He found himself watching Alisha Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Copyright

He found himself watching Alisha

I sure screwed up, Carson thought. The best-laid plans ... It was all supposed to be so easy. He’d catch his poachers, she’d get her pictures....

Instead he had a woman here who was more intent on seeing poachers brought to justice than in grabbing any glory for herself. That he admired. But he couldn’t understand her eagerness to put herself at risk again. Why subject herself to the same dangers? Why not let someone else, someone qualified, someone like him, take the chances? That’d been bis plan for her...and she’d rejected it.

Obviously she was a woman of courage—or a stubborn fool.

Despite her scars, he saw rare beauty in Alisha Jamison, both inside and out. She reminded him of those exotic air-orchids, found in places you didn’t expect them, straining toward the light.

She’d be an interesting woman to get to know. As a friend... and as a lover.

“Anne Marie Duquette’s romantic thrillers

are truly thrilling, full of exciting action

and suspense.”

—Tess Gerritsen, bestselling author of Harvest

and Life Support

Dear Reader,

Because my husband was in the navy, our family had the chance to enjoy two years as residents of the state of Florida. During that time, we visited the Everglades. I was so impressed with its unique beauty that sharing it with my husband and children wasn’t tough. I had to set a story there.

While I have remained true in my descriptions of the wildlife, landscape and Seminole history of the Everglades, I have taken certain liberties in my story.

The hotel and sounds I describe are fictitious and are nothing like the primitive campgrounds that exist in reality. Also, although poaching retains a problem in Florida, the efforts of the park service and conservationists have put an end to large-scale alligator poaching on public and private land.

In fact, the biggest threat to the Everglades these days isn’t poachers. The real danger is the need for, and drainage of, the park’s freshwater reserves to support growing populations in the large coastal cities.

Sadly, all the species I’ve referred to in this book as threatened or endangered really are. But efforts are being made to preserve then, so there is hope for this one-of-a-kind wilderness.

It takes a special person to not only survive in these vast wetlands. but to appreciate and protect its creatures. My hero, Ranger Carson Ward, and his lady, Alisha Jamison, are two such people. I hope you enjoy their romance and share their love of the great outdoors.

Welcome to the Everglades!

Anne Marie Duquette

Her Own Ranger
Anne Marie Duquette

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Donna, Bill, Luke and Jen

Who share my love for Florida

CHAPTER ONE

June—Miccosukee Seminole Reservation,

north of Everglades National Park

CARSON WARD, SEMINOLE-BORN and tribal-bred, sat in the back of his private canoe, not only to steer his passengers through the silent, unmapped waterways but to watch for the first bullet to warn them. It would come... and probably soon. It was only a question of when.

The poachers working the land guaranteed it. For years now, they’d fouled the waters with the blood of Everglades alligators, and last summer, with the blood of Carson’s father. He’d been a park ranger, too. Ferris Ward had imbued his son with a love of the Everglades and a sense of guardianship toward it. A sense of justice—that was an equally important legacy from his father.

Today was another battle in the war Carson intended to win. The poachers were clever, and as skilled at survival as he was. But this time...

Carson’s smile was deadly. This time, he had an edge against the men invading his people’s ancient homeland. The three other people in his canoe weren’t the tourists they seemed to be. Instead of rangers, they were Seminoles like him—natives who knew their land as no non-tribal ranger ever could.

“Everyone okay?” Carson quietly asked in English. Those present spoke fluent Seminole, but deception was an art that required attention to detail. If they were going to look like tourists, they had to sound like them, too.

Sitting in the point position was Ray Weaver, cousin of thirty-six-year-old Carson and his junior by five years.

“No, I’m not okay. I feel like a damn idiot.”

Carson grinned. Unlike him, Ray wasn’t NPS, a ranger with the National Park Service. As a professional manager of one of the tribe’s more prosperous hotel-casinos. Ray preferred tuxedos to a ranger’s boots. But, like Carson, he’d grown up in these swamps. He considered the Disney World T-shirt and Mickey Mouse hat, complete with ears, an insult to his manhood, even if the baggy shirt beneath the life jacket did cover a bulletproof vest.

Carson was immovable on that point, though he wore no vest himself. He wasn’t foolhardy, but his position in the rear of the canoe meant he was doing most of the steering, something he couldn’t easily accomplish with a heavy bulletproof vest. Wearing one would have ensured that if the canoe upended he’d sink straight to the bottom of the Everglades. Carson preferred to take his chances.

Ray preferred the same, but Carson refused to risk anyone else’s life, hence Ray’s present complaints. Ray was loyal to family and fiercely loyal to Carson’s late father. When he’d discovered Carson was planning this trip, Ray had insisted on coming along as reinforcement.

“If anyone from the casino saw me, I’d die of embarrassment.” Ray touched the mouse ears on his ball cap and flinched. Suffering in silence wasn’t his strong point. “This reeks big-time. I can’t believe people actually spend money on this trash.”

“Hush, or I’ll make you wear the camera around your neck as well,” said the older woman behind Ray. “Remember, noisy with the oars. We’re all supposed to be tourists.”

“I’ve been paddling canoes my whole life,” Ray grumbled. “I don’t know how to be noisy.”

“Try,” Carson insisted. “We don’t want poachers thinking we’re a threat.”

“Fine. I’m splashing. Are you happy, Mother?”

Ray’s mother, Deborah Weaver, was Carson’s aunt and Ferris Ward’s sister. When the poachers had killed Ferris, his widow, Mary, decided to leave the tribe’s wetlands home. Ray found her a job with one of the prosperous tribal bingo halls. Mary, like Ray, detested the Everglades as much as Carson and Deborah loved them. Ray only returned for family reasons, nothing else.

Carson had stayed behind, unwilling to give up his family home or his job as a ranger. Mary repeatedly begged him to join her. He refused, vowing to stay and find his father’s killers, determined to bring them to justice.

As only children, Carson and Ray looked after their aunts; Deborah was a widow, too, whose husband had died of natural causes years ago. Protection was the tribal way. Of the two mothers, traditional Seminole Deborah Weaver had always been the stronger parent, the stronger woman. She’d volunteered to accompany her nephew and son today, shrugging off their objections.

“You should’ve stayed home, Mother,” Ray muttered, not for the first time. “We’ve got armed crazies out here. You could get hurt.”

“Ray, I’m wearing a bulletproof vest and a life jacket.”

“That won’t keep you a hundred percent safe. Carson, why didn’t you chain her to her loom?”

“I tried.” Carson dodged the spray of water Deborah sent his way with a deliberate flip of the oar. “But ever since I planned this scouting party, she insisted on coming. You know that. The tourist disguise was her idea.” Ignoring Ray’s exaggerated groan, he said, “I couldn’t shake her loose. Or her apprentice, either.”

“You should have tried harder,” Ray told him. “Should’ve told ’em both to stay home.”

“I did.” Carson hadn’t wanted the women along, either, but Seminole women—especially Deborah—didn’t take kindly to being told what to do.

“He really did,” the fourth person in the canoe replied. Adoette Fisher, twenty-seven, was recently apprenticed to Deborah at the looms, although during the busy tourist season, she often worked as an operator with the tribe’s prosperous airboat business. “She never listens, does she, Carson?”

The brilliant smile thrown Carson’s way wasn’t meant to dazzle, but to make Ray jealous. As usual, her charm failed to affect him. Carson’s heart went out to Adoette.

These days, Seminoles usually made one of two choices; there were those who worked in the modern world, often in the hotel-casinos and bingo halls, and those who lived in the wetlands, following the traditional tribal ways. In the subtropical grasslands, raising cattle on the treeless savannas was part of that life. Hand-weaving colorful cloth with intricate ancient patterns was another. Seminole textiles were in demand all over the world, much like the Southwest Navaho’s woven rugs.

Ray wanted nothing to do with looms or herds. He’d eagerly left the hardships of the Miccosukee Reservation wetlands—what he described as “smelly, buggy swamps”—for life in Florida’s city world. Adoette, a Big Cypress Reservation Muskogee Seminole, had been born and raised in those swamps; she felt at home there. Even her Indian name, pronounced Ah-do-ay-tah, meant “born beneath a big tree,” as indeed she’d been. Carson remembered Ray’s thoughts on that subject.

“To think of her mother squatting under a cypress in the mud makes me sick. I don’t care if I am Seminole. The practice is unsafe and outdated. No wife of mine will ever deliver our children that way.”

A bad combination...Ray and Adoette. Neither one wrong, neither one right. No middle ground, only trouble.

Carson knew Adoette loved Ray. Adoette had met him during her brief, disastrous try at college. When she dropped out after less than a year, she didn’t return to Big Cypress. Already a skilled airboat operator and a long-time friend of the Ward family, she’d requested an apprenticeship with Deborah, moving to the open wetlands of the Miccosukee Reservation. Although she’d never admitted as much, Carson suspected the main reason she’d done it was to be closer to Ray. But Ray knew what he wanted in a wife, and a traditional Seminole wasn’t it.

As for Carson, he didn’t want a wife, period. Not until he’d caught the men who’d killed his father.

