unprecedented in his time as director of the Paradise Wildlife Rehabilitation Center—leave work early.
Now he was headed home smelling like tar, trying to navigate the water-filled ruts in the gravel road ahead of him. Wrenching the wheel hard to the right, he let the four-wheel drive take him up onto the soft shoulder and around a particularly washed-out section. Damn, he might have been better off staying at work after all. In a few hours, the water would have gone down, and there was always more work to do. More than he’d ever imagined when he’d taken the job over a year ago.
Fresh off an MBA from Harvard and ready to return to his home state, he’d thought the job would be a cakewalk, something politically correct to put on his résumé while leaving him plenty of time to surf and hike. Instead he’d found himself working eighty hours a week, often doing things conveniently left off the job description. Things like scooping panther spoor or chopping hundreds of pounds of vegetables. Or roofing repair. Luckily, he’d grown up on a ranch and wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.
But the crazy workload wasn’t the biggest surprise. No, what had shocked him to the core was how darned much he’d come to love the job—the challenge and the responsibility. He could have worked at a big firm somewhere, but here what he did made a difference. Every dollar he raised, every penny he wrangled for the budget, meant food or shelter for an animal in need, and that was something he could feel good about at the end of the day.
Most days, anyway.
Scratching at a patch of tar behind his ear, he slowed for another puddle, the dirty gray water splashing his windshield and blinding him. He flipped on the wipers and grabbed a swig of the bottled water in the console. Soon he’d be at the turnoff for his cabin, a small two-bedroom right on the edge of the Paradise National Wildlife Refuge. Just a few minutes more and he could have a cold beer and a hot shower.
The ring of his phone cut into his thoughts. Grabbing it out of his pocket, he clicked on the speaker mode and set it on the dash. He needed both hands on the wheel in these driving conditions. Darting a glance at the screen, he saw the name of one of the rehab center’s volunteers. Probably calling in sick, although they were supposed to use the office line for that kind of stuff.
“What’s up, Jason?”
“I just saw something, something bad, and you were the only person I could think of to call.” The teen’s voice sounded rushed, as if he was trying to catch his breath.
“Okay.” Dylan paused, switching his concentration back to the road as he eased around a fallen branch. “Just tell me what you saw, and I’ll see what I can do.” Jason was levelheaded to a fault; if he was panicking, there was sure to be a reason.
“Right.” There was an audible breath as the kid took a drag on the cigarettes he always had on him. Dylan had been meaning to talk to him about that. “The thing is, it’s not hunting season, right?”
“No, not for any of the game animals.” The deer and turkey season didn’t start until August, and even then there were a lot of rules and regulations as to when, where and how an animal could be taken. Wild boar were always legal, though, and as an introduced species they were a general menace.
“Well, I just saw some guy shoot a deer right out of his truck. I don’t think he saw me, I was parked pretty far back under some oaks... Miranda and I wanted some privacy, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know.” Teenagers had been making out in the woods for as long as there had been woods. He’d steamed up a few windows himself back in the day.
“Well, anyway, I heard the truck, but didn’t think anything of it, figured it was slowing down just because of all the water on the road. But then I heard it—a gunshot.”
“You sure it wasn’t just a backfire or something?”
“Nah, man. This was a brand-new truck, all tricked out, not the kind you’d expect backfire from. Besides, I saw them load the deer in the bed before they took off.”
Hunting out of season was illegal, and so was taking potshots out of your truck like that. “Sounds like poachers. You were right not to interfere. Some of them can be pretty dangerous. But you need to report what you saw to Fish and Wildlife. If you need the number, I can get it for you once I get back to the house.”
“Yeah, I know. But here’s the thing.” Another long drag. “After they left, I saw another deer run into the bushes. Looked just like freaking Bambi, man.”
Dylan felt his gut tense. “What do you mean, Bambi?”
“I mean, it was a baby. Dude, I think they shot its mom!”
* * *
Dylan bit back a stream of expletives, his jaw so tense his teeth ached. A baby left on its own wouldn’t last long. That’s why deer season wasn’t for another few months, in order to give the fawns enough time to mature. “Are you sure that’s what you saw? It wasn’t a fox or something?”
“No. It was definitely a baby deer. Can you help it?”
“I’ll try.” If he could find it. “Listen, where are you, exactly?”
“Right before the turnoff to the wilderness area, on that road behind the canoe rental place.”
Dylan knew the spot. It was a natural clearing surrounded by thick old oak trees, and one of the party spots for Paradise Isle’s younger crowd. If he took the back road, he could be there in a few minutes. “Listen, Jason, stay put, okay? I’ll be right there.”
Trying to find a fawn in the scrub and pine forest would normally be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But maybe he’d get lucky. A full day of rain would have left the ground soft enough for tracks, giving him half a chance. He had to at least try. They’d taken in several deer lately, all orphaned by car accidents on the main highway. Tragic, but certainly not purposeful. But this...this was a whole different level of awful.
Passing the turn for his own street, he took the next right, following that around until the gas station Jason had mentioned was in his sights. He parked in the gravel lot behind it, grabbing his daypack from behind the passenger seat before climbing down. He had no intention of staying out long, but he’d had enough backpacking experience to know you never went into the woods without emergency supplies.
Jason was waiting for him, pacing in front of a beat-up car, his girlfriend perched on the hood, eyes glued to her cell phone. “I already called Fish and Wildlife. They’re sending an officer out.”
Dylan nodded. “Good, they’ll want a statement from you. Poaching isn’t something they take lightly.” He shaded his eyes against the setting sun. There should be another hour of two of daylight, but with the cloud cover it might get dark sooner. Time was running out. “Which way did the fawn go?”
“Um, that way, away from the road.”
That made sense. “Can you show me exactly where you saw it?”
“I think so. But, uh, Dylan...”
“What?” Impatient to start, he started in the direction Jason had indicated, forcing the younger man to keep up.
“The Fish and Wildlife people—they said not to do anything until they got here. Something about preserving evidence, and jurisdiction or whatever.”
