No kidding? My brother, the lion-that kind of thing?
A little more than that. Hey, its complicated, and to tell you the truth, Im not sure my mamas people-theyre Apache-were totally into that, anyway. I think she just told me that spirit messenger stuff when I was a little kid to make me get over being scared.
Of the bogeyman, you mean.
Something like that. And that was as far as Tony was willing to go on the subject. Anyway, lets just say I can make a pretty good case for why she ought to let me do a piece on her cougar.
Sounds good to me, Holt said as he polished off the last bite of his burger and reached for his coffee. Lets hope its good enough.
Chapter 3
Tony hadnt expected to be welcomed by Brooke Fallon Grant, accused murderer, with open arms. On the other hand, he hadnt exactly been prepared to find a shaggy tan-and-white dog the approximate size of a Shetland pony and a little blond kid armed with a rake-a rake?-blocking the driveway to her house.
He halted the rented sedan hed borrowed from Holt in the middle of the tree-shaded lane and ran the window down. He stuck his head out, smiled winningly and called, Hey, there. Im looking for Brooke Grant. Would that be your mom?
Maybe. The boy was holding the rake with both hands, crossways in front of him, not smiling back. But shes not here.
Tony got out of the car and stood with one elbow leaning on the top of the open door. The kid took a step backward, then held his ground. The dog looked alert but wasnt growling, which Tony took as a positive sign. Well, now, he said, still smiling, I see theres a pickup truck parked up there by the house, and you look pretty young to be the driver. Are you sure your moms not home?
Okay, she is, but she doesnt want to see anybody. The boy let go of the rake with one hand and reached into the pocket of his jeans. If you dont leave, Im calling nine-one-one on my cell. I have it right here, see? He produced the object and pointed it at Tony like a pistol.
Tony put his hands in the air. Hey, okay, son. Im not here to bother anybody. Look, is it okay if I give you my card? Not waiting for an answer, which he was pretty sure he wouldnt like, he took out the card hed put in his shirt pocket for just such an eventuality. He showed it to the kid, then leaned over the open door and placed it on the hood of the car.
Looking as menacing as its possible for a skinny kid with silky blond hair to look, the boy sidled close enough to snatch up the card, then retreated to his comfort zone and gave it a good look. It says here youre a photojournalist. He gave Tony a sideways look of suspicion and hostility. Thats like a reporter, right? My mom for sure doesnt want to talk to any reporters. He began to thumb the cell phone.
Tony said, No-wait, and stepped around the door. The dog advanced a step, tail held low and not wagging. Tony hastily returned to his previous position behind the door. Um, seeits like a reporter, yeah, but Im not here about your mom, or youruh, anything like that. Look, what Im interested in, actually, is your lion.
Lady? The boy looked surprised, then uncertain and, consequently, very young. And when he lifted his chin, the combination of vulnerability and defiance made something quiver in the general vicinity of Tonys heart. She didnt do what they said she did. But they want to put her down, anyway.
Who does?
The sheriffs. Lonnie Doyle, mostly-hes my dads partner. He says Ladys a killer and she should be put down. But she didnt hurt Dad, at least not on purpose. I know she didnt.
Well, then, Tony said gently, sounds like all the more reason to get her story out there, doesnt it? Look here-my Web site address is on that card. Why dont you go ask your mom if you can look me up on the Internet? Ill wait right here while you do it. Hows that?
The boy chewed his lip for a moment; then up came the chin again. Okay, but you better not come any closer. Hilda, watch him, he said to the dog, then turned and headed back up the lane at a dead run.
The dog flopped down on her stomach with her paws in front of her in the attitude of the Sphinx and fixed him with her unblinking stare.
Good dog, said Tony hopefully and settled down to wait.
Mom, I think you should talk to him.
Honey, hes a photographer.
Uh-uh. A photojournalist.
That means hes a reporter. Even worse.
Uh-uh, I dont think so. Hes won awards. It says so right there. And anyway, its not you he wants to do a story about. Its Lady.
Of course hed say that. Honey, its probably just a ploy.
Whats a ploy?
An angle-a gimmick. A way to get to us. Daniel-
I dont think so, Mom. He hitched himself halfway onto a chair and faced her across the kitchen table, his face flushed and earnest. I dont know why, but I dont think hes lying. HesI dont know how to explain it-
Of course hed say that. Honey, its probably just a ploy.
Whats a ploy?
An angle-a gimmick. A way to get to us. Daniel-
I dont think so, Mom. He hitched himself halfway onto a chair and faced her across the kitchen table, his face flushed and earnest. I dont know why, but I dont think hes lying. HesI dont know how to explain it-
He looks nice, is that it? Oh, sweetheart, if only it were that easy to tell.
