Sigh. The only signs of life are a couple of tall area lights in the lot and the neon purple flashers on the billboard.
My excitement wanes as the truck rolls to a grunting stop and the engine dies in an empty lot.
Welp, so much for that miracle I ordered.
With a defeated sigh, I put the truck in park and try starting it again, but nothing happens. There’s a sharp click when I turn the key, and then dead silence.
“Holy hell, now what?” I mutter, stabbing at my belt buckle and popping open the door to climb out.
A minute later, I’ve got the hood propped open, frowning at the vehicle’s metal guts. It’s times like this when I wish I’d paid more attention when Dad would break down on Namibian dirt roads. Somehow, he always managed to doctor up the old field Jeeps and forty-year-old trucks just enough to get us back to camp.
But I didn’t inherit the Macklin knack for repairs.
I’m a zoologist, not a mechanic, but I have to try.
It was the battery light flashing, so maybe one of the cables is loose or something? Before digging around under the hood, I walk back to the trailer and step on the hitch so I can peer through the wide opening in the slats.
Bruce is flopped down on the same hay pile that was there when I loaded him. His glassy eyes shimmer in the darkness as he lifts his head and looks at me.
Yo, what’s the story, lady? Are we gonna get back on the road or what? I imagine him saying.
I smile, even though my heart aches. “Sorry, my dude, we aren’t there quite yet. Car trouble. This is just a brief pit stop, so don’t worry. I’ve got your back, furball.”
He yawns, showing off that insane cave of a mouth, then licks his paw like the overgrown kitten he is. Even in the darkness, I can see the rusty stains from his injury.
The same wound I’d discovered this morning.
The one I couldn’t ignore, consequences be damned.
Before I get angry for him again, I jerk myself away from the trailer and scan the highway, trying to see if there’s anything else nearby.
We haven’t gone far enough to be safe.
Not by a long shot.
Minot’s only about two hours away, and so are Priscilla and Niles, who are going to be very pissed off when they find out they’re missing a very valuable tiger.
“It’s gonna be okay, guy,” I whisper to Bruce again, then pull a few deep breaths from the night into my lungs, trying like mad to hold it together.
Back to the truck. It could be worse—I think. I’m glad I picked a well-lit place to break down.
The light from the parking lot shines into the engine, even if I feel like I’ve just opened the lid of a two-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. It doesn’t make sense.
There’s no rhyme or reason, no order to what I’m looking at. I feel like I need a mechanic standing over my shoulder just to make sure I don’t cross a wire and accidentally blow the whole world up.
Crud.
Recognizing the battery—because even a hapless zoologist knows what a battery is—I climb up on the bumper for a better look, then grasp the cables attached to the posts on the battery, one at a time.
They feel tight.
I mean, they don’t jiggle or fall off as I tug on them. The metal clamps don’t move either when I try to give them a twist.
Now what?
Now, I hope. Hope that maybe I’ve given it the golden touch, a simple adjustment to keep this baby running for another hundred miles.
Hope that I’m not completely whacked out of my head for betting everything on long odds.
I climb down, lean into the driver’s seat, and reach in to turn the key.
Nothing.
Just that single damning click too much like the guns you hear in movies when they’re empty.
With my brain on fire, I slump down, exhausted, planting my forehead against the seat. It’s still warm from my butt being stuck in it for hours, on a mission I’m so not made for.
Why couldn’t I have stolen a reliable vehicle? Why?
Oh, right. Because this truck and its trailer don’t have Exotic Plains plastered all over them in huge glaring letters like the rest that were at that sick joke of a sanctuary.
I try the key again, just for the hell of it. I’m grinding my teeth at another awful click-click-click when an epiphany strikes. Could there be a loose wire under the steering wheel?
Sticking my head under the column, I shove my hair out of the way and feel around, unsure what I’ll do if I find one.
“Car trouble?” a deep voice booms behind me.
The back of my head smacks the steering wheel in my rush to get up. Ow.
Pressing a hand against the stinging pain, I stand up, close my eyes, and say a quick prayer in my head.
The gruff voice isn’t Niles or Priscilla Foss’, but only God knows who they’d send after me if they’ve figured out Bruce is gone.
“Lady? You okay?” the stranger thunders again, this time closer.
“Yes! Never better,” I strangle out. Not easily with my heart pounding in my throat.
“Funny kind of better,” the voice growls to my back. “Looks more like you could use a hand.”
Hoping it’ll help, I gather my hair in one hand and lift it off the back of my neck, which is slicked with sweat in the humid night air, and finally turn around.
Holy Ohio.
I have to release my hair in order to tilt my head back far enough to see more than a massive chest covered with a black t-shirt sporting a picture of a purple bob cat. Mouth open. Teeth showing.
And it turns out that slab of a chest is attached to a mountain with arms and legs.
He’s tall, dark, shredded, and deliriously handsome.
I won’t call him muscular because it would be an injustice. Like calling Samson a bodybuilder.
This man looks like he could hoist Bruce over his head without breaking a sweat.
Moving my eyes up over shoulders that’d make Atlas seethe with jealously and a thick neck worthy of a bull, my gaze lands on a face. An amused one, with deep manly lines around flinty hazel-dark eyes.
This looks like a face that’s used to smiling, even if he’s rocking that scary-hot vibe like he invented it.
Only, right now, there’s a smirk carved on his chiseled face that says he might be insane enough to try lifting a full-grown tiger as a feat of strength.
Oh, crap.
Bruce!
If there’s one thing I can’t do—besides let this guy climb inside my head and eat crackers nice and slow—is let him catch on to the fact that I’m hauling around some very illegal cargo, and it’s alive.
“What kind of trouble are you having?” he asks, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.
At the moment, breathing.
Next up, peeling my eyes off him and finding the willpower to mutter more than a squeak in reply.
His jaw is square, his nose straight, his hair short, but not too short. And his mouth, that smile, it’s—
It’s officially too much to handle.
I huff out a loud breath to stop a heavenly fantasy from forming and get my thoughts back to hell. Because that’s where I’m actually at right now, blundering around an isolated parking lot in the middle of the night with a strange man and a not-so-well concealed monster in my trailer.
Fun times.
“The battery. Um, I think that’s it,” I rattle off, having to clear my throat to continue. “The light just started flashing while I was on the road, but then it stayed on and my truck up and died. Now there’s just...nothing. Not even the battery light. No power at all.”