The truth won’t stay buried forever...

It’s been four months since forensic psychologist Claire Britten last crossed paths with danger. Finally feeling she can catch her breath, together with her partner, criminal lawyer Nick Markwood, Claire has settled into a new role, volunteering with a support group for children stressed by domestic violence. But a leisurely field trip to a wildlife sanctuary turns deadly, leaving Claire to question whether the death was an accident, suicide—or something far more sinister.

Nick gets the South Shores team on the case, hunting down anyone with a potential grudge against the sanctuary. But their investigation turns wild when other attacks come too close to home. With a hostile predator on the loose, Nick and Claire will have to race to unbury the truth before a killer wipes them from the endangered-species list for good.

Also By Karen Harper

South Shores

FALLING DARKNESS

DROWNING TIDES

CHASING SHADOWS

Cold Creek

BROKEN BONDS

FORBIDDEN GROUND

SHATTERED SECRETS

Home Valley Amish

UPON A WINTER’S NIGHT

DARK CROSSINGS (featuring “The Covered Bridge”)

FINDING MERCY

RETURN TO GRACE

FALL FROM PRIDE

Novels

DOWN RIVER

DEEP DOWN

THE HIDING PLACE

BELOW THE SURFACE

INFERNO

HURRICANE

DARK ANGEL

DARK HARVEST

DARK ROAD HOME

Visit karenharperauthor.com for more titles.

Look for Karen Harper’s next South Shores novel SILENT SCREAM coming soon

Shallow Grave

Karen Harper

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Karen Harper 2018

Karen Harper asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9781474074704

Version: 2018-01-22

To all our Naples, Florida friends and, as ever,

to Don for thirty lovely winters there.

Praise for the novels of Karen Harper

“Karen Harper has created top-notch characters caught up in a thrilling novel of suspense! A must-read and a keeper.”

—Heather Graham, New York Times bestselling author, on Shallow Grave

“Karen Harper keeps the action and mystery going at full throttle right up to the very last chapter.”

—Suspense Magazine on Chasing Shadows

“The thrilling finish takes a twist that most readers won’t see coming. While intrigue is the main driver of the story, the able, well-researched plotting and sympathetic characters will keep romance readers along for the ride.”

—Publishers Weekly on Broken Bonds

“Haunting suspense, tender romance and an evocative look at the complexities of Amish life—Dark Angel is simply riveting!”

—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author

“A compelling story...intricate and fascinating details of Amish life.”

—Tami Hoag, #1 New York Times bestselling author,

on Dark Road Home

“Harper, a master of suspense, keeps readers guessing about crime and love until the very end...of this thrilling tale.”

—Booklist on Fall From Pride (starred review)

“A tale guaranteed to bring shivers to the spine,

Down River will delight Harper’s current fans and earn her many more.”

—Booklist (starred review)

“Well-researched and rich in detail... With its tantalizing buildup and well-developed characters, this offering is certain to earn Harper high marks.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dark Angel, winner of

the Mary Higgins Clark Award

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Praise

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Author’s Note

Writers Helping Writers

1

Naples, Florida

Claire had never been more content.

“I’m glad we don’t have to be scared anymore,” her daughter, Lexi, said on their usual night walk around their neighborhood. “’Specially now that I’m almost five. Even in the dark ’cause it’s October now.”

She was holding hands between Claire and her stepfather, Nick, skipping along on the cul-de-sac circled by their large, new house and four others. It was just after 6:30 in the evening. Nick carried a flashlight but hadn’t turned it on since the houses and pole lights, as well as the sharp slice of moon in the sky, made it light enough to see.

Nick, a criminal lawyer and senior partner of a big law firm, had told Claire he’d been at his desk and conference table all day and needed to clear his head before a late dinner for adults only. Claire had fed Lexi already.

She thought the night was so lovely with its soft air and welcome low humidity when they’d been living in air-conditioning for months. She was glad for a walk, because she was almost five months pregnant with their first child, and mild exercise also helped with her narcolepsy. She was fighting to keep the disease under control with the addition of herbal remedies instead of relying only on hard-hitting meds. Although her ob-gyn had assured her the prescriptions would do no harm, she was worried about having a healthy baby.

All they’d been through over the past number of months had made her anxious about things somehow going wrong. Still, she had no intention of putting up walls around herself or her family. As ever, she’d found reaching out to help others helped her. To that end, she was still tending her website Clear Path, using her forensic psychology training as a consultant for companies hiring staff or even consumer fraud issues—all by laptop or phone, since she was planning to stay home for the foreseeable future. Her only in-person outreach was with her sister to help a group of at-risk youngsters.

“Nope, nothing is scary anymore,” Claire assured her daughter. “But remember what we were saying about looking carefully both ways before crossing any street, even a quiet one like this? You said your teacher talked about that, so it’s important.”

The child nodded, but the skipping stopped. Claire had to admit she’d gone easy on her lately, especially since their archenemy had died and they’d felt safe to come home again.

Even before she married Nick, it had been a dangerous roller coaster ride with him. At least they and Lexi’s father, Jace, had come to an understanding about sharing the child. Lexi had even adapted well to calling Jace “Daddy” and Nick “Dad.” Claire did worry, though, that since Jace had a serious female friend—whom she and Lexi both liked—that she’d someday have to share Lexi for longer periods.

“You okay with this walk, sweetheart?” Nick asked Claire. “Not too tired?”

“I feel fine,” she insisted, and smiled at him in the glow of a neighbor’s post light. She wished he’d turn on his flashlight, but she didn’t want him or Lexi to know she suddenly felt jumpy.

No streetlights illuminated this newly developed area south of Naples off Collier Boulevard, not far from the fringe of the wilderness and the Everglades. It was sad, she thought, that developments like theirs were pressing against the Glades, because that meant wild animals sometimes encroached on the neighborhood. Or, the truth was, humans were encroaching on them. That reminded her that they were going to a petting zoo tomorrow.

She and her sister, Darcy, were overseeing a trip there for the children in their charity, Comfort Zone, an organization for kids who had endured violence in their homes. Nick was going along this time, so she was pleased about that. They would visit the Backwoods Animal Adventure, which locals called the BAA. Its logo was a sheep, but there were plenty of more exotic animals, including birds such as parrots and flamingos, not to mention an abused tiger the BAA owners had taken in.

Claire gasped as Nick jerked her and Lexi behind him. He clicked on his flashlight. The beam sliced through sharp shadows to palmetto and dwarf palms, which seemed to leap at them.

Before anyone said a word, he slanted the beam to the side. It shone on a bright yellow sign the Save Our Wildlife group had put in. The sign had bold print and a drawing of a Florida panther—an endangered species that inhabited South Florida and was quite secretive and stealthy, moving mostly at night.

“The sign?” Claire whispered. “What?”

“Shh. There!”

She glimpsed a sleek shadow slink across the street toward the thicket on the other side. A blur of beige fur, gleaming gold eyes, a rustle of leaves, and it was gone. Neighbors had claimed to see the big cats crossing nearby, but they were elusive.

“Wow! It ran fast, but I saw its eyes!” Lexi cried, clinging to Claire as if it would attack. Nick put his arms around Claire with Lexi pressed between them.

“No one will believe we actually saw one,” Claire whispered. “Some call them ghost cats. The newspaper says that claims to see them usually turn out to be something else.”

“We did see one,” Nick said, “but let’s head back.”

But for a moment, the three of them still stood tight together, staring at the sign that read Crossing Danger above the outline of the beautiful beast.

* * *

Before Nick and Claire had supper that night, they let Lexi stay up so Nick could help her research Florida panthers and tigers on the family laptop while Claire called her sister. Lexi had already taken the phone from Claire to tell her cousin Jilly, who was going to the BAA with them tomorrow, that they had seen a Florida panther—a real big one with big eyes.

Now Nick could hear Claire back on her cell phone, talking about a kid nicknamed Duck, one of the Comfort Zone children she worried about because his father had committed a murder and was still on the run. Ex-con Irv Glover had come home drunk to find a male social worker talking with his wife, Marta. She was asking him how to get a restraining order. He’d beaten both of them in a rage, while Duck hid under a bed, and the social worker had died from his injuries. Irv had not been seen since.

Marta and Duck had moved, but money for them was being mailed to their old address with postmarks from Tennessee, where Irv had lived once, so the authorities were looking for him there. Still, Marta Glover was barely making ends meet. More than once Claire and Darcy had taken a food basket to them. Nick knew details of the boy’s life because he’d helped to prosecute his father years before for aggravated vehicular assault stemming from a road rage incident, for which he’d served time.

“I’m going to call Duck by his real name Duncan from now on,” Claire was telling Darcy. “He needs to have his self-image and confidence built up. The other kids still snicker over ‘Duck,’ and that doesn’t help anyone recover from an abusive situation.”

He watched Claire pace as she talked to Darcy, her only original family member left. Darcy and Steve lived closer to town with their two kids, a boy, Drew, who had just turned seven and Jilly, who was Lexi’s age. The two girls were as tight as Darcy and Claire.

While Lexi looked at pictures on the screen of Siberian tigers like the one they would see tomorrow—man, he didn’t know tigers were endangered from hunters, poachers and loss of environment—he looked away to watch his beautiful wife.

Unlike most native Floridians, Claire had light skin, red hair and green eyes that could haunt a man—and had him from the first. She was tall at five-ten, slender but sturdy looking, even carrying the baby, his baby. Like an idiot, his eyes filled with tears he blinked away. When he’d first met Claire, he’d hired her because he’d seen how good she was in court, testifying as a forensic psychologist expert witness. Thank God they had both lived through three harrowing murder investigations since then, and he had vowed never to put her on the stand or in danger again.

Life was good. He was thrilled with Claire, loved his stepdaughter and hoped for a son, though he’d be happy with another girl. Lexi was all in for a sister, though Claire tried to explain that she’d be a “big” sister to the new baby since she’d be five years older. When they’d had the ultrasound recently, they had told the doctor they didn’t want to know the child’s sex ahead of time. Lexi had been furious over that, but Claire had wanted it that way—“the old-fashioned way.” Yeah, if that meant family values and Claire just pursuing her career online, at least until the baby was here and a bit grown, that was fine with him. Besides, she had a big house to oversee now, even with a nanny’s occasional help. He smiled at Claire as she ended the phone call and came over to sit beside him on the couch.

He put his arm around her, and she leaned against him. Lexi was listening to a narrated piece about tigers in Thailand, and she’d turned the sound way up, but they still whispered.

“Everything set for tomorrow?” he asked as he gave her a squeeze. “I suppose Jace’s girlfriend, Brittany, is going to be there, the ‘tiger talker.’”

“Darcy and I like her, thank heavens. You know, it’s nice that Jace likes her family too—her father, at least. A navy flyboy and a marine, they get along great. I don’t think I ever told you that Jace feels his own father loved his marine recruits more than he did him, so I’m thinking Brittany’s dad, Ben, is more or less a father figure to him.”

Nick said, “That’s my favorite psychologist, always probing and assessing.”

“Anyhow,” she went on, “Brit, as Jace calls her, is going to give us the tour and a little lecture about their new tiger they’ve named Tiberia. Clever, huh, the t in tiger mixed with ‘Siberia’?”

“I can see her allure for Jace. He’s passionate about flying—now about her too.”

“True,” she said, frowning. Sometimes Nick worried Claire still cared too much for Jace and vice versa.

Just then a single-engine plane roared overhead. “If that was him saying good-night,” Nick said, “glad he missed the roof.”

“I hope it wasn’t Daddy after dark,” Lexi put in, turning down the laptop volume. “His plane has lights, but sometimes he flies over water, and I told him to remember what happened before.”

Nick just shook his head. Sometimes Lexi sounded so much like Claire.

