Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (11 page)

Playing it safe and protecting herself would be classic Tessa, for sure. But Mac couldn't wrap his head around the idea that she'd be a party to illegal activity. Not knowingly.

“How many people still buy an exotic pet from a pet store and don't think twice about how it got there? Are they guilty or ignorant?” Tessa asked. “How many people pay top dollar for a dog or cat from a breeder, while thousands are in line waiting to be put to sleep if they're not adopted or fostered from shelters? Guilty or ignorant? I'm telling you, I'm here because I didn't know. Because now I
need
to know. I finally became suspicious enough that I acted on it.” She looked at Anna and Jack and Ben. “You're all parents. Can't you understand that I wouldn't stand by and let Nick be in a dangerous situation?” Tears streamed down her face.

Anna got up and pulled a cotton napkin out of a console table against the wall. She gave it to Tessa to wipe her face, placing her hand briefly on her shoulder before returning to her seat.

“For what it's worth, Ben, I believe her,” Anna said. “No, I don't have evidence. Call it a woman's intuition, but I do know I'm not perfect. I wasn't born knowing about elephants. Of course, I knew about the danger they face as a species before I first came to Kenya, but it wasn't until I'd seen, firsthand, a brutally killed and bloody mother and her orphaned calf nearby that the impact of poaching really hit home.”

Ben reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a stack of photographs and slid them across the table to her.

“Then let's make sure Tessa here understands how serious this is,” Ben said.

Tessa wiped her nose, then picked them up. She immediately covered her mouth with the napkin. Mac glared at Ben and went around the table and stood behind Tessa. What he saw was sickening, but sadly, nothing new to him. Tessa slowly went through the nauseating, bloody, faceless images of poached elephants and piles of confiscated tusks on fire. One showed a watering hole dyed red by the bodies that lay along its banks.

Mac had seen the gory remains of poaching firsthand more times than he cared to. As gut-wrenching as the photographs were, they didn't convey the stomach-roiling stench of rotting flesh or the mourning cry of an orphaned baby elephant standing helplessly near the body of its mother. Pictures didn't fire your defense instincts the way standing over a freshly massacred bull did—knowing ruthless, evil men weren't far away. Mac scrubbed his lips and went back to the window. The kids laughed outside as one of Anna's orphaned rescues picked peanuts off the tops of their heads with its trunk. Children. It didn't matter what species. They needed guardians...protectors. They needed guidance. Most of all, they needed a chance to
be
children. No kid deserved to suffer the loss of a parent. Ben's kids had. So had Nick and all the baby elephants at Busara.

“You see,” Ben said, after silently watching Tessa process the images. “I don't believe in mindless, sick violence. Not when it comes to people
or
animals. There's no defense for what you're looking at. No amount of money justifies it. There's not an ivory sculpture, piece of jewelry or even so-called ‘medicinal' powdered rhino horn out there on the black market that makes this okay. You're looking at greed and murder. Ask my friends here at Busara just how much pain and loss poaching causes.”

“It's heartbreaking,” Anna said. “We have the
Endangered Species Act
and other laws and international conventions—and it still happens. There are wildlife collectors and dealers out there who just won't see the light. About one hundred thousand African elephants were killed by poachers between 2010 and 2012. You and Mac are from South Africa. Surely you heard about the recent case where an investor pled guilty to selling illegal ivory. It's a huge problem. And the thing is, an elephant cow's gestation is almost two years. That makes recovering from population loss that much harder.”

Tessa nodded.

“That South Africa case was part of a bigger operation,” Ben added. “And there was another one a few months ago to intercept wildlife trafficking through customs. We're talking about a problem up there in scope with narcotics. And just like there are undercover narcotics agents out there, there are undercover agents posing as collectors and poachers. It doesn't matter how long it takes—if I can pass tips on, someone can eventually work their way in to places like your art gallery to make a behind-the-scenes purchase. And if it's real ivory or rhino horn or anything else, they'll get caught.”

“And if I'm wrong?” Tessa asked.

