legal.
Cassidy was out here in the pitch dark. Would a hunter see—or care—that she wore a Collar?
Diego scanned for signs to tell him which way Eric had gone. The earth didn’t show any paw prints, but a bush had been recently broken, a larger rock moved to expose its clean underside and the bugs hiding there.
Diego climbed around a stand of trees and started over another arm of hill. To his right, the ground sloped downward into darkness; to his left and ahead of him, the earth folded into treacherous grooves, deep washes that would flood during snowmelt later this spring.
About half a mile on, Diego was rewarded with a paw print in his beam of light, unmistakable in the mud. A wildcat, but a big one, much bigger than the elusive mountain lions that lived out here.
Diego followed the direction of the print, finding another in the drier dirt. He hiked on through the wash, eyes stinging with the dust he kicked up. He came out of the trees and found himself on a wide ridge, under an outcropping of black rock.
He heard a snarl—harsh, breathy, animal-like. He raised his flashlight and saw a mountain lion standing in the shadows of the rock. A real wildcat, not Eric, and this mountain lion was seriously pissed off.
The cat was so close that Diego could feel the hot whuff of its breath. Its ears were flat against its head, and it bared its teeth in a red-lipped snarl. Diego knew he’d never get the tranq rifle around in time or his pistol from its holster. Sometime tomorrow, rangers would find shredded Latino cop all over the bottom of the hill.
He heard a second snarl, this one louder. Another wildcat leapt down from the rocks above, a snow leopard, complete with Collar. Not Eric—this one was a smaller than Eric, and its eyes were a more vibrant green.
The leopard growled, long and low, throat vibrating with menace. The mountain lion’s hackles rose, and it backed away. The snow leopard gave it a narrow-eyed stare, then jumped straight at it. The mountain lion let out one high-pitched yowl and took off up the hill, scattering dirt and gravel behind it.
The snow leopard landed and stopped, watching the mountain lion go with what Diego swore was a satisfied expression. The big cat then turned and looked at Diego with almost glowing green eyes, assessing him.
Diego put his hands around his rifle. If this wasn’t Cassidy Warden, rangers still might find shredded Latino cop all over the hill.
“Cassidy?” he asked.
The wildcat gave him one slow blink, then moved toward him on graceful feet, step by step. Diego watched it come, tensing, but not raising the rifle. The leopard huffed a little, a more friendly sound than the mountain lion had made, then it butted Diego solidly in the stomach.
The push was hard but playful, almost affectionate. The leopard walked around Diego, twining close to his legs like a house cat before it bumped him in the backside.
“That is you, Cassidy, right?”
The wildcat rose, planted large front paws on Diego’s shoulders. Diego overbalanced and went down on his ass, two hundred pounds of wildcat on top of him.
Reflexes made Diego toss aside his rifle and pack before he fell on them, then the leopard settled on his chest, nuzzling him with a soft, whiskered nose.
The wildcat was heavy, but in a warm-blanket way, not a crush-the-prey way. Diego’s rifle had landed just out of reach, and he noticed she’d pinned him so that he couldn’t go for his pistol.
“Good kitty.” Diego put a hand on her shoulder. The cat’s fur was incredibly soft. “What are you doing to me, mi ja ?”
The leopard licked across his chin, tongue like very rough sandpaper. Diego couldn’t help grinning. “You know this might be considered soliciting a police officer, don’t you?”
She gave a grunt, heaved herself off Diego’s chest, and started to walk off. Diego rolled and got the tranq rifle cocked and aimed so fast he should win a prize for it.
“Stop.”
The leopard looked back at
Cassidy was out here in the pitch dark. Would a hunter see—or care—that she wore a Collar?
Diego scanned for signs to tell him which way Eric had gone. The earth didn’t show any paw prints, but a bush had been recently broken, a larger rock moved to expose its clean underside and the bugs hiding there.
Diego climbed around a stand of trees and started over another arm of hill. To his right, the ground sloped downward into darkness; to his left and ahead of him, the earth folded into treacherous grooves, deep washes that would flood during snowmelt later this spring.
About half a mile on, Diego was rewarded with a paw print in his beam of light, unmistakable in the mud. A wildcat, but a big one, much bigger than the elusive mountain lions that lived out here.
Diego followed the direction of the print, finding another in the drier dirt. He hiked on through the wash, eyes stinging with the dust he kicked up. He came out of the trees and found himself on a wide ridge, under an outcropping of black rock.
He heard a snarl—harsh, breathy, animal-like. He raised his flashlight and saw a mountain lion standing in the shadows of the rock. A real wildcat, not Eric, and this mountain lion was seriously pissed off.
The cat was so close that Diego could feel the hot whuff of its breath. Its ears were flat against its head, and it bared its teeth in a red-lipped snarl. Diego knew he’d never get the tranq rifle around in time or his pistol from its holster. Sometime tomorrow, rangers would find shredded Latino cop all over the bottom of the hill.
He heard a second snarl, this one louder. Another wildcat leapt down from the rocks above, a snow leopard, complete with Collar. Not Eric—this one was a smaller than Eric, and its eyes were a more vibrant green.
The leopard growled, long and low, throat vibrating with menace. The mountain lion’s hackles rose, and it backed away. The snow leopard gave it a narrow-eyed stare, then jumped straight at it. The mountain lion let out one high-pitched yowl and took off up the hill, scattering dirt and gravel behind it.
The snow leopard landed and stopped, watching the mountain lion go with what Diego swore was a satisfied expression. The big cat then turned and looked at Diego with almost glowing green eyes, assessing him.
Diego put his hands around his rifle. If this wasn’t Cassidy Warden, rangers still might find shredded Latino cop all over the hill.
“Cassidy?” he asked.
The wildcat gave him one slow blink, then moved toward him on graceful feet, step by step. Diego watched it come, tensing, but not raising the rifle. The leopard huffed a little, a more friendly sound than the mountain lion had made, then it butted Diego solidly in the stomach.
The push was hard but playful, almost affectionate. The leopard walked around Diego, twining close to his legs like a house cat before it bumped him in the backside.
“That is you, Cassidy, right?”
The wildcat rose, planted large front paws on Diego’s shoulders. Diego overbalanced and went down on his ass, two hundred pounds of wildcat on top of him.
Reflexes made Diego toss aside his rifle and pack before he fell on them, then the leopard settled on his chest, nuzzling him with a soft, whiskered nose.
The wildcat was heavy, but in a warm-blanket way, not a crush-the-prey way. Diego’s rifle had landed just out of reach, and he noticed she’d pinned him so that he couldn’t go for his pistol.
“Good kitty.” Diego put a hand on her shoulder. The cat’s fur was incredibly soft. “What are you doing to me, mi ja ?”
The leopard licked across his chin, tongue like very rough sandpaper. Diego couldn’t help grinning. “You know this might be considered soliciting a police officer, don’t you?”
She gave a grunt, heaved herself off Diego’s chest, and started to walk off. Diego rolled and got the tranq rifle cocked and aimed so fast he should win a prize for it.
“Stop.”
The leopard looked back at
Similar Books
