The Hero I Need

I’m half expecting the glass to shatter in his hand.

I know I should stop.

Just shut my mouth and leave him to his agony, this raw wound I’ve poked at without having any right to. Better to cut my losses before I find out how much of a cornered bear he is.

But if he’s saving me...I owe him something, don’t I?

“You’re a good man and crazy smart, but you know it’s also a part of life, right?” I say gently. “You can’t protect them from something as big as death forever. Eventually, they’re going to experience it head-on.”

“Not if I can help it,” he rumbles. “Not if I can spare them that shit, that arrow to the heart. Not if I’m the dad I always swore I’d be.”

God.

His voice rips through me like a current, an ache oozing to my knees.

He sounds so fierce, so stern, so firm that I let it go there. But I do feel sorry for him, his heartache cuts me open and makes me bleed for his sad, brave delusions.

He’ll have to figure them out on his own.

In his state of mind, he’s not going to believe what anyone else has to say about it.

“So...” I take another nervous swig of beer and gesture to the screens with my bottle. “What convinced Faulk that something’s happening tonight? Did he give you a reason?”

“The burn on Bruce’s paw.”

I sit up straighter.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Besides the numbers matching the stickers, we found time stamps. Multiple dates. Faulk thinks one’s meant to be a delivery date.”

I see there’s more on his stony face, so mellow and dark in the basement light.

“And?” I whisper, tensing in my seat. “What about the rest?”

He looks at me for a long moment before sighing. “And the other’s probably one of two things: a pay date or a kill date.”

Holy hell.

I don’t know what falls faster, my heart or my stomach, and shatters like a glass ornament.

All the awful blue stickers I’d seen at the rescue since arriving flash through my mind.

I never checked the other animals that went missing for burn marks, but they all must have had them somewhere, those sickening tattoos. A setup marking their price, their transfer, their doom.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

“Tell me more,” I urge, swallowing the lump lodged in my throat. “Grady, I have to know...”

“From what he’s caught, Faulk believes the deaths occur shortly after the animals are shipped, though payment would explain it too. It’s usually several hours after the original stamp, which is what he believes is the pickup time.”

His angry glance at the screen tells me he’s looking at the time.

“Bruce was supposed to be transported tonight?” I ask.

“About fifteen minutes from now,” he says. “Unless the tiger disappearing scared them into delaying business, we should see action soon. Especially if these sick fucks are as greedy as you say, and they’ve got more animals to sell.”

My head hurts, a dull, brutal throb spun by my heart banging on my ribs.

Everything he’s said hits me harder then.

“So Bruce was scheduled to be transferred and...what, killed?” My question comes out hoarse.

“Yes. Last date is marked for roughly twelve hours from now.”

“And picked up in fifteen minutes?”

“Right.”

I wouldn’t call it exhilaration, but a form of grim righteousness that I’d been right hits. Along with sickly gratitude that Bruce is still alive. Relief slams through me like catching myself on a ledge before a ten-story fall.

“Damn them,” I spit, my head spinning as I glance at the screens. “So, even without Bruce, you think they’ll still show up? You think they’ll transfer...”

“Another animal,” he finishes. “Did you ever see more than one go missing at a time?”

“Sometimes. Smaller ones, mostly, but usually with larger animals, it was always just one.”

“We’ll wait and see,” he growls. The edge in his tone says it’s the last thing he wants to do.

My spine quivers as I stare at the screen, staring into the blackness.

It’s like we’re not in his safe, quiet basement, but there, helpless in the night with sinister things on the prowl.

The room grows so silent I jump when the fridge kicks in behind the bar. I rub the tension in my neck, stretching, fighting the urge to grab a second beer and slam it.

I need to be numb for this.

“Want another drink?” Grady asks, reading my mind. “Something stronger, maybe?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Want something else? Water? Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be up all night with caffeine.” I take a deep, shaky breath and release it, trying to regain control.

I wish like hell I’d acted sooner.

It would have saved so many animals. But if I’d taken off like I did with Bruce and hadn’t smacked into Grady—then where would I be?

Those thoughts freeze when the screens shift over.

“Look! Lights,” I whisper, leaning forward.

We both stare intently, our eyes glued to the scene.

All six cameras, each showing different angles, pick up a cube truck coming up the road. It stops next to the airstrip.