Shallow Grave. Karen Harper

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