Claire’s ex and Lexi’s father was supposedly flying a citrus orchard crop-dusting plane, and/or a Zika virus mosquito–spraying plane. But Claire and Nick knew that regardless of whatever logo was painted on the fuselage, he was actually working for the FBI in its Stingray program, which could track persons of interest and criminals by their cell phones. Stingray wasn’t top secret anymore, but it was still in use by the government. Jace was glad to be flying again but longed to return to international jets, so good luck to the “tiger talker” Brittany Hoffman if she wanted to tame Jace.

“Time for bed, sweetheart,” Claire told Lexi. “Your dad and I are going to have a late dinner, and then we’ll be going to sleep too.”

“’Cause you are eating and sleeping for two,” Lexi said, and gently patted her mother’s stomach when she got up from behind the laptop.

Nick put his hands behind his head and stretched as he watched Claire rise—still somewhat gracefully—from the leather sofa. He loved their new house, especially this spacious great room with its calming neutral colors and touches of light blue and green. The high, domed ceiling fan still turned lazily, though it was finally cooler outside. Their swimming pool, just beyond the patio, glimmered from its lights below the surface. After all they’d been through, Nick would have worried about the expanse of glass and the darkness outside where someone could be watching and lurking, but surely not anymore. Yet sometimes he had to work hard to convince himself they were safe now.

“Night, Dad,” Lexi said, and went over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He hugged her. “Sleep tight, and tomorrow is tiger day—and all those animals you like to pet.”

“But I still love my pony Scout the best,” the child told him, her pert face so serious as she referred to the horse she met during their adventures on Mackinac Island. “Remember, you promised that no snake’s gonna hurt him, even if he’s staying at a place on Rattlesnake Road. Glad it’s not in the Glades where those real big snakes get caught.”

“Everything will be okay,” he promised. “Claire, I’ll heat that lasagna in the microwave. It wouldn’t hurt me to turn in early too, after the day I’ve had.”

“And the life you’ve had,” she said. “But things, like Lexi’s said more than once, are going to be ‘all better’ now.”

For one moment she thought she glimpsed a figure outside in the shadows behind the patio, but surely that was just her own reflection in the glass. She would not worry Nick with her fears and certainly didn’t want to upset Lexi. After all, their enemies were dead.

2

“I’ve decided I’m going to call you Duncan, your real name,” Claire told the thin, quiet nine-year-old boy the next day as the group walked from the BAA parking lot to the zoo’s entrance. “It’s a good and strong name.”

“I don’t know,” he said, tugging on the brim of his too-large, beat-up Miami Dolphins hat. It hid his eyes and made his brown, shaggy hair spike out the back. He always walked with his head slightly down, and she’d love to change that too. “My dad might not like it. Duck’s his name for me,” he added so low she almost couldn’t hear him.

“But he’s not home now. What will your mother think?”

“She’d be okay, I guess, ’cause she used to call me that—Duncan. Till he said no. But why’s it a strong name? ’Cause I’m kind of skinny.”

“You will fill out and get stronger as you get older. It’s a strong name because it’s a name from a great country called Scotland, and there was even a King Duncan of Scotland. It’s a somewhat unusual name for a young person, so it’s very special. If you don’t want me to call you Duncan, I won’t, but Lexi, Jilly, Darcy and I would like to call you by your real name—also because you are a friend and good person to us.”

He shrugged his skinny shoulders under a stained shirt that was not quite warm enough for the day. “Then okay,” he muttered. “Just for now, but if my dad comes back, don’t say it in front of him—and hide from him, ’cause I will too.”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. To have seen all this child had...to be so afraid. Her own child had been through terrible times, but she could have stood right there and sobbed for this little boy and the others along with them today.

Claire and Darcy had discussed more than once whether the motto for their Comfort Zone program for children affected by domestic violence should be Children Need Both Roots and Wings or There Is No Rainbow without Rain, so they used both. So far, through social services and contacts from Darcy’s church, they had nine children they met with weekly to take to some sort of experience where they could learn, have fun, and feel safe and appreciated. Darcy’s elementary education background and Claire’s psychology degree gave them the skills to cope with deeply damaged and sometimes endangered children—at least they hoped so.

Darcy’s husband, Steve, who oversaw a construction team in South Florida, couldn’t come today, but it was a rare treat to have Nick along for this visit to the Backwoods Animal Adventure. Nick and Claire had picked up three of the children; Darcy and Jilly had arrived in the small parking lot with three; and Nick’s employee Bronco Gates and his girlfriend, Nita, had picked up the other three. Nita had been Lexi’s nanny and was now their babysitter. She was going to work for them part-time when the baby was born.

The ages of the Comfort Zone kids ranged from eight to eleven. Claire and Darcy had gone through the parental permission routine or interviews with their guardians, which gave them a chance to better understand their difficult, sometimes dangerous home situations. Two of the kids were in foster care.

Claire wasn’t sure why she especially gravitated toward this child everyone called Duck, except that, before she knew Nick, her husband had been the lead prosecuting attorney in the trial that had sent the boy’s father to a state prison for four years. That was for running his truck into and then brutally beating a guy who pulled in front of him in a car—road rage at its worst. The boy, who had been in the truck, had testified through a child advocate, and his horrendous tale of spousal and child abuse had helped to convict his father, though the defense lawyer had tried to get all of that thrown out. After being released for just a few months, Duck’s dad, Irv Glover, beat up his wife and killed a social worker. Glover had disappeared, but his child and wife still suffered.

Claire saw the boy flinch when Brittany Hoffman, their host for this visit, nearly jumped out from just behind the small ticket and information building where her mother sat. Claire put her hand on his bony shoulder.

“Welcome to all of you!” Brittany shouted. “We are going to have fun and learn a lot today!”

They had already been welcomed in the small parking lot by both of the senior Hoffmans, Brittany’s parents, but they’d returned to their duties, and Brittany was a bit late meeting them. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Too little sleep? Claire wondered. Maybe she’d spent the night with Jace. Despite looking tired, she was animated and almost gave off sparks.

“I’m Brittany, the daughter of the owners of the BAA. We’re so happy to see you! Don’t worry, because all the animals that bite are in special cages or behind fences. We want to show you all our farm animals, our Florida animals and tropical birds—even our snakes and alligators—which we do not pet—and especially our new tiger who is here because he was treated badly at his first home.”

Sally, a Comfort Zone child and victim of sexual abuse, who seemed so much older than her years, whispered to Claire, “What’s new about that? Let’s welcome that tiger to the club.”

* * *

Nick was pleased to see how well Brittany and Claire got along, considering that Brittany was Claire’s ex-husband’s girlfriend. More than once when Jace had picked up Lexi for a visit, a couple of times with Brittany in the car, Jace had joked that Brit was really good at taming wild animals. Nick wondered if they’d tie the knot—and if that mattered to Claire.

Brittany Hoffman was cute rather than beautiful, although she didn’t work much at it and looked a bit blitzed today. She had sharp blue eyes and a glossy mane of sandy-colored hair she wore pulled back in a big ponytail. Minimal makeup, though she hardly needed it with her healthy color. She was petite but shapely, toned and tanned. Of the Hoffman family who owned this place, she was really the only one with credentials for working with animals, as Claire had said she had a BS from the University of Florida in zoology and animal management.

As for the rest of the family, her parents, Ben and Ann, just plain loved animals. After military service, Ben had sold advertising for the local newspaper, but said he’d wanted to get away from the “rat race.” He’d told the kids when someone asked, no they didn’t have rats to pet here.

The man was tall and muscular, as if he could wrestle some of the gators they had here. Jace had mentioned he really liked the guy, an ex-marine to match his own navy pilot career. Actually, Jace had met Ben before Brittany, at a Veterans of Foreign Wars event, and it was Ben who had introduced them.

The Hoffmans were probably in their midfifties while Brittany was midtwenties. Ann Hoffman, a bit overweight with an animated face framed by sleek silver hair, seemed gracious and outgoing, whereas Ben appeared solemn and distracted, despite being a solid, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. Since the Hoffmans were trying to make a go of what was basically an animal shelter and amateur zoo—though the State of Florida had deemed them worthy of taking in the tiger since they had built a good cage facility—Nick had insisted on paying for everyone’s ticket, even though they had offered to let the group in for free.

The only other Hoffman child was a son, Lane, a violinist with the Naples Symphony Orchestra—the black sheep of the family. Nick knew who he was from the days he attended social and charity gatherings, but couldn’t really say he knew him.

The Comfort Zone kids were given sno-cones, and their group spent almost a half hour next to the tiger cage while the poor beast paced back and forth glaring at them. As good a job as Brittany did talking about tigers, he could tell Claire was glad when they moved on to more cuddly, placid animals that meant hands-on action. Man, he thought, if that tiger got out, it had a gourmet dinner waiting just across a small moat where llamas, goats, sheep, calves and even a baby camel awaited the kids. Tiberia could probably smell dinner on the breeze.

Nick had to admit, though, that the Hoffmans were brave to try to establish the BAA here, as its fifteen acres were wedged in between the big ranch to the west and orange and grapefruit orchards to the east on this road. A nine-foot wire fence surrounded the property, and they were still making improvements on cages and refreshment stands. Obviously, it was their dream to help animals, big and small, and teach youngsters to love them as they did.

He was grateful that they’d let the kids in an hour before general admission today, though he wondered how many families would actually show up. At least Ben Hoffman had skills from his old career to arrange for advertising for the place; Claire had said she’d seen ads in both the newspaper and online.

Nick glanced back to see Ben Hoffman had appeared near the cage with a big box of something, maybe to feed the tiger. Good thing the kids didn’t stay to see a carnivore eat dinner, but at least there was no kill involved.

Near the petting cages, Nick settled down on a bench, holding a white rabbit while the kids tentatively, then more assuredly, petted, held and even talked to the animals. Duncan seemed the only one to want to pet what Brittany had called a rare mulefoot hog piglet, a squirmy little thing that looked both muddy and ugly.

Besides Brittany moving from child to child, Claire was everywhere, comforting, praising, suggesting, especially watchful of Lexi and Duncan. Nick smiled to see his former bodyguard, big Bronco, now man-of-all trades, petting the animals too. Nita, Bronco’s very significant other, was smiling and speaking Spanish to the anteater, who seemed to be the only antisocial creature of the bunch.

After about fifteen minutes, Jackson, the man Brittany introduced as their “jack-of-all-trades around here,” joined them with two pink flamingos that elicited oohs and ahhs. Though the guy was a maintenance/custodian type, Nick noted he seemed great with the animals—and kids too.

Jackson, however, introduced himself as the zookeeper. He was a tall, lanky African American around sixty, almost bald, with a big smile. He lived on the grounds, he said, helped to feed the animals and was going on an errand to get fresh vegetables for the flamingos to eat so they would stay pink.

“Because that depends on what they eat,” Jackson told the kids. Nick was impressed when he went on, “What you eat makes you colorful too—so remember to eat your veggies, okay?”

The kids nodded or responded, and waved to Jackson as he guided the flamingos back toward the small moated area labeled Flamingo Isle where he disappeared into the foliage.

“Not only our keeps-things-together genius,” Brit told them, “but a longtime friend of my dad’s.”

Duncan laughed loudly, not at that comment, but at the little piglet he was hugging.

And then—

A screech, a roar and a scream pierced the air.

“Tiberia!” Brittany yelled, and took off on a dead run.

“Watch the kids!” Claire shouted to the other adults, and headed across the moat after Brittany.

Damn! Why had he married a take-charge, bleeding-heart woman?

“Bronco, you’re in charge. Keep the kids here!” Nick ordered, and thrust the rabbit into his hands. That cry had been fierce, feral—but he was sure he’d heard a human scream too.

* * *

Claire broke into a run over the wooden bridge spanning the moat. She hadn’t run for weeks, and she was quickly out of breath. Couldn’t see the tiger cage from here because of the curve in the walk and a small building blocking it. Brittany...out of sight ahead. Had that restless tiger just roared at someone, maybe someone too close to its cage, then the person screamed?

Surely no one would get too close. They’d have to climb a fence first.

But that scream had been first low, then shrill, bloodcurdling.