Her sons expression was impossible to describe. No. He doesnt. Thats whats so weird. He looks really tough and mean, but- He huffed in a breath, leaned his chin on one hand and pressed his lips together in concentration. Then he said, Its likein the movies when theres somebody that always plays the bad guy, and then suddenly hes in a movie, and hes the good guy for a change. And he still looks like the bad guy, but you just know hes not. Like when Arnold Swarzenegger was really bad in The Terminator, but then he was really really good in Terminator 2. Like that.
Brooke hesitated, running her thumb over the smooth surface of the small brown card in her hand. What if it was true? What if this man-Daniels good guy Terminator-could help save Ladys life? And maybe mine, too?
Daniel slid off the chair with a long-suffering sigh. Well, can we at least check him out on the Internet?
Brooke gave an exhalation of her own and capitulated. Sure, she said, handing him the card. Why not?
Your card neglected to mention that one of those awards was a Pulitzer.
Tony jerked out of a heat-and-boredom-induced doze, closed his mouth and focused on the woman standing on the other side of the open car door. His first thought was, Wow. His second, more coherent, thought was, Okay, tall, slim and blond-I see where the kid gets it. His third thought, as he scrubbed a hand over his face and struggled to extricate himself from the drivers seat, was Oh man, I hope I wasnt snoring.
Being as how Brooke Fallon Grant was his buddy Corys sister and his buddy Cory was a pretty good-looking guy, he hadnt been expecting a troll. But the woman standing before him with her fingertips poked into the back pockets of her jeans, regarding him with a not-at-all-sure-I-should-be-doing-this look on her facewell, the only word that suited her was lovely.
Tony had a photographers eye, of course, one that saw beyond the fatigue lines, no makeup, and hair that was limp and dull and in need of washing. What he saw was dark blue eyes like Corys, eyes that told you theyd seen more than they wanted to of the worlds sadness and suffering. And amazing bones, the kind that made him itch to reach for his camera. Which was too bad, because he was pretty sure the first time he aimed a lens in the ladys direction, shed sic that monster dog on him.
At the very least. Hed forgotten for a moment that he might be looking at the face of a cold-blooded killer.
Though strangely, all his instincts were screaming, No way!
Tony Whitehall, he said, holding out his hand and turning on every watt of charm he had in him. Mrs. Grant, thanks for seeing me.
Thank my son, Daniel. She offered him half a smile along with her hand, which was big-boned for a womans hand and strong. Hes convinced youre a good guy.
But youre not, are you? Really? he said. Wow, coulda fooled me. His eyes dropped-though not far-to the dog, now standing relaxed beside her mistress and panting lazily. Thats quite a pair of watch-dogs youve got.
She glanced down as her hand came to rest on the dogs broad white head, and the camera shutter in Tonys mind clicked madly. Theyre very protective of me. Both of them are.
I see what Daniel means, Brooke thought.
There was just something about the man. Something that had nothing to do with his looks, certainly, because he couldnt by any means be called handsome or even nice-looking. He had a hawkish nose and broad cheekbones and dark, mahogany-toned skin, but under it his face seemed to almost glow with a kind of inner warmth. The warmth was there, too, in his hazel eyes, which were odd-shocking, even-in such a dark face. And in his smile, which was wide and generous and revealed an intriguing dimple in one cheek. He was completely bald-she thought he probably shaved his head-which, coupled with his powerful shoulders and chest, ought to have made him look like a thug but somehow only enhanced an indefinable but undeniable presence. He wasnt tall-probably only a little taller than she was-but he seemed larger-than-life, and, at the same time, rock-solid, down-to-earth, completely human.
What the man had, she realized, was charisma. Oodles of it. Not to mention charm, of course, with those eyes and that smile.
Thats good, he was saying. Understandable.
Oh, yeah-and a voice that sounds the way fur feels
She drew her defenses around herself and said, with stiff politeness, So, Daniel tells me youre interested in our Lady.
The smile splashed warmth across his face. Lady-thats her name? Your cougar?
Daniel named her. She had a brother named Tramp, but he died just two days after we got them.
How did you come by a pair of cougar kittens, or lion cubs, or whatever theyre called? His eyes seemed to glow with interest.
Staring into them, she realized shed moved without consciousness, gravitated closer to where he stood in the open doorway of his car. Whoever he was, she thought as she took two quick steps backward, good guy or bad, in his own way Tony Whitehall was dangerous.