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  Jordan opened the cage and the fox crept closer with a small yip. She’d clearly been socialized thoroughly, something DiNero wouldn’t bother to do once he had her ensconced in the zoo. The fox had been bred as a house pet, but to DiNero she was an ornament.

  “C’mere, little girl.” Jordan stroked the soft fur, feeling for any obvious lumps or bumps. He gave her some cuddling time before scooping her up to take her outside. The bodyguard looked surprised, but Jordan ignored him to take the fox across the long expanse of soft green grass to the small bungalow he used as an office.

  The fox yipped and buried her face against him when they went inside, but Jordan continued to soothe her with murmured words and gentle touches as he examined her. Her paws scrabbled on the steel tabletop, but she quieted when he gave a warning noise under his breath. She still trembled, but she wasn’t trying to get away.

  She looked good, at least as much as an animal could when it had been kept caged in the dark and improperly fed and watered for the past few days. But she was healthy, without any signs of abuse or genetic flaws as the result of inbreeding. Jordan finished the exam and slipped a treat from his pocket that the fox took eagerly. She butted her head against him, and he took her narrow face in his hands.

  “Pretty girl,” he said quietly. The fox licked his face.

  Once she’d been put away in her own habitat, separated for now from the three surviving foxes for a quarantine period before he introduced them, Jordan made the rounds of the other habitats in this section. He’d spent long hours building most of them, re-creating different terrains or climates to provide the best possible housing for their inhabitants. The animals were under his care, and that meant their living conditions, too.

  Veterinarian, handyman, lion tamer. That was his job here at DiNero’s, and it was the best one he’d ever had. The man gave him a good salary and free room and board on the property in a tiny but cozy bungalow with full catering privileges from the main-house kitchen. Most important, DiNero usually left Jordan alone.

  Until today, apparently. Jordan rounded the corner of a low stone wall meant to keep the prairie dogs from getting out—DiNero loved prairie dogs and would often spend hours feeding them peanuts and watching them pop in and out of their holes. Today, though, he stood with his back to Jordan. Efforteson wasn’t with him. DiNero’s companion was a woman, her long dark hair the color of black cherries. It fell in soft waves to the middle of her back, and when she turned, eyes like a summer sky opened wide beneath dark arched brows.

  “Jordan, come say hello to Ms. Blackship.”

  Reluctantly, Jordan came closer. DiNero had been married four times, no children unless you counted the third wife, who’d thrown tantrums like a three-year-old. Now the man claimed he would never get married again, which only meant that he brought around his one-night stands to impress them with his menagerie, and Jordan had to make nice and pretend to give a damn.

  “Monica,” the woman said as she gave him a firm, brief handshake.

  “She’s the... Whattaya call it, honey?”

  If the endearment raised her hackles, Monica Blackship didn’t show it. She gave DiNero a flicking glance but then put her focus back on Jordan. “I’m a cryptozoologist.”

  For one awful moment, Jordan thought maybe DiNero was trying to replace him. But then he understood, having heard the term somewhere. “A crypto...”

  “I research unusual or what some might consider legendary creatures,” Monica replied calmly. “Bigfoot. That sort of thing.”

  “You think Bigfoot jumped our wall and killed our animals?” Jordan didn’t even care what DiNero might think of him taking any small part of ownership. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Of course it is. By all accounts, the Sasquatch is a vegetarian,” Monica said without so much as a quirk of her smile.

  DiNero chuckled. “Just like you, Jordan.”

  Jordan scowled, crossing his arms. “Sasquatch also doesn’t exist.”

  “That remains to be disproven, actually.” Again, that calm, almost blank look without a hint of any expression. It made him want to do something to see if he could shake her up.

  “Hasn’t been proven,” Jordan added.

  DiNero gave him a look. “Something came over our walls, Jordan. And you said yourself it wasn’t human.”

  “I didn’t say it was Bigfoot, either!”