His vow was made as his father died in his arms last summer. Carson had begun his job with the National Park Service long before Ferris retired. Ferris himself had spent his whole life in the NPS, the federal custodian of the rare and endangered life inside Everglades National Park. All park rangers were sworn to protect it. The uniform Ferris once wore had legally empowered him to shoot any human hunters who threatened the Everglades.

Ferris’s position was a unique, often solitary one, for he alone had patrolled the border between park land and Native American land until Carson was old enough to join him.

Young Carson had grown up at his father’s side. Ferris had taught him to paddle a canoe, and taught him about his home. He stayed at his father’s side, learning enough to make him want to become a ranger himself. The job was perfect for Carson, since only someone in his position had access to all the Everglades. The NPS wasn’t allowed unlimited access to the five major tribal reservations, while the tribe wasn’t allowed free access to the Everglades government lands. But Seminole park rangers faced no barriers. They were almost as free on the land as their ancient ancestors had been. Father and son had enjoyed the job and each other’s company—until a poacher’s bullet put an end to their team.

Carson had volunteered to take over the border work by himself. He continued his solitary patrol—a lone ranger—because it was the only way he’d ever find his father’s killers. They’d been operating irregularly in the Everglades for the past two summers, killing gators for their hides and leaving the carcasses for scavengers to dispose of. They were careful, cautious men like himself but with more regard for money than for life. Arrests of small-time poachers had been made, but the men who’d killed his father still eluded him. Carson vowed their capture or his own death trying.

Until then, romance was out of the question. He would have welcomed a woman in his life, but his job—and now this quest—made serious courtship difficult. Carson remained solitary, grieving his father’s death, and wondering if he could ever love a woman as much as he loved the Everglades. He delighted in everything about this place—its panthers, egrets, playful manatees, its cypress draped with Spanish moss, even its snakes and those ancient dwellers, the alligators and crocodiles. The beauty of the land was his only inheritance.

In the Everglades, nature made the rules, not man. Nature determined what you ate, when you slept and the temperature when doing either. Few modern amenities existed for those in canoes.

One became a creature of the wetlands like all the others. Life continued for the fittest, the strongest, the bravest, the wisest, for male and female alike. Carson knew it wasn’t right for a man to accept a woman as second-best to the land. He’d been taught family was sacred. The bond between a man and a woman should be at least as great as that between a man and his home.

Like any healthy man in his mid-thirties, he’d had his share of relationships. But, none had ever meant enough to him to give up this life. One woman, a Seminole from Big Cypress, had wanted him to move to Miami with her; that was the closest he’d ever come to marriage. It wasn’t close enough.... So he accepted no women in his life except close friends, like Adoette, or kin, like Deborah. Maybe things would change once these poachers were apprehended. But until then...

“Next time, Mother, stay home,” Ray was saying. “Playing tourist is bad enough. Having you watch me in this getup is insulting.”

“Quiet down, Ray. Sound carries, remember?” Carson reminded his cousin.

“Yeah, Ray,” Adoette added in a whisper. “Someone could be listening.”

“Doubt it. I haven’t seen any evidence of poaching activity here. Can’t we turn around? This is a lost cause for today.”

He’s probably right. “Let’s give it another half hour, then call it quits. We’ll be home before sunset.”

“Hallelujah,” Ray said. “I’m starving. And I’m not providing our poachers with this target any longer.” Ray snatched off the Disney World hat with such violence it landed in the back of the canoe near Carson’s shoes. “There. If they want a target, it won’t be these mouse ears. Let ’em aim for something else.”

Carson bent over to move the hat away from his feet. “Ray, shut your—”

He was never able to complete that warning. The sound of a gun’s report cracked over the water just then, the force of a bullet hitting Carson in the shoulder, knocking the air from his lungs and throwing him out of the canoe.

Adoette screamed as a second shot rang out. Ray’s hoarse shout was followed by the splash of the canoe being deliberately overturned.

Carson knew his body was in shock because of the way his muscles were frozen. No pain had yet registered in his shoulder wound.

If this was a Tarzan movie, I’d be fighting the man-eating alligators.

But it wasn’t a Tarzan movie. And alligators weren’t man-eaters. They only attacked prey in a certain size range; full-grown men far exceeded that range. Without oxygen, he sank like a rock in the murky waters.

Gators weren’t the danger he needed to fear. Drowning was.

This is so stupid. I’ve been swimming all my life, and I’m drowning. I didn’t even take a poacher with me.

He tried to move his arms, but could only move one. He kicked his legs, hoping to move upward, toward the surface, but couldn’t. No sunlight penetrated the inky depths. His chest remained frozen in that sickening, winded condition. He had no buoyancy with empty lungs.

Damn! Time to pray. Please, please, please... was all he could manage. It was enough.

A hand gripped his own—a woman’s, not a man’s. If he could, Carson would have laughed. Adoette, my friend, you’ve just paid me back for all those swimming lessons I gave you when we were kids. Once barely able to wade without hysterics, she’d been, according to Ray, the only person in the history of the Seminole tribe afraid of water. But thanks to Carson’s patience, Adoette now swam. She swam well enough for both of them.

Air! I have air! He gulped in precious oxygen as his head broke the water’s surface. Carson took two more deep breaths. Only then did his eyes roll and his head fall limply onto Adoette’s wet shoulder. He withdrew from the world.

CARSON AWOKE IN IS AUNT’S chickee—the traditional summer dwelling built without walls. Deborah’s was located a tactful distance for privacy from his own family chickee. His shoulder had been treated with traditional medicines and was being wrapped. It also throbbed like hell.

“Ouch! That’s hurts!” He jerked in the hammock serving as his bed.

“I told them to call you a medi-chopper, but no, Mom here settled for the local rattles-and-bones man,” Ray scoffed.

Adoette scolded Ray. “You’d insult your own mother and our healer? Natural plant medicine is just as good as—”

“I want the best for him, and penicillin beats swamp weeds, hands down. Not that our healer here understands English, so I’m not insulting him. Hey, cuz,” Ray said, dismissing Adoette from the conversation. “How are ya?”

Ray’s rough brusqueness disguised his true concern. If Carson didn’t ache so much, he’d smile. The two cousins were like brothers, their close bond cemented years ago. Carson managed a faint smile, allowing Ray to relax.

“Good thing I tossed off those mouse ears and you reached for them,” Ray said, “or you’d be fish food now.”

Adoette shivered in horror. “How can you say that, Ray?”

“Well, it’s true.”

She pushed Ray aside to come closer to the hammock. “Are you okay, Carson? Does it hurt much?” She took his hand in a motion that barely swung the hammock but moved his shoulder slightly—enough to make his stomach lurch at the pain.

Carson managed to swallow a gasp. “Not much. Thanks for pulling me out, little turtle.” He used her old nickname. “I owe you.”

“You were the one who taught me to swim.” Adoette squeezed his hand. “I hope you heal fast.”

“He’d heal a lot faster if you’d stop yanking him around,” Ray said. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”

Adoette started, and dropped Carson’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes.

Ray, you can be such a jerk, Carson thought. If I didn’t feel so lousy, I’d kick some sense into you. Adoette only cries when you’re around.

“Lucky for you the bullet came out easily,” Ray happily informed him.

“Let me see it.”

“There’s no need for that,” Deborah fussed.

“Let me see it. ”

“Save your breath,” Ray said. “I’m with you. I’m sending this slug to your boss at the station. If—when—we catch the poachers, the ballistics match should get them an attempted murder charge, too.”

“Just guard that bullet,” Carson said weakly. “So far, it’s the only new evidence we have.” He settled more comfortably into the hammock. “It might even match the bullet that killed my father.”

“But the NPS will have to send that bullet to Miami for testing,” Adoette pointed out. “It’ll take weeks to get the results.”

“I can wait,” Carson said. “Anyway, I should be recovered well before that. Thank God the bullet didn’t do more damage.”

“Stop it, right this instant!” Deborah interrupted them sharply. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

Adoette nodded. “Deborah’s right. Concentrate on getting better first. You’ll be up and about soon. That really will heal quickly. Deborah says it’s just a furrow.” Adoette pointed to his shoulder. Just the nearness of her finger to his wound caused sweat to break out on his forehead. That must be some furrow. Feels like I could drive an airboat through it.

“I’m tired,” he said in his native tongue.

“You two—out. He needs rest.” Deborah placed herself between Carson and the others in a protective maternal pose.

“Thanks again, Adoette. Later, Ray.” Carson’s eyes closed. He sighed in contentment as Deborah smoothed his forehead with a gentle hand.

“I’ll have Ray call your mother when he goes to work,” she said as the tribal healer continued his ministrations. “She’d want to know.”

Carson opened his eyes again. “What will he tell her?”

“The truth—mat her son is hurt.”

“She’ll ask how, and Ray’ll go into details. Why call her about a minor injury, anyway?”

Deborah ducked her head guiltily.

“The bullet went deep, didn’t it?”

She met his eyes. “Almost right through. You could have bled to death.”

I nearly drowned first. “So that’s what you intend to tell my mother? You’ll destroy her peace of mind—which is fragile enough as it is.”

“She’s afraid of losing you like she lost her husband.”

“That is not the point.”