“What if you're right?” Ben said.

Mac sat back down next to her. What were the chances that Brice had had contact with the investors in that South Africa case Anna mentioned? Tessa's chest rose and sank. She set the photos down and looked up. Her eyes were red and hollow and he wanted to wrap his arms around her like he had when her sister died.

“Okay.” She rattled off the names of individuals in the group, the curator and the gallery address, while Ben made notes. “I never wanted to be a part of anything like this,” she whispered. “I had no idea what Brice's businesses were about when I married him. I'm here because I can't stand by and do nothing.”

She glanced at the pictures on the table and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to accept that the person you loved and thought loved you...the one you slept beside at night...is a complete stranger capable of being involved in something so cruel? That the person you admired and trusted might turn on you? Can you not understand why a small part of me might doubt my own suspicions?” Her voice cracked, but she went on. “I may not be as confident or accomplished as he is, but I do have moral boundaries. I'm trying to do what's right. That's why, before coming here, I tried submitting an article that raised some red flags about local companies turning a blind eye to their product sourcing. Things like blood diamonds included.”

“You're saying you actually submitted an article to the paper you write for, but it was declined?” Ben asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you give me the name of the person who turned it down?”

“She's innocent. I know it. She's a friend and...”

“Her name.”

“Katia. Katia Pollier.”

“I find it interesting that she refused it. Sounds to me like someone in power is dictating what you write and what gets published.”

“No one tells me what to write.”

Ben raised a brow at her.

“Okay, not as long as I stay restricted to this fashion column I'm assigned to.” She looked at the ceiling again and scratched her neck. “Katia told me to be careful. Right before I left. That's what she said when she got back to me about the article. I forgot.”

That was the first Mac had heard of that. He exchanged glances with Ben, Anna and Jack.

“We all agree there are too many connections to ignore, but even that isn't enough to pin anyone down. Yet,” Mac said.

“There are a lot of powerful people involved at various stages of the ivory trade,” Anna said. “If Brice doesn't want to create a trail that leads to him, he won't fund poachers or limit himself to suppliers in South Africa. Past seizures and arrests have shown that buyers don't necessarily use suppliers in their country. These people have an intricate web system in place, making it very hard to trace illegal activity beyond the poachers themselves—that is, if they're caught red-handed. Unfortunately, Busara isn't the only sanctuary that has seen a rise in poaching fatalities and orphans in the past six months and the increased activity hasn't only been in Kenya. It's everywhere. Tanzania, South Africa...the entire region.”

“I agree,” Ben said. “We're dealing with an ivory mafia. That's how these people work. There's a hierarchy. The untouchables and the expendables. Loyalty and betrayals. We may never have enough for a takedown. Even if one group is caught, others will still be out there. But if these drives have contact lists or anything like that, they would be invaluable. All it takes is a little insider information. A broken link in the chain.”

“Wait a minute. You're implying that she go back to him and act as intelligence? No way,” Mac said. “Don't do it, Tessa. I draw the line there. It's too dangerous.”

“I'm referring to the drives, Mac. Not sending her into the lion's den.”

Tessa sat wide-eyed with her hands on the table. Her lips parted, but the door swung open before she could say anything. Kamau stood there with bloodstains across his shirt.

“Sorry I missed the meeting. We've had another killing. Anna, I need you at the clinic. We have a little guy being unloaded now.”

Anna shot up and ran out behind Kamau. A little guy. Another baby elephant orphan. Another child who'd be mourning.

Just like Ben's children. And Nick.

The room was silent.

The photographs on the table said it all.

* * *

T
HE
RIDE
BACK
to Camp Jamba was quiet. Neither of them was prepared to discuss anything in front of Nick. Tessa didn't even want to talk to Mac. He'd just stood there and let Ben take her apart. Tessa wiped the corner of her eye and pretended her hair, windblown from the open-air ride, had irritated it. She reset her ponytail and took a drink from the thermos tucked between them.

