Page 20 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

It wasn’t supposed to work this way. Keller was the FBI’s only empath.

He should be comforting Savannah. That was his job.

Yet every time she handled him—and he loved that she did—every single time she looked into his eyes—and he adored those chocolate browns of hers—his curse of a gift worked in reverse. It did!

Instead of being bowled over by a killer migraine that would normally take him days to recover from, touching her made Keller feel good.

Not just good, but better. Lighter. Verging on no-kidding happiness.

It was as if Savannah possessed some kind of narcotic in every last one of her skin cells.

The more she touched him, the more his entire being gravitated toward her.

He couldn’t get enough of her touch, her scent, or her over-the-top optimism.

How could she maintain such an incredibly steady outlook after just losing her great grandmother ?

For the first time since he’d found Carol Marie’s cold body all those years ago, Keller felt— Was it possible? Could he really be— free?

He didn’t know, so he followed the pretty lady with the magic touch into Sanctuary.

Now that she’d proven to be more than just another animal hoarder, he took in the lay of the land.

A one level plantation-style building lay directly ahead.

Painted light gold with bright white trim, it was as cheery as its owner.

A single, screened front door opened onto a wrap-around porch, itself filled with wrought iron monkey cages, some of them eight feet high.

But none of them housed chimps. All were filled with birds.

Big birds. Parrots. Green parrots. Blue parrots.

White parrots. Bits and pieces of fruit and vegetables littered cage floors.

The cage of umbrella cockatoos caught his eye.

One bright white, black-eyed fellow with barely any feathers on its raw-looking breast, clung to the side with one black scaly bird-foot extended, his toes curling and uncurling as if he wanted Savannah to grab hold of his nasty-looking claws. Which she did.

“Hey, Popeye,” Savannah cooed as she shook the bird’s foot through the bars. “Told you I’d be back as soon as I could. Thanks for not shrieking at me because I’m late, pretty boy.”

Popeye reached through the bars with his razor-sharp beak. Even that didn’t slow Savannah down. Reaching her fingers between the bars, she stroked the damned bird’s beak like it couldn’t lop her finger off with one snap. Sure as hell looked like it could do just that.

“Guys, this is FBI Agent Keller Boniface, and I promise, he won’t hurt you.

He’s one of the good guys.” She talked to the birds like they understood, stroking the cockatoo’s crest as she nodded at the other cockatoos in the same cage.

“Those guys are Aladdin, Pip Squeak, and the pretty pink and gray girl’s Rosie.

She’s a galah, native to Australia. But lucky me, I found her in a bird net a couple months back, and she’s been part of my family ever since. ”

“A bird net?” Definitely illegal.

Savannah nodded, opening the cage door and bumping the side of her hand under Rosie’s belly. “Yeah. Somebody’s been out here trapping birds and bats. I figured they might’ve been trying to re-catch her, that she’d gotten out of her cage or something, and they just wanted her back.”

The galah stepped onto the proffered perch as if she’d been trained. Which she obviously was. Keller had no doubt that Savannah spent a lot of time with her animals and birds.

By then, Popeye was well on his way out of the cage to freedom, but Savannah gently blocked his escape with her shoulder, then closed the cage door on him.

“Too bad for them, I got her first. She’d hurt her wing and she could’ve died.

Poor baby was dehydrated and so weak, I thought I’d lose her.

I slept with her under my shirt to keep her extra warm that first night.

It was the only thing I could do. Birds die when they’re in shock. Not that I slept much. ”

The fluffy pink and gray cockatoo with the brilliant pink head-crest preened as if she knew Savannah was talking about her.

All the while, Savannah stroked the bird from the tip of its head to its tail while she kissed the top of its head and murmured, “I don’t care who you belonged to before, I’m not giving you back. Not ever. You’re safe with me, baby.”

Now hanging off the side of the cage, jealous Popeye stretched one scaly black leg between the bars to Keller. Cautiously, he shook the bird’s paw, err, foot. The bird’s pure white crest lifted into an impressive headdress, making him look like an Indian chief.

“She’s beautiful,” Keller admitted, “but so’s this guy.”

Savannah’s eyes lit up. “Wow. That’s a first.”

Keller cocked his head, not understanding. “How so?”