“Death is the point, Carson!” Deborah’s protest was so loud the healer paused over his bandaging. “Your father was killed here. Your mother left because she didn’t feel safe.”

“That’s why the poaching has to end. This is my home. I’ll protect it and our people until I draw my last breath. To ask me to do otherwise is beneath you as a tribal elder.”

“I’m not just a tribal elder. I’m an aunt who loves you.”

“I’m not accountable to you on this matter.” He became harsh, cold, as he always did when a decision he believed in was challenged. “I forbid you to tell my mother.”

“Carson, please don’t make me choose. She’s my brother’s wife.”

“Then tell her next week,” Carson insisted. He closed his eyes again, feeling weak but unwilling to concede. “Otherwise she’ll drag me off to some Miami hospital.”

“You might be safer there.”

“They have air-conditioning. I hate air-conditioning. What if I get pneumonia?”

His aunt hesitated. She, too, suffered from leaving the superheated outdoors and stepping inside chilled structures. “It can’t be that bad, or more patients would die there.”

Carson followed up his advantage. “Who’s to say they don’t? Maybe ‘dying of complications’ is a doctors’ code for freezing to death.”

Deborah frowned. “I never heard—” The expression on her face changed. “Carson Ward, you are so full of it.”

Carson grinned at her capitulation.

“You make a second mother’s position very hard.”

“I’m not a child who needs mothering.” Though the hand that smoothed his hair was very welcome indeed. Maybe I could use a woman in my life, after all. Get married and... He pushed away the thought, brought alive in a moment of weakness. My father’s killers first.

“You should have a family now—and you should be sending your children to the looms or the herds. Ray and Adoette, as well. Instead, I’ve lost your mother to the bingo hall and Ray to the casinos. I expect Adoette will get tired of waiting and join him there. You’re all so unsettled. When you went over the side of the canoe...if it wasn’t for Adoette...” Her voice broke. “You and Adoette are close, and Ray’s so stubborn. She might make you a good wife.”

Carson groaned. “First I get shot and now I have to endure matchmaking? God help me.”

“Just a thought that crossed my mind.”

“Keep it there. Please, Aunt.”

He flinched as the healer wrapped over a particularly painful spot. When the job was finished, Deborah brought him herbal tea with its painikilling and sleep-inducing properties.

“Drink it,” she urged.

“I will, but I need you to do something for me.”

“First drink the tea.”

Carson downed the drink and passed her the empty mug. “I want you to contact that woman. Alisha Jamison.”

Deborah looked puzzled. “Why?”

Carson moved his legs restlessly in the hammock. “You know, she’s that crusading Dian Fossey type. She and her partner—some guy Ray knows—have done those articles and TV shows that publicize poaching.”

“I know who she is. I’ve seen some of her documentaries and photographs. And the man’s name is Josh Gregory. I also remember you advised the tribe and the NPS to refuse them permission to enter our lands. You said her filming would disturb the hatchlings—and maybe interfere with the investigation of your father’s death.”

“Yeah, well, that was a year ago, and I thought I’d have caught Dad’s killers by now.”

“You’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes. She’s exposed poachers all over the world. She gets publicity for animals at risk and creates public awareness of the problem.” He paused. “Her work even led to the capture of some poachers—in Australia, I think.”

“But you said you were going to catch the poachers yourself.”

“I intend to. However, I need a distraction—a tactical diversion—while I’m doing it. Today’s was a bust.”

“We wanted to come.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed. I endangered my family and nearly got killed in the process. I’m the ranger here. This is my job, not yours.”

“Carson, don’t.”

“I’ve been going about this all wrong,” he mused. “This woman just might be our ticket to success. Alisha Jamison’s business is documenting damage done by poachers. She’s a very public figure. If we bring her onto Seminole land, the poachers will have to lie low or, more likely, retreat to park land—where I’ve got NPS assistance and trained firepower—more than we have here. While everyone’s watching her, we’ll be waiting for the poachers to come out.”

“If they come. They could cut and run.”

“They don’t run. They kill.” He shook his head. “Time to put an end to it,” he said again. “So, I need you to go back to the council.”

Deborah frowned. “It won’t be easy to convince them to change their minds, especially since you were against Alisha’s earlier request.”

“They’ll listen to you.” He felt himself getting sleepy, but forced his eyelids to stay open. “Don’t bother with a letter—have Ray fax Ms. Jamison from the casino. I want her here by the time I’m back on my feet.”

Deborah continued to stroke her nephew’s head. “Only if you promise to stay away from any more bullets.”

Carson grimaced. “That’s certainly my intention. Oh, something else...”

“Rest.”

“No. One more thing.”

He felt his aunt’s touch, felt the sedative effects of the tea, and heard his voice grow fainter. But he refused to sleep until he’d finished.

“For her own safety, I don’t want Alisha Jamison involved in my fight. I don’t want her knowing any of the specifics—about these poachers...or my father’s death.”

“If I were in her position, I’d want to know.”

“Absolutely not. She’ll be our gundog who either flushes our prey or drives them into hiding. Nothing more. Do you understand me, Aunt? Nothing more.”

CHAPTER TWO

Amazon jungle, Brazil

ALISHA JAMISON RUMMAGED through the rusting refrigerator for the clear plastic container. She gently shook it, causing the small tree viper trapped within to flex its coils.

“For heaven’s sake! Aren’t you asleep yet?”

Ordinarily the cold would send the reptile into a lethargic state, making it easy to handle. Alisha could then safely position her chilled subject, its lowered body temperature keeping it immobile long enough to let her shoot a decent roll of film.

But the ancient refrigerator wouldn’t even freeze water, the light outside her bungalow was fading, and if the snake didn’t cooperate soon, she could kiss those shots goodbye.

“No slides for me means no freedom for you,” she warned the snake, her blue eyes narrowed in frustration. “Shape up or else!”

The snake angrily flexed its coils again as she replaced him in the refrigerator and shut its door.

“Hey, Al?”

“Josh!”

Alisha spun around at the sound of her partner’s voice, her straight brunette hair swinging below her shoulders. At fifty-five, Josh Gregory was twenty years older than Alisha. He’d quit his studio job to team up with a then-unknown filmmaker-photographer. His faith in her had paid off. He’d become an award-winning writer-producer whose magazine and media documentaries were illustrated with her award-winning photography, both stills and film, and her meticulous research.

Both their names were now internationally recognized, thanks to Alisha’s instincts. Early in their partnership, Alisha zeroed in on one passionate cause: documenting the animals poachers preyed on. Her stories ranged from kidnapped family pets used for medical research to slaughtered rhinos whose tusks were turned into so-called aphrodisiacs, and her investigative work saved animals and often jailed poachers while providing TV specials the networks fought to air. Alisha, who’d never been interested in fame, still couldn’t believe how successful she’d become.

Fortunately, Josh had never doubted it. The older man had seen something in Alisha that others hadn’t. Their relationship—always platonic—had quickly evolved into a dynamic business partnership that had earned them a respected name, healthy bank accounts and world travel. The team of Jamison and Gregory was willing to tackle any subject, any location, from cloudy mountaintops to tropical caverns, for everyone from National Parks and National Geographic to the Disney Channel and Discovery Channel. They often traveled together, Alisha out in the field doing her research and videotaping or photographing, Josh writing the scripts and packaging her work. All in all, they were perfect business partners.

Except when it came to snakes. Indiana Jones had nothing on Josh’s fear of snakes. Any snake photos Alisha took were on the sly. Because of an almost fatal childhood experience with a striking Florida cottonmouth, Josh became hysterical just thinking about snakes. Fortunately for him, this assignment concentrated on the nocturnal Brazilian tapirs.

And here he was now—waving a piece of paper in her face. If he caught her with a live, poisonous reptile in their refrigerator, next to the fresh groceries he’d bartered for last night, there’d be havoc.

“What are you doing back so soon?” she asked guiltily. Both the container and its snake were in danger of forcible ejection from the bungalow, a situation Alisha was determined to prevent. It had taken her hours to find and capture the viper, whose beautiful coloring made it a favorite with poachers and belt-makers. Alisha edged slowly away from the rusting refrigerator.

“I thought you were interviewing the locals one last time,” Josh said.

“I was, but...uh, I decided to tally up my statistics.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. She could count one possible statistic right now—in the fridge. Alisha checked her watch. “I didn’t expect you for another hour.”

“I came back early. We need to talk. Plus I need a drink.”

Alisha refused to give ground. “Let me get it.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Oh, all right, dammit, you caught me. But I swear, Josh, I was just going to submit the slides and captions and maybe a little sidebar, nothing else.” She shrugged lightly. “You know I won’t be able to work for a while on account of my health. I’m just trying to prepare financially...” She tried to disguise her fear that “a while” might become “forever.”

“Alisha, I—”

“Yes, yes, I know how you feel about snakes.” Alisha talked fast, hoping to stave off Josh’s usual phobic outburst. “But we haven’t firmed up our next assignment, and this little critter really needs publicity. Let me cool him down, and I’ll turn him loose just as soon as I—”

“Al, forget about the snake.”

“Forget about the snake?” she echoed incredulously. “What’s wrong?”

“Look!” He waved the paper again. “We’re going home!”

“Home?” she echoed.