Ben had shown a softer side after Anna, Kamau and Jack had left the room to check on the baby elephant. Mac had looked unsure, telling her he'd be back and then running off to help them. And she was left at the table with Ben. Talk about awkward. He'd given her a quick apology for being rough...and for her sister's death...and then Niara had walked into the room with baby Noah. Thank goodness. She'd been surprised by the way Ben took Noah from her and started playing with him like a big old teddy bear. Then he'd given Tessa a lopsided grin and pointed out that he was pretty sure his wife and kids liked him. Of all things incomprehensibly male...

But even after the tension had let up in the room, it hadn't let up inside of her. Tessa hated how unsettled she still felt.

If Brice was involved with poachers, she'd walk away and never look back. She'd never set foot in her house again. The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. To have shared a life with a man who'd sanction and profit from such horrific acts...her throat tightened and her chest ached. But what if he turned out to be innocent? Would he forgive her? Or was all of this a red flag telling her something was fundamentally wrong in their marriage?

And the mention of Allan and Maria had her head spinning. That wasn't possible, was it? Had she been the family's weak link all this time? A family of brave individuals who were willing to live on the edge if it meant making a difference...and she was their Achilles' heel. The point of entry for anyone who wanted to use them.

Her head hurt and throat burned. She wanted to curl up on her cot, close her eyes and dream that none of this was happening.

Mac had said that they needed to make it back before nightfall, but he kept an even pace. No thrill rides this time, despite Nick's begging. According to Sue, around Pippa, Nick had acted like he'd worked with animals all his life and wasn't apprehensive at all. Tessa was sure it was all bravado. Still, it was good to see him more confident. A flash of red caught her eye and her mind pinged images of the bloody carcasses she'd been looking at.

“Wow, look! What's that?” Nick propped himself up on his knee in the backseat for a better view. Off to their left, hundreds of men decorated in white paint, red cloths and dyed hair and beaded necklaces streamed down a distant hill and around rocks and shrubs like the meandering flow of molten lava. Tessa could hear chanting even from their remote vantage point. Mac pulled to a stop and twisted in his seat.

“Those are Masai. They're taking part in one of the later stages of their coming-of-age rituals. The end goal or reward is to become a Masai warrior.”

“Cool. Like prove you're a man by hunting or surviving in the wild on your own?” Nick asked.

“Oh, it's a lot more involved than that. They do need to prove themselves worthy warriors, but it's a long process that involves kids around your age undergoing an
emuratare
ritual—getting circumcised without anesthesia—living at an
emanyatta
or warriors' camp for ten years away from your family and eventually moving to a ceremonial house where they'll drink a mixture of ox blood, beer and milk before officially becoming warriors.”

Nick winced.

“Glad you're not a Masai teenager?” Mac said with a laugh.

“Uh, yeah.”

“It may sound bad to you, but it's their way, their culture, and it means something to them. We have to respect that. And by the way, you don't need to hunt to prove you're a man. Honor and compassion make a man. I'm betting your dad taught you that,” Mac said.

“Yeah, he did.”

Tessa remembered watching the news with Nick last month, dumbfounded over the greedy, recreational killing of Boni—a beloved cheetah mother who researchers were tracking—while she was out teaching her cubs how to hunt. She knew from Nick's outrage then that he sincerely understood what Mac was saying now.

But the mention of Nick's dad deepened Tessa's depressed state. What would Maria have done in her shoes? Would she have spoken up sooner? Marched straight to the authorities the second she got suspicious? Or would she have walked on eggshells like Tessa, wanting to act but worried about disrupting life as she knew it—especially if she was wrong. Was it about innocent until proven guilty or protect the innocent first and figure out the guilty later?

Mac restarted the engine and resumed their course for Camp Jamba.

The sun was low on the horizon, its final rays glistening against the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro on the horizon. A quiet thirty minutes later, a flicker of light reassured her that they were approaching camp. She turned to let Nick know, but he was lying on his side in the back of the jeep sound asleep, despite the bumps and ruts in the road.