I was waving Izzy and Carla goodbye in the reception room when the next client turned up. Harvest Grove was a small town, so to see anyone we hadn’t met before was odd, but a bunch of guys in paramilitary gear? Janey and I just looked at each other as the clinic door was filled with blokes wearing black uniforms. The shoulder mics, the holstered guns, and the big black combat boots along with mirrored wrap-around sunglasses were enough to convey a serious air of ‘do not fuck with us.’ Two went to open the doors wide as the other two brought their dog in. The guy holding the leash passed a very dejected looking Doberman Pincher to one of the others and approached the front desk.
Uniforms…guns…military… I masked the stiffening of my body, the rapid gallop of my heart as they piled in, just staying still and quiet.
“Welcome to Harvest Grove Veterinary—” Janey started to say, but the guy just shook his head.
“Christian Hollingsworth. I have a four o’clock meeting with your veterinarian,” replied the man.
“OK, Mr Hollingsworth, Stuart is just seeing to an emergency patient at the moment. If you’d like to take a seat?”
The man looked around at the plastic seats in the waiting room with a derisive sniff. My eyebrow jerked up, my hand going to my hip. If I had to guess, I’d assume they weren’t up to his usual standard, but this was a vet waiting room and they were easy to hose off if our clients had ‘accidents.’
“Is there somewhere else we might wait?”
No, no, don’t do that… I told her in my head, but Janey turned to me. So of course, everyone else did the same. I bore the brunt of their collective gaze, wanting to step away, anything but be here, but instead, I squared my shoulders and slapped on a professional façade.
“You could wait in the break room…” I said. You can do this. Stay chill. The man nodded slowly, seeming to take way too much interest in inspecting me. “Mr Hollingsworth, if you’d like to come this way?”
But it appeared all of them were coming as I opened the empty examination room, then the door at the back that led to the rest of the clinic. I walked down the hallway, which seemed somewhat claustrophobic with the wall of men behind me, then felt a wave of relief when we reached the doorway and I ushered them in. Who the freaking hell were these guys? And why did they want to talk to Stuart? They didn’t look like coppers or soldiers, so…? The Doberman whined when he saw me, leaning over and wanting to take a sniff. Hollingsworth looked at me and then gave the dog a jerk on his lead to keep him moving. OK, weird. Once they were all ensconced, I asked, “Can I get anyone a drink while you wait?”
Say no, I pleaded. Let me get the hell out of here.
“White with one please,” the man said.
“Oh, good, Shannon,” Stuart said as I busied myself in the kitchenette, getting the drink orders made. “I’d like you in this meeting.”
“What?”
Um…how about no? No, no, no, no, no.
“It looks quite promising. The old prison up on the hill has been completely renovated and turned into a new research institute, and they need the services of a veterinarian on a regular basis. It’d… It’s very important we win this contract, Shan, and you’re a big part of what brings people to Harvest Grove.”
Stuart’s smile was bright and sunny, as it always was. The same smile that placated anxious pets and their owners by turns. It said, ‘leave everything to me, I’ve got this.’ But of course, he couldn’t, could he?
Keep away…keep away…keep away…
Nan’s admonitions beat frantically inside me, but with them came the sure knowledge that she had not followed her own advice. She’d settled here many years before I came along, raising Mum in our house, then me when Mum died. I swallowed hard.
“It’s just…”
Stuart was going to explain, lay out for me what I already knew—that the town of Harvest Grove had gotten too small to support its own veterinarian now. If the weirdos in the black uniforms were offering him more money… I passed him two of the mugs to be taken into the room, grabbing the other three myself.
Don’t do this. Do not do this.
“Of course,” I said. “I’d be happy to help.
Chapter 4
“So, tell me about what your practice has to offer,” Hollingsworth said, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled.
“Uh, well…perhaps you might tell us a little more about the day to day business of the Capricorn Institute, and then we’d be able to discuss better how Harvest Grove could meet your needs,” Stuart replied. “We knew there was a bunch of work being done on the old prison, but not what for.”
The man sniffed at this, but he straightened and said, “The institute is focussed on ensuring that certain threatened species of animals will survive into the future. We’re creating gene banks and exploring ways to ensure captive animals keep perpetuating their number, possibly using some cloning techniques.”
“Cloning? That must be some set up you’ve got up there. So what do you want from a country vet?”
“Dr Wilson…” The black clad man looked at Stuart with an indulgent smile. “Let’s not be coy. Your reputation precedes you. We have our own science team, of course, but when I was headhunting someone to run the veterinary science side of things, imagine my surprise when I found a world-wide expert on big cats right down the road.”
Wait, what?
This whole scene was waaay too Bond villain for me. I was half tempted to dump Fluffy, Mrs Dixon’s incontinent and very crabby Persian cat, in Hollingsworth’s arms so he could stroke it absently. But as the two men did that manly, stare down thing only people with penises seem to be able to do, I got to my feet. Stuart had a past, we all knew that, but he refused to talk about it and I was respecting that by GTFO’ing of the room.
“Stay, Ms Bruce,” Hollingsworth said, without even looking my way.
Excuse me? I looked the man over, eyes narrowing. Does being an overbearing dickwad come automatically with power and authority? Stay cool, Shan. Just be professional and tell him you have a client.
“I apologise, but I have a four-thirty appointment to get to,” I said, realising I hadn’t given him my last name.
Get out, get away, hissed Nan’s voice.
“Yes, with Diablo,” he replied, letting go of the Doberman’s lead.
The dog had been fixated on me since we got in the room, his dark brown eyes taking in every move I made, but I wasn’t getting much from him from this far away. I wasn’t sure if that vigilance was because he wanted a pat or to eat me up. I took a deep breath, my muscles locking up as I sat back down in the chair, Stuart’s protests dying away as the animal came closer. Diablo walked up, sitting down neatly at my feet, and then continued to stare.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked. “He presents like a well-trained dog. I usually deal with the more neurotic of our clients.”
“Diablo…suffered a setback recently. As you have noted, he shows no outside signs of being affected, yet we are having difficulties using him in his usual capacity.”