Free Wounded Animals (Whistleblower Series Book 1) by Jim Heskett Page A

spare key, dry-swallowed another antibiotic pill, then jumped in my car.
     
    ***
     
    The Denver International airport, so far from the city of Denver they might as well call it the Eastern Colorado Airport, appeared like white needles piercing the sky in the distance as I turned onto Peña Boulevard. The needles were from the massive lighted cloth towers on top, which I assumed were supposed to look like mountains.
    As I neared the airport, I tried not to look at the horrendous statue of the electric blue horse with its glowing red eyes and hanging dong. The piece of “art” had always unnerved me, but I didn’t need that extra stress today. I threw up a hand to block it from my view as I passed, then I breathed a sigh of relief once it was in my rearview.
    Parking lots. I could choose between the east parking lot or west, and then choose between the economy lot and the garage in each. Grace would never park in the garage, as it cost twice as much. When I traveled for work, I always parked in the garage, because as long as they were paying, I appreciated the five minutes of time savings to get to the terminal. Life is better on someone else’s dime.
    So that left the economy lots, either east or west. I had a gut feeling I might find her car in the east one since Frontier was on that side, and she usually flew Frontier back to Michigan. I had to acknowledge that I was making a huge number of assumptions, most of them based on whims that passed through my head like wisps of cat hair in the breeze. But I had to start somewhere.
    So I pulled into the east economy lot, took my ticket at the gate, then found a place to park, near the middle outer section. The lot was always close to full. A flashing sign near the road through the lot blinked that sections 1 and 2 were full, and section 3 was near capacity.
    Out of the car, I surveyed the vast east parking lot before me. The prospect of searching all these cars seemed almost too daunting. Three major sections, with rows A through Z in each. I was currently in section 2 row F, so I made my way outward to section 3 row A, pressing the lock button on Grace’s key every few seconds, hoping I would hear that familiar chirp-chirp of her Subaru’s lock mechanism.
    Section 2, rows F back to A gave me no joy. I worked my way back toward section 1, thinking I needed a better game plan to tackle this massive lot.
    Clicking the remote. No sound. People around me, pulling rolling bags and carrying small children crabby and crying from travel. Businessmen squawking on Bluetooth devices, loosening their ties and clacking their wing-tipped shoes against the parking lot surface.
    A woman with a baby in some kind of sling around her belly started walking toward me. “Having trouble? I always get lost whenever I come here.”
    She stopped a few feet short of me, big worry on her face. Her baby pivoted in its sling, then looked up at me with wide brown eyes and a toothless grin on its little face.
    The woman stroked her baby’s thin hair as it cooed at me. “He likes you,” she said.
    I spread out a flat smile, unsure what to do next. Was I supposed to thank her, or ask to hold it, or say nothing? I was going to have one of these little creatures myself in less than three months, but I realized then that I hadn’t actually held one since my cousin had his kid, and that was almost a decade before.
    I stared at the baby, mesmerized. How alien these little humans looked. Like furless cats, only helpless and entirely dependent on other humans for survival. The infant shoved a hand in his tiny mouth and started sucking away at his fingers, a few strings of drool dribbling down his fat little chin.
    The woman shifted her weight away from me. “Well, good luck finding your car.”
    “Yeah, thank you,” I said, feeling like a creepy uncle.
    She disappeared between a truck and a smart car, and I went back to pressing the remote button and wandering up and down the rows of cars.
    By the time