ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
Some days you’re the windshield, some days you’re the bug.
Other days, you’re the girl wading thigh-deep in frigid swamp water trying to talk a koala out of a cypress tree.
Well, if you’re me, anyway.
My name is Grace Wilde, and I am the dog, cat, elephant, and at the moment, koala whisperer.
I waded closer to the base of the tree and squinted up.
Percy, the koala, sat in the crook of one of the bare branches. He was still soaked from his frantic swim to reach the tallest tree in the area. Wet is not a good look for a koala. The tufts of fur on his ears drooped and the rest of his gray and white coat was clumped and matted. In addition to looking pitiful, the poor little guy was confused, agitated, and in a pretty foul mood.
I couldn’t blame him.
He’d been on his way to his new home in Orlando when disaster struck. The transport vehicle was involved in an accident on I-95 that left the driver with a concussion and an injured leg. During the crash, the van’s rear doors and the koala’s cage had popped open. Thankfully, Percy had chosen to run away from the six lanes of speeding traffic and flee into the adjacent swamp.
Someone called 911. Kai Duncan, whom I’ve been dating and who happens to be a sergeant with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, called me. I, in turn, had called reinforcements. And here we were . . .
“What do you think, Grace?”
The question came from my friend and colleague, Sonja Brown.
Sonja was an animal behaviorist with a big heart and had great instincts. Like the rest of the would-be rescuers gathered around us, she was willing to drop everything to go on a mission to find a rogue koala. Unlike the other volunteers, Sonja knew my secret.
I can communicate with animals.
Some would say I’m psychic, some would use the term telepath. A few too many would call me crazy, a freak, or both, which means I tend to be a selective sharer.
I looked at Sonja. She stood in the murky water a few feet to my right and wore an expression of calm concern on her lovely, dark face.
So far, I’d coaxed, cajoled, and visualized a eucalyptus utopia.
Percy wasn’t interested.
He wanted someone he called Teddy, and that was that.
I motioned Sonja closer. She slogged slowly to where I stood.
“What was the driver’s name?”
“Mark somebody. Why?”
I lowered my voice so the other rescuers wouldn’t hear.
“He keeps asking for Teddy.”
“Teddy, huh?” She looked up at the koala. “Even if we figure out who Teddy is, it would take a while for them to get here, right?”
I nodded, understanding what she meant. Though I hadn’t sensed any physical trauma from the koala, I couldn’t be sure and we couldn’t take any chances.
Drawing in a lungful of marshy air, I focused my thoughts and tried again to persuade Percy to come down the tree.
Hungry? I pulled the image of eucalyptus leaves to the front of my mind and offered it to the koala.
Teddy! Was the response.
I don’t know who Teddy is! The frustrated thought came out a little more forceful than I’d intended.
To my surprise, instead of being startled, the koala answered with a series of sensations and images. The feel of soft fur. Bright, black eyes, a velvet nose.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
I splashed over to where we’d set Percy’s transport cage, got on my hands and knees and started digging through the contents. Eucalyptus, eucalyptus, a little more eucalyptus . . . I found a baby blanket and, buried in a corner, a stuffed bear.
“Hello, Teddy.”
• • •
“Even though I’ve seen you do your stuff before, I’m always impressed,” Sonja said twenty minutes later as we walked to the construction site where we, and the other volunteers, had parked.
I shrugged and shifted my gaze to the people around us. I had always been uncomfortable with compliments and especially so when it came to my ability.
Having only recently told a handful of people, I was still getting used to talking about it openly. Doing so within earshot of those who didn’t know made me feel exposed.
I cast a meaningful look in the direction of the other volunteers.
“What?” She followed my glance, stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and stared at me in silent challenge.
“I’m not ready to tell everyone I meet what I can do, okay?” I whispered.
“Did I say anything about your ability? No, I did not. I didn’t use the word telepathy or psychic or anything like that, did I?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “No, what I did was pay you a compliment. The proper response to which should be: ‘Thank you, Sonja.’”
She waited expectantly.
I huffed out a breath. “Thank you, Sonja.”
“See? Was that so hard? Grace, honey, listen. I understand your reluctance to open up to people. Even though I don’t agree with it, I understand.”
“You sound like Emma.”
My sister had been encouraging me to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, for years. I’d resisted. Mostly out of fear.
