Certainly guns, too. So they probably felt safe.
The snow was now coming down in long, howling flurries punctuated by periods of driving wind. He waited, his hands clutching his gun. He’d stuffed the MindRay into his backpack. The equally useless night vision binoculars hung around his neck.
He was peering into the dark and thinking about trying them again when the moon appeared and he found himself looking into the face of a goddamn puma, which was not ten feet in front of him.
He gasped, choking back a shout of alarm.
How in the world had it gotten this close this fast? A certainty: it was the master of conditions like this. A possibility: it saw him as prey.
The eyes were steady. They were careful. To his amazement, they followed his stealthy movement to his pistol. Since when did pumas understand pistols? But this one sure did.
He wished that he had an Anaconda or a Model 29, because it was going to take some accurate shooting with the Glock to stop this creature if it charged from this close. Worse, it was a Glock Nineteen and not an Eighteen with its greater capacity and automatic fire option. He needed a perfect head shot or the animal would still be very much alive when it connected with him.
Carefully, he tightened his hand around the pistol and began to pull it up into firing position. If the animal leaped before the gun was aimed, he was going to be torn to pieces.
Its eyes shifted to his face, then back to the rising pistol, which was uncanny. How smart could it be?
It pulled its shoulders forward. It was about to leap. But then there was a slight hesitancy.
The eyes—so steady, so alien—returned to his face. In the stare Flynn could see a raw lust to kill. But then they flickered again, and in the next instant the animal was gone. He had gotten the gun into position just in time, and it had clearly understood that it had been outmaneuvered.
Amazing. He’d never seen anything like it. No animal was that smart.
The puma’s tracks faded into the snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Louie was approximately two hundred yards to his right, covering the house from an angle that gave him a different view. Flynn wanted to warn him on the radio, but he didn’t want to be the one to blow this mission, misconceived though it was. He had to warn the guy, though, so he’d go over there. This would leave the house uncovered from this angle for a few minutes, but it had to be done. It was one damn smart cat, and the guy needed to know this.
The piano had started again, the music slipping and sliding in the wind. Abby, also, had played. His dad had played. He’d tried to learn, but he hadn’t inherited that gene. What he could do well with his hands was shoot. He could turn even an old snub-nosed Police Special into a useful weapon. A good pistol felt like an extension of his hand. Any pistol, for that matter.
Pushing through the snow, he was tempted to call Louie’s name, but even that might destroy the stakeout. Many a cop had wrecked a good collar with an ill-timed whisper.
He was sweating under his layers of clothing when he began to ask himself if he’d gone in the right direction. But he had, no question. So where was Louie?
The snow seemed less, so he tried the night vision goggles again. He could see a little better, but they didn’t reveal Louie ahead. Instead, what Flynn saw was a strange, formless shape in the snow.
Was that a rock? A gnarled bush?
He tried working with the goggles, increasing the magnification.
The material was jagged, gleaming darkly. He still couldn’t tell what it was.
Another patch of moon glow sped by. In it, he could make out a pale ripped edge protruding from the shape. Bone, maybe? If so, then that was a chunk of something the lion had just killed—a deer, hopefully.
As a precaution, he got his pistol back out and held it alongside his parka. If that was a kill, then the lion was protecting it, and that’s why it was hanging around.
As he crunched along, he stepped
The snow was now coming down in long, howling flurries punctuated by periods of driving wind. He waited, his hands clutching his gun. He’d stuffed the MindRay into his backpack. The equally useless night vision binoculars hung around his neck.
He was peering into the dark and thinking about trying them again when the moon appeared and he found himself looking into the face of a goddamn puma, which was not ten feet in front of him.
He gasped, choking back a shout of alarm.
How in the world had it gotten this close this fast? A certainty: it was the master of conditions like this. A possibility: it saw him as prey.
The eyes were steady. They were careful. To his amazement, they followed his stealthy movement to his pistol. Since when did pumas understand pistols? But this one sure did.
He wished that he had an Anaconda or a Model 29, because it was going to take some accurate shooting with the Glock to stop this creature if it charged from this close. Worse, it was a Glock Nineteen and not an Eighteen with its greater capacity and automatic fire option. He needed a perfect head shot or the animal would still be very much alive when it connected with him.
Carefully, he tightened his hand around the pistol and began to pull it up into firing position. If the animal leaped before the gun was aimed, he was going to be torn to pieces.
Its eyes shifted to his face, then back to the rising pistol, which was uncanny. How smart could it be?
It pulled its shoulders forward. It was about to leap. But then there was a slight hesitancy.
The eyes—so steady, so alien—returned to his face. In the stare Flynn could see a raw lust to kill. But then they flickered again, and in the next instant the animal was gone. He had gotten the gun into position just in time, and it had clearly understood that it had been outmaneuvered.
Amazing. He’d never seen anything like it. No animal was that smart.
The puma’s tracks faded into the snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Louie was approximately two hundred yards to his right, covering the house from an angle that gave him a different view. Flynn wanted to warn him on the radio, but he didn’t want to be the one to blow this mission, misconceived though it was. He had to warn the guy, though, so he’d go over there. This would leave the house uncovered from this angle for a few minutes, but it had to be done. It was one damn smart cat, and the guy needed to know this.
The piano had started again, the music slipping and sliding in the wind. Abby, also, had played. His dad had played. He’d tried to learn, but he hadn’t inherited that gene. What he could do well with his hands was shoot. He could turn even an old snub-nosed Police Special into a useful weapon. A good pistol felt like an extension of his hand. Any pistol, for that matter.
Pushing through the snow, he was tempted to call Louie’s name, but even that might destroy the stakeout. Many a cop had wrecked a good collar with an ill-timed whisper.
He was sweating under his layers of clothing when he began to ask himself if he’d gone in the right direction. But he had, no question. So where was Louie?
The snow seemed less, so he tried the night vision goggles again. He could see a little better, but they didn’t reveal Louie ahead. Instead, what Flynn saw was a strange, formless shape in the snow.
Was that a rock? A gnarled bush?
He tried working with the goggles, increasing the magnification.
The material was jagged, gleaming darkly. He still couldn’t tell what it was.
Another patch of moon glow sped by. In it, he could make out a pale ripped edge protruding from the shape. Bone, maybe? If so, then that was a chunk of something the lion had just killed—a deer, hopefully.
As a precaution, he got his pistol back out and held it alongside his parka. If that was a kill, then the lion was protecting it, and that’s why it was hanging around.
As he crunched along, he stepped
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