Kelley Armstrong - Made to Be Broken

"I'm fine," I said.

"Sure?"

I nodded. "I got some money this week. Quinn cut me in on a job in Toronto and he had cash, so it seemed safe enough to take that."

Jack lowered his mug to the table. "You're working with Quinn?"

"Just that one job."

The lines around his mouth deepened.

"You know we kept in contact," I said.

"Know you're seeing him. Not working with him."

"Actually, it's the other way around. Last week was the first time I'd seen him since Wilkes. But you knew we were in contact, and you didn't have a problem with that…"

"Social contact? None of my business. Working with him?" He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Shoulda run it by me."

And how was I supposed to do that? I didn't say the words. They'd only sound like petulance, and he could remind me that he had provided a way for me to initiate contact, if I needed him.

"This job. Tell me about it."

"It went fine."

His gaze met mine, holding it. "Details. Later."

I could have balked at the suggestion that I needed Jack to vet my jobs, even in retrospect, but that would be like taking offense if a ski buddy wanted to double-check my equipment before a killer hill. When your life is at stake, it's no time for pride.

Jack preferred for me to stick to my semiannual Tomassini hits. When it came to contract killing, that was like skiing on the bunny hill. I could take offense at the implication, but I was new and a part-timer with an outside life. A mistake could mean the end of the life I'd rebuilt so carefully

We relapsed into silence until breakfast arrived. Jack had ordered the "Lumberjack Grand Slam": three pancakes, ham, bacon, sausage links and two eggs, hash browns, and toast. As he attacked it, I wondered how long it'd been since he'd ventured from the motel for a meal. I remembered the overflowing ashtrays.

"I know this isn't the place to discuss it," I said, "but just a heads-up – we're going to need to talk about what kind of trouble you're in. If you're staying at the lodge – "

He swallowed a mouthful of egg. "Trouble?"

"The reason you need a place to stay."

"Ah, fuck." He lowered his fork. "What'd Evelyn say?"

"Just that you need someone to watch your back. Something to do with the job you broke your ankle on. Or, at least, that's what she seemed to be – "

" – suggesting." He chomped down on a slice of bacon, crispy bits flying, then chewed it as he shook his head. "Nothing happened on the job. Except that." He waved the remainder of the bacon slice at his cast, stretched into the aisle.

"So you aren't lying low?"

He finished his bacon slice, chewing slower. "Yeah, I am. Kinda. Nothing serious. Same shit, different day. You know."

I didn't, but asking wouldn't fix that.

"So I don't need to worry about anyone gunning for you at the lodge?"

He met my gaze, giving me a look that straddled reproach and indignation. "Wouldn't do that to you."

I nodded and sliced into my egg.

We were almost in Peterborough when Jack said, "What's this?" and I looked over to see my Sammi notes on his lap. I took them and slid the book down beside me.

"Just something I'm working on."

"Job?"

I shook my head, signaled, and moved into the left lane. When I was past the transport, I moved back.

"Gonna tell me?"

The truth was that I was dying to tell someone, to get a second opinion, and no one was safer than Jack. So I filled him in.

"I know," I said when I finished. "I should leave it to the police, but they've made it very clear that – "

"They aren't interested."

"That's just it. No one's interested. Her mother's a piece of work, so no big shock there, but nobody in town seems to care. These aren't bad people. If it was Tess or Kira or any of the other girls in town, there would be search teams combing the forests. But with Sammi it seems like, even if something did happen, it's…" I fumbled for the words.

"Expected."

I nodded. "Like she was heading that way all her life. Made to be broken."

The last words came out as a whisper, echoing through the years.

"Hmmm?" Jack said.

I picked up the notes. "Would you mind looking them over? Tell me if I'm… I don't know. Being paranoid."

Part of me hoped Jack would say that all signs indicated Sammi had run off and I was making a big deal out of nothing. But he agreed there were too many factors arguing against it.

We discussed it as I headed up Highway 55. I was in the middle of telling him more about Janie when the faded highway sign for Bob's Wild Kingdom flew past, and I hit the brakes.

"Cougar."

"Huh?"

I turned onto the exit ramp. "There's something I need to check out."

Sometime in the last week, kids camping near the Potter place said they'd heard a cougar in the forest. Sunday night, Meredith had watched Sammi and Destiny walk heading toward the road that led past the Potter place.

"The only cougars within an hour's drive are the ones in this roadside zoo," I told Jack. "A big cat raised in captivity wouldn't know how to hunt normal prey, meaning if one did escape, it would get very hungry and it wouldn't be afraid of humans."

He nodded slowly. "It could kill the girl. Drag her off. Come back for the baby."

He said it without emotion. Not coldly, just matter-of-fact. I tried to keep my thoughts as logical, not to picture the scenario he'd described.

"I didn't see any signs of a struggle near the road," I said. "But it had been a few days and there was rain… Still, it doesn't account for the missing stroller."

"Could have fallen into the ditch. Or been dragged. Cat trying to get the baby out."

I looked out the passenger window.

"Or maybe it wasn't a cat," he said after a moment.

"Maybe."

I made a cell phone call before we reached the zoo. Kira's mother, Meredith, was a member of Zoocheck Canada, an animal protection agency that monitored the conditions of circuses and roadside zoos. Meredith had been trying to get Bob's Wild Kingdom closed for years. Every few months, I signed her petition.

Before storming in there, I needed to know how many cougars they had. If one did escape, the owner obviously hadn't reported it. And if I didn't know my facts, he could bullshit me from here to Newfoundland.

The first time we drove by, I took one look at the hap hazard maze of mesh wire enclosures and dismissed it as an abandoned farm. At the next intersection, another sign for Bob's Wild Kingdom pointed back the way we'd come and I realized that the "abandoned farm" had been the zoo.

It was certainly no kingdom. Those wire mesh enclosures housed deer, ostriches, llamas, two mangy camels, and one yak with matted fur. Each fenced area was no larger than fifteen feet square. The ground was bare dirt and muddy straw. For food and water dishes, they had plastic buckets and ice cream pails.

Meredith had said that Bob wasn't a Robert, but Roberta MacNeil, as the crooked sign on her trailer proclaimed. In the spring, the zoo was open from Friday to Sunday only, so I went up to the trailer and rapped on the door. No answer. Jack knocked louder. Still nothing. He peered into a window.

"Dark," he said.

I walked to the gate. No sign of anyone. I glanced up at the six-foot chain-link fence. Easy to scale.

"Slow down," Jack murmured, though I hadn't taken a step toward it.

"Meredith said there are two cougars here," I said as I walked to the fence and put my fingers through the links. "All I have to do is find them, and this place is so small it'll only take a minute. Just stand guard for five minutes while – "