“Let me grab a couple of beers, and we’ll celebrate.”

Alisha was astounded. She followed Josh into the tiny bungalow’s main room and sank onto the rickety bamboo lounge. “Our home? As in the good old U.S. of A.? Chicago?”

“No, Al. Florida!” Josh opened the first bottle and warmish foam spilled out. “Which used to be my home.”

“But...you’re from Los Angeles.”

He lifted his beer and took a sip. “I’m originally from Florida, remember? Born there, bred there.”

“So what’s this all about?”

“A trip to the Everglades, courtesy of a friend of mine.”

He shoved the wrinkled sheet of paper her way. A fax. Alisha carefully scanned the letter from the Seminole Tribal Council.

After careful consideration, we have reconsidered our earlier refusal of your request to enter our lands. We hereby grant you permission to photograph, videotape and publicize any indigenous life on our reservation. We extend this invitation only for the next month and apologize for the time you may have lost. The following contact will assist with your goal and can be reached at—

Alisha stopped reading. “Wow. Last year when you wrote the Seminole Tribal Council, they refused because... What was their reason? A tribal member was shot and killed by poachers last summer, and his family didn’t want us involved. They didn’t want to talk about it right?”

“They do now.”

“Those poor people. Why the change of heart?”

“Who cares? Isn’t it great?”

“Josh!”

“I meant it’s probably our last job together for some time and we’re going home to do it!” Josh opened the second beer and held it out to her. “Come on, let’s toast to fast planes, first class and Miami in June.

Alisha took the beer, clinked bottles with Josh and took a sip. Grimacing at the warmth, she set the bottle down.

“Why’d the council members change their minds? And who’s the friend you mentioned?”

“A man named Ray Weaver. His mother’s on the tribal council. His father used to be an old poker buddy from my Florida days. Oh, and Ray’s first cousin is the ranger we’re supposed to contact.”

Alisha stared. Something’s wrong here. Long ago she’d learned not to distrust her instincts. Like now.

“Tell me about this fax.”

“What’s to tell? It came, I read, I made reservations. We leave. End of story.”

“But it’s so strange. Before, we couldn’t buy that assignment in the Everglades. Now the Seminoles are inviting us to make a documentary on their land—and they’re willing to go before the cameras to talk about a painful death? After a whole year? What changed their minds?”

“Wise people, Native Americans. Always admired them.”

“Would you listen to me? According to this fax, I’m supposed to contact some park ranger—your friend’s cousin. But the number they gave me is for your friend—Ray—at work.” She waved the paper at Josh. “Why him? Why not the ranger himself? Why only one month and no longer? Why a deadline? We should check this out before we commit ourselves to anything. I don’t want to push the grieving family into our documentary unless they’re willing. If they keep changing their minds...I have to question it. We could always use newspaper archives to research the death and do our filming on public land.”

“You’d better commit yourself to packing or we’re going to miss the bush plane to our commercial flight. You’ll miss those snake shots, as well.”

“I... Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“No—but so what if there is? It won’t be our problem. This is our last assignment together, thanks to your lousy health. I’m the one who should be complaining.”

“You win,” she said lightly, seeing that Josh was in no mood to cooperate right now. I’ll find out what’s going on, but it’ll have to be later. “I’m off to take a couple rolls of the snake.”

“That’s my Al.”

She retrieved her camera case, grabbed her chilled snake and headed for the door. “What’s this ranger’s name, anyway?”

“Ward. Carson Ward.”

ON THE LONG FLIGHT NORTH, they were served boring food and shown a boring in-flight movie whose plot made no sense, despite the English subtitles.

Too bad, Alisha thought. I could have used the distraction. Josh napped, leaving her with uneasy thoughts and unanswered questions about the job. My last job. Poachers had attacked her in Africa three years ago, and her health never did bounce back. Now it’s rocking chair time ... and me only thirty-five years old. Should’ve stuck to endangered ferns or threatened insects, she thought wryly. But no, they’d targeted poachers. So I’m going home-one step closer to doctors and hospitals and boredom and retirement. Life’s so unfair!

Alisha was glad when Josh awoke. The two engaged in their usual routine of briefing each other on the upcoming assignment.

“All right, we get one month on the reservation.” Josh dumped peanuts into his mouth directly from the package. “That’s plenty of time for you to get critter shots and tape the Everglades for the Seminole angle. As for accommodations, we have rooms at the Lucky Lady Hotel and Casino.”

“A casino?”

Josh shrugged. “It’s owned by the Seminoles... has a four-star rating and a five-star chef. And great wine.”

“Any other entertainment besides the casino?”

“Cable TV. A pool. Not much else, but the rooms are gratis. Although I guess you’ll be spending some time in the swamp.”

“I thought you’d be coming out in the field with me—this being our last assignment.”

“I can write in a bungalow. I can’t write in a canoe. Nor can I plug in my computer if I’m living in some hut in the Everglades.”

“Chickee. It’s called a chickee,” Alisha said, shuffling through her papers and spotting a picture of the raised platform with open sides. The structure kept Seminoles dry when it was raining and cool in the worst heat. “The roofs are made out of palm fronds. In fact, you can see them on the beaches, as well—for tourists.”

“I’m from Florida, and I know what a chickee is,” Josh reminded her. “Full of mosquitoes, Ms. Chicago.” He shuffled through his own papers. “All right, we’ve got multiple endangereds here right at our fingertips. Doesn’t Florida have the most endangered or threatened species of the fifty states?”

“Nope, Hawaii does...Mr. Native,” Alisha. tossed back with easy camaraderie. “Florida is second.”

“Whatever. Since the gator farm opened in St. Augustine, both National Geographic and the university in Gainesville have worked on saving the critters. Gators are big news again. Apparently, numbers are down, but not seriously.”

“They’re the keystone animal of the wetlands. They go, and everything goes. Still, there’s no reason to limit ourselves to gators.”

Josh looked up so sharply, his reading glasses slipped down his nose. He shoved them up again. “Oh?”

“Everyone’s doing alligators, and they’re not endangered. If we finish in enough time, why don’t we get some footage of the American crocodile, as well? They are in trouble.”

“Crocs prefer brackish, coastal areas. It’s easier for official patrols to keep tabs on them, and harder for poachers to get ’em,” Josh observed. “We’ll be inland where the freshwater alligators—and poachers—are.”

“I know, but if we wrap this up early, we can do both.”

“Nah. With all the competition on gator and croc stories, you know everybody wants us because of our poaching angle. Plus, we’ll get even more markup value if we add the Seminole angle. And they don’t have any large coastal reservations.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know that. “Well, as long as we’re there, we could broaden our horizons. What about endangered sea turtles and the Eastern indigo snake?”

“We’re talking saltwater Everglades again, not inland fresh,” Josh said, rubbing his chin. “Let’s skip the coastal stuff. Just give me inland. How about mammals?”

“Florida panther?”

“That’s more northern Big Cypress than Everglades. The cats need trees. Vegetation in the southern wetlands can’t support their weight or hunting habits.”

“Well, yes, but—” usually she was the one with all the information and Josh was the one shuffling through notes “—the Seminoles own land in Big Cypress.”

“We haven’t been given permission to stay there. It’s a different tribe, different reservation. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

“I’m in no hurry to—”

“—check into the hospital for more surgery?” Josh shrewdly asked. “You’re the one who’s been insisting that you’re well enough to work. If you’re feeling worse, we can always cancel.”

“I don’t want to cancel. Look, right now let’s just worry about this assignment. Did you tell your contact I won’t have any problem roughing it in the field?”

“Yep. By the way, you’ve got the reservation permit. I won’t be needing one. When I’m not in the hotel, I intend to stay with family. It’s been a while.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I’m telling you now. That’s why we have these little meetings.” He dumped the rest of the peanuts into his mouth and crumpled the wrapper.

Alisha, who didn’t like nuts, slid him her unopened pack. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ve been to the Everglades. I’ll pass. You don’t need me there, anyway. You’ll have local guides. Like this ranger.”

“Yes, but still...”

Josh studied her carefully. “What are you worried about? We often don’t do fieldwork together. I think you’re just nervous about going into the hospital when this is over.”

Alisha shot him a sideways glance. “I am not.” Yes, I am. Which was why she’d taken this assignment, despite her health. She needed to keep busy as long as she could.

“Surgery makes everyone nervous,” he said. “Now look at this, and get your mind back on business.” He tapped a notebook with his pen. Alisha leaned over the armrest. “You want to document the big cats, which would mean doing a night video. We’ve just done an all-night safari. Are you seriously in the mood for another?”

“I’d like some more sun.” Need some sun was more like it. Her resistance to illness—and to cooler temperatures—was slowly but surely failing.

“All right, then.”

“Let’s put the Florida panther on the ‘maybe’ list.” Alisha scribbled in her notes. “Supposedly there’s only thirty of them left in the state. The other mammal would be the West Indian manatee. They’re freshwater and saltwater, but mostly fresh. Could we fit them in?”

“As a Florida resident, I can tell you they’ve been done to death. Literally and figuratively. The beasts are still dying in droves, thanks to the almighty powerboat. Lucky for them, they get lots of coverage. Almost as much as the whooping cranes. They’re not good money. Too much media exposure.” Josh stared at her. “Besides, poached animals are our specialty, and no one’s poaching them.”

