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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Connie Neumann

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Kris Keller

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Walking the Edge

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Leslie Santamaria, incredibly talented writer, amazing human, and priceless friend, who always knows what I meant to say. Cheering you on every step of the way and thanking God we get to ride the roller coaster together!

  Chapter 1

  If only humans were as predictable as the monkeys she’d come back to Ocala to study. Delilah Paige Atwood took a sip of her coffee and sighed. Expression carefully bland, she studied the patrons at the Corner Café while she uploaded her latest batch of photos and research notes using the free Wi-Fi. At least part of her plan had worked. No one appeared to have seen through her disguise or questioned the name Delilah Paige. Equally noteworthy, no one from her antigovernment, paranoid family had burst through the door with guns blazing, furious that she’d dared to come back to town.

  It was the other part that worried her. She’d spent every morning of the past two weeks eavesdropping on the locals, and she still had no idea how to find her family. Her sister would be sixteen in two weeks, which meant Delilah was running out of time.

  She shut down her laptop and had just tucked her field journals into their zippered compartment when the bell above the door jangled merrily. The whisper of awareness that slid down her spine told her without looking that Josh Tanner—“Hollywood” to his friends—had just walked in.

  His eyes lit up when he spotted her, and that breath-stealing grin flustered her, just as it did. Every. Single. Time. While he ordered coffee, she reorganized her backpack, hoping he didn’t notice her ridiculous blush. After her isolated childhood, she’d spent years studying people’s social interactions like a research project, desperate to learn how to behave, what to say, how to relate to others. She’d learned to look people in the eye, go on dates, and even thought herself in love once, but every shred of her hard-won poise vanished whenever he walked in.

  He…unsettled her. And intrigued her in equal measure.

  Something about his kind eyes, his sometimes-sad eyes, whispered to a part of her she hadn’t known existed. To say nothing of his movie-star good looks and the intimate smile that made her fumble and stammer. Still, she kept showing up at the café, hoping for more of his fun, flirty banter, despite the uncomfortable fact that he was FWC, a Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation Commission officer. His uniform alone should have sent her running, but somehow, the man wearing it had snuck under her defenses and tempted her to linger over her coffee cup.

  You have more important things to do, her mind chided.

  Five minutes won’t change anything, her heart countered.

  It was selfish, she knew, to put her wants above Mary for even a second, but she couldn’t make herself leave. Not yet. Ten minutes. No more.

  “Good morning. How’s my favorite monkey researcher today?” Josh asked as he strolled to her table and turned a chair around. He straddled it, sipping the coffee he’d just purchased and eyeing her over the rim.

  She raised a brow and sent him a cheeky grin. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only monkey researcher you know.” Was that really her voice, sounding all low and sultry?

  “True, but you’re still my favorite.”

  She laughed and gripped her coffee cup as she tried to think of something witty to say. He’d propped his sunglasses on top of his head, and she couldn’t help studying the khaki uniform that molded to him like a second skin. She dragged her gaze away from his chest in time to realize he’d been studying her, too.

  “You have paint on your fingers.” He pointed.

  Delilah glanced down at the traces of dark green she’d missed when she’d scrubbed her hands. “Thankfully, most of it’s on the camper.” She sent him what she hoped was a casual smile. “It’s done and it looks good, if I do say so myself.” Getting the camper habitable had been step one, so she and Mary would have a place to stay.

  “I’m sure it looks great. Can’t wait to see it. So where are you headed today?”

  Her stomach did a little flip. Did he really want to see her camper and spend time with her away from here? Or was that just Josh being a nice guy and making conversation? She’d never seen him flirt with anyone—except her. And he always seemed to end up sitting at her table. But chatting over coffee and inviting him into her home were two very different things.

  She couldn’t begin to think about all that right now. “I figured I’d swing by Tanner’s Outpost and rent a kayak from your sister, see if I can track down one of the other monkey troops today. Babies are starting to arrive,” she added, grinning. She would also scout out the area, check if anyone had seen the Atwoods recently. She wasn’t overly optimistic they would tell her even if they knew, but she had to try. And she’d keep trying until she found them. “The other troop I’ve been watchin
g this week has been hanging out just south of the Silver River, near one of the trails in the state park. Lots of people have gathered out there, watching them.”

