He twists, looking at me like I’m nuts. There’s a lump the size of a duck egg on the side of his forehead, rising from a stain of deep purple splotches.
“W-Willow?” he whispers, a dry rattle.
“Just rest, Weston. Please. They’ve got us locked up,” I whisper back. “But it’s only me they want, so if you’re quiet, if they forget you’re even here...” I trail off, feeling like I’m asking for another miracle that won’t manifest.
Let’s be real, my track record with miracles lately kinda sucks.
Also, the Fosses aren’t the whole reason why I want him keeping a low profile. Bruce may tolerate me in the trailer with him, but anything could happen if Weston—a total stranger—starts moving or freaking out.
As if on cue, Weston’s eyes flutter open, slowly gaining focus as he stares at me. I lean over him, squeezing his shoulder, trying to obscure the tiger behind me.
Yep, I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“Whatever you do, don’t move. Don’t scream,” I whisper slowly, ready to cover his mouth if I need to. “We’re in the trailer with Bruce.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. He stiffens, panicked, but collapses again with a groan.
“T-t-thefuckingtiger?” he rushes out in one word.
“Yes. He won’t hurt you. Just stay still, be quiet, and as soon as I see the first chance, I’ll handle it,” I whisper, searching his icy blue eyes. “Can you do that?”
He nods.
“Okay. Good man,” I tell him, lifting one finger to my lips.
He nods again, but otherwise remains stock-still, pinching his eyes shut.
“Oh my fuck. Does everyone here have their heads up their asses? What do you mean it’s not working?” Priscilla shouts.
I move back over to the wheel well and climb up quietly.
“My mobile hotspot can’t get a signal,” Niles grumbles, stabbing desperately at his phone’s screen. “It must be this metal building out here in no man’s land. I need the hotspot function for the laptop to get online, and I need the computer to transfer the money to our holding place as soon as it arrives. Damnation, I’m going to have to go outside.”
“Hurry it up, and don’t let anyone see you. Those cops could be back anytime,” she bites off.
“I thought you said Cook got rid of them?” Niles asks.
“He did. Just hurry, you idiot. I told Macklin he had thirty minutes to make the transfer. Otherwise, I’d be calling him right back so he could hear his daughter scream.” Something hits the side of the trailer—her fist. “You hear that, you little bitch? I wonder how that tiger would like a whiff of your blood?”
I pinch my jaw shut, refusing to give her the slightest sound.
“With great risks come great rewards. This plan is better,” Niles says in his arrogant tone. “You know how many cats we’d have to sell for this cash and a rhino horn worth an extra five million?”
“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.”