Page 30 of Russian Roulette
“What’s the problem? Sounds as if it’s a win-win for everyone involved.”
“Any kind of animal act using non-domesticated animals is exploitive and wrong,” he says. “I cringe inside every time I ask Puffin or one of the other cats to jump through a hoop or stand up on her back legs.” He shakes his head in disgust. “The animals deserve better treatment. I always thought my purpose in life was to provide a better environment for animals being exploited, and yet here I am, doing the same thing.”
“If you hate it so much, why do you keep doing it? Can’t you just quit?”
He throws a paper towel away and pulls another one off the roll to keep cleaning the kitchen counter. I’m impressed by his domestic skills. He prepares food and cleans. What more could a woman want? Besides caffeine, sugar and alcohol. Meat I can live without. I’ve spent less than ten minutes alone with him, and I’m already fantasizing about spending many more mornings in this sunny kitchen.
“The money allows me to keep the ranch going and to rescue other exotic animals in horrible living conditions,” he says. “I could never keep them without the large amount of money I make doing the show. If there was any other way to fund the ranch to keep it going, I would do it.”
“You’re trying to make the best of a tricky situation. Isn’t there anything you can change to feel better about your show?”
“I try to slip in educational facts whenever I can, but that’s not what the visitors in Vegas are here for. They want big, flashy shows to entertain them. The price of show tickets in Vegas is outrageously expensive. The owner of the hotel keeps pushing me to add more animals to the show, along with bright lights and loud music that scares the cats. We’re constantly fighting over it. Fighting for the animals is a daily struggle.”
“Your heart is in the right place with what you’re trying to do for the animals. Which leads me to the big question of why you’re involved in a kidnapping? Why are you putting your animals at risk by holding me prisoner in your home?”
“You have a valid point,” he says after a moment. He sinks down on a bar stool across the counter and studies me. “Don’t think I haven’t wondered myself. Are you finished with your drink?” He points to my glass and reaches for it. “Want another one? There’s plenty left in the blender.”
“No, I’m good. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not sure I can give you a good answer,” he replies. “You must be exhausted from your night with Vulcan. He can be a little intense.”
“That’s an understatement,” I reply. “He’s off the charts psychotic, if you want my first impression of him.” Kit doesn’t disagree with me, which is odd.
“Would you like to take a shower and freshen up?” he asks, ignoring my statement. “I have an extra room made up for you. You can rest and take a nap if you like. I’ll be working with the animals today out in their enclosures. You’ll need to stay in the house where you’ll be safe. Otherwise, you’re free to make yourself at home. The other guys will be back tonight. Don’t worry, I’m sure this whole situation with you will be resolved soon.”
I perk up at his offer. The thought of a hot shower to wash away the desert dirt sounds wonderful. And if he leaves me alone in the house, there might be a way out of here.
“Thank you, I would love a shower,” I reply, glancing at my dusty jeans and dirty shoes. “I don’t have any clean clothes to put on, though. These are disgusting and they smell of smoke from Vulcan’s campfire. Camping is not my cup of tea.”
His eyes travel slowly up and down my body. “You’re small, tiny really. Obviously, none of my pants will work. The other guys have a spare room here. They might have something you can borrow.”
I raise my eyebrows at his statement. The guys appear to have a confusing co-living arrangement with each other that I haven’t been able to get a handle on yet.
“We’re family, except we’re not blood related,” he explains, noting my confusion. “Sometimes they stay over when it’s been a late night and they’re drinking. Which is quite often lately. Seven is the smallest one of us. He might have something you can wear. I’ll search through the clothes he keeps here. I’m sure he has an extra pair of sweatpants and a shirt that you can make fit.”
“Okay, I’d appreciate that,” I say, grateful for a chance to change into clean clothes.
“Unless you want to tell me where your car is parked or where your clothes are?” he asks. “I can have someone go pick them up for you and bring everything here.”
“You’re asking if I want to hand over my car to you for safekeeping? Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll borrow Seven’s clothes. They’ll be just fine.” No way in hell am I giving away where I’ve stashed my car, computer, and clothes.
“Okay, suit yourself. I offered, and that’s the best I can do. Follow me to your guest room.”
“Are there any tigers in the house?” I follow close behind him along the long hallway. “I realize that might be a stupid question. Thought it couldn’t hurt to ask to be on the safe side.”
“No, the tigers aren’t pets, and I apologize if I gave you that impression. They’re all outside on the grounds,” he replies. “For your own safety, I need to warn you not to leave the house. Regardless of how passive and laid-back Puffin might appear, she’s a very dangerous animal. She could kill you if she wanted to. They’re instinctive, which means they’re unpredictable. Tigers have mauled and even killed their owners who raised them from babies. All it might take is a sudden, unexpected noise or something they perceive as a danger for them to unexpectedly attack. I’ve had friends mauled horribly by tigers who they trusted.”
My heart sinks. How am I ever supposed to escape from here if tigers are prowling around outside the house? Guarding the house, I remind myself. No wonder Kit is nonchalant about my being able to roam freely inside the house. He knows I won’t dare step outside. Regardless of what the men think, I don’t have a death wish.
I’m a patient person. I’ll wait until the right opportunity, then I’ll get the hell out of here. One of them will slip up. Until then, I’ll just keep playing along and try to get them to trust me. These guys are amateurs compared to me.
“Here you are,” Kit announces, opening a door and motioning for me to enter before him. “This is your room.”
“Wow,” I exclaim, blinking to insure this isn’t an illusion. The bedroom resembles one from a lavish five-star hotel featured on the Travel Channel. “This room is incredible.”
The room’s centerpiece is a grand four-poster king-size bed, dressed in luxurious cream-colored linens and piled high with plush pillows. Light wooden bedside tables hold lamps that cast a cozy glow. A vibrantly colored painting of a roadrunner bird hangs on the wall.
One entire corner of the room houses a natural stone fireplace. “I was freezing at Vulcan’s last night, and to think I could’ve been here, curled up in bed by a fire,” I remark, approaching the fireplace for a closer inspection. “I might not forgive any of you for leaving me there with him.”