“I know what happened with that idiot old boyfriend of yours, but by now you must’ve learned that there are plenty of people who will accept what you can do. Not without question, maybe. But they’ll at least give you a chance. Speaking of chances . . .” She looked over my shoulder and smiled.
I glanced back to see who she was talking about and felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth as well.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” Kai said.
“I left my phone in Bluebell.” I motioned to where my vintage, light blue Suburban was parked.
Kai nodded a quick greeting to Sonja and said to me, “I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Sonja gave me a wink, we said our good-byes, and I turned back to Kai. “What’s up?”
He waited for my friend to be out of earshot before he started to answer. “Did you talk to—” He broke off at the sound of tires crunching over the oyster-shell parking lot. Kai went still, then shifted his weight, turning his body slightly to cast a clandestine glance over his shoulder.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning to peer around him and see who had driven into the parking area. Kai moved to block my line of sight.
I gazed a question into his troubled face.
“Listen, I don’t have time to explain.” His words were punctuated by the slam of a door and footsteps on the loose shells. “The woman walking toward us is a cop. She’s going to want to ask you questions. Don’t panic, no matter what she says.”
Here’s the thing—when someone tells you not to panic, what’s the first thing you do? Yep. I swallowed hard against the sudden tendrils of fear tightening around my throat.
The footsteps crunched closer.
“Kai, what—”
“You’re going to have to stall,” he said, lowering his voice. “Redirect. But whatever you do, don’t tell her anything about Emma.”
“Emma?” The tendrils grew into thorny vines at the mention of my sister’s name. My heart rate surged, pounding in my chest almost painfully.
“You don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I’m just here to take you to a late lunch. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Now, smile and ask me where we’re going to eat,” he murmured.
I bared my teeth—it was the best I could do in that moment—and said, “So, what are you hungry for?” just as the woman reached us.
The first thing I noticed when I shifted my attention to her was the flame-red color of her hair. Natural, if the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks were any indication. Her hair was cut short and, along with her heart-shaped face and petite frame, made me think of Neverland and pixies.
She didn’t look at all scary, which was more unnerving than if I’d turned to see the Blair Witch.
Kai shrugged at me, still pretending not to have noticed her.
“It’s up to you. I was—” He stopped and turned, a look of surprise on his face. “Detective Boyle, what are you doing here?”
She gave him an unfriendly look. I admit my understanding of people is limited, but I know the stink eye when I see it. Whoever this woman was, she didn’t like Kai.
“Oh, I’m sure you know, Sergeant Duncan.”
“I don’t, actually,” Kai said, his tone so honest and forthcoming, I almost believed him.
She turned to me and her features softened. “Grace Wilde?”
“Yes.”
Her tone was much warmer, almost apologetic, when she said, “I have a few questions for you if you have a moment.”
I felt Kai reach over to clasp my hand in his. Though we’d been dating, in the few times we’d gone out he’d never held my hand.
The sensation of his warm, rough palm pressed to mine should have sent a happy flutter through me. All I felt was dread.
I could sense Kai trying to tell me something through his steady grip.
What?
Get ready to run?
Stay calm?
“Sure,” I said.
“Great. Would you mind coming with me?”
“Like this?” I motioned to my stained clothes. “I should probably head home and change before—”
She waved my comment away and said, “You were going to lunch, right?”
Damn. Busted.
“Drive-through,” I said with a shrug. “Bluebell is used to the dirt.”
“Who?”
“Bluebell.” I pointed.
“Well,” Detective Boyle said after eyeing my old, enormous SUV, “I’m sure we can manage.”
“What’s all this about, Detective?” I asked.
“We’ll explain once we get to the sheriff’s office.”
“Why don’t you explain now?” I felt Kai’s hand tighten in mine so I tacked on a “please.”
“I have questions about your sister, Emma.”
“Emma? Is she okay?”
“She’s not hurt.”
That wasn’t the same thing as being okay, but relief poured over me anyway. I blew out a sigh and said, “I’m not sure I understand why you want to talk to me about Emma.”
“She’s just been arrested.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“Murder.”
CHAPTER 2
My ride to the Police Memorial Building had given me the one thing I’d needed. Time.
I’d learned at a young age to keep a firm grasp on my emotions.
The more control I had, the better equipped I was to handle the raw flood of feelings from an injured or frightened animal.
