The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,56

and the conservation officer answered on the first ring.

“How’s it hanging, Dr. Leon?” Miguel asked.

“Low and nice-sized,” Jem shouted.

“What?” Miguel said with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing. That was someone else in the truck.” Tean glared at Jem. “He’s got cat-scratch disease.”

Miguel did some more nervous laughing.

“What’s the update on the coyotes? Did you find a sick pack?”

“I think so. I put out some live traps—that’s what you wanted, right?”

“That works. If you find one or two that are sick and euthanize them yourself, that’s fine too.”

“I’m on it.”

“Miguel, what do you know about John Sievers?”

“Come on,” Miguel said. “I told him to let this go. I’m sorry he’s bothering you.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Tean said, raising an eyebrow at Jem. Jem shrugged and shook his head. “Let’s hear your side of it.”

“He’s always been a pain in the butt, Dr. Leon. For the most part, though, he just does his own thing. You know the last few years, he’s had the record for the most coyote scalps turned in? The money probably helps, sure. I mean, fifty bucks a pop doesn’t sound like a lot, but this guy lives off the grid as much as possible, and he’s getting a lot of them. But I think he really just likes trapping and killing and skinning. I told him he needed to take down those videos. He can pretend all he wants that they’re educational, but anybody who watches them can tell he enjoys it.”

“That’s part of our work, Miguel. We support hunters and fishermen.”

In Miguel’s silence, Tean could hear the wind pushing on the truck, the truck’s suspension whining.

“You haven’t seen those videos, have you?”

“I saw some tweets, messages. He was threatening Joy Erickson.”

“Oh yeah. They’re always going at it. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ll send you some links.” He paused, and this time, a note of curiosity entered his voice. “Sievers has been moaning for years about how I don’t have any right to tell him what he does on his own land. I figured that’s why you were calling—he’d finally run this up the ladder to you. But that’s not it, is it? Is it something to do with Erickson?”

“I’m not really sure yet,” Tean said. “I’ll probably need to talk to you again when I have a better idea what I’m looking for.”

“You know me,” Miguel said. “At your command. You can’t see it but I’m snapping a salute.”

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

In a military cadence, Miguel barked, “Goodbye, sir!”

Tean disconnected the call. “Why do I have so many smart alecks in my life?”

“You’re a cosmic magnet,” Jem said. “It’s because of your bright, shining optimism. People are just drawn to you. Yin and yang. Light and dark.”

Covering his face, Tean said, “Exhibit A. What did you learn about Joy, Zalie, and Hannah?”

“I learned that I’m still a fucking imbecile who can’t read a newspaper article.”

Tean dropped his hands. Jem was staring out the window, his phone in a white-knuckled grip. The shift in his tone and posture had been immediate.

“Want to try that again?” Tean said.

“A fucking fourth-grader could read this shit.”

“We talked about this. This was one of the first things we talked about, and you agreed.”

“Well, fuck our agreement. And fuck those articles. Here. You read them.” He tossed the phone at Tean.

Tean caught it. He was surprised to see a picture of him and Jem on the lock screen. He remembered Jem asking someone to take the picture when they’d gone to the Museum of Natural History. A fossilized raptor skeleton loomed over them, and Jem was replicating the raptor’s pose. Tean was staring straight ahead at the camera. Tean didn’t know if it was just his memory or if he could actually see it in the picture, but he’d been trying desperately not to smile. He couldn’t remember why that had seemed so important at the time.

“I thought we might wait for Sievers,” Tean said. “For a little while, at least. That gives us some time to practice.”

“Great. Did you bring Jane Falls Down a Well or whatever fucking board book I’m supposed to be working on?”

Tean ran through possible responses. He settled on Jem’s own words: “Maybe you should shout about it.”

“Yeah,” Jem said, pinching his brow. “Great idea.” Then he shook himself, looking a little like Scipio when he got in from the rain, and said, “Ok. I’m ok. I’m back. Sorry about that.”

Tean wanted to tell Jem he could shout if he wanted to. He wanted to