  He straightened, suddenly serious. “Have you found anyone feeding them?”

  Frustration washed over her. “Unfortunately, yes. I tried to educate the family. They’re from Michigan, so I likened feeding the monkeys to what happens if you feed bears. I think I got through.” She hoped. This was why her research mattered so much. She wanted to prove that instances of so-called aggression toward humans would be severely lessened, if not eliminated, if people quit offering them food.

  “Did I hear you say monkeys?” another voice asked.

  Delilah looked up, and all her instincts went on alert as a tall, thirtysomething man with thinning hair pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Not as tall as Josh, his pale skin and doughy shape said he spent most of his time at a desk somewhere. He extended a hand across the table, and Delilah hesitated before she shook it, instantly recoiling from his damp palm. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction, but Josh did. He grinned and sent her a flirty wink that made butterflies swoop in her stomach.

  “Casey Wells, with the local paper.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Folks say you’re from Florida State University, studying our Silver Springs monkeys this summer.”

  Wary, Delilah nodded. “It’s part of my master’s program in anthropology.” She didn’t tell him her grant was from the National Geographic Society or exactly what her study of the rhesus macaques entailed. She’d earned her disdain of the media the old-fashioned way—she’d inherited it from her government-fearing family.

  Wells nodded. “Good for you.” He glanced between the two of them, smirked. “I’m just curious. After yesterday’s incident, do you agree with the Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation Commission that the monkeys should be removed because they’re not indigenous?”

  Delilah froze, and a chill slid down her back. “What incident?”

  Wells smiled smugly. “There’s a video online that has gone viral, showing the monkeys charging a family of tourists in the state park.”

  Was that the same family she’d spoken to? She narrowed her gaze. “And did they feed the monkeys?”

  Wells shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I’m just going by what I saw online, like everyone else.” He paused. “But getting back to my earlier question, will your study be for or against the monkeys’ removal?”

  “Since rhesus macaques have been here longer than many of the human families in this area, I believe we should leave them alone. How are they different from the Cracker cows originally brought here by the Spanish? Or the wild pigs, descended from those DeSoto brought with him? When do we stop calling a species ‘non-native’?” She felt her voice rising, so she swallowed whatever else she might have said. Yes, she was passionate about the monkeys, determined to protect them, but she was a logical researcher representing prestigious organizations, not a nutty radical spouting emotion.

  Casey Wells smiled widely. “Well said, Ms. Paige.” He turned to Josh. “Care to comment on that, Officer Tanner?”

  Josh sent her a look that said I’m sorry before turning to Wells. “While I agree that the monkeys have been here a very long time, they are not without issues. Managing the growing population is complicated. Non-native species like these can have a negative impact on the native populations already in this area. There is also concern about the herpes B virus they carry.” When Delilah opened her mouth to argue, he added, “Though there is no documented evidence of the virus being transmitted from monkeys to humans. Right now, though, the biggest concern centers around signs of aggression toward humans.”

  Delilah stiffened at his political-sounding response, and all her childhood warnings about law enforcement, about how cops said one thing and did another, came rushing back. She should never have let her guard down around someone in uniform, no matter how nice he seemed or how fast her heart beat whenever he was around. She took a breath and deliberately kept her tone even. “So-called aggression toward humans is a growing concern because people think ‘don’t feed the monkeys’ doesn’t apply to them.”

  Despite her carefully modulated tone, the café suddenly went quiet, all eyes turned their way. Josh glanced around before he looked back at her. “On that, we agree. Many of the issues would resolve themselves if people stopped feeding the monkeys—or any other wildlife.”

  Delilah stood and finished loading her backpack. She felt far too exposed with everyone watching them, too disappointed in Josh. Hearing him spout the official FWC party line completely threw her, since tourists came to Tanner’s Outpost from all over to see the monkeys. Add her increasing worry for Mary, and she could easily say things she’d regret. Besides, none of this mattered right now.

  “Look, Delilah,” Josh began, just as his cell chirped. He checked the screen and muttered, “I need to go.” When he looked up, his eyes held apology. “I want us to finish this conversation.” He glanced at Wells, then back at her. “Alone.” His phone chirped again. “I’m sorry.” He stepped closer and squeezed her hand, sending a little zing up her arm. “We’ll talk later. Be safe out there today.” And then he was gone.

