Seizure(10)

“Sellout,” I muttered.

Coop kept his eyes on the prize.

“The mutt can spot a master chef when he sees one.” Kit dropped a piece of bacon to the floor. Tail wagging, Cooper devoured the offering.

I shook my head. No chance this would become routine. But hey, you know what they say about gift horses. I tucked in with gusto.

Thirty minutes later my stomach was full, and I barely remembered the nightmare.

“I’ll be at work all day,” Kit said, “but call me if you want to talk. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.” Kit forced eye contact. “I got an email this morning about another position, and this one’s in the U.S.”

“Progress.”

“It’s a bit farther away, but a much better job. Science adviser to a major fishery. Great pay.”

My eyebrows rose. “Farther? Where?”

“Dutch Harbor, Alaska. The online pictures are beautiful. Scenic. Rustic.”

My forehead hit the table. Struck a beat.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“They’ve got wolves there,” he added lamely.

“Alaska?” I sat back. “Now it’s Alaska?”

“Think of the adventure!” Kit smiled, but his eyes betrayed anxiety. “The Last Frontier!”

“Are you messing with me? Say yes.”

“Nothing’s settled yet, obviously. All I know is they liked my résumé.”

“How much would it take to keep LIRI operating?”

I’d given the problem some thought. Fundraisers? Donors? Surely something could be done.

Kit frowned. “Ten million, annually. Minimum.”

Ugh.

“There’s nothing we can do? No trustees to beg? Letters to write?”

Kit shook his head. “It’s just too much money. CU can solve its fiscal crisis and fix a PR disaster with one pen stroke. To them, it’s a no-brainer.”

Silence. Not much to say.

Kit grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Hand on the knob, he turned.

“Chin up, kiddo. We’ll land on our feet. You’ll see.”

With that, he was gone.

“Chin up, my ass.”

Coop padded over and nudged my palm. I scratched his ears, but even the wolfdog failed to brighten my mood.

Loggerhead Island was home to so many animals. Whisper, Polo, and Buster. The rhesus monkey troops. A centuries-old sea turtle colony. Hundreds of other species. Lives would be uprooted, possibly destroyed. All so the university could save a few bucks.

I thought of the LIRI scientists and staff. Everyone would get the ax. My friends and I would be scattered across the country. Our pack destroyed.

Enough.

We had to preserve LIRI. Had to save Loggerhead Island.

There was simply no other option.

Kit said it would take millions?

So what.

Time to find them.

Somewhere.





“HOW WOULD YOU like to make thousands of dollars, from the comfort of your very own living room?”

Hi read from note cards. He wore a white button-down shirt, navy clip-on tie, and tan slacks. Business casual. A quick glance at his audience, then he resumed his presentation.

“What about cash? Fabulous homes? Luxurious vacations?”

Hi searched the group for receptive faces. Found none.

“You can’t be serious,” Shelton groaned, eyes returning to his laptop. “I’d nearly hacked the Ben and Jerry’s website when you called. We could’ve been eating free Chunky Monkey right now. I’ve got to start all over.”

After cleaning the kitchen, Coop and I had walked to the bunker. Hi wanted a Virals meeting. With a sinking feeling, I began to understand why.

Shelton and Ben slouched on the window bench, sporting identical frowns. I sat on the rickety wooden chair beside the only table. Coop was curled at my feet.

The furnishings weren’t exactly GQ. But what our clubhouse lacked in amenities, it more than made up for with privacy.

Built during the Civil War as part of Charleston’s naval defenses, our bunker once guarded Morris Island’s northern tip. Buried in a sand hill overlooking the harbor mouth, the sturdy, two-room wooden dugout is practically invisible.

No one else remembers it exists. The place is our fiercely guarded secret.

Sensing resistance from the bench sitters, Hi turned his charm on me.

“And you, Miss? How would you like to be your own boss? To earn more in a month than most people do in a year?”

My snort was sufficient response.

Hi soldiered on. “Join our team at Confederated Goods International, and you too could realize the dream of being—” dramatic pause, arms swept wide, “—a millionaire!”

With a flourish, Hi dropped a folder onto the table. Inside was a stack of papers printed off the Internet.

I did a quick perusal.

“There’s nothing in here but clip art,” I said. “Images of yachts and sports cars. This page is just a giant dollar sign.”

“Ridiculous.” Snapping his computer shut, Shelton grabbed a sheet at random. “Silver-haired men standing in front of mansions they don’t own, arms around models they don’t date.”

Shelton tossed the folder to Ben, who didn’t bother to catch it. The pages scattered across the floor.