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LIAM’S SUV BOUNCED on the backwoods road, the caged cub yipping whenever they smacked along a tooth-rattling rise. The farther into the forest he drove, the dimmer it became, small animals appearing then vanishing as he rounded a bend. Birds swooped before his windshield, chasing each other from the leafed-out trees.
Under other circumstances, Liam would have enjoyed the wild beauty around him. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the animal carrier. But this mission shattered the early-evening peace, shading it in sepia tones that matched his bleak mood. He didn’t want to kill the cub. Had hoped he’d reunite it with its mother. But his time in Afghanistan and work with the DEC had taught him that life wasn’t always fair.
“You get what you put into it.” Jim’s remembered voice sounded real enough to make Liam jerk the wheel. The SUV swerved then straightened, cold sweat slicking the back of Liam’s neck. In an instant, his mind flashed back to Afghanistan and he saw his friend offering him a cigarette as they finished their outpost wall patrol.
“We’re not making it out of this,” Liam insisted. His eyes scanned desert hills that hid more insurgents than their small unit could hold off. When he grabbed the cigarette, he dropped his night-vision gear.
“Don’t lose faith, kid.” Jim patted his arm, his lips curling in a lopsided smile before he bent for the goggles.
“Have it for both of us, Jim.”
A shot rang out and Liam ducked, his heart firing as fast as the bullet.
He reached for his friend.
“Jim?”
No answer.
“Jim!” His hands came away wet, his scream swallowed by the dark night.
The bear’s bark yanked Liam back to the present and he jerked the vehicle into a wider area in the road and parked. His head dropped to the steering wheel, his breath coming hard. A dull roar filled his ears and pain burrowed deep between his eyes.
At last, heart heavy, he turned off the ignition and listened to the engine tick, then quiet. He tossed his hat onto the passenger seat and dropped his head back. How could he do this?
How could he not?
For a moment, he imagined letting the cub go. No one in the department would be the wiser. But then he pictured it unable to find food without its mother’s help, the slow torture of starving to death. Or he envisioned larger animals chasing and killing it. A much crueler way to die than a single bullet. As a former sharpshooter, he could ensure the cub didn’t suffer a moment. Since the department didn’t have the budget to euthanize animals, it was the only way to keep it from a painful, drawn-out death.
The bear rustled behind him, a scratching sound of claws on metal. He should get on with it. If the guys at work saw this, they’d hassle him. Call him out for acting like a wimp. They’d tell him to stop putting off the inevitable. For them, it seemed easy. Yet to him, it was torture.
A high-pitched bark sounded, startling Liam from his thoughts. The cub’s stress was escalating. Delaying this did no one any good. His hands slipped on the door handle before he pushed it down. A clammy sensation crawled along his skin as he trudged to the back of the SUV and threw open the back door.
Killer. Vivie’s accusation whispered in his ear. He jerked, as if she were beside him. No denying her anger was genuine. Justified? No. She didn’t understand. Had unreasonable expectations that would end badly—the cub would likely fail to thrive at her inexperienced hands, and she or the cub could suffer a serious, even fatal, injury if it was mishandled. He shook his head. Better to face the worst now instead of later.
The small cub’s eyes met his through the bars. It was spooked. Had a right to be, he thought, as he hefted the carrier and a length of rope. He forced his leaden legs to carry him to a large maple, its trunk thick enough to secure the bear. He looped the restraint over its head then tied it to the base of the tree.
An image of the mother bear hanging from a similar maple flashed in his mind. Vivie’s comparison of Liam to the poachers had struck a chord, but he acted within the law, while they broke it. Their illegal actions had started this and now he had the horrible, despicable task of finishing it.
Why did it have to be like this?
“Because that’s life,” a voice—his, this time—whispered.
“Sorry, little girl,” he muttered when he headed back for his rifle, the empty pet carrier in hand. He shoved the crate inside and grabbed his gun, his lungs sluggish in his tight chest. He did not want to do this. Would trade places with anyone in the world not to...but that was the coward’s way. Passing off painful jobs because you couldn’t carry out your duty.
The weight of it crushed his chest. Would helping Vivie with her crazy plan be harder than this? Could he build an enclosure after persuading a rehabilitator to take the bear for a week? It might work, though he’d be tying himself to Vivie as her supervisor until they released the bear in the fall or found a home for it. If the cub’s jaw didn’t heal, an animal reserve was the only option. Waiting lists for one were long, if a spot opened up at all. In the end, he and the bear could find themselves in this spot again.
He sighed, air leaving him in a long stream. The plan was improbable when he imagined all that could go wrong.
He slipped a single round into the rifle and snapped it closed. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the only noise coming from the bear—a low, keening wail.
