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“You don’t know that for sure,” he growls, a fierceness in his tone. “Listen to me. You’re young, smart, and pretty.”
“Um...you called me pretty.” I let out a laugh that’s as awkward as the little wobble of my heart.
Oh, shit. That’s what Grady’s face says.
But he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t take it back.
He just looks at me and smiles like it’s only natural.
“Seems like you needed to hear it. The world’s your oyster.”
“Oyster,” I echo.
Grinning wider, he shrugs. “Sure. All you need is a grain or two of sand to start making pearls.”
Even as I give him a smile that feels like it’ll slide right off my face, I wonder if he’s ever taken his own advice.
What were his pearls?
His bar? The Army? His funny, sweet little girls?
I swear, I’ve never wondered so much about someone like I do with him.
It’s probably the crisis we’re sharing, but something about Grady McKnight just lifts me out of my head, hoists me up, and puts my feet back on the ground where they belong.
Confession: I kinda like it.
I like it a lot.
We’re just entering the house when Grady’s phone rings.
He answers it and quickly swerves into the little reading room off the main living room. I sit down on the couch and start scrolling through my phone for a message from the vet, careful not to accidentally open anything from the rescue.
My mind shifts back to how focused I’ve always been on myself while I search.
Even when the first animal disappeared, I’d been more worried about yours truly.
Afraid that someone might think I’d done something and the animal escaped, rather than the fact that it was stolen.
I’ll never forget going into the office as soon as I realized it was gone.
Niles Foss was sitting at his desk, hunched over papers with a pen fatter than his thumb clenched in his talon of a hand.
He’s a tall, pale reed of a man, surrounded by faded-looking photos from the Virgin Islands.
If those pictures were there to make him happy, to give him a window into another world where he didn’t have to trade and murder helpless creatures for a living, they hadn’t worked.
He always looked miserable, a permanent scowl plastered on his face.
And he certainly did that day, too.
“So, we might have a problem. I can’t find Churchill anywhere, Mr. Foss,” I say, every part of me going numb. “It’s like he’s just...gone.”
I didn’t think anything could hurt worse than my panic over that lovely chimpanzee vanishing into thin air.
Then he gives me that look still branded on my soul.
He cocks his head, his lips moving ever so slightly, pulling into a cruel line. Niles looks at me like I’ve just lost my mind, and I’m the one who should question my own senses.
When I push back, sure of what I saw, sure that Churchill the chimp is truly gone, his mood shifts.
“The transfer must’ve happened early then, Miss Macklin,” he says in that stilted, ticking-time-bomb tone that always makes my skin crawl. “These things happen. Now that you mention it, yes, I do recall the schedule being somewhat flexible for his pickup. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.”
“But...but you’re saying they transferred him in the middle of the night?” I ask, my bones feeling like fragile ice.
His gaze darkens at my impudence.
Like just asking is this awful cardinal sin.
Like no one else ever dares to ask questions—and I’m beginning to realize why.
“It’s normal. You’re still fairly new to our operations, so I can’t fault you for wondering,” he tells me in a tone that says he faults me very much. Big-time. “Animals come and go all the time. Period. If we can’t give them the best permanent home and care, we relocate them promptly with folks who can. That’s how the system works, and you just have to trust it.”
Trust us, is what he really means.
I never will again.
I’m about to bring up that weird blue sticker I saw on Churchill’s pen, when Priscilla blows into the room, wearing another designer dress and high heels. Her wardrobe looks more suitable for an evening out in Times Square rather than the backwoods of North Dakota.
If Niles Foss is a scummy kind of good cop in their nasty duet, then Priscilla is Office Satan to her core.
“You nosy, ridiculous little ingrate. I heard everything. I’ve also heard about you asking around, bothering the rest of the crew over this nonsense,” she snarls, crushing the distance between us, backing me against a corner.
Oh, God.
“Mrs. Foss, please, I was just asking—”
“No. You were snooping. I’m only going to say this once, and I want you to listen good. We don’t lose our animals, Miss Macklin. Exotic Plains is not amateur hour. We’ve been doing this for over a decade and, frankly, we’re awfully damn good at it. However, if you really feel so strongly that things are so disorganized here, if you think we’re such blundering idiots we’d lose a darling chimpanzee, you can clean out your locker and get the hell out this instant.”
