Page 50 of One in a Million

At some point, he had used Google to learn more about his captive—a spotted hyena, native to many parts of Africa. A hyena was neither cat nor dog, but classified in a group of its own. Charlie had assumed his hyena to be male. But after reading that females were larger and more aggressive than males, and actually had something that looked like male sex organs, he’d decided that his hyena must be female.

A large female hyena would weigh about a hundred and fifty pounds. But rare specimens had been known to reach two hundred pounds, which was what he’d estimated for this one. A hyena could run more than forty miles an hour with higher bursts of speed, but its most formidable weapon was its powerful jaws, which were strong enough to crush the leg bone of a giraffe. Hyenas were also known to be extremely cunning.

The research did nothing to ease Charlie’s worries. His missing hyena was a savage animal, intelligent, and raised with no fear of humans. And now it was running loose.

* * *

It was early afternoon. Lila had spent most of the morning in the ranch office, updating the accounts. That done, she’d ordered Mariah to deliver her lunch on the patio by the pool. Her visibility would serve as an invitation for Madeleine to join her—or not—as she chose. Sooner or later their one-on-one confrontation would have to happen. If controlling the time and place could give her the slightest edge, Lila would take it.

Seated in her usual spot, at the table in the shade of the umbrella, she forced herself to lean back and take a few deep breaths. Lila would never have described herself as easily intimidated. But today she was up against a charismatic, iron-willed woman bent on taking back what she believed to be rightfully hers—a woman who, if she had her way, would strip away all Lila had worked for and leave her with nothing.

Lila’s thoughts drifted back to their last confrontation eleven years ago in Las Vegas, when she’d told Madeleine that she didn’t care about Frank’s family. It hadn’t been her proudest moment. But her words had been born of desperation. As a single mother, she would have done anything to save her daughter.

Jemma, at nine, had been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect. The medical name for her condition was atrial septa defect, ASD for short. In layman’s terms, she had a hole inside her heart. Her doctors had recommended surgery as her only chance for a normal life span.

For a single mother with no health insurance, Lila’s dilemma was a nightmare. She’d appealed to several charities, but her applications had been turned down, most likely because her salary as a dancer just barely cleared the poverty line.

Only one person had offered a helping hand. Art Royston, who’d held Lila’s contract and owned the casino where she worked, had offered to pay for Jemma’s operation and recovery—but only on condition that Lila marry him. Otherwise, no deal.

She had almost said yes. Art, who was in his fifties, was nice enough looking. His employees seemed to like him, and he had plenty of money. She didn’t love him, but what was love compared to her daughter’s life?

Then two of the hotel maids had come to her with their stories. Both of them had seen girls—young girls, not even into their teens—being escorted into Art’s suite. That was when she’d realized why Art really wanted to marry her, and why she needed to get Jemma as far away from him as possible.

That had been her situation when she’d gone to the horse competition, met Frank, and agreed to go out with him. That she’d hung onto him and even stood up to his wife was nothing to be proud of. But as a desperate mother, she would have done anything. Given the choice, she would do it again.

Jemma had received her life-giving surgery and made a full recovery. As an unexpected bonus, Lila had come to love her new husband. A happy ending—but not ever after. Once, she’d told herself that she’d already paid the piper. But she’d been wrong. Now the piper was demanding more.

“Hello, Lila. Do you mind if I join you?” The throaty voice was unmistakable. Lila raised her head to see Madeleine standing directly in front of her. She was wearing a chic khaki jumpsuit that made her look as if she’d stepped out of the African bush after shooting a lion.

“You’re welcome to join me, Madeleine,” Lila said. “I’ll ring for Mariah and ask her to bring your lunch out here.”

“No need. I already asked her. Do you mind if I smoke?” She already had a pack of Marlboros in her hand and was tapping out a cigarette.

“It’s fine,” Lila said, although she hated the smell, and she was sitting downwind of the wretched woman. Score one for Madeleine.

“I was hoping to get more time with your lovely daughter,” Madeleine said. “Has she already gone?”

“She left early this morning. I was hoping she’d stay longer, but school keeps her so busy.”

“Nursing school, isn’t it? Such a noble calling, and so in demand these days. A good nurse can work anywhere she wants and write her own ticket in terms of pay. I wish to God my daughter had chosen something like that instead of wanting to become anactress.” The inflection she put on the last word suggested that it was barely a step above prostitution.

“Jasmine’s still young,” Lila said. “We don’t talk a lot, but I get the impression she’s still charting her course.”

“She needs to chart a course to a good man—like that adorable FBI agent. I can tell they like each other.” Madeleine blew a stream of acrid smoke into the breeze.

Lila’s eyes felt the sting. “I don’t think Sam is allowed to like a woman who’s involved in his case,” she said. “Especially if she could be a suspect.”

“Jasmine a suspect? But that’s ridiculous. She loved her father.”

“As far as Sam’s concerned, we’re all suspects,” Lila said. “Maybe even you.”

“Ridiculous!” Madeleine might have said more, but at that moment Mariah arrived with their lunches—artfully arranged plates of sandwiches and salad—on a tray.

“Oh, my, this looks too pretty to eat, Mariah!” Madeleine was all smiles and charm as the cook set the plates, utensils, and glasses of iced tea on the table. “You’re not just a cook, you’re an artist. You belong in a five-star restaurant, not on some ranch where nobody appreciates you.”

“You know I wouldn’t be happy in a fancy restaurant, Ms. Madeleine,” Mariah responded. “The ranch is my home. And now, I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy your lunch.” She walked away and disappeared into the house.

So far, Lila had made an effort to be polite. But Madeleine had crossed the line. “What makes you say we don’t appreciate Mariah?” she demanded. “How would you know?”