  “That’s what Ms. Blackship is here to help us figure out. She works with an organization that studies this sort of thing.” DiNero, who could be a pain-in-the-ass wisecracker most of the time, looked serious. “You know animals, dude. You know this is some kind of animal that keeps doing this.”

  Jordan involuntarily thought of the first slaughter he’d found three months ago. The scent of blood, the patches of fur. It was more than the loss of the animals, or even the money they’d cost. It was how they must’ve suffered that made his stomach tense and churn. He wasn’t convinced whatever had killed the zoo animals didn’t wear boots and kill with knives.

  “Something didn’t just kill them,” DiNero continued, now facing the woman. “It ate them, we’re pretty sure.”

  Jordan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

  Monica nodded. “I’ve seen similar cases. I’m thinking it might be something like a chupacabra...”

  “The hell...?” Jordan snorted derisive laughter. “What the hell is that?”

  “They’re usually found in Puerto Rico and Mexico,” Monica went on as though he hadn’t spoken, and damn, if there was one thing Jordan couldn’t stand, it was being dismissed as if he were nothing. “But there have been cases of them moving north, more and more often now. They typically prey on smaller animals, but several of the cases my colleagues have worked on dealt with what looks to be a different breed of chupacabra, maybe...”

  “Hold on. There’s more than one breed?” Jordan shook his head. “Please.”

  “Like dogs,” Monica said. “Or wolves.”

  DiNero had watched the interchange with rapidly rising brows, but now he held up a hand. “Jordan, listen. Monica was sent here by a friend I trust. He’s dealt with things like this before, and I want to know what’s going on. What’s breaking in here, what’s eating my pets.”

  “So you can kill it,” Monica said softly.

  “Hell no,” DiNero said. “So I can put it in my collection.”

  CHAPTER 3

  It was better than a sleeping bag on the ground or a bedbug-ridden hotel room, that was for sure. DiNero had put her up in one of the guest bungalows scattered throughout the private zoo. Kind of a safari experience for his guests, she supposed and curled her lip. Monica had never liked zoos, seeing the animals in cages. Lions pacing and miserable. DiNero’s menagerie was housed in better habitats than any she’d ever seen, but they were still kept captive. Not free.

  In her lifetime before, when she’d been attending veterinary school, Monica had dreamed of getting a job at a big zoo. Maybe a circus. She wanted to work with exotic animals, not just dogs and cats. She hadn’t finished school, because the attack had screwed that up for her, big-time. Yet she’d ended up working with exotic animals just the same, hadn’t she? The deadliest ones, too, nothing soft or fluffy, because people never called for help when they came across a mewling, fuzzy bundle of fur with big eyes. Nope, the Crew got the calls only for the things that chewed your head off and spit down your neck.

  Damn, she was tired.

  She’d been up for most of the night because of the dream. Then she’d been on a plane from her place in Pennsylvania with a layover in North Carolina and this final stop in Louisiana. Then another four hours or so driving through the bayous to get here. Where here was, she didn’t exactly know. Vadim had told her that DiNero demanded secrecy so he could avoid getting caught with his illegal collection. Personally, Monica had no interest in
fucking with his animals, so long as they were cared for.

  Which made her think of Jordan Leone. That long, tall drink of water was in charge here, and he’d made sure to let her know it. Not that it mattered, really. She was here to figure out what had killed a silver fox, four prairie dogs, a couple chimps and, more frighteningly, a tiger. The tiger had been, by Jordan’s account, old and blind in one eye. Raised in captivity, it had come from another collection, where it had been treated like a house cat and overfed, allowed to live with its owner in a tiny two-bedroom cottage until it had pissed one too many times on the couch. It hadn’t been full of much fight, Jordan had told her. But still. What could attack and kill a tiger and also drag it half a mile and through or over a ten-foot-high brick wall topped with barbed wire?

