Page 55 of Ambush

Paradise had tamed her hair in a bun that revealed the sweet curve of her neck and shoulders. The day was warm for late January, and she wore a sleeveless top that showed her shapely arms. Blake couldn’t get enough of drinking her in.

She turned and caught him staring, and a flush spread across her cheeks. Her right hand strayed to the scars on her left forearm. “Where’d you come from?”

“I was looking for you.” He grinned and reached out to snag the pin anchoring her bun and watched as her hair tumbled to her shoulders. “There’s my Simba.”

Her smile emerged. “You haven’t called me that since I got here. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I was afraid of being smacked, but I couldn’t help myself. Hey, I had a great idea. We should talk to Mrs. Steerforth.”

“She’s still around here?” She wound her hair back up and secured it in place.

He nodded. “After her husband was killed, she bought a place out on Fort Morgan Road. I’d like to find out if she felt threatened at all or if anyone tried to buy them out. I called to ask if I could stop by with a box of things I found in one of the sheds—a bunch of old children’s books. Anyway, she told me to come by. Want to come with me?”

“I’d love to.” She walked with him toward the parking lot and paused to wash her hands at the spigot attached to the gift shop. “She and her husband were always very kind to me. It will be good to tell her how sorry I am for her loss.”

They resumed walking toward the truck. “She was badly mauled by that tiger. I hope that’s not too upsetting for you.”

Her fingers crept again to her left shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

On the way south to the Gulf, Blake thought about asking Paradise on a real date, then tabled the idea. Their unspoken agreement to keep things casual until The Sanctuary was out of danger put the brakes on that possibility.

Traffic was light, and when they reached the address along the Gulf side of the peninsula, Mrs. Steerforth’s porch and yard lights welcomed them.

She lived one house back from the beach, and the tranquil turquoise house sat on stilts in case of storm surge. Blake guessed it had been built about the time they moved away from The Sanctuary. He got the box of books from the back of the truck and followed Paradise up the steps to the back deck and entry door.

The door opened before he could knock, and Mary Steerforth stood holding it open for them. “Blake, so nice of you to bring the books.” Her gaze went over his shoulder, and her brown eyes widened. “And Paradise? I didn’t know you’d come back to the area.” She stepped out onto the deck and opened her arms to embrace Paradise.

Mary was in her sixties but seemed older with the scars on her face and arms. Blake had to work at not glancing away from the damage left by the tiger. “Where do you want these?”

Mary released Paradise and limped to a deck chair. “Oh, just set them down anywhere. I’ll probably take them to the used bookstore. I only had you bring them because I was lonely. I don’t get much company these days. People wince when they see me.” She touched her scar and glanced at Blake. “You did a good job of not showing any distaste.”

“You’ve always been beautiful, Mary.” And in spite of her scars, she was. Her lovely spirit shone through in her eyes and smile.

Mary gestured to the Adirondack chairs on either side of her. “Have a seat, kids, and tell me all about how The Sanctuary is doing. I don’t get much news out here. Most of these places are rented by tourists, and they don’t know any good scuttlebutt.”

Paradise pulled a chair closer to Mary and perched on its white wooden slats. “I came on as vet and fill-in keeper wherever I’m needed. Jenna and Blake are doing a great job out there.” She touched her shoulder. “You’re not the only one scarred by a big cat, Mary. A black jaguar nailed me.”

Mary’s face softened. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Are you afraid now?”

“I was, but I’m getting much better. I’m so sorry to hear about Allen.”

“They killed him, you know. I suspect Hank was killed too, wasn’t he?”

Blake gaped, then recovered his composure. “We have suspected his death wasn’t an accident, but we’ve had no proof so we let it go. Who killed Allen? You think he was run off the road?”

“He was drugged. His blood showed a high methamphetamine level, and hehateddrugs with a passion. Our only child died of a drug overdose, and he would rather be tortured than do any kind of drug. But of course no one listened to me, and I sit out here stewing about the lack of justice. I have to leave it in God’s hands though. His justice is the best kind anyway.”

“Who do you suspect?” Blake asked.

“Frank Ellis. He tried to buy the property, and when he couldn’t, he killed Allen and planned to swoop in at the auction. But his funding got messed up, and your family slipped in before he could square it away. I’m sure he’s ready to remedy that situation.”

“We’ve suspected he might have something to do with the attacks at The Sanctuary too.” Blake listed the different incidents.

Mary’s expression grew more somber. “You kids will have to be on your guard. I don’t know why he’s so desperate to have it—there are other tracts of land for his subdivision, but he seems determined to acquire it.”

And Blake was equally determined to prevent that acquisition.

Chapter 26

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