Sometimes, there’s an overlap between the animal’s emotions and my own. That’s when things get tricky. But usually, given enough time, I can project an aura of calm even in the middle of the storm.
More recently, I’d been learning meditation techniques, which I put into practice to center my thoughts during the thirty-minute drive and brief waiting period in the interview room. Ironically, I seemed to be better at focusing my mind when under acute stress than under normal circumstances.
Consequently, when Detective Boyle entered the small room and sat across from me, I was able to remain composed when I asked, “Where’s my sister?”
“She’s speaking to another detective right now.”
“When can I see her?”
“Soon. But we need some information first.”
“You said my sister’s been arrested for murder. Of who? When?”
“Before we can get to all that, there are a few things we need cleared up. Grace, I know you want to help us and we want to help your sister. Being honest is the best course.”
“Okay.” I nodded as if that was my intention. “But you should know this, Detective. Whatever you think Emma’s done, you’re wrong. My sister could never kill anyone.”
Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Technically, Emma was more than capable of killing someone. She had a black belt in aikido and had trained in other martial arts, even practiced some MMA and street-style fighting.
My sister was, quite frankly, a badass. But murder?
No.
“If that’s the case,” Detective Boyle said with reassuring friendliness, “we’ll figure it out. First, we have some questions, okay?”
I nodded. I knew this was all an act. She was playing the good cop, but her warm tone and pixie looks didn’t fool me. I’d seen the look she’d given Kai. There was a bad cop, hard and cold as frozen granite behind the disarming smile. I was going to be ready for her.
“You live with your sister, correct?”
I thought about Kai’s warning and decided telling her my living arrangements couldn’t be that incriminating. I might even be able to stall.
“My old landlady booted us after she bought a new pair of glasses and got a good look at Moss.”
“Who?”
“My dog, Moss. He’s big and scary-looking, so we ended up at my sister’s place on the beach.”
“We?”
“Moss and I. It’s only temporary, though. I’ve actually been house hunting. Have you ever done that? It’s kind of stressful.”
Detective Boyle made a noncommittal sound, then moved on to her next question. “Did you see your sister this morning?”
I shrugged. “I see Emma just about every morning. She makes me coffee, which is really nice because she doesn’t even drink coffee. Emma likes green tea. Do you?”
“Not really.”
“Me either. Tastes like dirt, if you ask me.”
She nodded amiably, though I could see she was not pleased by my rambling answers.
“Speaking of which, I’m a little thirsty,” I said. “Could I trouble you for some water?”
“Sure.”
She rose, stepped to the door, poked her head out, and then returned. I’d hoped for a longer reprieve from the questioning but the water request had taken all of five seconds and she plowed on as soon as her rump hit the chair.
“So, you saw your sister this morning. What time was that?”
“Gosh, I don’t really remember.” I looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about it, and noticed an inverted dome, which I knew shielded a camera. I wondered who was on the other end watching. Kai? Probably not. My only other real contact in the JSO was Detective Jake Nocera. A gruff, tough, homicide detective, Jake was a Yankee transplant and one of my few friends. Would that exclude him from the case as well?
I got my answer a moment later when the door opened and Jake ambled in holding a paper cup in one beefy hand. Not looking at me, he set the cup on the table, turned, and walked out the door. Something about that made my heart sink.
I picked up the cup and took a sip.
“Thanks,” I said to Detective Boyle.
“Sure. Can you remember what time you saw your sister this morning?”
I shook my head. “Like I said, I love my coffee. I can’t really think straight until I have at least one cup.”
“Do you remember when you left or if she left before you?”
“I got an emergency call to go deal with a situation off 95. But you know that—you guys came and picked me up there.”
“You know Detective Nocera, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Kai had told me not to answer questions about Emma; he hadn’t said anything about Jake—or himself, for that matter. So I figured I was in the clear.
“He’s told me he doesn’t know your sister very well.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Which is why he’s still on this case.” She waited a beat, then added, “He vouched for you. I think you should know that.” She let the silence stretch out between us as she studied me.
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.
“So.” She leaned in, eyes locking on mine. “Why are you playing with me?”
“Playing with you?”
“You’re not answering my questions.”
I started to weave an elaborate line of BS but thought better of it, deciding a partial truth was the best bet.