“Yes, but still... They’re endangered. Beautiful animals, the manatees. So graceful.” The memory of a colleague’s documentary film played in her head.

“Beautiful?” Josh snorted. “Graceful? They’re fat hippos, U.S.A.-style.”

“But we could chance it, if we had time to go up north.”

Josh frowned. “It’d be dicey getting decent shots unless you were lucky enough to find them in the shallows. Anything deeper and you’d probably need to scuba, for stills or video. You can’t dive anymore, remember?”

“I thought maybe I could get away with just snorkeling.”

“You’d come up empty. And anything else would be too risky for you. I can dive, but I sure can’t operate those fancy cameras of yours. Sorry, kid.” He patted her on the shoulder like a kindly old uncle. “Ya gotta watch that bum lung of yours.”

Yeah. The same lung that’s ending my career, unless the doctors can fix me up.

She didn’t like remembering the time three years earlier, when ivory poachers had almost carved her into a carcass like the African elephants they’d slaughtered. The poachers had unexpectedly returned to a killing field she’d discovered and was photographing. Josh had stayed behind to set up their camp and when Alisha didn’t return as scheduled, he’d gone looking. He’d found her, close to death, and taken her to the hospital in Nairobi.

The hospital stay was hell. The doctors feared the worst, and Josh had left a message for her mother. Alisha couldn’t speak to her family until she was out of danger, recovering from emergency surgery. That phone conversation went downhill after a scant five minutes.

“Maybe they can take your life story and make it into a movie when I bury you,” Fran Jamison had sobbed over the phone, “Like Dian Fossey and Gorillas in the Mist. My God, Ali, I can see your tombstone now. ‘She died so fake furs could flourish.’”

“Mom, it was African elephants and they don’t have fur.”

Her attempt at levity had fallen flat.

“Your father left me plenty of money when he died. Your brothers are lawyers, living like normal people. Yet you let this Hollywood writer talk you into getting killed! What does he do, produce assignments from hell? Is this what you want?”

Her mother’s phone calls to the Nairobi hospital, although upsetting, were the least of her worries. She’d been scarred deeply—physically, and emotionally. She’d never sleep soundly again. Nights were the worst, and the damage to her right lung continued to plague her. Bronchitis was common, as were more serious bouts of pneumonia.

“Find a less physically stressful type of work,” the doctors said. “Either way, you’re going to need surgery again soon.”

Easier said than done. The hospital costs had already been horrendous, and last year, her medical insurer had cancelled her coverage.

That knife in the dark had cost her health, a diminished capacity to do her job, and her peace of mind.

I need a big story and some big money for my retirement—fast. I have to do this while my health holds up. I might have to quit, but I intend to remain independent. I want a nest egg. I refuse to live off Mom and my brothers’ charity.

Sadly, this Everglades story didn’t seem to promise Alisha her goal. The strange fax still bothered her; so did fears that her health might prevent her from doing this job—possibly her last—as well as she wanted to.

“There must something we can use besides the gators. There’s always bird shots,” Alisha said.

“You hate doing birds,” Josh groaned. At Alisha’s stare, he gave in. “Oh, all right. Whaddaya have for rare or endangered feathered?”

“Well...” She looked through more notes as Josh tore into the second bag of peanuts. “Five. There’s the snail kite.”

“Let me guess—it eats snails.”

“The wood stork, the Cape Sable—”

“Whatever the hell that is.”

She gave Josh an impatient glance. “The Cape Sable sparrow. Plus the Arctic peregrine falcon.”

“What’s it doing in Florida?”

“Migrating, I guess. Hey, there’s the southern bald eagle.”

“They aren’t easy to find. We’ll come across lots of other bird shutterbugs, though. They’re not a rare species.” Josh washed down his peanuts with a swallow of rum and cola. “Like I said in the beginning, let’s stick with what we do. Poachers. Poached animals. Gators are it for now. Ace producer that I am, kid, stop questioning my smarts.”

The old Alisha would have grinned. She hadn’t been a naive “kid” for years. “I think I can come up with a two-for-one, Josh. Maybe write up some of the endangered birds that gators prey on? I could tie them into the story—no,” she corrected herself, knowing what Josh would say, “I could mention them in the alligator piece, and do a second special highlighting them on their own. Twice the pay.”

“Obi-Wan has taught you well, Young Skywalker.” Josh grinned. “I can die in peace. Hey, flight attendant...” he yelled out.

“Can’t you use the call button like everyone else?” Alisha hissed, glad she’d at least trained him not to use the term stewardess. “This isn’t a Cubs game.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. We’re in first class. She’s not supposed to disappear for so long. Can I get a beer now, sweetheart?”

The approaching flight attendant put on a phony smile. Alisha wasn’t surprised. Josh was fit and trim for a man his age, but his personality would always have rough edges. He was a hard man to know, a man who rarely showed a vulnerable or tender side.

Alisha knew it was there. She’d found that out after her attack. Josh hadn’t left her side from the moment he’d discovered her bleeding in the dirt. All during that wild jeep drive to safety, those long weeks in the hospital, his hand had held hers until she no longer needed his strength. She’d never forget it.

Too bad he’s never had children to bring out the best in him. But if he was with family, I’d have died alone in the midst of freshly killed elephants. The memory sent chills down her spine. Well, maybe he’ll settle down, meet a woman, fall in love, while I’m recuperating. It’s only a matter of time before we finish this last assignment and I have to quit for the lung surgery.

“You want anything, Al? I’m buying.”

“Very funny. I know perfectly well that drinks are free in first class. But I could go for a ginger ale. I’d like it over there.” She gestured to an empty seat. “I’m going to move, Josh. I need some quiet time,” she explained with a smile to both partner and night attendant.

“Come on,” he protested. “Let’s check out the casino layout. I have the brochures. Plus I bought some electronic games at the airport so you can practice.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. You know how I feel about gambling.” I do plenty of gambling on the job. My life is high-stakes enough. “Give them to your nieces or nephews.”

“Come on, be a sport. You need some fun. You don’t laugh anymore, Al.”

“I’ll play later. Right now, I can’t wait to get into my research,” she said slyly, stepping over Josh’s legs. “Did you know the crocodile still looks like its Triassic ancestors? They haven’t changed much since then because their method of survival’s so perfect. In fact, they’ve even shrunk in size, they’re so efficient. Guess how much.”

“Umm...”

“Saltwater crocs are twenty-eight feet long, down from the ancient Phobosuchus, which was seventy feet long with—”

“You know, viewers hate statistics. So do I. Besides, I thought we were doing gators.”

“Gotta complete my research if we want to document anything else. Do you know how to tell them apart? I read that...”

A glazed look appeared in Josh’s eyes, just as Alisha knew it would.

“Umm, maybe you’d better sit where I won’t disturb you.” Josh buried his nose in the casino pamphlets. “I have reading of my own.”

Alisha stifled a smile and started down the open aisle to the empty seat. “Okay, Josh.”

“A relative?” the flight attendant asked sympathetically as she brought Alisha her drink.

“Friend and business partner,” she said vaguely, not mentioning Josh’s or her own well-recognized names in front of the other passengers. Thank good I stay behind the cameras. Even if I didn’t, I’m usually so grubby, I can’t possibly look “presentable .” She was presentable now, clad in warm slacks and a wool pullover for the chilly flight, complete with light makeup and her brown hair down and loose instead of neatly braided. Ever since the poacher attack, she was almost paranoid about using her real name. In public, she was Alisha Jamison only to Customs, government officials and her bank.

It’ll stay that way until the poachers who tried to kill me are caught, or I’m six feet under.

No trace of her poachers had ever been found. They’d been organized and shockingly bold. They’d had the nerve to masquerade as environmentalists, closing the gas pump at an African field station—citing fictitious leaks in order to do that. Then they’d used the deserted station as their base of operations, complete with free fuel for their vehicles.

“Would you like anything else?” the flight attendant asked.

“Could I please get a pillow, if you don’t mind?”

Soon after, Alisha relaxed with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing in her headphones. Her empty glass taken away, she burrowed comfortably into her blanket.

Ah, first-class service. I don’t get much of this. Better enjoy it while I can.

She could easily have drifted off, except for her niggling thoughts.

Why did the tribal council change its mind? Why let me in a whole year after refusing me? Why is Josh pushing this? I didn’t really need Seminole land to do a story on gators or panthers. I can get local color elsewhere, no matter what Josh says. Something’s not right. And my future depends on this job.

Every instinct told her one thing.

There’s trouble ahead.

CHAPTER THREE

Miami, Florida

THE HEAT SIZZLED off the pavement, causing rippling silver mirages on Miami’s runways. Carson and Adoette were waiting in the arrivals lounge. Carson glanced at his wristwatch, then out the window.

“That should be their plane now.”

Adoette shivered. She tugged the edges of her sleeves even lower. Seminoles, whether in modern or traditional dress, tended to cover as much of their skin as possible against the ferocious mosquitoes. Dressed in her traditional long, layered skirt and light blouse with three-quarter sleeves, Adoette was no exception. Only now her clothes protected her from air-conditioning instead of bugs.

