Page 24 of Silent Threat
The front yard was the size of a helicopter landing pad. The mailbox looked like it’d met some idiot high school kids with baseball bats. Actually, that last bit made the town feel more real for some reason.
When Annie headed to the two-car garage that stood separate from her yellow house, on the opposite side of the worn driveway, Cole loped after her.
“What’s going to happen to the house?”
“My cousin’s crew tarped the hole, in case it rains,” she said. “Anything more will have to come from a real contractor. Kelly’s guys could remove an interior, non-load-bearing wall or do cosmetic fixes. This is structural. Too big for them. I have a pro coming in the morning.”
She stepped into the garage through the side door, and Cole followed. When she flipped on the light, he stared straight ahead, dumbfounded.
He’d been prepared for orphaned puppies her bleeding heart couldn’t leave at the pound, but reality was so much worse.
“You run a skunk sanctuary?” He stood still on the fresh hay that covered the floor. He barely breathed. He couldn’t have been less inclined to move if he’d suddenly found himself in the middle of a minefield.
“I take in injured animals.” A touch of defensiveness crept into her expression, probably in response to his are-you-freaking-crazy tone.
“Cats and dogs are easy to adopt out once they recover. The cats at Hope Hill came from here. Wild animals go back into the woods, if they can be self-supporting. I find homes for those with permanent injuries.” Her shoulders lifted then fell—probably a sigh. “Nobody wants the skunks.”
Because most people aren’t completely nuts.
He didn’t say that out loud. Maybe he was regaining some of his social skills. Since that was one of the stated goals of his treatment plan at Shit Hill—hey, good going.
“I’d prefer not to get sprayed.”
“They only spray if they feel threatened.”
She moved to the minifridge—shuffling so she wouldn’t step on anyone—warmed milk in the microwave on top of the fridge, and made two bottles. Then she sat on a folded comforter in the corner, and the half dozen juvenile skunks ran over.
She said something that looked like “Come here you little stink muffins,” which made Cole’s lips twitch.
She gently pushed the first few off her lap. “Babies first.” She waited until another half dozen smaller ones made their way to her.
“Two abandoned litters.” She helped them on her lap, one by one. “The mothers were run over on the highway.”
She rotated the bottles among the babies and murmured to them. He didn’t see what, since her face was angled downward. He imagined she was making cooing mama-skunk noises.
Since all the skunks were crowding around her, Cole figured he might be safe now. He looked farther into the garage.
Boxes and baby gates blocked off the area. The light of the single bulb by the door barely reached to the far end. Pens and crates filled the entire place. He’d been so startled by the skunks, he hadn’t noticed them immediately.
Damn drugs.The sleeping pills kept his mind in a haze even on the days he didn’t take them. All the chemicals were piling up in his system. In what universe did he not have complete situational awareness at all times?
In this one, apparently—a whole new world for him. He despised feeling this freaking helpless and useless. Every single day, he knew he was only alive because nobody had tried to kill him.
His shrink, Dr.Ambrose, kept telling him he needed to learn to relax, needed to learn that he didn’t have to be on his guard around the clock anymore. Cole was a civilian now—danger no longer waited for him around every corner. But being a Navy SEAL had been indelibly written into every cell of his body. Telling him to relax was like tossing a fish in the air and expecting it to fly away.
He peered into the darkness where other animals moved, probably making noise he couldn’t hear.
When he looked back at Annie, she said, “They’ve already been fed. They just want to party.”
He gestured toward them with his head and quirked an eyebrow.
She responded with, “Go ahead.”
He didn’t turn on the overhead light, didn’t want to rile up everyone in the middle of the night. Instead, he stepped over a baby gate and waited until his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness.
A tabby cat with a splint blinked at him from a pillow. A black potbellied pig with a newly healed gash in its side rooted around inside a pen. A raven watched him from the rafters, one wing bandaged. Three blue eggs slept in a nest in a cage, under a heating lamp.
Another divider came next. Past that, five emaciated llamas and a one-eyed donkey turned their heads to stare at him. He stared right back for a couple of startled seconds before scanning the rest of the space.