She tore around the corner of the small glass enclosure that held beaver and otters in two separate displays with small water pools. When she turned the next corner, she saw only horror.

3

Brittany had climbed the four-foot-tall restraining fence and was right up to the bars of the tiger cage, shouting, “Tiberia, back, back! No! Nooo!”

But the big cat seemed to just be standing. Growling. Eating something. Brittany had told the kids it was almost feeding time, but someone else would do it today. Claire had assumed that she didn’t want the children to see a carnivorous animal tearing into its meat.

As she came closer, Claire saw a man, face up, grotesquely sprawled under the cat in a pool of blood. Brittany’s father! The tiger lowered its jaws to the big man’s ravaged, red neck and gave his limp body a hard shake.

“I’ll call 911!” Claire shouted at Brittany, who, now sobbing, clung to the bars of the cage.

Nick ran up, his cell phone already out of his jeans pocket. He was talking into it, asking for help, paramedics, the police. He put an arm around Claire, hugging her hard to him.

Brittany, hysterical, kept screaming at the beast. She began to rock against the bars as if she’d pull them from their moorings. Then she turned away, climbed the fence again, and tore around to the door of the interior part of the display where she’d told the kids there was a “tiger bedroom” and supplies. As she ran in, the door behind her caught and stood ajar. A red fire extinguisher was mounted there.

Ann Hoffman appeared, running, gasping. “What?” she cried, and then she saw. Nick hurried toward her. Unlike her daughter, the woman didn’t scream, but fastened her fists in her hair and stared aghast as if in shock.

“Do you have a gun here?” Nick asked the distraught woman. “Ann, do you have a gun? Tranquilizer darts?”

She just stared. Dear heavens, Claire thought, this was a nightmare. If Ben Hoffman wasn’t dead already, they’d never save him now.

Surely Brittany didn’t intend to go into that cage. This was no metropolitan zoo with protocols and stun guns. But that fire extinguisher gave Claire an idea.

She rushed to the door where Brittany had disappeared and shouted, “Brittany, come back! The fire extinguisher will stop him!” She lifted it from its holder attached to the inside of the door. Heavy. She staggered back with it. Nick ran to help. Good thing, because she realized she had no idea how to use it.

Leaning forward over the restraining fence, Nick yanked a ring on the metal extinguisher, pointed the hose and nozzle, and pulled the lever just as Brittany ran back out toward them with a long metal gaff. She must have meant to use it to shove the tiger away from her father, but the chemical spray hit the cat. Some of it bounced back toward them, and Nick aimed it better.

“Brittany!” Claire shouted. “Help is coming!”

“He’ll bleed out by then! Dear God, why did you do it this way?” she screamed into the cage.

Why did you do it this way? The tiger? Her father?

Again, Brittany climbed the restraining fence and threw herself against the bars again, gripping them, thrusting the gaff through the bars. What if the big cat rushed her too?

Ann Hoffman had collapsed to her knees and began to wail. Nick climbed the fence too and aimed the extinguisher through the bars, pinning the big cat back in a corner of the cage where it roared as if in pain. Finally, after an eternity—but then they were outside town on a county road—they heard sirens screaming. Claire hadn’t realized she was crying. She was hyperventilating, shaking.

“We need to get the kids home—out of here,” she told Nick as the spray fizzled out. “What if that tiger had escaped?”

In that deep, calm lawyer voice of his, Nick said, “Go tell Darcy to divide up the other kids, with Bronco and Nita, and take Lexi too. They should leave right now, but we’ll have to stay here to help Brittany and Ann.”

Ann! Claire thought. She’d been so intent on the cage. She turned to see Ann Hoffman still on her knees, her body racked with sobs, her face in her hands.

Claire turned back to Nick. “Yes, we might have to answer questions since we were kind of first responders. Should I call Jace to help Brittany?”

Nick shook his head. “Only if you want him to parachute in and try to take over. Go on, sweetheart, tell Darcy, and don’t run. Maybe Brittany and her mother will need a lawyer. This extinguisher’s out of spray, but the tiger looks like he’s staying put. And find out where Jackson went, their custodian.”

On her way back to the kids and their chaperones, Claire saw two police cars pull into the parking lot outside the entry, but the EMR vehicle drove right in through the open gate. She pointed out the direction they should go but realized they’d never get over the moat bridge in the vehicle. She hurried to get the Comfort Zone kids away.

Comfort zone. Had Ben been so comfortable with the tiger that he’d walked into that cage, or had something or someone made him enter? No one else was around. And what had Brittany meant by why he did it this way? Was she screaming at the tiger, or at her father?

* * *

Claire stared at the chaotic, tragic scene. Ben Hoffman had been pronounced dead by the Collier County Medical Examiner. Ann Hoffman was in such a state of shock that the medics, who had been called and arrived before the ME, had attended to her too. Brittany was pacing just as fiercely as Tiberia had earlier, only outside the fence surrounding the cage where the cat now lay limp from tranquilizer darts.

The tiger had been darted by workers from the Naples Zoo so that the medics and ME could get to the victim and the police could more closely survey the scene. The police had strung their neon yellow CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS tape and cleared the area, except for the owners/family and eyewitnesses who were first on the scene.

The body, at first covered by a tarp, was finally taken away by the ME in an official van. Unfortunately, the media had picked up on the tragedy already, and a curious crowd was beginning to gather at the front gate, now closed, where Claire spotted two TV vans with satellite dishes on their roofs. Others who had intended to visit today at the regular opening time—it looked like some grandparents with kids—still milled around, trying to learn what was going on.

Also, Nick had said that a few picketers for the humane treatment of cats, no less, were already walking back and forth outside with signs, chanting. Jackson, who had gone to run a short errand, was back now and had more than once tried to disperse the crowd. The police had briefly questioned him, but as he hadn’t been on-site, he’d just gone back to guarding the front gate. Nick had seen the guy had tears in his eyes. After all, Brit had said he was friends with her father. Jackson kept shaking his head, stunned about how this could have happened.

“Counselor Markwood,” a policeman who recognized Nick called from inside the taped-off area, “you here as a guest, or you representing someone?”

Nick rose from the bench where he sat with Claire and walked a few steps away to talk to the officer. “I’m a guest, at least for now,” Nick told him. “My wife and I brought a group of charity kids here today before regular opening hours. We didn’t see this happen but ran over when we heard the noise. I don’t think anyone knows why he did that—the deceased.”

“Yeah, especially since he evidently didn’t enter with the animal’s food,” the officer told him. “A box of it was dropped just inside the enclosure but wasn’t taken in or thrown into the cage. Real weird if it was an accident, but the detectives will check security protocol when they get here, and we’ll have to wait for the ME’s report. It was suicide to go in there. He should have known that. His wife and daughter are too shaken to explain things so far, and his son’s playing in a concert uptown. His phone’s off right now, according to his wife, so we don’t have all next of kin notified. Wish the media buzzards wouldn’t circle,” he added with a glance at the growing crowd at the gate.

With a tap of his fingers to the bill of his cap, the officer went back to his position by the cage. Despite sitting, Claire’s legs were shaking as she watched and listened. Observation and analysis were in her forensic psych blood. The only time her brain wasn’t spinning with what, how, who and why was if she slept or messed up her meds and had a narcoleptic nightmare. But a nightmare this was.

Nick came back over to her. “You still doing okay? You should carry your pills even when you rely on herbal tea.”

“I thought we’d be home by now. Nick, I know your ears perked up when you heard him say accident or suicide, but who would choose that dreadful way to kill himself and horrify his family and others when he could just jump in the Gulf or get a gun?”

He nodded as they huddled together on the wooden bench. “You know, this all hits close to home. I’d really be all in if this had any implications of being a murder like with my father, but you can’t charge a big cat with that.”

He put one arm around her and gripped her knee with his other hand. He was shaking too. She knew how hard he’d struggled to cope with the supposed suicide of his father when it had turned out to be murder, one that had taken Nick years to prove and to bring the killer to justice.

That early loss had so impacted his life that he’d founded the private South Shores investigation company. With its small, secret staff, he kept it separate from his law firm, and most of the cases managed to fly under the radar. Through South Shores funding and legal expertise, he helped others who had lost a loved one by mysterious means. He was especially drawn to cases where the cause of death was undecided and unproven: accident, suicide or murder. And had they walked into another tragic situation, or would Ben’s family have an explanation of how or why this happened?

Brittany’s frenzied words still haunted Claire: Why would you do it this way?

* * *

Jace Britten brought the Zika virus mosquito–spraying plane into the Marco Island airport and, after waiting for an old Piper Cub to land behind him, taxied toward the small hangar. What a far cry from his navy pilot days landing his fighter jet on a carrier at sea or flying solo missions over endless, blazing sand in Iraq. As much as he longed to take to the skies again in an F-35 or a big commercial Airbus loaded with lives he would die to protect, this was it for now.

But, he had to admit, he kind of liked this assignment to spray for those hellish mosquitoes that caused women to deliver babies with congenital birth defects. Zika danger had hit not only Southeast Florida but now threatened here, Southwest Florida too. And his ex-wife was pregnant with her new husband’s baby. As much as he had issues with Nick and Claire sometimes, they were good for his daughter, Lexi, and he hoped like hell that Claire would have a healthy baby. Maybe this spraying would help.

But he was serving above and beyond that too, since he was tracking the whereabouts not only of drug dealers but other criminals for the government. It was a new endeavor for him, but one that at least made things more interesting and still helped the US fight its enemies. He figured he was still serving his country as he had once. And he needed the job after leaving the airline.

“Roger that,” he responded to final directions from the small control tower. “Over and out.”

He steered the plane, which the FBI secretly owned, toward the hangar where a contact he’d met only once would service the plane, actually electronically “debrief” the recordings from his latest Stingray mission. The camera and tracking device mounted under the fuselage were worth about $400,000 of government money, and there were other pilots in the air like him, especially along the Mexican border. The Stingray aviation surveillance program relied on a tracking system that acted like a cell phone tower, one that recorded locations and could photograph events. If it had to, a Stingray plane could first focus on an area or neighborhood, then pinpoint a person and snap quite a clear picture—if they had a cell phone on them, and who didn’t lately?

The FBI had wanted him to take a desk job in DC, overseeing Stingray, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Naples, Lexi—and now Brit. Nor had he ever gotten flying out of his blood. He needed some excitement, the kind that gave him a new lease on life. And Brit—whom he’d actually met through her father, an ex-marine who had been in special ops—was a very intriguing woman both in bed and out. She had a good sense of humor too. She’d joked from the first that he had to marry her so that her name would be Brittany Britten.

He rechecked the controls, unlatched his seat belt and popped the door. He was barely off the concrete hangar floor and out into the sunny, windy afternoon when his cell sounded—the “Marines’ Hymn.” Yeah, he was a die-hard leatherneck, always would be.

The caller ID said it was Brit.

“Hello, tiger girl,” he said.

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“What’s the matter? You’re crying. Where are you?”

“Jace, believe it or not I’m with Claire and Nick at the BAA.”

“What hap—”

“My father went into the tiger’s cage—somehow. I mean I know how. Jace, it mauled him, killed him. The police are here and—”

He felt like he’d been hit in the gut. Ben. That big man dead? In the tiger cage! He’d—he’d gotten so close to him so fast. He couldn’t be dead! Jace had liked the older man from the first. He’d kidded him just the other day that it had been a long time since he’d had a wingman, and Ben was like that to him.

“Brit, I’m so sorry. Is Lexi still there? Is she okay?”

“No. I mean, yes, the children are safe. Everyone is gone, even the paramedics. They took his body to the medical examiner for an autopsy. Why cut him up when he’s a mess? I—I need to talk to the police now, keep the press away. It ruins everything—this place, my plans, our lives.”

He felt like throwing up, but his military training kicked in. Assess. Keep calm. React.

“Slow down, honey. Breathe. I’ll come right out. I just landed on Marco. Will they let me in?”

