Echo

attacks; illegal digging and containment equipment found with them. The reporter added that they were well known to the police as local poachers. Within a week, three more heart attack victims had been found. Mission accomplished; all poachers exclusively. The baby turtles were then able to climb from their nests, making their run for the ocean unimpeded by avaricious humans.
    Did Scotty feel any sense of remorse for his contribution to the deaths of the poachers? Was Echo’s influence on a young mind profound enough to make Scotty disregard all he had been taught about law and order? Or was Scotty just reacting with the naive exuberance of an idealist youth, torn between the never ending struggle between man, the predator and wildlife, the prey? Scotty stroked his tail as it unfurled from under his shirt. Was he himself no longer human? Was he now wildlife himself?
    Scotty heard a shuffling sound. Looking up, he spied Echo’s adorable golden face, her hair standing on edge as she flew off the top of the wall, confidently relying on Scotty to catch her in his arms.
    “Gee, how about a little warning, girl. Some day you’re going to wind up on my head.” He hoisted Echo up under his arm like a football on its way to the Homecoming touchdown. They ran for the skiff, where their major domo, Barney, continued to hold his own with the tide. Slipping Barney off his rope, Scotty pushed off and gave the outboard a tug, welcoming the quiet purr of the engine. Echo climbed up Barney’s back, their faces to the wind like pirates on the lookout after a particularly difficult raid. The adrenalin in Scotty’s bloodstream subsided as they reached home. He wondered where their next rescue would take them.

Chapter 27
    Jose sipped coffee from a handmade artisan mug, acquired by their interior designer, like everything else in their dream house. Vapid daylight struggled its way through the celestial kitchen windows, announcing the radiant Sarasota sunshine, still hours away. He scanned the headlines in the newspaper, noting that Jane Nasir died. Hadn’t he heard something about the Nasirs on the television a few nights ago? Glancing at a sidebar, he located a poll result showing her husband was sure to be the nominee for his party during the upcoming presidential election. He wondered how a man could continue with an objective like that when his wife just died. He thought he heard they had a young child. He fought off a brief moment of deja vu.
    Scratching his unshaven whiskers, he absently reached for a sweet roll, food no longer the enticement it once was. Was it a side effect of love or perhaps his body’s changes? He thought back to their days in Sussex County and realized he couldn’t pinpoint when his appetite disappeared. He made a note to speak to Echo about that later, if he could find her. She and Scotty sure seemed thick as thieves the last few weeks. They were developing a bad habit of sleeping late, some mornings past noon.
    Refilling his cup, he turned the page, his eyes coming to rest on the unusual story of the young Manatee rescued several days ago, near Philippi Creek. The young manatee’s prognosis had been hopeless, having lost its tail to a boat propeller. Propellers create just one of the tragic dangers for precious ocean wildlife that must compete with the heavy influx of recreational boating. The article went on to claim the poor manatee became a victim of a hoax perpetrated by a malicious prankster. The grievously injured manatee was taken to the Mote Marine Laboratory for examination. In the morning, mysteriously, the manatee disappeared, replaced with a healthy young male, the injured male, nowhere to be found. Lab officials were outraged to see a grievously injured creature callously used for a prank. Authorities were not amused.
    Sick, Jose thought. Glancing at his new Rolex, a present from Abby for his twenty-fourth birthday, he noticed it was time to get his rear in gear, not wanting to show up late for his meeting with Peter. Finishing his coffee, he ran out the front door, fighting his way through the thick brush of red Peace rosebushes, and date and royal palms that served as easy access to Peter’s house next door.
    Ringing the doorbell, Jose surveyed the property. Not bad for a lawyer from Sussex County. Although Jose and Abby retained ownership, Peter lived there as if it were his own. They allowed him to work with the decorator to select his own furnishings. As a result, Peter had gone