1 Chapter 1
Sultan roared, the sound thick as distant jet engines. Fewer syllables than a lion’s roar, it was an “aaarrrgggnnnooohhh!” of raw sound Jared Montaine heard even over the chainsaw. Sultan raced back and forth in his cage, his orange and brown striped tail straight up as he slammed against the steel fencing. His neck ruff stood up, and he charged stiff-legged, the bouncing gait of a threatening cat. Seeing the tiger so agitated gave Jared a twist of unease. Six years with the animal and he’d never seen the cat enraged. Sultan stayed angry until Jared turned the chainsaw off.
At eleven o’clock, a half dozen pine trees lay in knee-high chunks on the ground. Jared untied his bandana from his scalp and wiped off his face. The October sun emitted a warm, hazy glow and the Florida humidity made the air thick, sticky. Rank gasoline fumes mixed with the breeze that carried the scent of wild cats, rotting meat, and shit. Jared saw Peter, his refuge assistant, unzip and step behind a tree.
“Calm down, big guy. No more scary machines, okay?” Jared sat down next to Sultan’s cage. The tiger rolled on his back and prodded at Jared through the fence with paws the size of dinner plates. The odor of cat enveloped him—Sultan smell, rich and wild and dirty. Jared tugged at the tiger’s toes, easing out three-inch claws, inspecting their ivory curves. Death in sickle-shape. “What are you doing, you handsome beast?”
Sultan mmmwwwrrr’d back at him and licked the sweat from Jared’s neck through the steel fence. The tiger’s tongue was hot and rough.
Peter plopped down, puffing, his soft belly oozing over his jeans as he wiped his face with his shirt. He sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “Is he giving you another bath?”
“Yeah. He loves it when I get sweaty and gross.”
Peter stroked under the tiger’s chin. “He’s putting on weight.”
“Chubbing up. I need more playtime with him.”
“You’re entitled to your time off. You and Juliana have worked seven days a week ever since you got married. Enjoy yourself.”
Jared was hoping to do just that at lunchtime. Juliana was usually up for a mid-day tumble in bed. With no tours scheduled for the big cat refuge they could cuddle afterwards, nap, talk, really connect. Juliana had been more affectionate the past two weeks. Why, Jared didn’t know, but he was content enough not to question it. Almost content enough.
She’d been pushing him lately. Wanting to role-play, to meet in a bar and pretend to go home as strangers, or get some costumes. Some of it turned him on; she looked beautiful in lingerie and she liked to dance for him. And he loved it when she grabbed his waistband and pulled him into the office bathroom or laid down on his desk. But some of the other fantasies bothered him—the strangers bit, and she liked to watch stronger and stronger pornography, some of it weird stuff in Jared’s mind. “I’m just adventurous,” she said when he questioned it.
The refuge was expanding; exotic cats needing new homes arrived every week. Jared and Peter and a group of volunteers had begun clearing another five acres to build more cages. It was hot, sweaty work; Jared had shed his shirt by nine o’clock.
They stopped at lunchtime and slogged back to the office trailer. Jared smiled when he saw it: Juliana and a group of volunteers—a few of the new kids from the university—had painted it dark brown with golden leopard spots three weeks before. Inside, Jared found no voicemail or paperwork to do in his office, thanks to Juliana’s management skills, and he zipped back to Peter’s office, belly rumbling. “Let’s eat!”
Peter stood looking out the picture window behind his desk, talking on the phone. A frown creased his face, his mouth turned down, and it took Jared a second to realize the frown wasn’t about the phone call. Jared tapped on the doorjamb.
Peter turned to him, blue eyes startled, his lips pulled back in an expression of near-alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked.
“Um, nothing.” Peter spoke into the phone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at home tonight.” His face settled into normal. His round cheeks glistened with sweat atop his golden-red beard and his glasses were dirt-flecked from their work in the woods.
Peter stepped around the desk, almost blocking Jared’s way. “Let’s get some lunch.”
Jared stood still. Something was wrong. “Is everything okay at home? Is Molly all right?”
“Yes, they’re fine, home is fine.” Peter’s words were quick. “Let’s eat.”
Jared stepped right to go around Peter’s desk and was shocked to see Peter step left to block his way.
Jared’s shoulders went tight, arms tensed. It was always there in him, that flush of violence just behind his eyes, the way a baseball bat felt too right in his hands, solid weaponry. Jared stared Peter down and Peter moved aside.