  After pouring herself a glass of what turned out to be very good whiskey, Monica turned out the lights in the small kitchenette and then the equally compact living room. On bare feet, she crossed the bamboo floors with her glass in her hand and made her way out onto the small terrace. She’d brought a book but didn’t feel like reading. The mosquitoes were going to eat her alive out here, she thought, but settled into one of the comfortable chairs and put her feet up anyway.

  From here she had a good look directly across into Jordan’s bungalow. She hadn’t been given her choice of places to stay, and if she had, she wouldn’t have picked one so close to his. He was a man who cherished privacy, she could tell that right off. He wasn’t going to be popping over asking to borrow some sugar, that was for sure. And there were other guesthouses—she’d seen them when DiNero gave her the tour of the estate. So why this one, then?

  It had something to do with Jordan protecting her, she thought with a low chuckle and a shake of her head. DiNero hadn’t said as much, but he might as well have patted her on the head when he called her honey. She’d figured it out. He didn’t seem to have a problem believing in her credentials or ability to find out what was stalking and killing his pets, but he didn’t think she could defend herself. Monica gave an internal shrug. She hoped she wouldn’t have to, but if she did, she doubted she’d need Jordan Leone’s help.

  Never mind those long, strong arms and legs. Those big hands. Never mind the muscles cording in his back and shoulders, clearly visible even through his shirt when he bent or lifted anything. Never mind that mouth...

  Monica stopped herself. She wasn’t here for that. Sure, he pushed just about every one of her buttons, aside from the fact he didn’t seem to have a sense of humor. Oh, and that he obviously didn’t like her at all, was suspicious of her being here and had no faith in anything she’d already proven to herself as truth. She could get over him not believing in Sasquatch, but Jordan had been blunt and up-front about his utter lack of even an inkling of belief in anything other than what he could read about in a textbook. A man like that wasn’t for her. No way.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt to admire the shape of him through the sliding glass doors at the front of his bungalow as he moved around inside. Cooking dinner, judging by the good smells of onions and garlic in olive oil. She’d eaten at the main house with DiNero, slabs of steak as thick as her fist and wine she bet cost more than her rent. He’d have someone stock her fridge for her tomorrow, he’d promised. Until then, if she wanted a late-night snack, she was out of luck.

  At least if she wanted food, Monica thought, watching Jordan’s silhouette, and then she reined in her hormones and went inside.

  * * *

  Jordan woke early, as he always did, though this morning he’d actually needed his alarm to rouse him. He’d been dreaming, jumbled images that made no sense. Nothing he could remember, really, but for the first time in forever, he couldn’t seem to shake away the sleep.

  Breakfast didn’t satisfy him, either. Granola and soy milk. Healthy, yes. Satisfying? Not when he really wanted a platter of fried eggs, a rasher of bacon, a fistful of sausages... Shit. His stomach rumbled angrily as he made himself some sourdough toast spread thickly with strawberry jam. Strong coffee eased the cravings a little bit, but not entirely.

  It definitely didn’t help that when he headed up to the main house to see if that woman DiNero had hired was ready to join him on the daily rounds, Jordan discovered Magnus had laid out a spread. DiNero’s personal chef believed in hearty, down-home cooking. Gumbo, jambalaya, but also breakfasts that could feed an army. Jordan nodded at Karen and Bill, two of his assistants, who were helping themselves to the buffet on the sideboard, but he didn’t dare get any closer to the food. He’d fall on it like...well...like a starving man.

  He spotted Monica and DiNero on the terrace overlooking the yard. She looked fresh faced and ready to take on anything, her dark red hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the base of her skull. He gave her a grudging nod, noting her work pants and boots. At least she’d dressed appropriately.

  “Morning, Leone. How the hell are you? I was just telling Ms. Blackship here about the elephant.” DiNero gave Jordan a gator grin.

  “We don’t have an elephant,” Jordan said.

  DiNero waggled his brows. “Not yet.”