The weapon hung by his side, seeming to weigh a ton. Vivie had fought hard for the bear. Had stayed at the clinic all day and studied up on big-game care. Her devotion was clear. Would it wane when the daily chores turned tedious? Was she one of those people who got caught up in the fantasy, then lost interest in the reality?
He thought of her deaf Labrador and half-blind cat. She seemed attracted to high-needs animals. Was her dedication strong enough to take on this life?
He shook his head, raised his weapon and sighted the small animal through his scope. Too many uncertainties...
* * *
“MR. GOWETTE,” VIVIE called to her departing customer, holding up a water glass. “You forgot your teeth.”
The diner’s door swung shut behind the hunched mechanic and Vivie slumped against the counter. “Again.” She sighed, fished out the dentures with a fork, dropped them in a to-go container and placed them on the shelf beneath the cash register. He’d be back. Had probably done it on purpose to get away from his wife—a notorious faultfinder with a voice that peeled paint.
She glanced at the cat clock hanging above the rear shelves, its black-and-white striped tail swinging in time with its eyes. Eight o’clock. The cub...
A warm arm wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Hey. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”
Maggie’s topaz eyes smiled into hers.
“No. It’s not.” Vivie’s throat closed tight after the last word and tears threatened. She grabbed a dishrag from the bucket of cleaning solution and wiped the yellow-and-gold-speckled counter.
Maggie’s hand dropped over hers. “You already cleaned that.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Maggie.”
“You’re trying to stay busy. And I get it. I’m so sorry about the cub.”
Vivie ached, thinking about the orphaned bear, dead, alone in the woods, no one to care. No one but her.
“I could have given her a home.” She automatically reached behind her when their laconic short order cook, Rowdy, dinged the “food’s up” bell.
“Who’s got the chef’s salad, no meat, no cheese, no dressing?” Vivie called. A large man wearing camouflage shorts and a white tank raised his hand. “Double-bacon cheeseburger and loaded fries?” A small woman, her gray hair purple under the fluorescent lights, waved her handkerchief from down the counter.
“Right.” She bustled off to one of their chrome-edged tables, the top matching the diner’s counters. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else on this, Pete?”
The logger shook his head, his long earlobes shaking beneath buzzed brown hair. “Watching my weight. Wife and I are renewing our vows next month, and I want to get into my old tux.”
“One Heart Attack.” Maggie presented their burger special with a flourish. “Will you be having anything else, Sister Mary?” she asked the retired nun, a twinkle in her eye.
“If you’ve got any raisin pie left, I’d have a slice of that.”
“One Ministroke, coming up,” Maggie called cheerfully. “I think you got the last slice.”
“Good. Can’t imagine a better way to meet my maker,” the elderly woman joked, lifting a burger bigger than her face and taking an enormous bite. No worries with dentures there, mused Vivie.
She headed back to the counter, grabbing dirty plates off tables as she went. Since the loggers had come and gone, and she’d wanted Maggie to herself, they’d let the waitstaff go after the evening rush had ended.
Brett, Rowdy’s nephew, pushed through the double wooden doors from the kitchen, an empty plastic bin on his hip. “I’ll take those, Miss Harris,” he said softly, his usual lisp barely audible.
She handed over the dishes and joined Maggie at the counter, grabbing a salt container and refilling the shakers.
“Why don’t you go home?” Maggie offered. “I don’t mind staying and Brett can wait tables if we get busy.” She untied a scarf from her bright red hair and shook the curling mass loose.
Vivie contemplated the cozy diner, the yellow tables, the floral-patterned wallpaper covered with vintage local pictures, the spider plants that hung at each window. This felt like home—as much so as her real one. And going back meant facing the empty pantry and thoughts of the cub’s fate. No. She wasn’t ready for that. The extra food and water she’d left out for Scooter and Jinx would do.
“Life isn’t fair, is it, Sister Mary?” She sidled down the counter and passed the woman a jar of hot sauce, anticipating her customer’s usual request.
“Nope. And then you die,” drawled the woman, who nodded her thanks before dumping a quarter of the bottle’s contents over her fries.
Vivie shivered, imagining the bear.
“You want me to start tomorrow’s goulash, Maggie?” Rowdy rested his elbows on the stainless-steel surface in the cutout between the kitchen and the restaurant, his white tank top sticking to his damp chest.
“Might as well.” Maggie rolled cutlery into paper napkins and wound a self-stick wrapper around it, making a pile on the counter beside her. Vivie caught her sideways glance. “I’ll be back to help in a few minutes.”
“Suit yourself.” Rowdy disappeared into his domain and Vivie joined Maggie, grabbing a fork, knife and spoon to help out.
“The cub’s in a better place, now. Not suffering.” Maggie patted Vivie’s hand before grabbing more utensils.
Vivie’s fingers fumbled, the wrapper sliding off the napkin. “She would have been better off with me than dead.”