“I guess. Nick’s still here. I’m going to ask him to represent Mother and me if we need it, and—”

“Listen to me. The damn tiger killed him, you didn’t! I’ll be there ASAP. Listen, if it comes to needing legal help, Nick’s firm is the best. You need other support, you got me.”

He punched off the phone and broke into a run across the tarmac toward his car.

4

Claire and Nick finally had permission to leave. With Jackson’s help, they had just run the gauntlet of media and curious onlookers outside the gate. With microphones thrust in their faces, Nick had made a brief statement that the accident was under formal investigation and they had no other comment. Claire was upset that cameras rolled and the newspaper photographer took several shots. After all they’d been through, she had no desire to be back in the glare of publicity and the peril it could sometimes lead to.

Things had been going so well, and now this tragedy. She and Nick had both given statements to the Naples detective who had arrived. Ann Hoffman had been interviewed briefly since she had not been in the immediate area nor even seen the tiger that day. Besides, she was in shock. Brittany had told Nick that Jace had suggested he represent her, at least for now, so Nick had sat in with her for a lengthy interview with Detective Jensen.

When they were in their car in the parking lot, Claire exhaled hard and said, “Whew. The last time I was on TV, it brought our enemies to our front door. I just hope there won’t be criminal charges against Brittany or Ann. And they can hardly charge a dead man with criminal negligence.”

“Or his own suicide. But as you said, no one would try to kill themselves that way. And I think—from the fact Jace admired Ben Hoffman so much—with a group of young kids nearby, it couldn’t be suicide.”

“You’re not thinking it could be murder?”

“As I told the media mavens, I’m sure there will be an investigation. I may help out right now, but after all we’ve been through, we’re not getting involved in this. Listen,” he said, reaching over the console to put a hand on her knee, “let’s sit here for a few minutes to see if Jace drives in so we can brief him before he goes inside.”

“Okay, fine. But Brittany was in charge of that tiger. Could the State of Florida at the very least accuse the BAA of inadequate safety procedures or something like that?”

“Her father’s the one who went in the cage. Thank God it wasn’t that the beast got out. She’s still adamant that the tiger was only doing what came naturally. She told the police that the cat should not be punished, not be put down, and she wanted to be there to watch when it regains consciousness. But about your question—yes. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission and even the US Department of Agriculture might get involved, but for a private, small zoo—not sure. There’s Jace’s car. I’ll go snag him.”

Nick got out and hurried over to where Jace parked. Claire had to admit, despite trying to keep it together in front of Nick and the police, that she felt emotionally drained and exhausted. Feeling revved up could actually slow her responses, and her narcolepsy was kicking in to make her want to sleep on her feet. In the chaos, she hadn’t taken her herbal stimulant, Country Mallow, on time either. It was at home with her other herbals, which is where they should have been by now. Timing was the problem with herbs, at least hers, so maybe she needed to start carrying a thermos of two kinds of herbal tea around with her.

At least talking on her cell earlier to Lexi and Darcy had calmed her some. Her sister still had Duncan because his mother had not yet been back from her job. Darcy said they had decided not to tell the children what had happened, only that there had been an accident, but Claire figured Darcy was waiting for big sis psych major to explain. And in case they heard about it elsewhere, it was going to be best to tell them the truth.

Claire watched Nick flag down Jace as he parked. She got out and walked over one lane and several spaces toward them as the men walked toward the gate. They evidently didn’t see her.

The only two men she had ever loved seemed so different from each other. Nick was dark-haired with silvering at his temples and gray eyes—her brilliant silver fox. He was several inches taller than Jace, who was more muscular. At age forty, Nick had a sexy, deep voice and tightly coiled but smoothly controlled body and demeanor. He was a deep thinker, with deeper emotions, who had helped many people—mostly without fanfare. Jace was thirty-four, blond with a broad face and blue eyes, still navy-short hair, sharp movements, a modern day Viking with a swashbuckling aura. His feelings were usually all on the surface and sometimes likely to explode.

“What’s with the crowd?” Claire heard Jace ask Nick. “Can’t they leave a tragedy alone? It’s worse than rubbernecking at a car wreck. I—I really liked Ben. Hell of a thing.”

Claire could tell even from this distance that Jace’s face looked ravaged, as if he’d been crying or trying not to. His body language showed he was not only tense but angry.

As she joined the men, she saw Jace study her also, narrow-eyed as he always did, a quick check of her belly. Awkwardly, at first, instead of looking at each other, the three of them turned to look at the people milling around by that entry gate. Their chants swelled, and some held signs picturing lions, tigers and the Florida panther. The original ragtag bunch must be getting more organized.

“Save big cats! Don’t be rats!” they recited over and over. And, once in a while from another group, “Keep the wild in wildlife!” Claire wondered if those people could be from the Save Our Wildlife group Darcy had recently joined, but no time to think about that now.

“Lexi’s all right?” Jace asked her, raising his voice over the noise.

“The kids are all safe,” she told him.

“Thank God. Gotta get to Brit. But why would her dad go into a tiger cage?”

“Good question,” Nick said. “I hope she or the BAA won’t need representation, but she’s asked for it, just in case. I didn’t want to get involved but I told her sure. If it gets sticky or drawn out, I can always assign a partner.”

“Good. I told her you could help.”

Jace extended his hand, and the two men shook. Despite some rough spots in the past, they’d worked together to live through worse than this. They had been on edge with each other at first, but they had saved each other’s lives since. What was that Chinese proverb, Claire thought, that if you saved someone’s life, you were somehow responsible for them?

“Be safe,” Jace said with a lift of a hand as if he were blessing them. But he turned back. “Does Lexi—the other kids—know what really happened?”

Claire shook her head. “I asked Darcy and Bronco to tell them there was an accident, but they don’t know details—not that anyone really does. I’m going to explain as best I can.”

“Tell Lexi that I—we—love her. Gotta help Brit,” he threw over his shoulder and jogged toward the crowd at the gate.

Nick took Claire’s arm, and they were starting toward their car when a sleek, black pickup truck pulled up to them. The door was emblazoned in gold with the words TROPHY RANCH, NAPLES, FLORIDA, HUNTER’S HEAVEN. A rugged-looking, handsome man with a mustache, wearing a Western hat, leaned out and called to them, “I’m the neighbor. Just heard what happened. Hope I can help. You’re Nick Markwood, right? We’ve met before.”

“Right. I recognize you, Stan Helter,” Nick said and reached toward the driver’s window to shake hands. “Nothing to do now, I think, unless you can get rid of this crowd—or want to be interviewed by the media.”

“Even for free publicity, hell no. Don’t need our future guests getting gun-shy over an animal killing a man. Big ex-marine shoulda had a gun on him. As for the crowd, coupla blasts with a hunting rifle in the air might clear them out.”

Claire figured that was his idea of humor, but she wasn’t so sure when she saw he had a gun rack mounted in the back cab window, one obviously not for show since it bristled with rifles, some with big scopes attached.

“They gonna keep the killer cat alive?” Helter asked Nick.

“It wasn’t really theirs. A refugee, kind of a ward of the state they took from some old woman who couldn’t keep it and shouldn’t have had it. Its BAA keeper insists the killing was instinct, not intent.”

“Brittany Hoffman, you mean, the beast-loving blonde. But they’re sly and crafty—big cats. Hope I can help the Hoffmans later somehow. Listen, Markwood, come visit us someday, almost always something doing. Bring our mutual friend Manfort with you. See you, Counselor. Ma’am,” he said, giving Claire a good once-over before he drove off.

“Someone who works at the Trophy Ranch?” Claire asked as they headed toward their car again.

“Its mastermind and owner. That place is big business. I met him once at a Save the Glades charity event. A friend of mine from way back, Grant Manfort, introduced us. I think Grant’s a shareholder in the Trophy Ranch.”

“But they shoot big game there, don’t they? Those ‘save big cats’ protestors should go picket his spread. And he asked what they were going to do with the tiger as if he’d like to get his hands on it.”

“I think they hunt everything there from gators and wild boars to who knows what else.”

“I noticed—maybe he did too—that you didn’t introduce me.”

“Not the type of guy you’d like to know. Grant says he’s savvy, but a rough character and a real womanizer.” He opened the car door for her, and she got in. “Sweetheart, let’s just go get Lexi before either of us starts cooking up suspicions or strategies about Ben’s death. Besides, you look like you need your meds before a bad dream hits.”

“This is already a bad dream. Yes, let’s go try to tell the kids a version of what happened before we go home.”

* * *

Inside the tight quarters of the BAA administration trailer, Jace held Brit close. He’d had to talk his way in through the cop at the gate. Brit had said her mother was heavily sedated and lying down in the back room, just staring at the ceiling. Brit hugged him back hard, but he was amazed she didn’t cry. Tough cookie. Or else she was in shock, like her mother. He knew damn well from combat experiences that horror sometimes took a while to be real, let alone to heal.

“The tiger had already mauled him and bitten through his carotid artery,” she said against his shoulder. “There was blood, blood, blood all over. Jace, just when the tiger was bringing more people in, and our family was getting on better. Wait until Lane hears. He’ll go ballistic. He hated the idea of the BAA.”

“Yeah, you got a brother who’s a far cry from the rest of you. But back to what happened here,” he said with a sniff as he pictured an apparently healthy, happy Ben having a beer with him just last week. Had he known the guy at all? Had he liked him too much too fast? Damn, but he regretted their recent argument. Trying to keep his voice steady, he asked, “Did Ben go in to feed Tiberia?”

“He was going to feed him since I was with the kids, including Lexi, but he knew better than to go into the cage for that—for anything, especially at feeding time. He knew just to shove the food through the hatch and then push it in closer only with the long gaff pole. The food box was not in the cage—but he was.” Her voice broke again.

“Maybe he just stepped inside because he thought the animal was secure in that holding area—what you called the bedroom, separate behind the cage. Maybe Tiberia was hiding in that little cave you made so he could get out of the sun, and then—”

“Jace, I’ve been over it all with an officer, then a detective with Nick Markwood there!”

“Sure. Sure,” he said, kissing the top of her head through her wild hair, then pressed his lips there. “Just a mystery, then, one we may never have the answer to.”

“He hadn’t been himself lately. Kind of depressed and inwardly angry—more than usual, that is. That scares me.”

“You mean that he might have been secretly sui—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know! Now I have to decide whether to admit Mother to the hospital where they can keep an eye on her or whether I can take her home.”

She suddenly exploded in sobs. He held her as tightly as he could, sat down in the swivel desk chair and pulled her onto his lap. If only Claire had been like this when they were married, telling him everything, trusting him, clinging even.

* * *

Claire, Nick and Darcy sat the four children down in Darcy’s living room. Lexi perched on a leather hassock between Nick’s legs. Duncan was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Darcy’s son, Drew, and Jilly leaned against her mother’s shoulder on the couch. Still fighting exhaustion, Claire sat in a chair, facing everyone.

In her steadiest voice, feeling a bit better since Darcy had brewed tea for her, even if it didn’t have her herbals, she began, “I know you are all wondering about the accident at the BAA today.”

“It was a loud scream and scary,” Jilly said.

“It was real bad,” Duncan added. “Like someone getting beat up and real hurt.”

“Okay, that’s all true,” Claire put in, feeling it wouldn’t take much for this to “go over Niagara” as her father used to say. “Remember that Brittany, the tiger talker, told us that tigers are wild animals. When they live in the wild, they have to kill to get meat to eat.”

Nick nodded in encouragement, and Darcy bit her lower lip. Claire still didn’t know how she would have survived her own childhood without her younger sister, when their father took off for parts unknown and their mother became such a recluse, escaping reality through books. Sad that the two men Claire had cared for had father issues too. And what was the truth about Ben Hoffman’s relationship to his daughter and son—even to Jace?

“Well, Mr. Hoffman, Brittany’s father,” Claire went on, struggling for words, “the man we met in the parking lot, made a mistake when he went to feed the tiger its meat. Somehow he didn’t know Tiberia was in its cage and he walked inside, and the animal thought it was still in the wild, and he hurt Mr. Hoffman. Sadly, he died.”

