“His mama left him.”
I fumbled to take off my reading glasses and blinked at my seven-year-old nephew, hoping the creature in his arms might turn out to be a puppy or barn cat. Alas, the round ears and dark spots peppering the buff-colored fur said
The resort’s lookout tower reached above the tree line, simmering under the South African sun. Dave peered through his binoculars into the distance. From this vantage point, he had a great view of the savanna grasslands and wild foliage. A quick movement caught his eye, but he was too slow, only peeking a tail.
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I’ve just collapsed my blind when I realize two things.
First, the bushveld is silent.
Second, I’m being hunted.
If my hunch is correct, I’m being hunted by the same man-eating lion I’ve been stalking for the past three weeks. He must be tired of toying with me. Tired of avoiding my blind.
The windship settled in the clearing beyond the edge of the village. Grruha cut the engines, then sat in absolute stillness with his paws still on the controls. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the savannah from the viewports.
The village stood eerily quiet.
“Let’s see what emergency summons us!” Larru was already…
My name is Spade. Samara Spade. Tonight was supposed to be my first undercover without Dod—dear old Dad, in other words. But I had backup. At least until someone slipped him a mickey.
The case started this morning. A lady—I’m still trying to get Dod not to call them dames—came into our office distraught.
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