Black Hills (34 page)

“Willy needs to catch that son of a bitch, and soon. Matt’s overworked, but so is everybody else around here. That’s the way it is. We’re okay, Lil, and we’re going to stay okay. Now, how are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Well, if you ask me—which you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway—you look stressed. And speaking of overworked, what you need is a day off. A
real
day off. And a date.”

“A date?”

“Yes, a date.” Clearly exasperated, Mary rolled her eyes. “You remember what a date is. Dinner, the movies, dancing. You haven’t taken a full day off since you got back, and however much you enjoyed that trip to South America, I know you worked every damn day there, too.”

“I like to work.”

“That may be, but a day off and a date would do you good. You ought to get your ma and drive into Rapid City for the day. Do some shopping, get your nails done, then come back and have that good-looking Cooper Sullivan buy you a steak dinner, take you dancing, then parking afterward.”

“Mary.”

“If I were thirty years younger and single, I’d damn well see to it he bought me a steak dinner, and the rest of it.” Mary gave Lil a hard, somewhat impatient squeeze. “I worry about you, honey.”

“Don’t. Don’t worry.”

“Take a day off. Well, break’s over.” She checked her watch. “Tansy and Farley ought to be rolling up in a couple hours. Then we’ll have some excitement.”

She didn’t want a day off, Lil thought when Mary walked away. She didn’t want to go shopping—very much. Or to get her nails done. She looked at her nails, winced. Okay, maybe she could use a manicure, but she didn’t have any lectures, appearances, or events scheduled. No fundraising drums to beat. When she needed to, she cleaned up very well.

And if she wanted a steak dinner, she could buy her own. The last thing she needed was a date with Coop, which would complicate a situation she’d already complicated with sex.

Completely her fault, she admitted.

He’d been right about one thing that morning. She had to deal with it.

Why hadn’t she made that list?

She stopped in front of the tiger’s enclosure. He lay at the entrance of his den, eyes half shut. Not dozing, not yet, Lil thought. His tail switched lazily, and Lil could see awareness in those slitted eyes.

“Not still mad at me, are you?” Lil leaned on the rail, watched Boris’s ears flick. “I had to do it. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or for anything to happen because of you. Not our fault, Boris, but we’d be responsible.”

Boris made a rumbling that sounded so much like reluctant agreement, Lil smiled. “You’re beautiful. Big, beautiful boy.” Lil let out a sigh. “I guess my break’s over, too.”

She straightened to stare out across the enclosures, the trees, the hills. And she thought it didn’t seem as if there could be a thing wrong in the world on a day like this.

 

 

 

HE MUNCHED ON his second Ho Ho. He
could
live off the land, but didn’t see any reason to deny himself a few pleasures from the Outside. In any case, he’d stolen the box of snack cakes from a campsite, so technically he was living off the land as he ate them. He’d also confiscated a bag of potato rolls and a six-pack of Heineken.

He limited himself to one beer every two days. A hunter couldn’t let alcohol slow his brain, even for an hour. So he only drank the single beer at bedtime.

Drinking had been his weak spot—he could admit it—just like it had been his daddy’s. Just, as his daddy had often said, like it was for their people. Liquor was only one more weapon the white man had used against them.

Drinking had gotten him in trouble, brought him to the attention of the white man’s law.

But he did love the taste of a cold beer.

He wouldn’t deny himself. He would simply control himself.

He’d learned that on his own. Of all the things his father had taught him, control hadn’t been one of them.

It was a matter of control, he thought. Just as letting the campers live had been a matter of control, and power. Killing them would have been fish-in-barrel time, and that wasn’t worth his skill. He had considered killing three of the four, then hunting down the last.

It never hurt to practice.

But taking out four campers would have the cops and rangers covering the hills like ants. Not that he couldn’t evade them, as his forefathers had for so long. One day he would be a one-man war party, hunting and killing those who desecrated the land at his whim and his will.

One day they would speak his name with fear and reverence.

But for now he had bigger fish to fry, fish that weren’t in the barrel.

He took out his field glasses to scan the compound below. His pride still surged from his observation of the guards placed around the perimeters through the night.

Because of him.

His prey scented him, and feared. Nothing he’d done before had given him such satisfaction.

How easy, and how exciting, it would have been to have taken them out. All of them. Moving silent as a ghost, slitting throats, one by one, blood warm and wet on his hands.

All that game bagged in one night.