Drew asked, “You mean the tiger or Mr. Hoffman?”

“It was a terrible accident, but Mr. Hoffman died.”

Lexi said, “Then isn’t the tiger a murderer, not just a hungry big cat?”

Claire tried to keep her voice steady. “But you know that’s how animals are. They aren’t like people, who decide whether they will hurt or kill someone. Animals don’t know right from wrong like people do.”

“Bronco sometimes kills gators and those big snakes that are out in the Glades,” Lexi said. “Is he a murderer? And do you mean that Tiberia ate Mr. Hoffman—like—like—for dinner?”

“My dad hurt and killed someone,” Duncan said, “and that’s why he ran away, but the tiger’s in a cage and can’t go anywhere.”

Questions, protests followed, some rational, some off the wall. Lexi and Jilly cried. Claire and Nick, Darcy too, tried to calmly, carefully explain animal instinct and carnivorous vs. herbivorous to the children. Though she’d thought she could handle this, Claire scolded herself. She could have done better actually testifying before a hostile lawyer in court right now.

Besides, in the middle of this terrible day, Claire remembered that last week she and Nick had invited their friends and South Shore team members Heck and Gina, Bronco and Nita for dinner in—she glanced at her watch—three hours. At least the women were bringing dishes to go with salmon steaks on the grill. She bet, with all this going on, Nick had forgotten too.

But despite it all, she refused to cancel the dinner because it was going to be a big night for Bronco, and he had wanted those closest to him there. He was planning to announce his engagement to Nita after he proposed to her out by their pool, under the gazebo he had built for them. No going back to reschedule, since Bronco had picked this date because it was also Nita’s birthday and, he’d said, there would be a full moon tonight.

Full moon. Perfect! Wasn’t that when people supposedly went crazy?

5

“Welcome,” Claire told Bronco and Nita as they came in the front door. “So glad to see you under much better circumstances.”

Bronco nodded. Nita carried a basket with a salad. Little did she know that she’d be going home this evening with a diamond ring. Surely she’d accept Bronco’s proposal. All they needed was more upheaval of any kind today.

Bronco and Nita had fallen in love when they’d first worked for Claire and Nick. They had known Bronco longer, ever since the first South Shores “murdercide” case they had worked together. They had hired Nita as Lexi’s nanny when their family was endangered, so they had been blessed to have both Bronco and Nita as aides and friends.

Bronco was a big, burly guy with the proverbial heart of gold, one who used to make his living hunting gators and the huge constrictor snakes that bred in the depths of the Everglades and, like other animals, were encroaching on civilization. Nita was a young widow, a pretty Hispanic woman who was cousin to another of Nick’s employees, his tech guru Hector Munoz, called Heck, who was just getting out of his car in the driveway with his girlfriend, Gina.

Bronco was telling them, “Nita said we should cancel since we all been through too much today—’course, next to the Hoffman family, it’s nothing. But it’s her birthday, and we can be happy as well as sad.”

Nick took Nita’s basket while Claire and Nita hugged. “I agree,” Claire told them. “I think friends need each other at times like these.”

Bronco looked so nervous. She hoped that was from planning to propose, not from the terror earlier today. Much too up close and personal, she’d seen Bronco snap under pressure once, and she didn’t wish that on Nita or herself again.

Nick took their guests to the great room, where Claire had laid out appetizers and wine on the big glass coffee table surrounded by the grouping of leather sofas. Lexi was still up, but she’d agreed Nita could put her to bed tonight, “just like the old days,” as if the almost-five-year-old were ancient.

Claire held the door open as Gina and Heck came in, Gina with the coconut cake she’d made for Nita’s birthday. More greetings and hugs all around. Both Heck and Gina were of Cuban heritage and looked great together, though Heck had been in the States much longer. Sadly, he was more in love with Gina than she was with him, but Claire prayed things would work out for them.

They didn’t know about Bronco’s surprise for Nita tonight, so maybe that would spur on Heck and Gina, Claire thought, though Gina was starting med school in Miami in January. Both Nick and Heck were helping to finance that. Gina was living with a friend of theirs who had recently moved to South Florida from Michigan, Liz Collister, and Liz’s elderly father who had Alzheimer’s. Gina helped to tend him in exchange for living there until she left for med school.

Claire kept an eye on her baking scalloped potatoes, which Lexi had helped her fix after they both took a nap earlier. It hadn’t really refreshed Claire because she kept seeing the cage, the tiger—all that blood. So how must it be for poor Brittany? At least, like she had Darcy, Brittany would have her brother’s support soon.

Claire steadied herself with her hands on the granite counter of the kitchen island before joining the others just in time to kiss Lexi good-night as she disappeared with Nita down the hall to get tucked in—after being promised that they’d save a big piece of birthday cake for her.

Claire sat on the sofa next to Nick and picked up a glass of sparkling water, forgoing the wine.

“Bad day to have someone lose his life when I’m just starting a new one,” Bronco said, digging into the taco chips and spinach dip. Although Nita had left the room, he kept his voice low.

Gina, bright as ever, tossing her long, black hair, picked up on that. “Are you two going to make a big announcement?” she asked, lifting her wineglass as if in a toast.

“Hope so, but don’t you let on,” Bronco warned. “Got the ring here,” he said, patting his jacket pocket. “After dinner. In the gazebo.”

“She’ll say yes,” Gina said. “You’re her perfect catch.”

Heck said, “Like a fish or one of those denizens of the Glades he catches?”

Before Heck could make things more tense as he always seemed to lately, Claire put in, “Like a good man is hard to find, and Bronco’s a good find.”

“Sure. That’s what I meant, right, boss?” Heck asked Nick. “So you gonna end up taking this BAA case, if it comes to charges?”

“I don’t think it will, not serious ones anyway. I was just on scene—sadly—so I wanted to help out if I could. I can’t imagine a case against the family. I think Ben Hoffman must have somehow been distracted and made a big mistake—a fatal one.”

“Or,” Gina added, “it might have been an intentional one, suicide, but I can sure think of better ways to die.”

“Don’t say that,” Heck said, reaching out to take her wrist. “I’m just glad things are improving for us, after we’ve all been through hell and back. I’m sure Nita and Bronco’s future plans will only make things happier.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Nick said, leaning forward and lifting his glass.

Nita came back to join them and sat on the end of the sofa next to Claire near Bronco’s chair. “I can’t wait until your baby comes and I am back to help you with both Lexi and baby too. So hard to wait for good things you want. And yet I’m so very sad for the Hoffmans, as they are in mourning. I—I understand that.”

Nick said, “You’re right, Nita. It’s a shock when the world shifts so suddenly, terrific or terrible, but tonight, we’ll focus on the terrific. Agreed? Here’s to your birthday, the future Markwood baby and whatever else great comes along.”

The clink of glassware was the only sound for a moment, as the six of them toasted quietly, each, Claire assumed, with his or her own thoughts of love and loss. She sent up a silent prayer that Ann, Brittany and her brother, Lane, would get through their family tragedy together, as well as the setback for the animal sanctuary.

You never quite knew what was coming next in life, she admitted to herself, even if you thought you had things all planned out. Nita, whose first husband had died young in a fall from a roof, had no idea she would have the opportunity to start a new phase of her life tonight. Claire had never fathomed she’d marry Nick when she’d testified as an expert witness against one of his clients. Meanwhile, the little things in life went on as well as the big ones.

A strange, yet shared, moment of silence followed before real life set in again. Claire got up to be sure the salmon steaks were marinated enough, with Nita and Gina coming into the kitchen behind her while the men went out onto the patio to tend to the burning coals in the barbecue pit.

* * *

Exhausted, Brit had fallen asleep on Jace’s lap. His arms ached from holding her, but he sat still in the desk chair, listening to muted animal sounds outside. Brit had said the detective had questioned Jackson, who was like an overseer around here, then let him go back to tending the BAA denizens, so at least someone else was on the property besides the one keeper from the Naples Zoo who had stayed behind to keep an eye on Tiberia. The tiger was still lethargic from being drugged.

To Jace, this kind of felt like being in the jungle, not that he’d ever been. He longed to get up and turn on more lights, to get Brit and her mother out of here, take them home. But they were waiting for Brit’s brother to arrive after being told of the tragedy. Brit had talked to Lane’s wife who said he’d be here soon.

And Jace was aching with an almost physical pain over his friend’s tragic and weird death. He felt a sudden kinship to Jackson, the ubiquitous guy who oversaw the place, since he’d known Ben much longer. Jace wanted to sit and commiserate with him sometime. Misery in losing a good friend could love company.

Ben’s death just didn’t fit with the man he knew, the man who had befriended him and thought enough of him that he’d introduced him to his daughter and encouraged their romance. Ben was long retired from what he’d done in the marine corps, but he was mentally sharp and physically well trained and basically still in shape.

Jace admired that Ben had been in an elite section of the service, spent time on the Fleet Anti-terrorism Security Team, known as FAST. He’d been part of a fast-deployment team, armed and combat trained, ready to be sent around the world if there were threats. Ben had served in Panama in 1989 and in Desert Storm before he retired. And the guy had been so proud of his banner in the den at their house that read MARINE GRUNT: NO BETTER FRIEND, NO WORSE ENEMY. For sure, in the few months he’d known Ben Hoffman, despite one big upheaval, the man had been no better friend. And a guy who was fit and had served in a FAST unit—why in hell hadn’t he gotten fast out of that cage and why had he gone in there in the first place?

Jace, still holding Brit, blinked back tears, then wiped them away with one hand when he finally heard fast footsteps, then feet on the metal treads to the trailer. The door burst open, and Brit’s older brother Lane stood there, in shirt and tuxedo slacks but no jacket. It was a shock to see someone so dressed up here—a loosened bow tie and long-sleeved white shirt with cufflinks, no less. It was strange that Lane didn’t resemble his parents or his sister. He was blond but long-faced with a thin nose, but that all kind of went with his artistic look.

Brit came instantly awake and got groggily to her feet. Jace stood too, steadying her as he leaned against the desk and she went around it. He expected the two of them to hug, but they stopped ten feet apart.

Brit said, “I can’t believe it took you so long to get here.”

“Since Dad was dead, the orchestra manager made the decision to tell me after the concert. After all, I am first chair and key to everything.”

He peered around Brit. “Jace. Brittany, I see you had someone to comfort you anyhow. Where’s Mother?”

“In the little bed in back. She’s sedated. The tiger was too. Shock, of course—for Mother.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to help her through this, but this just goes to prove what I said more than once, and none of you listened to me. This kiddy zoo was ridiculous from the get-go.”

“Not now, Lane, please,” Brit said. “And keep your voice down.”

“I’m not going to let her blow any death benefit money from Dad’s will or insurance on spiffing up this grade-C sideshow, so I’m serving you notice.”

“Death benefit money? Life insurance? On Dad? If he had that, it must have been recent. Anyway, not now. Let’s just sign a truce to get Dad’s body back from the medical examiner and help Mother make funeral arrangements.”

Jace was no whiz at insurance policies, though he’d sure seen and known fellow pilots who needed them. He’d made out a will in his midtwenties in case he never came back from the Middle East, let alone when he became copilot on international flights and had a young family. But if Nick did go further with this case, wouldn’t a big insurance policy taken out recently on a soon-to-be-dead man seem suspicious?

Coming around the desk, Jace said, “Brit, unless I can help you with something, I’ll head out, now that big brother’s here. Sorry for your loss, Lane, whatever your feelings about the BAA.”

“I’m sure they told you I think it’s nuts. Well, they weren’t exactly behind me when I majored in violin in college, paid my own way, playing for weddings, gigs in an Italian restaurant, things like that. They could have been at the matinee performance today where I had the solo, since I’m now first chair, and this wouldn’t have happened. They could have seen Lane Benjamin Hoffman playing Leopold Hofmann’s Symphony in A major.”