“Here, take this.” Carson removed his brown NPS uniform jacket and held it out for her to slip over her chilled arms. He himself usually wore the long brown pants, long-sleeved shirt and boots of the National Park Service. Today, as a concession to being away from the Everglades and around hot tarmac, he wore a short-sleeved shirt and the jacket above a pair of uniform shorts. On most men they would have looked ridiculous. Carson wasn’t most men.

“How do these people stand it?” Adoette asked, her teeth still chattering.

“They get used to it, I suppose. Like we get used to heat and bug spray.”

Adoette looked miserable. Carson slung his good arm around her shoulder—his other was still a bit stiff—and pulled his friend close.

“Better?”

Adoette smiled, her face framed by long black hair, the smile a thing of beauty beneath the dark brown eyes so many of his people shared. Adoette had inherited her family’s small frame; Carson had taken after his father, a tall man with a strong, lean build and a stubbornness in his jaw.

Watching Adoette, Carson thought, Ray’s a damn fool. And Adoette’s an even bigger one for waiting. She needs a man who’s like her—not a guy more interested in bright lights and excitement than finding a wife. Well, maybe she’ll change her mind. Ray never will. Not after Susannah...

Adoette interrupted his thoughts. “What do you think Alisha Jamison looks like? I’ve never seen pictures of her. Have you?”

“No. Does it matter?”

Adoette kept her gaze on the plane as it taxied toward their gate location, and switched to Seminole for privacy. “I hoped to spot her early...see if she looks friendly. I want to be her assistant while she’s here,” Adoette announced.

Her reply caught Carson off guard. “Assistant? She has a partner. He does the writing and producing.”

“I know, but I understand Alisha does most of the fieldwork. She’ll need a local guide, and he’s not it. Someone needs to lead her in one direction while you men go after those poachers in the other. I want it to be me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Carson! Your plan to let the famous Ms. Jamison scare the poachers off Seminole land is so obvious.”

“Is it, now? How did you arrive at this conclusion?”

“Easy. You’ve made sure she does her research on reservation instead of public land. And you’re meeting with her tonight. Everyone will know about it because you had Ray call the media. You’re setting her up as a bird dog to flush out our poachers, aren’t you?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Then fill me in.”

Carson swore in Seminole, but didn’t bother denying it. He never lied, and even if he did, he doubted he could fool Adoette. “First, tell me how you found out.”

“Easy. I’m invisible, you know.” Her words were bitter, contrasting with her youthful beauty. “Especially to Ray.”

“You’re not invisible.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. I don’t want poachers on our land, either, and I know these waters as well as you do. Alisha Jamison needs a trustworthy guide. Let me help. Deborah doesn’t really need me, and God knows I have nothing better to do.”

“Adoette—” Carson marshaled his thoughts before speaking. Adoette had tried college but she’d grown depressed away from the land she loved. Whereas, he was comfortable in both worlds, even if he preferred the wetlands.

Adoette, on the other hand, was like those earlier Native Americans who, taken away from their land, died of heartbreak. She wasn’t invisible, at all; she simply fit into her beloved home so well she was a timeless part of it. Ray was the odd one out, the proverbial sore thumb. He’d left to find his own place to belong, something Adoette already had.

“Ordinarily I’d ask for your help.” Carson chose his words cautiously. “But my plan’s already settled. Ray’s going to show Alisha around reservation land while I continue to hunt for the poachers.”

“Ray’s in on this?” Adoette said, shocked. “He hates the Everglades!”

“He loved his uncle. My father was Ray’s father after Deborah’s husband died. So Ray’s taken some time off from his job. He insisted on coming along to help.”

“Well, I’m insisting, too!”

“It’s not a good idea. Your...problems with Ray could make trouble on this expedition. Three people is all I need. I’m guessing the poachers won’t stay on the reservation while an antipoaching celebrity like Alisha Jamison is there. That could be the break I need to find them. Besides, Ray and I are family. You aren’t.”

“That’s no reason for me to stay behind,” Adoette argued. “What if the poachers don’t do what you want? What then?”

“They won’t have any choice. As long as I keep Alisha on our land—tribal land—the poachers have to lie low or move onto park service land. The NPS will close off the area to tourists and patrol the borders. I’ve already been given the green light by my boss. Our poachers are greedy bastards. They won’t want to wait a whole month for her to leave. Sooner or later—and probably sooner—they’ll strike.”

“It’s a good plan, Carson. If it works.”

He shrugged. “Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll have to come up with something else. But I figure chances are good that it will. We know they’re operating here now—and we know it’s the same group. So...”

“You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What?” Despite her feelings about Ray, Adoette had wisdom about others he rarely disregarded.

“It might not fool Ms. Jamison. What if she figures it out?”

“Since she’ll be safe, I don’t intend to tell her. Do you?”

Adoette pulled his jacket closer. “No. But since you won’t be guiding her, she’ll get suspicious. How will you explain your absence?”

“I’ll say my duties take priority.”

Judging by her expression, Adoette didn’t seem convinced.

“The main thing is, she’ll be safe,” Carson reiterated. “No poacher would risk hurting her again—not with the massive publicity and official manhunt we saw after her first attack. That’s why Ray announced her arrival to the media.”

“Since you claim this is such a safe operation,” Adoette continued, “I want in. Ray won’t distract me.”

“Ray’s your life. He affects every move you make.” His voice was tinged with big-brother overtones—the wrong tack to take.

“Finding your father’s killers is your whole life. It affects every move you make,” she shot back.

“My situation is different.”

She switched back to English. “No, it isn’t. You’re just as obsessed with revenge as I’m obsessed with Ray, but at least I know what I’m up against. You can’t even prove that the poachers who killed Ferris are the ones who shot you. You’re just guessing! You can’t identify your enemy.”

Carson frowned but didn’t dispute her words.

“Don’t even think of shutting me out,” Adoette continued angrily. “Because if you won’t let me act as Alisha’s guide, I’ll follow you on NPS land and I’ll shadow you. Don’t forget, I own my airboat. I’ll be there the next time a bullet knocks you out of a canoe—and that’s something you should be grateful for!”

“Dammit.” His jaw tightened. “I won’t risk your safety again.”

“You won’t if I’m with Alisha. You owe me, Carson. I want in.”

Carson counted slowly to ten. “How does Ray figure into this?” he finally asked.

“Ray?”

“Yes. What’s in this for you?”

“Nothing.”

He’d heard that answer before, and it meant something. “Come on, Adoette. Spill.”

“I hate poachers on my land.”

“That’s a given. What else, younger sister?” he asked in Seminole.

It seemed that the kindness in his tone, more than the words themselves, had the desired effect.

“Oh, all right.” She slipped back into English. “It’s no big deal. I’ve decided to change from an invisible woman to a visible one.”

“Huh?” Her answer caught him totally by surprise.

“You heard me. I’m tired of Ray treating me like some dreary little wallflower. How can I compete against the casino hostesses dressed like this?” She flipped one hand disdainfully at the bright colors of the Seminole skirt, then at the beads around her neck, the strands added one by one since birth. They represented every special event in a female’s life until, by middle age, a woman wore so many, she could barely turn her head.

“You look beautiful to me.”

“Only because I’m your friend. To Ray, I look like something out of a history book. I sit at an ancient loom in my antiquated clothes and weave all day. Even on the airboats I dress like this, and I feel like an idiot when tourists snap my picture. It’s time for me to...to change my life. I want a more active role. Alisha Jamison is my chance to see how it’s done.”

“Adoette, you couldn’t even finish a year in college. You were too shy.”

“I was very young. I was away from home—and I didn’t have the proper motivation.” Adoette’s eyes narrowed. “I do now.”

Carson was suddenly conscious of Adoette’s curves; he remembered how her yearning gaze followed his cousin with a hunger that seemed to grow more and more every day.

“I’m not a kid, Carson. I know what I need to do.”

“Changing yourself because you want to change is one thing. Changing yourself for a man who isn’t interested in you is another.” Ordinarily such rare bluntness from him would have caused Adoette to burst into tears. Not now.

“I’m doing this for both of us,” she said urgently. “Ray’ll notice me by the time I’m finished—he won’t have a choice. I’ll get what I want, you’ll get what you want. Alisha Jamison and I flush the poachers onto NPS lands. I get Ray. And you get your father’s killers.”

Carson started to argue, then stopped and lightened his tone. “Whatever. But this isn’t TV, Adoette. Don’t be surprised if Ray doesn’t fall into your arms when you put on a pair of tight jeans and mascara. Besides,” he added, “Alisha Jamison’s high profile comes from risking her life on the job. She’s a crusader—not the type of woman you’ll want to emulate.”

Adoette’s patience was obviously at an end. “How do you know? Maybe she is.” She moved closer to the terminal gate, away from him. The first passengers were trickling through.

Carson was shaken by Adoette’s words and the pain that had prompted them. Denying who and what she was could only make matters worse. Still, letting Adoette go with Alisha Jamison might not be a bad thing. Carson had already accepted Ray’s help and originally planned to have him guide Alisha. This way, though, Ray would have an extra pair of eyes. Not only that, Adoette would be driving the airboat.... He felt responsible for her, but she’d be safe with Alisha and Ray, who, like Carson, carried a handgun. He could look after himself and the women, despite his distaste for the wetlands.

