mental note to call the vet in the morning to make sure they were fine.
The wolf hybrids had posed a challenge as they wouldn’t heel to anyone. They roamed the woods and came home only to eat the food set out for them. Left to their own devices for too long, they’d start hunting. The easiest targets would be chickens and other small animals. When that happened, the farmers wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them.
A hyena’s yelping evoked the barking of a domestic dog in one of the streets. Soon, a choir followed. He gripped the balcony rail. The metal was cold, not warm like a woman’s skin. Her skin. Then it hit him. His heartbeat quickened. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen it before? If he wanted to find Clelia, he had to follow the animals.When morning came, Joss dressed quickly. He’d spent the remainder of the night on his tablet, searching for animal rescue groups, and although the search brought up plenty, the only national, registered dog shelter was in the suburb of Randburg.
After a quick breakfast, he had the valet bring the rented car around. It was just before eight. Due to the peak-hour traffic, he didn’t arrive at the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals before nine. A young woman looked him up and down when he walked into the office.
“Can I help you?” she asked, leaning with her elbows on the desk.
“I would like more information about your volunteer programs.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You want to volunteer?”
He perched on the edge of the desk and picked up a paperweight. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Maybe you’d like to adopt.” She smiled. “No offense, but you don’t look like the volunteer type.”
“What does the volunteer type look like?” he asked, throwing the paperweight into the air and catching it.
She looked him over again. “Definitely not like you.”
“What’s the usual type?” Beautiful, fragile Japanese girls with kind, frightened eyes and a mouth made for kissing.
“Mostly vets and students or pet food company volunteers, but we have a few fanatics.”
The girl was clever. She called his bluff.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“A girl.” He put the paperweight back on her desk. “My girl.”
“If she’s your girl, why would you be looking for her?”
“For one more chance.” He didn’t elaborate about the unethicalness that chance would entail. He needed the employee to cooperate, not run in fear.
The girl’s expression softened. “You’re one of those, huh?”
He frowned. “What would that be?”
“I know your type.” She chewed on the end of her pencil as she considered him.
Ah. He could play along with what she thought she knew. “You’re right. She deserves better.”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “You won’t screw up again?”
“Never.” Not even half a chance. Once he’d gotten his hands on his little witch, he’d make sure she wouldn’t slip through his fingers again.
“Will you apologize to her?”
He supposed he did owe Clelia an apology for what he was going to do. “On my knees.”
She nodded. “I can work with a man on his knees. Who are you looking for?”
“A Japanese girl. She speaks English with a French accent. Black hair and dark eyes. Beautiful. Her name is Clelia.”
“We have a girl that fits your description, but her name isn’t Clelia.”
Even as his pulse accelerated, he kept a calm exterior. “What’s her name?”