“Mother and I were coming Sunday afternoon, while Dad oversaw things here...oversaw...” she got out before her voice broke and she collapsed in sobs. Jace held her again, glaring at Lane over her head.

“Well,” Lane said, “since you haven’t taken Mother out of here yet, I’ll take her home in my car. Come along if you want. She obviously needs someone with her tonight. I’ll stay there for a while, and you’d better try to help her instead of all your pets here, especially that killer tiger you were so enamored with. I can’t believe Dad went into that cage on his own, can’t believe it.” His voice cracked, and he clamped his hand over his mouth either to stop from saying more or to keep from sobbing.

Finally, Jace thought, this jerk was showing some emotion. He’d obviously been hurt either as a child or lately—or both. Yeah, he understood a son being let down and damaged by his father, knew that up close and personal, so maybe this guy wasn’t so bad, just grieving in his own way.

Lane lowered his hand and went on in a shaky voice, “Maybe Dad was just going to shove the food in and fell in—or the cat grabbed him, pulled him in. He wouldn’t be drinking on a Saturday morning, would he?”

“Of course not,” Brit insisted, and blew her nose. “I’ll go see if we can get Mother up and moving. She wanted to stay here rather than go home before, wanted to be here where they were living their dream.”

“Your dream too,” Lane said under his breath as Brit opened the door to the smaller room and tiptoed in, closing the door behind her.

Jace felt torn about Lane. He came off as a self-centered, snobbish SOB, yet maybe Brit had been Daddy’s golden girl. Lane hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the room. He hadn’t hugged his sister. He sounded much more angry than grieved.

And, Jace thought, as the two of them stared at each other, though he was no forensic psych like Claire or a law genius like Nick, hadn’t this guy just spewed out at least two things that would suggest Ben Hoffman’s death wasn’t an accident? That maybe Ann Hoffman—Brit too—had benefited from his demise financially, and Lane himself emotionally?

* * *

Though it had been a hellish day earlier, Nick broke out a bottle of congratulatory champagne to toast Bronco and Nita. Claire and Gina kept fussing over her engagement ring.

“Pretty, huh?” Nick overheard Heck ask Gina. “You want one like that?”

“Maybe someday,” she told him with a tight smile and a toss of her dark hair.

Nick liked Gina, their Cuban refugee. She was bright and perceptive, which he was used to in Claire. Gina had picked up on the fact that Claire was wavering with exhaustion and had taken over hostess duties, insisting Claire stay put and telling the radiant Nita this was her special night and she should sit still while Gina brought in the goblets for Nick to pour the champagne.

Then Gina put dishes in the dishwasher while Claire and Nick said good-night to the newly engaged couple.

“So romantic, so bonita in the moonlight by the gazebo he built,” Nita was telling them at the front door.

Nick had his arm around Claire’s waist, in a way propping her up. He had to get her late-night meds into her, get her to bed. But he should have known his sweetheart had insisted on walking Bronco and Nita to the door for a special reason. He wasn’t surprised that she brought up a plan they had discussed recently.

“Nick and I would like to offer our gazebo, backyard and home for the wedding, if you want,” Claire told them.

“Right,” Nick put in. “You two talk it over and let us know. Or, if you want to be married in a church, the reception could be here. Just if you want—no pressure either way.”

Nodding madly, Nita started to cry again. “Lexi, she can be a flower child,” she told them.

“Flower girl,” Bronco whispered, his arm around her waist. “It would be a great honor—a great gift to us, but we buy the food and drinks, sí? If you two would stand with us, best man and best lady of honor, it could be here. You both already been so good to us. We’ll say yes now, ’cause we got reminded today that life can be over fast, bad things hit people they don’t see coming. Joy in life comes to you, but maybe teeth and claws too.”

As Claire and Nick went back inside, Nick said, “Pretty profound from Bronco.” Heck and Gina were heading toward them, holding hands. They said their goodbyes, then, when they were finally alone, Nick told Claire, “Now let’s get you to bed.”

“You’ll take the case if they ask you, right? It will be cut and dried, obviously an accident.”

“Just don’t you get involved. Obviously is a dangerous word in the practice of law.”

“And for forensic psychs who need to rely on observations, not feelings. I’m just so tired I’m not thinking straight—obviously.”

He kissed her, locked the front door behind them and led her toward the master bedroom, thinking with relief that there could not possibly be another day like this one.

6

Claire stepped into the room that had bars all around it. She was trapped and afraid. Ahead in the cage were two identical doors. She had to protect herself, save Lexi and her new baby. Where was Nick?

The bigger question was—where was the tiger?

Her mother was reading a story out loud to her called The Lady and the Tiger. The tiger was behind one of the doors, and Nick was behind the other. She was being forced to choose by the king in trial by ordeal... If she chose the door with Nick, she was safe. If she chose the one with the tiger...

She heard a rumbling roar, but where did it come from? She was certain she had seen the tiger kill someone already. Why did Mother always have to read them books for adults when they were little? Some were scary and hard to understand. Why did she bury herself in books after Daddy left? Their parents had let her and Darcy down. Now that dead man in the cage had let his wife and children down.

But Claire loved to read to Lexi too, so maybe she was like her mother. She wanted to hide so she and her family would not be hurt anymore. They had almost been killed by a human predator, Nick’s enemy. Mother was at the end of the story, and Claire had to choose which door. She pointed toward one. At first, she was sure that Nick would come out to help her. Maybe Jace was behind the other one. Trial by ordeal...

But no—in the darkness outside their house a big cat crossed in front of her and turned toward her with burning eyes. It had clawed a man and there was blood, but then it leaped at her and she screamed...

“Claire. Claire, sweetheart, you’re having one of those dreams.” Nick’s voice. Was he behind the other door? “You cried out and screamed.”

Nick holding her. In their bed. Dizzy. Crazy. Was this real?

“A t-t-tiger...” she stammered in a whisper.

“Yes, I can see why you’d be dreaming of a tiger, but it’s not real. You were just having a narcoleptic nightmare. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Maybe you’d better go back on your regular meds, not try to get by on those herbal teas.”

“I just got off the timing today, with everything that happened.”

He sat up with his back against the headboard, pulled her to him and held her tighter with his chin on the top of her head as she nestled against him, her face pressed to his warm neck.

“Then for sure we’re not getting involved in this,” he said. “We’ll take the flowers and food to Brittany and her mother tomorrow, but I’ll pass the case on to someone else at the firm, if they still need help.”

Her head began to clear. The image of the animal, the fear began to fade. Yes, they were in their bedroom. She could see the wan glow of the nightlight from their bathroom. Safe here. Safe in their new home. Still, she held on to Nick even tighter.

In a stronger voice she told him, “But if Brittany and Ann still need help, especially if there’s a question of whether it was suicide, that’s what you do, give help. And me too. I help you.”

He kissed her damp forehead and smoothed her tousled hair back from her face. “You do help me. You—Lexi too—are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I will protect you both with my life. The new little one too,” he added, and his voice broke as he put a gentle hand on her rounded belly.

Her head was clearer now. Clear enough to know that, despite her horrid dream, Brittany and Ann were the ones in a cage and they had to help them.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, while Jace took Lexi to the stables for a riding lesson on her beloved pony Scout, Claire and Nick took a basket of gourmet food and a big bouquet of flowers in a vase to the Hoffmans. They had called their house, but when they heard they were at the BAA, decided to go to see them there. Brittany said the gawkers and media were gone now. Claire told her they didn’t plan to stay long.

“I’ve heard that Trophy Ranch just beyond is huge,” Claire observed as they drove for several miles on the narrow dirt road toward the BAA, a speck in the edge of Everglades land.

“Grant said it goes deeper back than what appears along the road, with hundreds of primitive acres. He said it has cabins for hunters to stay in, a lodge and lots of terrain to hunt. I think they guarantee all kinds of kills for big money there. That reminds me, I want to see Grant soon. It’s in the back of my mind that he said something about wanting to buy up the surrounding land, that the orchard owners might sell, but the Hoffmans never would.”

“Sorry for suspecting anyone and everyone right now,” she told Nick, “but that could mean Stan Helter is not such a good neighbor. Like maybe he wants their few acres, but they’ve refused to sell. Maybe he put pressure on them, maybe had words with Ben Hoffman or even Brittany. His voice had a tinge of disdain and anger in it when he referred to her as the beast-loving blonde. You said he was a womanizer. Maybe he came on to her, and she turned him down.”

“Sweetheart, don’t get carried away with fiction. Let’s avoid the ‘maybes’ unless we have to. We don’t need more nightmares, asleep or awake. I think we decided last night that I’d pass this case on to a colleague if it gets sticky.”

“But we agreed that you help people, and I help you.”

He sighed and nodded as they turned into the now nearly deserted BAA parking lot. A big Lexus sat there with a Going for Baroque decal on the back window and a bumper sticker that read STRINGS ATTACHED.

“I’m not a betting man, but I’d say Lane Hoffman’s here,” Nick said.

But they also saw hand-printed signs at the entrance to the lot and the gate that read TEMPORARILY CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Someone had also tacked a piece of paper to the entry gate that read RIP, Benjamin Hoffman. And another—Claire swore it looked like Jace’s handwriting, quite large, that read Semper Fi!

As they approached the closed gate—Brittany had told them to knock and Jackson would let them in—their gazes snagged. Claire tilted her head. “I hear a violin. Lively music.”

“Maybe Lane’s playing to lift their spirits.”

“I wish he’d lift ours.”

Jackson let them in, still shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. A frown made his dark face sag. “Don’t make a bit of sense,” he told them. “Sure, Ben had problems like all of us, but to be off enough to do something like that? No way. ’Preciate it if you can help out Miz Brittany and Miz Ann,” he told Nick, shifting his head shakes to nods. “Now, Lane, like you can hear, he got his own way of dealing with things.”

With a nod toward the music, Jackson locked the gate behind them and headed quickly away, soon lost to their view in the foliage behind the now empty ticket office.

“I suppose in a way it was best that neither Ann nor Jackson saw it happen,” Claire said, taking Nick’s hand. “Remember, Brittany said Jackson and Ben were friends from way back. It was bad enough for Brittany to see her father attacked just before we got to the cage.”

They found Ann Hoffman standing in the petting zoo, stroking a small, nervous ostrich, which had a collar around its long neck. The violinist—likely Lane—seemed lost in his own music and didn’t seem to see them at first, even when Ann nodded and gestured them over. At least the new widow was calm now, though she looked ravaged and haunted. Maybe the music and the animals would help her. Brittany was not in sight.

Claire jumped when the violin screeched out a sound that was a hee-haw, then one she was certain was a roar. Lane lifted his violin, then swept it down to his side and made a flourish with the bow.

Lane Hoffman looked the part of a musician, Claire thought, though she instantly regretted her stereotyping. He wore his blond hair to his neckline and straight; it shifted when he played with such emotion. He had a light brown, perfectly clipped beard. Unlike many Floridians, he had pale skin. He was not really thin, but seemed, well, graceful for a man, or was that just the effect of the music on her?

“I heard you were coming and that you helped yesterday,” he said. “The family appreciates it. You know, this was the most apropos piece I could think of, The Carnival of the Animals by Saint-Saëns.”

“Glad to meet you,” Claire said, and Nick echoed that, though Lane began to play again with a mere nod. “As you can see, we come bearing gifts,” she told Ann.

But it was Lane who spoke while playing. His moving chin bounced the violin a bit, but he didn’t miss a note. “Again, greatly appreciated. Brittany’s with the tiger—which, I hope, will be leaving here soon one way or the other.”

“We can take these things over to her.”

“Oh, let me take them into the administration trailer,” Ann put in. “This is all so kind of you. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Claire said. “The basket’s heavy.”

She took it from Nick and went toward the trailer with Ann. Though she seemed calm and was on her feet, she was a bit out of it and slow-spoken, so maybe she was on tranquilizers.

As they went up the steps into the trailer, Ann said, “I’m sure it was a shock to you—seeing it too.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I was worried for Brittany.”