“Look, Detective, this situation is . . .” I paused, searching for the right word. “It’s surreal. Quite honestly, it’s freaking me out. When I get upset or nervous I either babble like an idiot or clam up completely. As I believe the second option is not what you’re hoping for, I’ve been doing my best to answer your questions.”
I was lying, but only about the last part.
“You’re doing your best?”
I nodded. I was doing my best—to misdirect, deflect, and stall. Though I still wasn’t sure why. Kai’s warning had fallen pretty short in the clarity department.
“But it’s hard,” I said. “I’m worried about my sister and I’m afraid I’ll say something that will give you the wrong idea.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing I can tell you that will help because, I promise you,” I said, looking her dead in the eye, “my sister would never kill anyone.”
“Even her ex-husband?”
“Her—” I stopped as the words sank in. Drawing in a slow breath, I tried to will the color to remain in my face. “Tony Ortega is dead?”
“He is. And your sister was caught standing over his body—minutes after his death.”
She waited for a response. I exercised my right to remain silent. I was pretty sure anything I had to say about Ortega could be used against me. Especially since the first thing that popped into my head was, He probably deserved it.
Boyle amped up her stare, honing it to a hard point. I could almost feel it pressing into me. I’d been right about the cold, granite cop under the pixie dust.
Luckily, as a woman who faced apex predators on a regular basis, I was not easily intimidated. People can try to posture and pretend, but very few can beat me in a stare-down.
The look in her eyes made one thing clear: She would no longer be playing nice.
Worked for me. I had always been more of a runs-with-scissors than a plays-well-with-others kind of a girl.
“You knew Anthony Ortega.”
I nodded.
She glared at me for a long moment, waiting for me to elaborate.
“He was married to my sister, of course I knew him.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
I shook my head with a shrug. “I’m not sure.”
“Guess.”
I thought about it. I knew I’d seen him a few weeks before he and Emma divorced, right before he’d put her in the hospital. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Not at all?”
“No. Not at all.”
“But he has contacted you.”
I shook my head, though I knew where she was going with her question. “He won the bid for my services at a silent auction last weekend, but I’ve had no contact with him.”
She angled her head to study me.
“You say your services. You mean as an”—she opened the file in front of her for the first time—“animal behaviorist?”
“It’s the only thing I do.”
“Aren’t you also a veterinarian?”
“I keep my license current, but I don’t have a practice.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sometimes it helps to be able to treat or quarantine an animal in the field.”
“Right. You helped with the Richardson murder a few months ago.”
“I did.”
“The dog—a Doberman, wasn’t it? Had to be put down after you’d given the okay for it to be adopted.”
“Yes.” Actually, the Doberman in question was alive and well and living with a certain surly detective I knew. I’d fudged on the papers, and Jake had gotten a great dog who was only vicious when murderers were attacking people he cared about.
Detective Boyle was trying to goad me by questioning my skills, but she was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. People had been questioning my skills for years, and I was not easily goaded.
“Quite a mistake,” she added.
“Everyone makes them.”
“Detective Nocera tells me you’re very good at your job, despite your mistakes. But I’m having a hard time understanding why Anthony Ortega would need to hire an animal behaviorist.”
“Hmm . . .” I tried to sound thoughtful but was pretty sure my restraint was starting to slip and let some sarcasm through. Kai had advised me to stall and redirect, but I was reaching my limit. “Typically, people need me to help with animal behavior.”
“Even people who don’t own an animal?”
I should have been surprised but I wasn’t. Tony Ortega had never been what I’d call pet-friendly.
“No. That would be unusual.”
“I agree.”
I flashed her a smile. “Just when I thought we weren’t going to see eye to eye.” Yep, definitely letting loose with the sarcasm.
She ignored my comment. “You must have some idea what he wanted.”
I shook my head. Actually, I’d suspected Ortega had wanted to weasel back into Emma’s life and was using me to do it. Learning he didn’t own a pet seemed to confirm that theory.
“Sorry, Detective. I have no clue.”
“Because you and your sister have no contact with him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
Part of me wanted to tell her what a raging asshole Ortega was. A total narcissist and someone I wouldn’t want to hang around with even if he hadn’t beaten my sister so badly she’d been almost unrecognizable when I’d seen her lying in the hospital bed.
The image of that moment filled my mind. Emma’s beautiful face so swollen and bruised it looked like a horrible, bloated mask.
