Read Online Endangered (9781101559017) by Pamela Beason - Free Book Online Page A

her aroma. “Dumpster diving,” she explained. She glanced at Perez, whose expression remained impassive. Either the agent was naturally stoic or he lacked a sense of smell. Lest he think she routinely waded through garbage, she added, “I was looking for Zack.”
    Perez’s chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “That’s very . . . astute of you.”
    It sounded vaguely insulting. “Thanks,” she said. “I think.”
    â€œMost civilians would never . . .” he started, then abruptly switched tack “Why did you think he might have crawled into a Dumpster?”
    â€œTwo-year-olds can get into all kinds of places, can’t they? Besides, he might not have crawled in on his own,” she said.
    Agent Perez, his eyes still fixed on her, nodded briefly.
    â€œMy God.” Kent’s eyes were wide with horror. “I never thought of that.” He rubbed his eyes briefly as if to erase an ugly image that had formed there, then turned back to Perez. “Anyway, sorry. I had to finish a theft report, and then I had to give some illegal campers the boot.”
    Sam frowned. “Not the mother and the two little girls? Down in that flat spot by the river?”
    Kent nodded. “Yeah. Mexican migrants, I think. Barely understood English.”
    She sighed. “They probably don’t have money for the campground fee.”
    â€œI sent her to the national forest. At least I hope she understood; I showed it to her on the map.” He glanced at Perez. “We have a real problem with the homeless.”
    The FBI agent made an impatient gesture. “They’re everywhere.”
    â€œGot that right. We see too many illegal Mexicans here.” Apparently Kent had a sudden thought about Agent Perez’s probable ancestry, because he hastily added, “And other homeless, too. Sometimes we chase them around for weeks, even months. About three years ago—I was a summer hire then—we had this one guy, about my age, and his teenage girlfriend. They kept popping up all over the park. The girl had the most beautiful eyes, big and brown, like a whitetail deer. She was only about Sam’s size but a lot younger.”
    Sam suddenly felt like an elderly dwarf. She corrected the slouch of her back and tried to relax the frown line etched into her forehead.
    Kent continued. “Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. And she was out to here, at least eight months pregnant.” He held his hand out in front of his abdomen, measuring an imaginary belly.
    The gesture looked strange on a man. Evidently Perez thought so, too: his gaze remained fixed on the outstretched hand until Kent dropped it back to his side.
    Perez abruptly changed the topic. “So, you two know each other?”
    â€œOh yeah,” Kent said. “I’ve known Sam for years.”
    Perez turned to her. “I thought your name was Summer.”
    â€œSam’s my nickname,” she said. “Better than Sum, don’t you think?” Then, hearing the double-entendre, she added, “S-U-M, I mean, not S-O-M-E.”
    â€œGot it the first time.” Perez’s gaze shifted to Kent. “What’s the connection between you two?”
    Kent explained her seasonal employment in the park a year ago, that they were fellow wildlife biologists, Sam’s follow-up article about the cougars. Perez took in the information without a change in expression. He looked back to Sam. “You’re a biologist, a writer, and a photographer?”
    â€œShe’s Wonder Woman,” Kent said. “Odiferous Wonder Woman.”
    Sam jabbed him with an elbow.
    Perez touched the tip of the pen to the notepad again. “So you’re a journalist.” His tone made the word sound like an epithet.
    â€œI’m not the press,” she told the agent. Although it felt slightly disloyal to Adam to say it, the last thing she wanted was to be lumped in with the media team