“She loves big cats. Wants to work with them forever.” She cleared her throat and put the vase of flowers on a cluttered table, then began to empty things that needed to be kept cool from the basket into the small refrigerator in the corner.

“It’s a huge mystery, of course,” Ann said, bent over, not looking at Claire who found herself studying Ann’s body language since she couldn’t see her face. “He left a legacy. He had his problems, but don’t we all?” she asked, almost defiantly, as she stood and faced Claire. “As you can well observe, the fact we were all at odds with Lane—well, that was something that haunted Ben. At least Lane’s here today, playing happy music, wouldn’t you know.”

Before Claire could delve into that mixed message, Ann abruptly rushed past her and headed back outside, so Claire followed.

* * *

Pulling a broken strand off his bow, Lane said to Nick, “I understand my sister or my mother might have mentioned something to you about needing representation and you sat in with them for the police interview.”

“In case state or national agencies levy a fee or some charges, they may need counsel. I expect their rulings will blame your father and not the BAA.”

“We all appreciate your advice, but surely an inquiry or possible charges will come to nothing. As far as I’m concerned, if the state wants to take that tiger, the sooner the better. Brittany loves the damn thing, but it’s pretty obvious they were all in over their heads keeping it here after it had been abused by some old woman. That made it more likely to strike out, I’d say.”

“You do realize this might reach beyond the State of Florida. The ultimate authorities are not only the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, which will no doubt investigate, but it could go to the US Department of Agriculture. A bizarre death like this is national news.”

“Been looking into it already? I would like to get my father’s cell phone back, though. The cleanup crew found it wedged way back on the floor of the cage when he must have dropped it or maybe thrown it, and the police have it.”

Nick saw him shudder. As cold as Lane Hoffman seemed to him, maybe the man did have feelings for his father. But, damn, his attorney antenna said this man was covering up something.

“I can look into that,” Nick said. “As a favor for Brittany.”

The two of them stared at each other. A lamb baaed, and the ostrich Ann had been petting strutted off. Nick was amazed to see a flamingo sprint by with Jackson chasing it. Despite the tragedy here, this place had a certain strange charm, something Lane obviously didn’t get despite his The Carnival of the Animals music.

As Claire and Ann came back, Nick said, “If you two don’t mind, we’ll just go see Brittany before we leave. She has my number in case you need any advice. I’d be happy to help with anything, minus which music to pick to calm the savage beasts around here.”

“You know a lot of people misquote that,” Lane called after them. “It’s correctly said, music to soothe a savage breast—of people, that is. And some of us need that. Evidently my father did, and—as usual in his life—went about it entirely too gung ho.”

7

As they walked over the moat bridge, Claire observed to Nick, “No wonder Jace said Brit doesn’t get along with her brother. I’ll cut him some slack since he’s no doubt shocked and grieving.”

“Maybe in the orbit he travels, he was ashamed of them and this little place and feels guilty now.”

“I read anger in him covered by flippancy. And I read avoidance in Ann.”

“Lane may not want me on the case, but I see you’re working it already.”

“Not really. It’s just me, curious but cautious. Look, Nick,” she said, pointing, “both of them are pacing.”

They stopped when they turned the corner by the otter and beaver display. The tiger was stalking back and forth again as it had before, and Brittany was pacing with it, though she could hardly keep up, on the outside of the bars, but as fiercely and seemingly just as caged.

Claire had to call Brittany’s name to break the spell. She jerked her head around and frowned.

“Oh, glad you’re here. I’m just trying to calm him down. And myself too, of course. I think Darcy said you’re a shrink,” she told Claire as she left the edge of the cage, climbed the restraining fence and came closer. “I could use that as well as a lawyer, I think.”

“Actually,” Claire told her, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder—she was shaking—“I’m a forensic psychologist, someone who works in the area where the law meets forensics. I observe and analyze people, advise lawyers, sometimes testify in court.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said, leading them to the same bench where they had sat a long time yesterday. At least the police tape had been taken down. Brittany ran her hands along her scalp as if she could squeeze her brain, raking her hair upward until some stood on end.

“Frankly,” Nick said, “we just spoke to your brother, and he doesn’t think anyone needs legal advice.”

Brittany gave a little snort. “He’s not the one in charge of—and in love with—that poor tiger. Tiberia’s been abused, lonely... Well, that’s no excuse for what happened, but it was carnivore nature. Human nature maybe some can control, but not that. I hate to say this, but I hope the investigators’ ruling will censure my father, not the BAA.”

“From my checking it out, I think you’re probably right,” Nick said. “I found a similar ruling that ‘the zookeeper did not follow established safety procedures.’”

Brittany heaved a sigh. “Or common sense, and that scares me. He did have common sense.”

“You said something yesterday I didn’t understand,” Claire told her, leaning closer. “You asked either Tiberia or your unconscious father, ‘Why did you do it this way?’”

“Did I? I must have meant that he went in the cage at feeding time when he knew better,” she said with a quick shrug. “But listen, I do have notes from the ME about the autopsy, if that helps, Nick—if you end up defending me or this place we had such hopes for. Here. It was so long and formal I scribbled notes from it. We’ll have the official death certificate in a few days. I know you could get all this anyway, and the police evidently have Dad’s cell phone. The newspaper’s trying to make the autopsy public. Well, how do they think a wild beast is going to attack someone, with a knife or gun? I could have written this about his wounds.”

But another paper fell out too, no, an envelope with bold handwriting on it. “Oh,” she said. “A condolence card with a note. For once this guy’s in our corner, at least, after he’s been wanting to buy this land.” She picked up the envelope but didn’t take the card out, just kind of waved and pointed with it.

She went on, “Stan Helter of the big ranch next door has offered us baby alligators and baby wild boars, no less, when we reopen. As if we have the money to build new venues for them, but I’m going to take him up on it. You know, I hear his employees, maybe his worldwide rich clients too, call him Big Cat. Ironic, huh?”

“Very,” Nick said with a look at Claire that she read as Don’t follow up on that right now.

Brittany opened a sheet of paper she had jammed in her jeans pocket with the envelope, spread it open on her knees and said in a shaky voice, “I’m translating some of the medical lingo here. Cause of death, accidental. No heart attack or stroke. Victim’s skull was broken so uncertain if skull was struck by exterior force because skull was partly crushed and degraded in jaws of animal...severed facial nerves...eardrum and eye punctures on left side...bites to neck and fractured spine...several arteries and right jugular vein torn...claw marks on chest, shoulders and arm...victim bled—bled out...”

Her voice broke into a gasping sob. She crumpled the piece of paper between her knees. “He was just doing what he should—should have. Tiberia, I mean, not my dad.”

Claire leaned closer to Brittany and put her arm around her back.

“I swear,” Brittany choked out, “I—this place—we are going to need a lawyer. We’re running on financial fumes here, but we’ll pay.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Nick told her, crouching in front of the two of them. “My interest in this case would not be only to help you, as a good friend of Jace, and therefore of ours too, but to protect the BAA from state or federal fines or bad publicity. The firm has done pro bono work before. Brittany, I know the ME has ruled the death accidental, but for some reason, your father entered a tiger cage, knowing it was certain death. Or else he was forced to enter. That interests me too, not only for professional reasons but personal ones.”

“Forced to enter? That’s crazy! By whom?” she cried, lifting her tear-streaked face. “He had to be alone here!” she went on, gesturing so wildly Claire shifted a bit away. “You yourself saw the place was deserted when we took the kids away, and people can’t just fly in here. We have that fence—a double fence, counting the one from the ranch where those gun-happy people kill animals!”

“Look, I get your frustration and anger,” Nick said. “My father was once found with a bullet in his brain and the gun in his hand. But he didn’t kill himself. Someone else did. It took me years to prove it. I’m not saying it’s the same, but something’s wrong here. And if you trust me on this—and Claire will help too,” he added with a nod at her, “I’ll need access to your father’s laptop, his correspondence, his desk, and I don’t think your brother, maybe your mother either, is going to be thrilled about that. I’d need all that soon in case this turns into something worse than it is, and the police or other authorities confiscate all that.”

Claire stared wide-eyed. Nick Markwood at his determined best, and after he’d told her to avoid getting involved. But he probably still meant that his law office would oversee things, not that he—and she—would stay involved. Although, he’d just volunteered her to help too.

“I guess, then, we’d better move fast,” Brittany said, bouncing up as Nick stood too. “Dad’s death is more than newsworthy, as his Naples Daily News advertising friend warned me on the phone earlier today. This is all going to blow up. I’ve already been contacted by the American Zoo Safety Commission, as well as state authorities.”

Nick said, “I think OSHA, you know, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, might get in the mix too.”

“All I wanted to do was educate children to love animals and save more abused big cats. Yes, I’ll be sure you get those things from Dad’s office here right now and from their house tonight. Give me your address, and I’ll get them to you, or send Jace with them. I know he’s with your daughter right now, but I’ll see him later. He’s been a big help and—except for you two—my only support right now, and that counts my brother, Lane. Who needs outside enemies when there’s a traitor in the family?”

Nick told her, “I want to assure you that your legal team can be your biggest supporters. Claire and I admire what you’re trying to build here.”

“Thank you! Thank you for that,” she said as the three of them began to walk toward the administration trailer. “Nick,” she rushed on, still gesturing wildly, “I’ll come into your office and sign whatever I need to. At all costs I want to save and build the BAA through all this, not sell it to be more citrus orchard land or part of that big game ranch. Mother will trust me on this, though I’ll have to buck Lane. But he’s taken himself out of control of this place, so he doesn’t have a legal or financial leg to stand on.”

Claire couldn’t resist that opening. “Despite the fact he’s here today, I take it Lane and your father didn’t see eye to eye, on this place, or Lane’s chosen career.”

“Well, Dad was wrong about that, but he was such an outdoorsman that Lane’s violin passion and career was like—like a foreign language, and it made them kind of—at odds sometimes.”

“I can understand that,” Claire said, and then stopped since Nick cleared his throat as if to say enough for now. But everything she saw and heard here made her feel all in for helping Brittany. Who knew that this wasn’t helping future family if Jace and his “Brit” stayed together?

As if he’d read her mind, Nick said, “Is it okay if we call you Brit the way Jace does?”

“Yes—yes, fine.”

“Claire,” he went on, “all right with you to come alongside as a support person, as long as you can work from home or the office?”

That last comment was rather pointed, she thought. But maybe a cause and mental work was exactly what she needed until the baby was born. But staying home through it all?

“We can discuss that later,” she told him, “but I want to help.”

“Good. Brit,” Nick said, “our first goal is to keep this local and hope that it won’t explode to more.”

She seemed to deflate. She stopped walking, and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, I did forget to mention something you should know. Not only did we receive an offer of baby animals from Stan Helter—maybe as a smoke screen of kindness, if you ask me—that envelope you saw also contained a big check. Twenty thousand dollars for our father’s burial and a memorial, his note said, and there would be another hundred thousand if we wanted to sell this acreage and move to some other place with better memories. Well, you know when someone dies, the bank freezes all their assets until they see the death certificate, so this is—is really needed, so it’s tempting.”

“Glad you told us that too,” Nick told her. “So Stan Helter’s extended an olive branch, but with a sword attached.”

Brit said, “The Lord giveth and He taketh away and so does the lord of all he surveys next door, that greedy wretch Stanley J. Helter, as the signature on the check reads. I wanted to tear it up, but Lane wouldn’t let me. We started to argue but with Mom there—we just put it unendorsed in the safe. It’s made out to Mother, not me or Lane.”

She seemed to wilt even more, almost to stagger.

“Did you get any sleep at all yet?” Claire asked, putting her arm around the woman’s shoulders.

“Only a nap on Jace’s lap before Lane came busting in yesterday. Then some in bed last night with—Oh, sorry, Claire, I—”

“It’s all right. I think you two are good together.”

“Oh, no!” Brit cried, squinting into the sun past Nick’s shoulder.

