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Tanner had never actually seen a person’s mouth drop open before.
“I want to do what?”
“Jesus! Never mind. It’s none of my—”
“Who told you that?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Was it my father?” She slapped her hands on her hips. “He always was an ass.”
“Look, this is a pointless discussion. My job is to get you home, not judge you.”
“Liar!”
He had turned away, ostensibly to lean the rifle against the tree again, but really to end a conversation that would get them nowhere. The sound of that word, liar, made him face her.
“Watch what you say to me, babe.”
“Do not ‘babe’ me, Lieutenant. And do not try to claim you haven’t been judging me. You have. All along.” Those big blue eyes narrowed. “You think I came to San Escobal to kill cats?”
“I just told you, I’m not—”
She covered the few feet between them and slapped her hands against his chest. Hard. He had seven, eight inches on her and at least seventy pounds, but she caught him off guard and he stumbled backwards.
His leg didn’t take the misstep well and he tried not to wince.
“Hey. Take it easy.”
“I work with The FURever Fund!”
“So?”
“Do you know anything about them? Anything at all?”
She gave him another shove, but this time he was ready for it and he grabbed her elbows and steadied her.
“Who you work with has nothing to do with me.”
“How about Defenders of Wildlife? The World Wildlife Fund? The Wildlife Conservation Society?” She glared at him, her eyes full of fire. “Ever hear of any of them, Lieutenant?”
Uh-oh. A slow-dawning reality was beginning to penetrate his brain.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe?”
“Okay. I’ve heard of them. So what?”
“They protect animals.”
“And?”
“And,” she said, the words dripping scorn, “The FURever Fund does the same thing. It’s new. It’s relatively small. Its focus is on the preservation of big cats.” Her eyes narrowed. “Jaguars.”
“Jaguars,” he repeated stupidly.
“Do I really look like a woman who’d want to kill a creature for its fur?”
