Below them, the gator stopped circling and banked itself against the bottom of the rail with its mouth open, waiting them out.
Juniper shifted her body, her warm hands still on his bare shoulders. "How does an injured alligator climb a flight of stairs and just happen to be waiting on us—or me?"
"The question isn't so much how," Sterling said. "Because gators, as I've learned, can climb stairs if they’re motivated."
"Okay, but what motivated this fella to climb mine? I don't keep chicken quarters on my porch, and I know that's what Trent feeds them. I've been to his gator farm and to Mallor's Landing."
"Let's take care of the gator and then figure out how he got here." Sterling's next call would be to Dawson, but while they waited for him to show up, he'd be having a little chat with Juniper.
Chapter Eleven
The gator wouldn't stop staring at Juniper like she was its last meal before execution.
Juniper tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She'd faced bullets aimed at her chest. She'd been dropped behind enemy lines in the dead of night and wondered if she was going to make it back alive. She'd woken up in hospital beds not knowing what country she'd been in and prayed to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in that it was a friendly government.
She'd rather experience all that than stare into this living fossil’s eyes. Death by gator didn't seem like an easy way to go.
It had settled against the underside of the rail, motionless, but one gold eye stayed rolled up at her, unblinking. Every few seconds its jaw sawed open another inch on a hiss that rattled her teeth.
Violence, she understood. War almost made sense. This thing wanted to eat her, and there was nothing behind the eye to even try to reason with. Absolutely nothing.
She had a death grip on Sterling's arm, and she wasn't letting go.
"Here comes Trent," Sterling said.
The diesel engine had a knock to it. The tires crunched on the shell drive. The swing of high beams lit up the porch like a scene from a horror movie. She could picture the evening news, now. Stacey Mohawk all decked out in her best suit. Her hair perfectly styled. Her make-up just right. She'd do her best to look empathetic even though she was dancing on the inside, hoping this was her shot at the big time as she reported on the grotesque deaths of two Calusa Cove residents who were eaten alive by a monster.
Christ, Juniper had been watching too many old Hitchcock and Spielberg movies.
Another hiss.
She dug her nails into Sterling's bare shoulders.
"It's okay. We're gonna be okay," he said.
She continued to stare at the long, armored back. The mud caked in its ridges. The sheer size of the animal. She'd seen many gators floating on the water.
But never this close.
And she never wanted to see them this close again.
The truck’s engine cut, and she heard a door slam.
"You two okay?" Trent asked.
"That's a relative term," Sterling said.
She shifted her gaze across the yard, and watched Trent stroll toward the porch, nice and easy.
"Gator's hurt. Back leg. And he's all worked up," Sterling said.
"You two stay exactly where you are. Don't come down or move until I tell you. Got it?" Trent paused ten feet away.
"Yeah. We got it," Sterling said.
"And then when we do, we're gonna talk about why you're shirtless."
"No, we're not." Sterling tensed. "Just take care of that gator."