I have nothing to worry about.

Adoette noticed the couple first. Carson immediately recognized Alisha’s partner from Ray’s description. Josh Gregory was large-framed with graying hair and a handsome physique—although that positive first impression was marred by his loud voice. That’s got to be the producer. Carson deliberately hung back, letting Adoette greet the couple—giving him more time to study the woman at the man’s side.

Alisha Jamison wasn’t what he’d expected. She certainly wasn’t a thick-muscled glasses-wearing stereotype of the female bush observer. On the other hand, she was nothing like Adoette. There were no delicate curves, no fragile beauty. At first glance, Alisha Jamison seemed ron-of-the-mill ordinary—not tall or short, heavy or thin, striking or homely, just an average woman who would never grace a magazine cover but could easily be the girl next door.

Until he looked closer...

The eyes were an ordinary blue, but they were alive with interest, their gaze moving everywhere, missing nothing. The smile was more than polite—there was a hint of generosity in the subdued yet welcoming curve of her lips. The woman’s bearing was graceful, almost proud, with a certain dignity that reminded him of stone cuttings of Mayan royalty. No, he corrected himself. It reminds me of my own people.

She conducted herself in a manner that made those around judge her as definitely not average.

Men—including himself—found her attractive. Women, he noticed, including Adoette, found her a definite threat. He saw either awe or envy in the eyes of any woman looking at Alisha Jamison. She wore simple clothing, little makeup and no jewelry except a plain silver cross, but Alisha was the most desirable woman there. Carson had to fight down a surge of pure male excitement as Adoette led the travelers his way. He was surprised to find himself jealous as hell that Adoette reached Alisha’s side before he did.

This woman’s trouble. Big trouble.

Alisha Jamison’s gaze targeted him in the crowd. He saw her take in his appearance, the brown NPS uniform, and make the connection. She detached herself from the small group and approached him alone, her carryall slung over one shoulder, her hand outstretched.

“Mr. Ward? Alisha Jamison.”

Carson took her hand. There was self-assurance in the grip of those feminine fingers. “Welcome to Florida, Ms. Jamison.”

“Thank you, and please, it’s Alisha. Or Ali, if you prefer.”

“Then call me Carson.”

She released his hand. “Carson. If you could lead us to the baggage carousels...”

He nodded, and the four of them went through the tedious practice common to all airports. Alisha walked beside Carson. Behind them, Josh was complaining to Adoette about Customs, muttering that he hated how long the routine took in Florida. Adoette, still wearing his brown jacket, talked politely to Josh. Carson enjoyed having Alisha to himself.

“I hope you had a pleasant flight,” he said as they walked along.

“A long one, anyway.”

“You must be tired.”

“Just a little. I slept on the plane,” she said with a smile.

“You’ll feel better once you get to the hotel. It’s not a long drive.”

A surge of people from the same flight arrived at the luggage carousel from the Customs area, which precluded further talking. That didn’t stop him from trying.

“What do your bags look like? I’ll grab them if you point them out.”

“Thanks. They’re black, with silver name tags.”

They waited in front of the empty carousel.

“I hope you haven’t arranged for a guide,” Adoette said, finally managing to make her way to Alisha’s side. “I’m available. I’m familiar with the area, and I’m also a fully qualified airboat operator.” She spoke quickly, frowning a little in her seriousness.

“I’d love your help—if it’s okay with the ranger here.” Alisha glanced at Carson, who merely shrugged.

“I guess that means yes.” Alisha laughed, a deep, delighted laugh that spoke of hidden passion—bed- room passion, if his hormones could be trusted. “Well, good. My résumé leaves much to be desired in that department.”

She found her first piece of checked luggage and pulled it off the carousel instead of pointing it out. Before Carson could react, Alisha started to reach for a second bag, one that obviously held camera equipment.

“No one carries Al’s cameras but her,” Josh informed him.

“That’s not true, Josh. No one carries my film but me. Or my tape. The cameras I check.”

As Alisha passed Carson a second camera bag, she said, “I have a question for you.”

His senses were immediately on alert.

“Why did you and your tribal council change your position regarding my earlier request?” she asked. A direct hit. Carson hadn’t expected this so soon—if at all.

He saw the intelligence in her eyes—and it made him uneasy. Adoette’s right. This woman might discover my plan, after all. What if she won’t play along? What if she wants to join the hunt, instead? I refuse to be known as the man who put Alisha Jamison at the mercy of poachers... again. Suddenly he changed his demeanor from friendly to strictly business.

“No time for questions right now,” he said. “Adoette will take you to the pickup area. Please wait there with her.” His voice left no room for refusal. “I’ll get the car.”

ALISHA FLOPPED BACKWARD onto her bed, hair wet from the shower. She wore the fluffy terry-cloth robe provided by the Lucky Lady Hotel and Casino.

“Oh, Lord, that feels so-o-o-o good,” she groaned.

She heard a knock on the connecting door. “Are you decent, Al?”

“Yes, come on in.”

Josh appeared. “Comfy?”

Alisha reached for a pillow and shaped it more comfortably under her head. “I’m getting there. Nothing like a good ol’ American mattress.”

“Yeah, well; before you nod off...” Josh shook a bottle of pills. “I just got your prescription refilled.”

“I still have some left.”

“I know, but there aren’t any pharmacies in the middle of the Everglades, you know. I didn’t want you to run out. Did you take today’s dose? You didn’t—I can tell by your face. Take them now. Here.” He held out the pill bottle and an open can of soda.

Alisha groaned again as she sat up and took the pills and the drink. She’d been on a low dose of antibiotics ever since the poachers’ attack; it was the only way to keep in check the numerous bouts of bronchitis and pneumonia that had plagued her since.

“You’re almost as bossy as our host was at the airport,” Alisha said.

Carson Ward. An interesting man. On the drive here, she’d observed him with the same intensity she brought to her work. He doesn’t give much away. He certainly clammed up when I asked him about the fax. And then he played nonstop tour guide during the drive—so I didn’t have a chance to bring it up again.

“The ranger wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Did you notice?”

I noticed She didn’t guard her expression carefully enough.

Josh pounced. “Yep, you did.”

“Bastard.” It came out too affectionately to sting.

Josh laughed and pulled the covers over Alisha and gently tucked her in. He smoothed her wet hair back from her face. “You should’ve dried your hair. It can’t be good for your lungs. Cold in here, too.” Josh kicked the air conditioner regulator up a few notches. “There.”

“If you’re done fussing, tell me what’s on for tonight.”

Josh was all business again. “I’ve ordered lunch from room service—it’s on the way up. And, hey, there’s a copy of the local rag, today’s, with a story about you. Don’t bother reading it—nothing there but standard P.R. stuff. Just eat your lunch. Then get some beauty sleep. You look like tapir dung.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.”

Josh didn’t even blink. “After that, a wake-up call at 6:00 p.m. Plenty of time to dress and meet Carson Ward, his delightful friend Adoette, and Ward’s cousin, Ray, for dinner.”

“Ray’s your old poker buddy’s son?”

“Yes. By the way, Ray Weaver manages a shift here at the casino and got us the rooms. So be nice to him.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve ordered a dress from the gift shop. It’s being pressed now.”

“My size?”

“No, mine. Of course your size! Long-sleeved, high back.”

Josh didn’t add what they both knew—that she wore dresses like this to hide her scars.

“Oh, and some new underwear, as well. Last time I did the laundry, your bras all looked like linguini. I got you some tans and whites, plus one black strapless, no underwires in the bunch.”

Alisha hated underwires. “Josh, I have to say, you’re a partner among partners.”

“Yeah, well, not for long. Dammit, Al, what’ll I do without you if you can’t work after the operation? No, don’t answer that,” Josh said impatiently. “Anyway, it’s drinks at seven and dinner at seven-thirty. Watch your p’s and q’s. This guy Ward isn’t just some park ranger.”

“I remember, you told me his aunt—”

“Yeah, Ray’s mother. She’s a big muckety-muck on the tribal council. Don’t step on any toes. I won’t be there, by the way.”

“Where will you be?”

“At my brother’s, but first I’ll be getting your supplies for the trip.”

“Don’t forget toothpaste!”

He made a rude gesture, and she laughed. “I’d tell you to skip the supplies shopping, but I know you wouldn’t listen. Besides, I don’t think dinner in a nice hotel with a good-looking man is going to be any hardship.” Josh raised one eyebrow at the “good-looking” part. Alisha pointedly ignored him. “Even if it was, you always say suffering builds character. Look at me.”

Josh’s smile faded. “Yeah. Look at you.” His expression became thoughtful. “Eat your lunch, take your nap, have a great time. Fill me in tomorrow.”

ALISHA STARED INTO the bathroom mirror. A stranger stared back at her. With her hair up, carefully applied makeup and the classic dress, she hardly recognized herself. As usual, the clothes, from the long black skirt and jacket top to the new underwear beneath it, were a perfect fit.

“Thanks, Josh,” she murmured, but she wasn’t really thinking about her partner. Their relationship wasn’t only business; they shared the affection and companionship of good friends. But not lovers.

