As a former FBI agent married to his best friend, there’s little he doesn’t know and even less he hasn’t at least heard about. Especially after I helped him get that giant freak of a convict off his back when he came to Dallas gunning for Faulk’s head.
“Grady?” Willow looks up at me.
“Hang tight. I promise I’m not calling anybody to turn you in,” I say, picking up my phone.
She turns her back to me and hangs her head.
“I’m calling a friend. Just give me a minute.”
She doesn’t turn around, but I can see her shaking her head. “The fewer people who know about this the better, you know,” she whispers.
Like I don’t know that?
Right.
The last thing I want to do is dump this crap in anybody else’s sandbox, but I have to know what I’m dealing with before I decide what happens next.
Willow needs help, that’s a given, but my kids’ safety comes first.
“He’s a trusted friend and he knows when to keep his mouth shut,” I tell her, hoping it’ll make her feel a smidge better.
Without looking back, she walks into the bedroom off the kitchen and closes the door.
Whatever.
Let her sulk. Separation works for now. She can sort out her thoughts and pull her shit together in peace while I pull up Faulk’s contact and hit Call.
He answers on the third ring.
“Grady! What’s up, my man? Everything cool at the Bobcat?”
Leaning against the counter, I smile the second I hear his Oklahoma drawl.
“The bar’s fine. I’m calling ’cause I need some intel. You got a minute?”
“Sure do! Tory’s down at the new dance studio and I’m getting ready to mow the lawn, which can wait in this heat.”
Hearing a noise, I say, “Hold on a minute.”
The door to the bedroom opens and Willow walks in, wearing her knee-high brown leather boots. She skirts past me and then heads out the sliding glass door.
I have to yank my eyes off her ass, bobbing like a lush fruit in those leggings.
Pressing a hard fist against my thigh, I dig my knuckles in for focus and ask Faulk, “What do you know about exotic animals and the black market?”
“Huh?” He lets out a snort. “You gotta be more specific than that. That shit is as deep as the ocean and just as wide. What’s going on?”
My lips twist and I whip out the first thing that comes to mind.
“You ever heard of tiger wine?”
“Tiger wi—fuck, Grady! You don’t want to get caught up in that! Don’t tell me somebody sent a bottle to the Bobcat?”
“Nah, nothing like that, thank God.” I shake my head and push off the counter to walk across the room and look out the sliding glass door. “It’s not my problem, really, but I might know someone who appears to be getting swept up in something like it. They need help.”
“Shitfire, dude, you’d better start explaining,” Faulk growls.
Yeah, he’s got me there.
I can’t dance around the mammoth in the room, especially when that elephant is actually a wild cat bigger than the tractor I use for plowing snow.
Willow enters the barn carefully, securing the door behind her. My eyes narrow like a hawk.
While watching her, I give Faulk a rundown on the last twenty-four hours, and repeat everything Willow told me, hoping I don’t sound like I’m ready for the nuthouse.
“Dude,” Faulk whispers as soon as I finish.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble back.
“Okay. Dammit. This is gonna take some thinkin’. Good news is, your barn is the perfect spot to hold a tiger, but we need to get Ridge in on this. He can dig up a good vet considering how many movie stars own exotic pets. Hopefully one who knows about big cats and won’t say a word if we grease the wheels enough with cash. Don’t ask how I know that, I just do.”
“Done,” I tell him, even if I’m not keen on the idea.
It’s not a trust issue. Ridge Barnet has been nothing besides a rock-solid friend ever since he left his fancy Hollywood career, took out a few asshole mobsters, and decided Dallas was where he wanted to lay down roots with his wife and kids.
“Next up, that brand or burn you mentioned needs to be looked at. There could be info. In the meantime, I bet we can get Ridge to butcher a cow or two for you to keep that cat fed. We both know his organic beef business is booming. Buying the amount of fresh meat you’ll need will raise eyebrows anywhere else. Don’t worry, I’ll call Ridge and get the doctor and the grub lined up. You need to take care of her truck. Where’s it at?”
“Still at the Bobcat. West did what he could in the parking lot, but I didn’t want to bring it home and paint a target on my property if there’s anyone out on the highway, actively looking for it.”