“He likes you. You have to understand. I got him from a friend of a friend who’d kept him locked in a parakeet cage because he was noisy. Which is why he’s a feather-plucker now. He doesn’t trust people. Except you. Huh. How about that?”

Her eyes lit with a warm smile. “Honestly, people need to do their research before they buy exotic birds. All birds need to be happy is room to grow and fly. They need to spread their wings, but if you live in an apartment, the last pet you need is a cockatoo. They’re messy and noisy.

Each day begins and ends with the most ungodly shrieks.

Really. Wait until you hear how loud this pretty boy is.

Plus, birds need real food, fresh fruit and veggies, not that pellet crap most pet stores sell.

But fruits and veggies spoil quickly, another problem.

Another chore. Popeye’s better now that he’s eating right and can socialize, aren’t you?

” She leaned into Popeye and planted a kiss between the bars to the end of that killer beak.

Unlatching the cage door, Savannah angled Rosie back onto her perch, then shut Popeye in before he could escape. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head, her eyes still aglow as she turned to Keller. “My, my, look at you. Mr. Secret Agent Man is a bird person.”

“No, I’m not a…” Keller stopped as Popeye returned and regurgitated something onto the tip of his finger. Gross. Disgusting! Keller flicked the bird vomit off and wiped his hand down the leg of his already filthy pants.

“You should see the look on your face!” Savannah giggled, her grin a ray of pure sunshine despite the mayhem they’d escaped. “Oh, stop. Bird throw-up won’t kill you. It just means Popeye trusts you enough to share his food. He likes you and he’s feeding you like he’d feed his babies or his mate.”

Still not sure that Savannah was completely safe, Keller alternated between listening to her and surveilling the open yard around them.

Dogs barked from the rear of the house. Must be where the kennels were.

But the rest of the wide lawn was clear and trimmed.

Crystal blue water sparkled from the inground swimming pool to the east of the house.

A row of lilacs bordered that entire side of the yard, while a simple dirt drive connected the gated road out front to the lawn in back.

A riding lawnmower parked alongside the house testified she had help.

Or not. Keller wouldn’t put it past Savannah if she ran this place by herself.

“Mind if we move inside?” he asked, needing to get her out of plain sight.

His Spidey senses were still tingling. They’d just survived an ambush.

Those guys in the truck had meant to kill her.

They obviously knew where she lived and worked.

They knew her schedule. They’d come looking for her as soon as they knew she’d escaped the alligators.

“No can do,” she replied as if she were ambushed every day. “I’ve got dogs and cats to feed. Come, I’ll show you.”

With the swamp still squishing in his waterlogged dress shoes and his clothes uncomfortably sticky and wet, Keller followed Savannah around the house, past the riding lawn mower, and into a long narrow barn.

Barks and yowls escalated when Savannah stepped over the threshold, and he was glad when she shut the door behind them.

Finally, she was out of sight. But she was still only semi-safe. Not good enough.

He moved swiftly down the wide lane between the kennels, taking stock of Savannah’s rescues as he assessed a strategic exit plan and cover.

There were two points of egress he could see, the door they’d just come through and one at the extreme opposite end of the building.

A screened channel ran the length of the roof under the eaves, letting light in.

Twelve kennels lined each side of the barn, and all were filled.

One large breed dog stood behind every gate, barking, whining, or howling.

Some stood on their toes, dancing to see their pretty savior .

A firefight inside here could get messy, but that wasn’t going to happen. Like Savannah, Sanctuary would be protected.

As he passed the kennels, one pure white Pitbull hit his already concave chain-link gate like a freight train—a whining, drooling freight train. His powerful body wiggled as if he were a baby, and he wanted Savannah to pick him up. Not what Keller expected from that notorious breed.

She had several other Pitbulls, all in separate kennels.

A gray muzzled bloodhound that looked like a stack of wrinkles on legs.

Three labs, two black, one white. A couple mixed-breeds with telltale Airedale coloring and whiskers.

A long-legged Irish Setter. A Saint Bernard.

A coon hound. But not a single Chihuahua or poodle in sight.

Savannah left Keller’s side to enter the wooden door at the far back of the barn. She hit the light switch, illuminating a storeroom stacked high with what had to be over fifty large bags of pellet dogfood.