In fact, there hadn’t been much romance for either of them. Their work left little opportunity to meet potential lovers—or spouses. Josh had been married briefly, in his thirties; Alisha had experienced a few short-term affairs. That was it. Not much success on the romantic front, she thought, resigned as always. She did have regrets about it, though, especially now, with her career about to end.

Alisha patted her hair one last time. She intended to enjoy tonight. She’d be eating dinner with new people at an actual table instead of over a campfire. Carson was a handsome man. With luck, he and his cousin would provide interesting dinner conversation. And she’d have a chance to get better acquainted with Adoette, a good idea if they were going to be spending the next few weeks together.

She left her room and, on impulse, skipped the elevator for the grand staircase. The hotel-casino complex took up more horizontal than vertical space. She knew that was because skyscrapers were rare along the coast with its porous limestone bedrock. The building was carefully designed to bring the vivid greens and blues of the outside in, creating an attractive sense of openness.

Alisha went past the casino entrance to the slot machines, crowded with people dressed in swimsuits, jeans shorts and T-shirts. Beyond, she noticed the more high-stakes gambling areas, where quiet men and women dressed in formal clothes sat at games tables presided over by tuxedoed dealers.

She smiled as she continued walking, not breaking stride. The background cacophony of whistles, gongs and excited chatter was no temptation for her. Gambling in general paled in comparison to the safaris she’d been on. As for high-stakes games...

I’ve played the real thing.

The hotel had several bars, and Josh’s instructions led her to a lovely indoor oasis set far from the casinos and overlooking a spectacular view. Florida bloomed with the fullness of summer. The oranges and yellows of late sunset could still be seen in the west. She paused, unable to pass such beauty. Seconds later, she was rewarded as a flock of snowy egrets lifted off the wetlands. Wings open, they rose from the Everglades to roost in trees, secure from the night’s predators. The sun glinted off the water and the birds’ wings, turning them into a surrealistic fantasy of gold.

The sight was spectacular. She continued to bask in the pleasure of it as she approached the maitre d’.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Jamison. Your party is waiting. Please, follow me.”

Time for pleasure—and for business. Time to find out exactly what Carson Ward’s hiding.

CHAPTER FOUR

“OOH, LA LA, is THAT HER?” Ray asked as a woman in a black gown and fitted jacket approached their table. “She—” His comments were cut short by Adoette’s elbow jab to his side.

“Ray, don’t embarrass me,” Adoette warned. “Hush and stand up.”

Carson was already on his feet. He pulled out Alisha’s chair, then took her arm when she approached.

“Good evening, Alisha.”

“Carson. Adoette, you look lovely.”

“This is Ray Weaver, my cousin,” Carson said. “He works here at the casino.”

Ray took Alisha’s hand and gallantly kissed it before Carson seated her.

“Welcome to Florida.” Ray added a string of compliments that caused Adoette to droop and Carson to seethe. Carson noticed that Alisha didn’t seem impressed by Ray’s flattery—which, he had to admit, pleased him.

“I’m not as gorgeous as Adoette,” Alisha said lightly. “What a beautiful gown! Only someone as young and stylish as you could carry that off. I envy you.”

Adoette brightened. “Why, thank you! I—it’s new,” she stammered. “Do you really like it?”

“That color suits you perfectly,” Alisha complimented.

Adoette wore a lime-green slip dress, a tight sheath slit up the side. It left nothing to the imagination, and Carson felt uncomfortable seeing so much of his friend in it. A pair of panty hose seemed to be all she had on underneath, while every line of her body was visible through the thin, clingy material. It wasn’t the kind of outfit he’d choose for his woman—if he had one.

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, Carson found Alisha’s outfit much more exciting. He wanted to peel off those layers to discover what lay beneath, a reaction Adoette couldn’t possibly evoke in her dress.

Conversation switched to casual comments about the fine quality of the house wine—which Alisha regretfully passed up due to her medication, although she blamed jet lag—the local landscape and the casino business until their food was served. Then Alisha introduced a more personal topic.

“I’m still bothered about your fax,” she said to Carson. “Care to explain the tribal council’s change of heart?”

“Certainly. But first you tell me why you chose this place,” Carson said. He knew he’d have to confront the issue; it might as well be now.

Alisha’s fork hovered over the fresh grilled marlin. “I specialize in documenting dangers to human life and wildlife...especially from poaching. Josh suggested the Everglades after hearing about your father’s tragedy last summer. He was murdered by alligator poachers, I understand. My condolences to you and your family, by the way.”

“How did you learn about it?” Carson asked.

“Josh has family in this area.” She leaned closer to Carson. “The Seminole population here numbers about twelve hundred. Violent incidents like murder can hardly be hidden in a community that small. There were articles in the local papers, as well. His brother forwarded some to him. Josh originally thought we could cover gator poaching and its consequences—including murder.”

“I’ll help you as much as I can,” Carson said before taking another bite of fish.

“But why? We understood your reluctance to cooperate last summer. Such a topic would be painful in a very personal way. Plus, with the ongoing investigation...”

“It’s been a year. I’ve rethought my position.”

“Have you captured the poachers since we last talked?”

“Well, let’s just say if there is a problem, it’s nothing for you to worry about,” Ray cut in.

Dammit, Ray, now you’ve given her a reason to worry—and that patronizing tone won’t sit well with any woman. Especially this one.

He was right. It didn’t.

“So you haven’t caught the poachers.” Alisha turned toward Adoette. “I need to know what’s going on. Adoette, what can you tell me?”

“Nothing...nothing! I mean, I—” She switched to Seminole. “Shouldn’t we tell her about the poachers?”

Ray suddenly pulled Adoette away from the table. “Let’s dance.” Alisha and Carson were left alone.

“It seems you’ll have to tell me what Adoette knows about poachers.”

“You speak Seminole?” he asked, amazed.

“No, but Josh and I do our research. You’d be surprised what I pick up. I can say poacher in twenty-three languages.”

She’s furious! He saw it in her eyes, her mouth, the tight neck muscles.

“Are you going to fill me in, or am I leaving?”

Carson’s smile was equally tight. “Okay, I’ll fill you in.” So much for keeping any secrets from her. He told her about the poachers, his own shooting, his plan. Everything.

When he finished—silence. The waiter approached with the dessert menu. Alisha waved him away. Carson’s patience ran out.

“Well? Will you help us or not?”

“Help a man who deceived me? Who intended to go on deceiving me, despite the presence of armed criminals? Men who shoot to kill?”

“That,” he said, “is not an answer.”

She swiveled toward the massive picture windows, her profile expressionless. When she faced him again, the anger under control, her gaze distant, whatever hope he’d had vanished.

“You’re not going to help. Are you?”

“You’ve got that right.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“Because my job is to document and publicize the effects of poaching.... I’m not a game warden, not a law-enforcement officer—I’m a filmmaker and photographer! I’ve learned the hard way to stay within the bounds of my expertise. Trapping poachers isn’t part of that.”

“Trapping poachers is my area of expertise,” he insisted. “I’d keep you safe.”

She rose. “Judging by the bullet hole in your shoulder, I seriously doubt it.”

Carson flinched, but not from the violence with which she threw her napkin on the table.

“Find yourself another sucker, Mr. Ward. This expedition is off.”

BACK IN HER HOTEL ROOM, Alisha removed her evening jacket. The black silk slithered down and onto the bathroom tile.

He lied to me! That handsome, winning bastard fed me dinner and a smooth line! She yanked open the skirt zipper and kicked it off as it slid to her ankles. Just what I need in my life! More poachers!

She glanced at her scarred chest and shoulders in the mirror, then reached for the hotel’s white terry robe. As she turned to leave, she nearly tripped over the balled black material. Ashamed, she bent down and picked up the outfit. No sense kicking these. Carson Ward—now that’s a different matter.

She neatly placed her clothes and shoes in the closet, removed her panty hose and reentered the bathroom. She was about to brush her teeth when she heard a knock.

“You can go straight to hell,” she yelled at the door. “Because you aren’t coming in here!”

“It’s Josh.”

Alisha belted her robe more securely and crossed to the door. She opened it, the chain still on. “What? I thought you weren’t coming back tonight.”

“Nice manners, Al. Let me in.”

“Sorry.” She slid off the chain and opened the door. “You wouldn’t believe the evening I’ve had.”

“Let me guess. Your dinner was a big bust?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” She closed the door behind him and sat down at the table. “What are you doing back so soon?”

Josh removed two ginger ales and a pack of peanuts from the minibar, then joined her. “My evening was no picnic, either. My brother and his kids all had the stomach flu. One or other of ’em was always locked in the bathroom. Plus my mom and sister-in-law were busy with the patients. I left, did our shopping, and decided to come back here. I was only in the way at home.”

“Oh, Josh, I’m so sorry! I know you were really looking forward to your visit.”

“Yeah, well, that can wait. A couple days and they’ll be fine.” He popped open the soda and took a swallow. “Now, what about your evening?”

By the time Alisha had finished relating her tale, she was shaking. “Josh, how could you set me up with a story like this? With active poachers? He was going to use me...” Her voice was anguished.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.