The truth was, I was glad Ortega was dead. But I kept that to myself and said, “We didn’t have anything to talk about.”
“So, all the times he called you in the last few days . . .” She paused to consult her notes. “Thirteen times according to your phone records—you never spoke to him?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You were avoiding him?”
“We didn’t get along.”
“Why’s that?”
I had a feeling she knew the answer. But I wasn’t about to take the bait. Telling her Ortega was abusive to my sister until she escaped their marriage sounded too much like a motive for murder.
I shrugged, looked her in the eyes, and said, “Ever just meet somebody who rubs you the wrong way? You just can’t help it. You don’t like them, right off the bat?”
She kept her gaze steady on mine and smiled ever so slightly. “You know, every once in a while, I sure do.”
“Well then, we seem to have reached an understanding.” I stood, gave her a departing nod, and walked out into the corridor.
Marching over to the double doors leading into the homicide unit, I pulled one open and spotted Jake already striding toward me. He’d probably been watching my interview with Boyle on one of the wall-mounted monitors.
Though I thought he knew me well enough to predict what I wanted, I stopped and, with a very calm voice, said, “I’d like to see my sister. Please.”
Jake’s jowly face was made more dour by the stern, downward tilt of his mouth. He glowered at me, then glowered a little harder, finally ticking his chin up in a quick nod.
“Come on,” he growled, leading me through the room to a solid wood door exactly like the one I’d left. “I’ll tell Boyle we’ll learn more if we let you two talk.”
“Because you’ll be listening?”
He gave me a what-do-you-think? look before unlocking the door and swinging it open.
Emma sat at the table on the far side of the tiny, gray room. Not a hair out of place, not a smudge in her lightly applied makeup, she looked like she always did—polished and elegant. At least she would have if she hadn’t been sporting an ill-fitting muddy green shirt with the word INMATE printed over the left pocket. The corner of her lips quirked up into a wry half smile when she saw my face.
“I know.” She cast a disparaging glance at the shirt. “This is not my color.”
Her flippant comment made me want to sigh with a mixture of relief and exasperation. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if I’d walked in to find her crying and terrified.
Blithe, irreverent Emma I can handle. Scared, helpless Emma is not something I processed well.
A flash of memory hit me again: my sister’s bruised and battered face, tears leaking from the corners of her swollen eyes as she recounted what Ortega had done to her.
And, again, I was glad the man was dead.
“You’re worried about your clothes?” I asked, lowering into the plastic chair across from her.
“Not really. Though they did take my favorite pair of Gucci boots . . . which I sincerely hope to get back unscathed.” She directed the last comment to the camera bubble over our heads.
“Emma—”
“I’m kidding. They’re my second-favorite pair of Gucci boots.” She grinned.
Only Emma.
“Where’s Wes?” I asked, referring to our friend and attorney Wes Roberts.
“On his way and ready to spit nails.”
“Good.” Wes lived in Savannah now but still practiced in Florida. He was a great lawyer. I felt a wave of optimism wash over my worry. The sensation lasted about half a second.
“Listen,” she said, her face growing serious, “there’s something I need you to do for me.”
I had a feeling I knew what she was going to ask.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call Mom and Dad,” I told her with as much stoic nonchalance as I could muster.
She shook her head. “It’s not that. You wouldn’t get through to them, remember?”
Relief hit me hard enough to force a grateful breath from my lungs. I slumped back in the chair. “Right. They’re in Big Bend.”
Our parents had called when they’d reached the national park the day before to say they’d be out of cell range for a few days. They’d been traveling the country in their RV, having a ball. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. Nor did I want to unleash our mother on the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.
Mom’s an ex-teacher. She has that “teacher’s voice” thing, and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
“By the time they’re back to civilization this will all be handled,” Emma said. “But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay.”
“You have to promise that you’ll do it.”
“Of course.”
“Even though Wes is on his way, I’m going to be stuck her a while, so I need you to take care of a party tonight.”
“Beg pardon?”
“It won’t be a big deal.”
“But—” Nothing about handling social situations was easy for me. My sister, on the other hand, was an events coordinator and a very good one.
That didn’t change the obvious, which I felt obligated to point out.
Straightening, I leaned forward and said, “Em, don’t you think you should be more worried about being arrested for murder than a party?”
“Murder? Is that what they told you?”
“Yes. They said a witness saw you
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