The thief dove on the net. Whirled. Plopped it over Kenzie’s head and spun her, locking her arms at her sides.
No. No. No.
From behind her, furious hands wound the long line from her chest down to her knees. Cursing and spitting, Kenzie was knocked blindly to the ground. Shoved and rolled into the trees, screeching monstrous words. Trapped in the growing darkness like a fly in a spider’s web.
She screamed with rage—until something snatched and sliced at the nylon mesh over her face—and crammed a bag into her mouth.
A filthy, suffocating plastic bag.
Stakeout includes notes on sea turtle conservation and the Marathon, Florida Turtle Hospital.
Kenzie was high on adrenaline until Angelo tugged her inside. “Are you crazy?” He put his hands on her shoulders and pressured her into a chair. “What are you doing? I know who the poacher is. You know I do. I just have to find where he anchors, and then I can turn him in myself.”
“You think you know, but you’re wrong.”
“You just moved here about two minutes ago. How can you know anything?”
“I’ll tell you how.” She sprang off the chair, hands on her hips. “I met Jigs, and he’s a very nice man, and his dog is gentle and sweet.”
“You met him? Right. When? Where?”
“Yesterday, at the flea market. I had a nice long conversation with him.”
Angelo backed away as if he might catch her disease.
“Holy ship, Red. You have lost your mind. Stay away from him. Jigs is a killer and a lowlife lobster thief. And that mutt of his is just as mean.”
“Children, children.” Father Murphy hurried toward them. “What is all this about?”
“I’m trying to explain to her that”—Angelo glanced at Father Murphy and softened his tone—“just because someone is nice to her doesn’t mean she can trust him.”
“But Jigs is a nice man.”
“I’m telling you, Jigs is a thief and worse.”
“Jigs?” The lines on Father’s forehead deepened. “A thief? As far as I know, there’s one Jigs on this island, and she’s a dog.”
Island Sting includes notes on the endangered Florida Key deer and the National Key Deer Refuge.