Melodic whistling rose from the kitchen, a heavy metal tune turned into elevator music on Rowdy’s lips. Brett hustled back into the kitchen, his dish container half-full.
“The cub would have grown into a full-sized bear. You never could have cared for something that big.”
“I would have tried.”
“You did everything you could, Vivie. You always do. Don’t torture yourself.”
“I know,” she said, though she didn’t believe it. Not deep down. There must have been something else she could have done. Words that might have convinced the stubborn officer. It’d been a long time since she’d felt so helpless—her life out of her control. She’d thought she’d never have that desperate feeling again after making a secure home and career for herself.
“Officer Walsh sounds like a terrible person.” Maggie’s smile drooped a little, the closest her upbeat friend came to a frown.
“He—” Vivie dropped the napkin she’d just rolled as the bell above their glass door jingled and the man himself strode in. What was he doing here? Did he honestly think she’d put out the welcome mat? Of all the arrogant, egotistical...
He doffed his hat and smiled. “Good evening, ladies.”
Vivie flicked her eyes at Maggie. Given her friend’s soft gasp, she’d been right to think the officer was her type.
“What are you doing here, Officer Walsh?” she ground out. Maggie gawked at her, then at the man nonchalantly seating himself at the counter. Her counter! Now she regretted wiping it. If she could give him salmonella, she would; it’d be worth the lawsuit.
“Call me Liam. I came for a piece of your raisin pie,” he said lightly, his face relaxed, green eyes unnervingly guilt-free. Did the man have no remorse? No soul?
“Claimed it!” called Sister Mary, waving a dripping french fry.
The whistling in the kitchen stopped and Rowdy pushed through the kitchen door. He stopped beside Vivie and glowered at their latest customer. Brett was right behind his uncle, a similar expression on his face. No welcome for the man she’d been complaining about this past hour.
“What’s he doing here?” mumbled Rowdy, the flick of his braid over his shoulder as agitated a move as she’d ever seen him make.
“Wants pie,” put in Pete. He held up his empty salad bowl. “I’ll have a piece of the apple with some ice cream after all, if you’ve got it.”
“That’s the spirit, Pete!” the sister called, her mouth full of burger. “Your wife didn’t marry you for your looks, anyway.”
An appalled silence fell. Then Maggie’s pixie laugh rang out and the others joined in, Pete the loudest. Only Vivie and Officer Walsh remained silent, eying each other.
“Guess not,” Pete sputtered, still chuckling. “Better make that two scoops, Maggie.”
“Coming up.” She pulled a couple of pie tins from the glass case on the counter and slid pieces onto plates. She passed the apple to Rowdy. “Would you make that à la mode?”
“Sure.” After eyeballing Officer Walsh, their cook headed back into the kitchen.
Maggie squirted whipped cream beside the raisin pie and delivered it to Sister Mary.
“Thank you, dear.”
“You’re lucky to get it. We’re usually out by noon.”
“Guess my years of service come in handy sometimes.” She smiled at the ceiling. “Got an in with the big guy.”
“More like good karma,” Brett spoke up, lifting his red, wooden-bead necklace and shaking it before wiping down a table.
“You’ve got a nice place here.” Officer Walsh scanned the room, the lights picking up auburn strands in his dark hair.
“We think so. This is my partner, Maggie Wilson.”
Maggie smiled, a winsome turn of her lips that pulled in more customers than the raisin pie. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Officer Walsh’s gaze slid to Vivie. “I’m sure. Can we have a word, Vivie? In private.”
“Not interested.”
Maggie laced her fingers in Vivie’s and squeezed. “Hear him out,” her friend whispered in her ear. “He’s seems sincere.”
“Not interested,” Vivie repeated under her breath.
“You never are. That’s the problem.” Her partner sighed, then gave her a little shove. “We can manage these out-of-control customers, can’t we Rowdy?”
A grunt sounded from the kitchen as he passed a slice of pie with ice cream through the open window. Maggie grabbed it and turned to Vivie, her eyes a warm gold. “Go outside. We’ll hold down the fort.”
“You have my blessing.” The nun made some kind of motion in the air with her fork, then tucked back into her pie.
Vivie glanced between her so-called friends—the traitors—and grabbed her purse. After hearing the officer out, she’d want to go home. Deal with it. Officer Walsh hurried to the door and held it open when she reached it.
Outside, in the soft, spring night, it was hard to observe this handsome man and imagine his horrible deed. His hands might be clean, but there was blood on them. Crickets sang a funeral dirge in the nearby bushes, and the rushing flap of bat wings swirled the air into a living thing.
“Look. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to see you right now.” She glowered up at him, wishing he’d leave.
His eyes delved into hers. “Vivie, the bear’s—”
