“Looks like it’s two more miles,” she says, reaching around me to drop the phone back in my breast pocket before grabbing a tight hold on my waist again. “Ever gone prairie dog hunting?”
What North Dakota boy hasn’t?
I’m not sure I want to admit to that, her being Miss Zoologist and all.
She laughs, must sense me tensing up, and punches me playfully in the arm.
“Hey, you’re holding out on me, aren’t you? You don’t have to be scared to admit it, you know. I believe in wildlife management, especially when it’s not an endangered species.”
“You do, huh?” I crack a grin.
“Duh. Overcrowding any species causes freaky diseases and cannibalism. Mother Nature knows when certain numbers are getting too high.”
“Have you gone prairie dog hunting yourself?” I ask, going slow over the mounds so we aren’t jostled off.
“No, I haven’t spent much time in North Dakota, but I’d like to someday. Dad took me hunting for plenty of elk and deer when I was little, though. Mostly in Montana.”
Interesting.
So the Tiger Princess gets a hankering for a little blood, just like her boy, Bruce.
I don’t respond because I’m still trying to decipher that, make it jibe with the Willow Macklin I know.
“Just because I’m a zoologist doesn’t mean I’m against hunting,” she tells me, her tone insistent. “I’m no vegetarian either. I like a good Palak paneer or potato curry just as much as anyone, but...you won’t see me at a meat market putting flowers on packaged meat.”
“Come again?”
“That happens in California all the time. Impromptu funerals for all the animals in a meat market. Those rowdy protests make the news every week.”
I snort and shake my head, having never heard of it.
There are times when I’m glad Dallas is a small place tucked away from the outside world.
“It’s true!” she says. “You didn’t see me pitch a fit when you and Tobin carried in that mountain of beef, did you? Animals need to eat. Bruce needs to eat. But everybody has an opinion, just like I do, and I’m not going to hold theirs against them.”
“Knock it off, lady. You’re talking too much common sense,” I say with a chuckle. “Sure would be nice if the world worked that way, wouldn’t it?”
She squeezes my waist tighter in agreement, and I remember why I need to keep these conversations controlled.
If I’m not careful, my dick will be the main casualty of this excursion.
Something gleaming in the sunlight catches my attention.
“What’s that?” Willow must see it too.
“Looks like a strip of pavement,” I say, half wanting to rub my eyes.
Make that a very out-of-place paved strip that shouldn’t be here in the middle of nowhere.
I shift into a higher gear now that we’ve made it through most of the prairie dog town.
We arrive in a couple minutes and start speeding along the strip of pavement. Even stranger, it feels like it was pressed down recently under my wheels.
“It’s a landing strip, all right. See those short poles?” I pause and point, slowing our speed to a crawl. “Portable lights to be set up along the strip.”
“Freaky,” she says. “We are still on the Bureau of Land Management turf, right?”
“Yep, and there’s no good reason for them to have a frigging airstrip out here.”
I slow down as we come to the end of it, this wide paved area, large enough for smaller planes to turn around. A gravel service road comes in from the north. One that looks fairly well used and maintained.
I recognize where we are completely.
How many makeshift runways did I cover with my rifle like this overseas?
“Oh. Oh, hell. This a pick-up and drop-off point. The perfect place for planes and vehicles to meet and exchange cargo.”
“Cargo?” She climbs off the four-wheeler. “What kind, do you think?”
I stroke my beard.
“Well...my first guess would be drugs, but in this case, I’m gonna bet it’s exotic animals.”
“God!” she gasps out. “But there’s nothing here!”
Willow tilts her head, walking around and scanning the area like she needs to convince herself I’m right.
“No proof for us to confirm that, I guess,” she whispers.
“You mean not yet.” I walk to the front of the ATV and open the saddlebag. “Once we get these cameras set up and hidden, we’ll have ourselves a live feed to find out exactly what happens here.”
“I love how you think.” She grins, all sunshine and teeth so white I wonder what they’d feel like nipping at my skin. “What can I do to help?”
“First thing’s first, let’s scope out locations.”
7
Paper Tiger (Willow)
We arrive home at Grady’s house by dusk, a little later than expected.
The first thing I do is run to Bruce. One quick look tells me he’s been pacing again.
The paw prints in the hay prove he’s putting weight on his front paw again, so I’m thankful for that, but I also can’t help remembering how the branded burn was for identifying his dead body. A way to match him to the tag that proved his chip was deactivated.
I wish I’d realized it when I was still at Exotic Plains. I would’ve gathered everything I could as evidence. But honestly, I never imagined I’d ever encounter black-market dealings.
It came up in my studies—just a formality.
Our instructors only told us what happens to the animals.
Not what to look for or how to stop the perpetrators.
Ugh.
That was left up to the professionals, and I hoped it’d be as simple as reporting the Fosses when I tried to get in touch with Officer Bordell.
Hell to the nope.
I tried calling Game and Fish, but that backfired in my face. Taking it any further by contacting others and waiting around could have gotten Bruce killed and me along with him.
“Need more meat?” a voice booms behind me like distant thunder.
I turn and shake my head at Grady, totally in Thor mode. When isn’t he?
“Something wrong, Willow?” he asks, no doubt seeing the stricken look on my face.
That’s a mammoth understatement.
I should be asking him the same question.
Ever since our outing to the illicit airstrip, I’ve caught him staring at me all day.
Probably questioning his sanity for helping me. Poor guy.
“It’s fine. He’s just a little restless. That’s to be expected, being in a new environment. It can take a captive tiger weeks to start feeling more at home. Also, he’s putting weight on his paw—that’s a good thing. Means it’s healing up.”
Grady nods. “Has Doc Walton sent you a text yet with the blood results?”
“I haven’t checked,” I admit. “There are so many messages and calls from the rescue and their minions...I haven’t scrolled through them to see if there are any others, but I will. I haven’t forgotten what you said about opening things very carefully.”
A chill crawls up my back and wraps around the nape of my neck.