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“Yeah, well, we should have asked for fifty million for all the trouble she’s been.”
“Just calm down, love,” Niles tells her. “The instant I get that money moving and we can leave this godforsaken place, it’ll be off to paradise. We’ll say adieu to the United States by nightfall, free and clear.”
The door opens and closes at the same time something thunks the side of the trailer again, this time so hard that Bruce stands, his angry eyes searching.
I slowly climb down and take a step toward Weston.
“Did you catch all that, you ingrate?” Priscilla shrieks, hitting the trailer again. “Your daddy’s paying us millions of dollars for his precious little daughter. Do thank him when you’re reunited in one piece—we hope.”
The loud, angry thud must be more than her fist because it shakes the whole side of the trailer. Probably the baseball bat, and the booming discord definitely annoys Bruce.
Her nasty cackle does her no favors with a livid tiger, echoing off the roof of the building and darting back down to the trailer. Bruce’s teeth shine in the dim light.
“You’d better hope daddy dearest keeps his word! Because if he doesn’t...there won’t be anything left of you to bury,” she says, finally taking a break with the bat. “By the time someone finds you, your little kitty there will have enjoyed quite the feast.” She laughs again, a monster too in love with her own sick voice. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your friend. Why, maybe we’ll start with him, a nice, big cut of meat like that would—”
“Fuck!”
I snap my neck around to look at Weston, who now has his hand over his mouth.
But the deep, angry growl that echoes through the cavernous space has me twisting back to Bruce, now arching his back in a defensive stance, swinging his head from side to side.
Uh-oh.
“Crap,” I whisper, copying Weston’s sentiment. Holding up both hands, I make eye contact with Bruce and hold it.
“We’re okay,” I say cheerfully. “Everything’s cool.” Far more afraid for Weston than myself, I move closer to him. “See, Brucey? No big ruckus here. Just lie down. Relax.”
Slowly, back legs first, he lowers onto the floor with his anger in his eyes softening to resignation. Really, lady?
I know, I think to myself, wishing we shared a psychic link. I don’t believe it either but...please. Please stay calm just a little while longer.
“That’s it, Buddy. Niiice and easy.” I back up slowly, keeping myself in front of Weston. “Have a nap. When you wake up again, I’m sure everything will be just peachy.”
“Having trouble in there?” Priscilla asks softly. And even before she speaks again, I know what’s coming next. “Hey, maybe this will help!”
The bat slams the side of the trailer as hard as she can swing it, reverberating through the metal walls like a huge clashing cymbal.
Bruce bolts back up, unleashing a snarl that could rival a cannon’s boom.
I die a little inside then because I know it’s about to get worse.
For some insane reason, all I can think of is Grady again.
If I’m about to get bitten in half, then I want to go out with my mind full of eyes like brown sugar and a warm, strong smile I don’t deserve.
Maybe in the next life.
Maybe then I’ll be free to fall in love with Grady McKnight.
22
Tyger, Burning Bright (Grady)
The pilot puts the helicopter down on the road leading to the refuge.
At this point, I don’t even give a shit if we’re blocking it.
The instant the landing slides hit the ground, I’m bounding out the door, locked and loaded with the sniper rifle I’d pulled from my truck. Faulk is right behind me, head down due to the wind from the blades.
We rush over to where two squad cars are parked.
They’ve been expecting us for the past hour, and thank hell Faulk took the gamble on these guys keeping their cool when he called them. Guess small-town Wyoming cops aren’t so different from small-town North Dakota ones.
“We’ve talked to the owner twice,” one of the officers says, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “He swears the lady you’re looking for hasn’t shown up yet.”
“They’re here,” I say. “I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“Could be. This place is awfully big. They’ve got something like over fifty huge cats,” Officer Two says, a sheriff’s badge shining on his chest. “They’ve got the works: lions, tigers—”
“And fucking bears!” I shout, so frustrated I’m about to flip my shit. “Look, guys, I don’t give a damn what kind of animals are here. Willow’s trapped in there with my nephew, Weston, and that’s all that matters.”
“Easy, pal,” the first cop says. “We’ve talked to the owner, Jacob Cook. He’s a good, law-abiding citizen in these parts. He swears he’s the only one here today—”
“Have you looked?” I ask. “Looked inside the buildings or barns or whatever the hell they have? Don’t tell me,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You boys need a proper warrant?”