“What?” he said as all three of them turned.

“Somehow she got in!” Brit muttered as they saw a wiry, tanned, very old-looking woman run at them, swinging a long wooden pole with a hook cutter on the end of it. Two beefy, bald men ran behind her, both out of breath, either trying to catch her or help her. They lugged a big, dark plastic sack between them. In their free hands, one carried a hatchet, the other a butcher knife.

“It’s Gracie Cobham,” Brit shouted, “the woman the state took the tiger from! Run!”

8

The old woman shouted to the men with her, “Cut ’em up, boys!”

Claire sucked in a huge breath. Did these people intend to maim or kill them with the hatchet and big knife?

Nick yanked her with him faster than she could run. He fumbled for his phone. Brit, just ahead of them, tried to jam a key from her ring of them into the door that led to the back of the tiger’s cage.

Claire saw they were trapped by the tall, double fences of the BAA and Trophy Ranch. If Brit still had that tranquilizer gun or if the fire extinguisher had been replaced—In her haste, Brit dropped the ring of keys and scrambled for them as Claire darted a look back at their pursuers. But were they pursuers? The two men had dropped their big, gray garbage sack and were slicing it open. What looked like two dead possums fell out of it.

“Fresh roadkill, Thunder,” Gracie Cobham crooned to the tiger. “Possum’s nice and fresh, just the way you like, poor boy. They the ones been treating you wrong, not me. That’s my Thunder, that’s my baby boy.”

“Nick, wait!” Claire insisted and put her hand over his as he started to punch in 911. “She meant cut up the possums.”

It was true. The two “boys”—who must be in their sixties—were skinning and cutting up the dead animals, and Gracie was picking up chunks of the bloody meat and tossing them against the bars of the cage. Tiberia/Thunder was pawing them inside and devouring them, not with a roar or growl but with what sounded like a loud purr.

Grabbing the key ring from the ground, Brittany was noisily raking through keys for the one she wanted. She whispered, “I’ve still got the tranquilizer gun in here. I’m calling the cops again, if you aren’t. She’s trespassing at least, and I have a restraining order against her for trouble before.”

“Could they have been here on Saturday?” Nick asked Brit. “They’d have a motive to hurt your dad.”

“I don’t know how in hell they got in, but they can’t feed Tiberia that roadkill. It could mean maggots—rabies. I’m going to get those Florida crackers arrested.”

But some instinct in Claire told her that gun plus cops was not the way to go here. She’d seen people of all kinds in psychological distress before. Her heart was still pounding from exertion and shock, but she peeked around Nick, who was blocking her against the building, and called to the old woman, “Was that your name for the tiger, Ms. Cobham—Thunder?”

Nick swore under his breath, and Brit finally got a key to work. She quickly disappeared inside the dim enclosure. Nick tried to push Claire in behind her, but she’d seen Gracie’s look of pain and determination on other faces before. And for an old woman to take in a tiger and baby it—and to boss around those two big louts who were probably her sons...

“Nick, we’ll never get anything out of her on this case if we get her arrested,” Claire muttered and shook his restraining hand off her shoulder. To make things worse, Claire saw Jackson on a dead run across the bridge, and he had a gun.

“Sure was his name,” Gracie called to Claire. “Still is, first name he had. I read in the paper ’bout the accident. It’s s’posed to be Tiberia now. But his roar sounded like distant thunder to me, ’specially when he was small, so Thunder it is and will be till the cows come home.”

“A very good name,” Claire said, careful to take only one step past Nick so he wouldn’t pull her back. She had to act fast before Brit came out with the tranquilizer gun she’d mentioned or Jackson used his gun. The “boys” had only used their potential weapons to tend to the meat so far. “So, how did you get Thunder in the first place?” she asked, taking several more steps.

Gracie threw the last big hunk of meat at the bars, then wiped her bloody hands on her jeans. “Told all this to the wildlife officers who stoled him,” she said, coming closer to Claire.

“Careful, Ma,” the larger of the two men said. “We did what we come to do. Paper said they won’t kill Thunder.”

At least, Claire saw, Jackson had stopped where he was on this side of the bridge. He kept edging close, but he hadn’t raised the gun. She thought to hold up a restraining hand, but then the Cobhams might react to him and the gun. Her heart beat so hard she could hear drums in her ears.

Trying to keep her voice steady, Claire said, “Brittany argued with them when anyone tried to talk about putting Thunder down. She loves him too.”

“‘Put him down.’ Pretty way to say kill him, right?” Gracie challenged.

Up this close, Claire noted the woman’s sun-bronzed skin was tight yet webbed with wrinkles. She looked wiry, strong and emanated stubbornness. Talk about endangered species: this woman and her boys were remnants of “old Florida,” either the best or the worst of the fading past. Behind the Cobhams, Jackson kept shuffling slowly closer.

“You part of the Hoffman family?” Gracie asked, squinting at her. The sun was not in her eyes with that billed cap she wore, so she evidently needed to see Claire better.

“Just a family friend and friend to Thunder. We brought some children here the other day to admire him, and they thought the big cat was really beautiful and impressive.”

“And he’s in mourning. Not for the captor he kilt. For me. Paces all the time,” she insisted, though Claire had no idea how she’d know that. “See how calm he is now?” Gracie challenged, pointing, as Brit came back out, thankfully, with no tranquilizer gun in sight. “It’s my voice, my being here, calms him.”

Brit challenged, “You’re not even looking at him, so how do you know what he’s doing?”

Claire wished she’d change her tone of voice. She wasn’t close enough to elbow her. Surely, despite all she’d been through, she knew not to upset this woman and her sons. Evidently Jackson had assessed things correctly, though, since he had stopped and moved behind a big gumbo limbo tree.

“I know him, my Thunder,” the old woman said, and it was true. Lying down, the tiger was calmly washing his paws with a huge tongue. The appearance of the Cobham clan, despite the movement and raised voices, had seemed to calm the beast.

“No one listens to me ’bout I know best for him,” Gracie went on, cutting off another comment from Brit. “Got him as a kitten from a real phony, but I’m not. So wrong to steal him from me, give him to someone goes to school to learn about him,” she said and spit on the ground in Brit’s direction. Gracie crossed her arms over her flat chest and stomped once on the ground. “Real tired of peeking at my Thunder through the fence. Glad someone fin’ly listened to me,” she added as she glared at Nick and Brittany, nodded at Claire and turned away.

“Clean up that mess,” she muttered to her sons, who jumped to obey, then scurried to follow her out the way they had evidently come in. She didn’t look back.

“She’s trouble,” Brit whispered, and walked behind them, evidently to be sure they left. Claire noted that when Jackson saw the intruders were on their way out, he held his gun to his side and followed them ahead of Brit.

Nick and Claire started to walk out too. Yes, the Cobhams were gone and Jackson was asking Brit why no one told him they’d gotten in. “And how did they get in?” he asked her, his voice rising. “Thought it better they just leave, or I’d have confronted them on it.”

“You know, Nick,” Claire told him, putting a hand on his arm to halt his steps for a moment, “Gracie let slip that she was tired of watching the tiger through the fence. Through what fence?” she asked, looking around at the perimeter of the BAA. “Could she have a hiding place just outside to spy in here? Even to slip in? And Jackson—if he’s so in charge, how does he keep missing all the action?”

“As for Jackson, it’s a big enough place with lots of sight barriers. Probably chance or bad timing, but what a character the old woman is, one we may have to watch.”

“A real frontier woman,” Claire insisted. “If I question her again—on her turf—who knows what she might tell us about the tiger or if she resented Ben Hoffman. Those ‘boys’ of hers would probably do anything she asked.”

“You mean sneak in here like storm troopers, hit Ben on the head and shove him in the cage, and not be noticed? Wouldn’t they be scared that Momma only wants her Thunder to have possums, not humans? But, yeah, she sure calls the shots. And no, don’t even suggest you’re going anywhere near Everglades backcountry to question some old woman or those two with her.”

Claire heaved a huge sigh and leaned against him. “I think we’re both back on a case—accident or murder or suicide—aren’t we?”

“I guess I am, but you’re pregnant.”

“No kidding. And don’t be sexist. If I go anywhere dangerous, I’ll take Bronco or Heck—or even you—with me.”

“Let’s just get Ben Hoffman’s stuff and get out of here before something else happens. I’m starting to think I need some of that calm-down herbal tea of yours.”

* * *

Nick had their master bathroom so steamed up from his shower Claire could hardly see in her vanity mirror to take her makeup off. Sitting in the low-backed padded chair, she leaned closer to the glass. “You know,” she said as he stepped out of the shower to dry himself off, “this tiger cage case we’re working on now—”

“It’s not an official case. It doesn’t mean we’re all in for it.”

“Nick, you said different earlier today. What if that old woman gets blamed for harassment or even murder? And Stan Helter wants the BAA land, maybe at any cost. Lane didn’t get along with his father, and also wants his family out of there. We have plenty of places—people—to start with. Anyhow, I was going to say that Ben’s murder—if it’s murder—is kind of like a classic locked room mystery. You know, like Poe’s ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ or Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.”

“Haven’t read those,” he said, tying a dry towel around his waist and quickly running his electric shaver over his day’s growth of beard. Her antenna went up. They hadn’t made love for a while, and he usually didn’t shave until morning. So why was he being difficult if he had that in mind? In general, she was learning to pick up on his actions and body language, so why couldn’t she figure out what he was really thinking about Ben’s death? She had to keep prying and prodding.

“Well, I haven’t read them either,” Claire told him, “but my mother’s years-long mania reading instead of taking better care of Darcy and me means I know all about them. You know, a locked room murder would fit this—the cage was locked, and anyone who got in to murder Ben would have been attacked too, and why would he go in there on his own? The place is double fenced, and the entry wasn’t open that morning except for our group. Nick, we’ve got to find some serious reasons and answers, and it can’t be something stupid like the Poe story where a woman was murdered in a closed upper room because an escaped ape got in there with a razor and killed her.”

Nick looked at her in the blurry mirror where he was now combing his wet hair back. “You’re kidding,” he said, straightening to face her. “An ape with a razor? Next we’ll be thinking the tiger jumped through the bars and pulled Ben in because it was missing roadkill possum.”

He tossed his comb on the counter and leaned stiff-armed on the marble sink top while she began to smooth moisturizer on her face. The intensity of his perusal of her made her feel she wasn’t wearing a nightgown and her terry-cloth robe.

“Sorry for that,” he said, straightening and coming over behind her to put his big hands on her shoulders. His thumbs stroked the back of her bare neck. Every muscle, every thought, began to go lax. He whispered, “The thing is, I’m still torn about spending time on this case with the baby coming, and now that we’re finally safe to have family time.”

“Maybe Heck will ferret something out of Ben’s records you gave him. He often does.”

“And you’re itching to ferret out something about Ben—if he had an enemy hateful enough to kill him—from talking to people he knew. But enough of all this right now. Let’s go to bed. Talking about locked rooms, I think I’ll lock ours for a few minutes so we don’t have Miss Lexi in here asking me why I’m kissing Mommy places besides her cheek or mouth.”

A jolt of lightning shot straight to Claire’s belly. She might be pregnant, she might be married, she might have made love to Nick Markwood for months now, but it was always like that first time on the yacht when she gave herself so totally to him—and, she believed, conceived this child. When he bent to kiss her throat, she twisted in his arms and kissed him back hard and hungry.

He loosed the towel around his hips, helped her out of her robe and nightgown, and lifted her into his arms. In their bedroom, he bent to click the lock on their door, then laid her on the bed and got in beside her.

Everything fled—disappeared—except Nick when he touched her, when he took over like this.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, keeping his weight off her.

“Yes. Tonight, but also with getting too involved...”

Her words weren’t making sense.

“I’m always too involved with you,” he murmured in her ear as he slid his tongue from her neck to her breasts.

She shut out everything except their love, but when he had her purring, she thought of that tiger again and went so crazy with passion that she accidentally scratched his back.

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