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I have to press a hand to my heart, feeling a flood of adrenaline, love, and anguish for my poor lost tiger.
“When was that?” Grady prompts, taking another pull off his coffee.
“A few months ago. Jobs with big cats are hard to come by, so I was floored when one of my old professors forwarded me a job announcement for the rescue in Minot.” I don’t mention the fact that it arrived on the very day Dad told me he’d secured me a position with a prestigious wildlife group he’s affiliated with overseas.
That job wasn’t working with cats, though. The Minot job was. I followed my heart to flyover country and one big beast who still needs my help.
“I sent off my application that morning. Within an hour, I had a phone interview, and the rest was history.” I shrug. “They hired me practically on the spot.”
“Impressive. But?” He holds his coffee in the air, waiting for the catch.
“I’m getting there...”
I swallow hard.
There are so many things I wonder about now in hindsight...
Like I thought it was weird when I searched the rescue’s website and there wasn’t a job announcement on it. There wasn’t even a posting archived in a Google cache.
“Of course, they had to do some background checks, but in a week, I was packed and on my way to Minot. I met Bruce my second day there. That was also when I noticed that their actual cat facility was lacking, nothing like what I’d been told.”
“Yeah? How?” he urges, leaning in, those eyes like mocha swirl as the morning light hits them.
“Well, I started noticing other odd, quirky things. Pretty minor at first, almost forgettable to a normal person. Lights I was sure I’d turned off the night before glowing in the morning, markings around the cages...when I asked for maintenance logs, I was told the database crashed. We recorded everything electronically. They said their IT person was still working on recovering everything.”
I look away, taking a deep breath, before I fall back into Grady’s eyes.
“But when animals started appearing and disappearing—always in the middle of the night long after my shift ended—and little blue stickers started showing up, I pushed harder for answers.” I close a fist on the table and squeeze. “I knew something stank to high heaven.”
“Let me guess—they didn’t give you squat,” he growls, his brow cutting down like my anger is contagious.
“Everything got weirder. Creepier. I started seeing my name on things like work orders, purchase orders, transfers...documents I never authorized. I didn’t have the authority.” I sigh, shaking my head. “When I showed an order to the owners, they didn’t see the issue. They swore it was an honest mix-up, and since it was all feed and supplies, I should just let it go.”
“Bullshit,” he bites off. “Sorry. Go on.”
“That’s what I said. My name on those orders made me responsible. The one liable. My gut said panic time and told me if something went wrong, the owners would blame me. That was why my name started showing up in these stupid 'mix-ups.'”
I pause for another breath because whoa.
The look on Grady’s face takes my breath away. He’s bowed up, tense, a human thunderhead charged with righteous indignation for me.
“Anyway...” I continue slowly. “I knew I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. So I contacted a state conservation officer at the Game and Fish division after I stumbled across some animal permits that also had my name on them.”
“Game and Fish oversees exotic animals?” Grady leans back in his chair, clenching his mug tight.
“Not quite. It’s confusing because laws vary between states, even counties. In North Dakota, the actual license for a rescue facility comes from the North Dakota Department of Agriculture under non-traditional livestock. But lots of Class Three animals—your big cats, primates, bears, reptiles, and more—require permits to possess for every animal. Those come from Game and Fish. The state can get things mixed up between the two departments pretty easily.”
I look down at my coffee, tapping my finger against the ceramic cup, gathering my words for the rest.
“Maybe it was stupid, wishful thinking, but a small part of me wondered if that explained the errors. I hoped I was wrong to be suspicious. So I met the conservation officer, sure he could tell me how to change the name back to Priscilla and Niles Foss, the actual owners...”
My throat tightens. My tongue feels like cotton. I don’t know how to go on.
After several long, silent seconds, Grady stands.
“More coffee, Willow? Can I get you some water?”
He’s too good.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” I joke.
“No. I’m intrigued, but you need a break and I want more coffee. Keep going while I grab us a refill. What did the conservation officer say?” he asks over his shoulder.
I shrug, watching him walk across the room.