  Delilah blinked in surprise that he’d touched her and again when she realized how much she’d liked it. As he walked away, his clean scent lingered in her nostrils, and she wondered what else he’d wanted to say.

  Wells shot to his feet. “He makes a valid point. Aren’t you worried about being out in the forest alone?”

  Delilah slung her backpack over her shoulder, irritated that Wells was still probing for information. “Can’t think of a reason to be.” She knew what he meant, but she wouldn’t encourage further conversation.

  “Well, after that other researcher was beaten so badly last year…” He let the statement trail off. “They never found out who did it, did they?”

  Delilah figured he knew the answer to that as well as she did. But she had tracked down Vanessa Camden, who hinted that the media had exaggerated what happened. She had wanted to go home—Vanessa hated being in the forest—so that had been the perfect excuse. Delilah didn’t tell Wells any of that.

  “The other study was aimed at the dangers associated with the rhesus macaques remaining in the area and strongly supported their removal. I view the situation from a different perspective and have no desire to see that happen. People who support them staying would have no problem with my study.” She hitched up her chin. “So, no, I’m not worried.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Wells said before he tucked his notebook into his shirt pocket and walked away.

  Delilah headed outside, scanning the parking lot before she climbed into her pickup. Josh had said he had to go, but a little part of her had hoped he’d wait for her. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

  She hit the highway and forced herself to take several deep breaths to settle the emotional stew churning in her gut. She couldn’t think about Josh and the butterflies he unleashed in her stomach or her disappointment that he didn’t share her opinion on the monkeys.

  There were only two weeks left until Mary’s birthday.

  * * *

  An hour later, Delilah sat in her rented kayak on the Ocklawaha River, using her camera’s zoom to pan the trees on both sides of the waterway. As she did, she mentally ran through her list of options. Tracking her father down for a confrontation and shouting, “How could you have done that?!” would make her feel better, maybe, but wouldn’t faze him in the least, not even if she pointed her Glock at him as she did so. It wouldn’t convince him to let Mary go, either. Not a “mere” woman, acting out of emotion.

  John Henry was all about control. He was harsh and ruthless and took deliberate action, believing he had absolute power. He feared no one. She’d bet her camper that he would dismiss her without a word, just as he had before. Unless she found a way to level the pl
aying field.

  Dark memories of his cold indifference to pain—both physical and emotional—chilled her, a stark contrast to the calm of a quiet summer morning. She pushed it aside and looked around at the beautiful scenery while she considered and discarded various next steps. The sun beat down, and humidity shimmered in the still air. There was no breeze, so the river was smooth as glass.

  Liberally coated in essential oils to keep the mosquitos away, Delilah lowered her camera and listened. There. Was that them? She could usually hear the rhesus macaques chattering in the treetops long before she could see them.

  Several quick strokes toward the opposite shoreline and she raised her camera again, listened. Yes. Now she heard them, though she still couldn’t locate them in her viewfinder. They were too far back in the trees to see from her vantage point.

  Knowing how sound traveled over the water, she quietly paddled toward shore and beached her kayak between two cypress stumps, carefully securing the rope to a tree, lest the current tug it free. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and gingerly stepped onto the bank, using the cypress knees to avoid the muddy spots.

  She slowly walked inland, following their chatter and searching for telltale movements high up in the tree canopy, but she also studied the ground. Monkey sign, or as she and Mary called it, “monkey poo,” indicated she was in the right area.

  The chattering stopped.

  After she checked a fallen log for snakes and bugs, she sat down to wait. Sometimes, the quiet meant they’d moved on, but other times, it meant they were watching.

  She tried to ignore the twitchy feel of unknown eyes studying her by taking slow, deep breaths. Within two minutes, her damp shirt stuck to her skin, so she pulled it away and flapped the fabric to create a breeze. She remembered the way Josh’s appreciative glance had run over her this morning, just as she’d run hers over him. The way his uniform shirt hugged his torso had made her throat go dry. But it was more than his looks that turned her from intelligent, well-spoken researcher into stammering idiot. His slow, thorough perusal made her acutely aware of herself as a woman, and that flustered her. She’d never been the pretty one. She was the smart one, the one voted “most likely to be in the library on a Friday night” by her classmates.