  Jordan sighed. He’d told his boss an elephant was too much to handle. The sheer size of it would mean a habitat that would require far too much upkeep, unless the man wanted the poor thing to be hemmed in. Not to mention that elephants were smart and could be vengeful if mistreated—not that Jordan would ever mistreat an animal, but you never knew how they’d been treated before. Elephants did not belong in a private zoo. Then again, he thought with a bland smile as DiNero kept blabbing away, no animals really did, even if it meant Jordan would be out of a job.

  “Grab a plate,” DiNero said.

  “Already ate. Thanks.” To Monica, Jordan said, “You want to come on my rounds with me today?”

  She tucked a final bite of toast into her mouth and nodded, wiping her hands on a napkin. She swigged some coffee and stood. The way DiNero ogled her ass when she turned made Jordan want to punch the other man in the face.

  “He’s kind of a douche bag, huh?” she murmured as they left the dining room.

  Jordan gave her a glance. “He’s my boss.”

  “He’s totally looking at my butt, isn’t he? I can tell.” She slanted Jordan a sideways smirk.

  Jordan didn’t answer her, but Monica laughed softly anyway. They’d just started heading for the golf carts when Jordan’s third assistant, a white-faced and shaking Peter, ran toward them. Jordan knew before the other guy had even said a word what had happened.

  “Where?” he asked.

  Peter shook his head and pointed toward the mountain-lion habitat. Jordan took off running, Monica on his heels. In minutes they made it to the habitat, where Jordan skidded to a halt. The entire interior of the habitat had become an abattoir. There was no sign of either of the mountain lions.

  “It took both of them.” Peter sounded as if he was going to be sick.

  Jordan knew how he felt. He ran his hands through his hair, stalking, pacing. He became aware of Monica next to him.

  “Can you let me inside?” she asked.

  Jordan nodded. “Yeah. We need to check everything out.”

  They spent the next hour doing that. Monica took notes on the drag patterns in the dirt and blood spatter while Jordan had Peter, Karen and Bill ready for the cleanup. All of them were silent as they worked.

  “No signs of damage to the habitat walls. The lock on the gate looks picked,” Jordan said.

  “Scratched.” Monica looked at him. “All around it.”

  Jordan shook his head. “An animal didn’t do this. You can’t tell me that something came and picked the fucking lock.”

  She tucked her notebook into her pocket and then pushed her hair behind her ears. “There have been instances of tool use in some—”

  “I need to check the outer wall. See where it got in.” Jordan wasn’t inte
rested in her lame theories about tool-using monsters.

  Monica followed him. “Jordan, wait.”

  He stopped but didn’t turn. He could tell that Karen, Bill and Peter were watching, though none of them said a word. Jordan waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. After another minute, he stalked off.

  There was nothing. No breaks in the wall. No holes. No bent barbed wire this time. The lock on the gate nearest the mountain-lion habitat had similar markings to the one on the habitat gate. Scratches.

  “It’s something smart,” Monica said from behind him.

  Jordan frowned and shook his head. “Smart enough to pick a lock? I’m telling you, poachers are doing this. Someone with a grudge against DiNero, maybe...”

  “Poachers would take the animals. They wouldn’t kill them. Would they?”

  He looked at her. “About seven years ago, DiNero got into a fight with some Japanese billionaire over a rare breed of panda they both wanted. Neither of them had the right habitats for it, but they were going head-to-head over it anyway. DiNero won the auction. The billionaire had someone come in and kill the panda before DiNero could take delivery. Some people don’t want anyone else to have what they want.”

  She gave him a long, steady look, then reached to touch his shoulder. Just briefly. Just once. “Jordan, I know this is killing you. Believe me, I want to find out what’s going on.”

  He put a hand on the wall and leaned, shoulders hunched. “This is fucked up, Monica. I know DiNero brought you in here because he thinks you can help figure out what’s happening. But I just can’t...”

  “You don’t have to believe me,” she said. “Honestly, if it’s a chupacabra or a poacher, does it matter, so long as we find out and stop it?”

  Grudgingly, he looked at her. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”