Undercover Protector

Who had started them?

Gemma steered the Gator into the covered garage and parked, hating how her mood had soured.

“I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

“No need, really,” she protested weakly. Gemma was too tired to fight him, if he persisted.

“Well, my truck is parked that way anyway.” He grinned.

Gemma could easily grow to like that grin. But she didn’t like it yet. No. Not yet.

He strolled next to her. “Listen, the big cats are important to you. I get that. But who’s going to take care of the tigers if you don’t care of yourself?”

At her porch, she turned to him. “What are you trying to say?”

“When the sheriff or a deputy comes tomorrow to get the effigy and dismiss it as just another childish prank, tell them about your brakes. Promise me?”

“I don’t have to promise you, Gray.” Why was he making this so personal? “But I’ll tell him. I appreciate you thinking of the tigers.”

And of me...

She nodded her goodbye and went inside her cabin. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it.

“Who’s going to take care of the tigers if you don’t take care of yourself, indeed?” She mumbled the question.

Why would someone try to kill her? It made no sense.

Her parents’ tragic deaths had been followed by her uncle’s just three short years later. Ten years later, Gemma was still haunted by the accident that killed Uncle Dave. Had his death been cold-blooded murder engineered to look like an accident?

* * *

At his temporary living quarters—the rental house on the beach—Gray tossed his keys on the table.

The accommodations were sparsely furnished but served his purpose. At least it wasn’t too close to Gideon, Oregon, where his siblings, Cooper and Alice, worked at Wilderness, Inc., providing excursions and survival training. If he was any closer, he feared he would run into someone who could give his true identity away. He had to keep his distance from Sheriff Kruse, as it was.

Still, he hadn’t worked in southwest Oregon when he’d been a game warden, so he shouldn’t run into too many people he knew, other than the sheriff’s department. When he’d been offered the job with the federal government as a special agent with the USFWS, then he’d worked out of the Portland, Oregon, regional office and traveled throughout Pacific Northwest.

Now, Gray was a senior special agent hoping for a management position as a Resident Agent in Charge. That could mean a move to another regional office or even to headquarters in Falls Church, Virginia. The selection process was competitive and if Gray was promoted...well, maybe then Dad would be proud of him.

His stomach soured at the thought of his father. He thought he’d extricated that need for approval from his life. Gray had always believed he was the black sheep of the family until Jeremy committed suicide. Nothing compared to that. Still, Cooper was the son their dad was proud of. Not Gray.

He sighed and grabbed a soda from the fridge, noticing his cell buzzed.

Ten minutes later he finished a call with his superior, Mark Jenkins. Gray filled him in on the new developments. He hadn’t come into this expecting to discover that someone was trying to kill Gemma.

Why had the mechanic been so quick to overlook the sabotaged brakes? Was he involved somehow? What about the sheriff’s department? Why weren’t they taking the earlier threats against Gemma seriously?

From what Gray knew of Sheriff Kruse, he believed the sheriff was a good man. But he had too much square acreage to cover with a few deputies and even less funding. So Gray could give him some grace, but he didn’t like what sounded like a well-developed routine of letting Gemma’s neighbors get away with harassment with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and the hope that it would stop on its own.

Fury boiled up in Gray’s gut. He crushed the soda can in his hand. When the time was right, Gray would talk to the sheriff but not yet. Not until he had the information he needed. Gemma didn’t know just how fortuitous Gray’s arrival was.

Will you listen to yourself?

He hadn’t come here to help her. He’d come to Tiger Mountain as a way to slip into the trafficking organization and work with them while garnering the information he’d required for arrests. He should be looking into the man Gemma had mentioned today—the investor, Clyde Morris, in addition to the other staff and volunteers.

After grabbing another can of soda, Gray sat at his laptop to work. It was going to be a long night. First, he sent off an email to Kit Howard, the forensic investigator, and detailed what he’d learned so far. He wanted to hear what Kit made of it. Could the vandalism Gemma equated to sabotage—that the sheriff’s department didn’t take seriously—be related to attempted murder via tampered brakes?

Then he started in on his research on Clyde Morris who headed up an organization called Conservation International. However, the sanctuary had been funded through another company, Investments Conglomerate. What a vague name. A shell company owned by Clyde Morris, perhaps? That’s why Gray hadn’t known about him. And that would make it easy to launder and traffic any kind of contraband. Wildlife trafficking and anonymous companies went hand in hand.

Mark was using his channels to pull additional information on Clyde and send it to Gray. He had his work cut out for him tonight. The man himself would show up tomorrow, and Gray needed to know everything he could. He wanted to either draw attention to himself in the right way or stay invisible and observe.

He started with the Tiger Mountain website. Immediately images of Gemma’s tigers popped up. A few pictures of Gemma were in the photo gallery but always with the sunglasses, and that got Gray thinking about her eyes.

Those gorgeous eyes...

She was an amazing woman. But he wouldn’t let that distract him. He had to keep his head clear to get justice for Bill. And if closing this case put him in a good position for the promotion that might finally earn his father’s approval, then that would just be the proverbial buttercream icing on the red velvet cake.

* * *

The next day Gray found himself partnering with Wes—the intern working at the sanctuary for college credit this semester—to learn about the daily rigors of cleaning the habitats and feeding the tigers, just like Gemma had told him he would last night. She’d said it as though he might be surprised or unwilling to do the mundane and lowly work of shoveling muck, but he’d done enough volunteer work around animals to know the drill. He hadn’t seen her today, but that was probably for the best. He had to stay focused.

He should get to know all the volunteers and staff. Cara and Tom were full-time. Jill, Mavis and Ernie were volunteers like Gray and worked varied shifts. Gemma detailed the daily schedules and chores on a whiteboard in the kitchen slash conference room of the resource building where everyone gathered for their morning meetings, supplies throughout the day, and for weekly and monthly meetings. Every single thing they did for the tigers was written in task-specific binders. Meticulous, grueling work, as far as Gray could tell. But everyone he’d met seemed committed to the cause and loved the tigers. He could almost doubt the tip he’d received.

Then there was Clyde, whom Gray had yet to meet but according to Gemma would arrive today. Someone from the sheriff’s office was also coming this morning to investigate the effigy doll and the tampered brakes. At least, he hoped Gemma would tell them about the brakes. He’d call in the information himself, but he didn’t want to risk being recognized by Sheriff Kruse. But with his head down as he walked the habitat, tidying and picking up old bones, he was sure no one would notice him. This was perfect. He could watch the others like one of the cats stalking its prey. Gray’s prey was suspicious activity.

Wes snuck up behind him in the grass. “I finished with Caesar’s habitat. Once you’re done here, we can finish the other two and then let the cats back out and clean their stalls. Then feed them. After this, we move on to the next habitat building. Need help here or you want to finish this one on your own?”

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