And what would his prize have felt in the morning, when she’d come out of the cabin to see the carnage he’d left behind?

Would she have run, run screaming in terror?

He loved it when they ran, when they screamed. And more, when they had no breath left to scream.

But he’d snapped control firmly into place. It wasn’t time.

He could send her a message, he considered. Yes, he could. Something that made it very personal. The more there was at stake, the deeper the competition when the time came.

He didn’t just want her fear—fear was easy to come by.

He watched her for another moment as she crossed the compound toward the cabin that held the offices.

No, not just her fear, he thought, lowering the glasses, licking chocolate off his fingers. He wanted her
involved
as none of the others had been. As none of the others had deserved.

He turned away, and hitching his pack on his shoulders, began a circular hike back to his den, whistling a tune.

When the lone hiker, puffing a bit, crossed his path, he smiled.

“Lost?” he asked.

“No. Not exactly. Glad to see a friendly face, though. I was on Crow Peak, heading toward the summit. I think I got off the mark a little.” He pulled a bottle of water out of his belt harness. “I guess I should’ve stuck with one of the easier trails. It’s been a while.”

“Mmm-hmm.” This one looked healthy enough, fit enough. And lost, just enough. “You’re making the trip alone?”

“Yeah. The wife headed back at the junction. I’da done the same except she said I couldn’t do the seven miles. You know how it is. Gotta prove them wrong.”

“I’m heading that way myself. I can get you back on track.”

“That’d be great. Wouldn’t mind the company either. Jim Tyler,” he said, offering a hand. “From St. Paul.”

“Ethan Swift Cat.”

“Nice to meet you. You from around here?”

“That’s right, I’m from around.”

He started off, leading Jim Tyler from St. Paul farther off the trail, away from the blazes on pines, the signs, the posts, and deeper into the wilderness. He kept the pace moderate. Didn’t want to wear Jim out before the games began. He watched for signs of others, and listened to the man talk about his wife, his kids, his business—real estate—back in St. Paul.

He pointed out tracks to keep the man entertained, waited while Jim took pictures with a nice little digital Canon.

“You’re better than my guidebook,” Jim said with real pleasure. “Wait until I show off these pictures, and my wife sees what she missed. I’m lucky I ran into you.”

“Lucky.” He gave Jim a big smile as he pulled out his revolver.

“Run, rabbit,” he said, grinning. “Run.”

 

 

 

LIL RUSHED OUT of the cabin when Farley pulled in. Staff, volunteers, interns dropped what they were doing to hurry over. Before Farley came to a full stop, Lil boosted herself onto the running board on Tansy’s side and grinned at her friend.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine. Good. She’s getting a little restless back there. As if she knew we were getting close. You’re going to be very happy with her, Lil. She’s a beauty.”

“You have all her medical records?” Matt asked her.

“Yeah, and I spoke with her vet personally. She’s got a clean bill of health. She’d had some intestinal problems a few months ago. Her owner liked to feed her chocolate truffles—I swear. Godiva truffles, and Beluga caviar on special occasions. Apparently Cleo’s very fond of dark chocolate with hazelnut filling, and caviar on lightly browned toast points.”

“Good God,” was Matt’s response.

“She’s left the high life, but I think she’ll adjust.” Lil forced herself not to climb right on in and take a look. “Take her on over to the temporary, Farley. Let’s get her out of the cage, and into her new home. I bet she’d like to stretch her legs.”

She glanced over to where two of the interns continued a tour for a small group. “Annie,” she said to the young woman at her shoulder. “Why don’t you go tell that group to head over toward the enclosure. This should be a real treat for them.”

She rode with them, standing on the running board. “We were expecting you about an hour ago,” she commented.

Tansy shifted in her seat. “We, ah, left a little later than we’d planned.”

“No problems?”

“No. No.” Tansy stared straight ahead. “No problems. Cleo handled the drive just fine. Slept through most of it. I’ve got all the paperwork if you want to go over it after she’s settled.”

Lil’s first look at the cat took her breath away. Sleek, muscular, her eyes tawny glints, Cleo sat in her travel cage like royalty on a throne.

She eyed the humans, with what struck Lil as a gaze of pure superiority, and let out her coughing roar in case they didn’t fully understand who was boss.

Lil approached the cage so the jaguar could get her scent. “Hello, Cleo. Yes, you’re gorgeous. Strong, powerful, and you know it. But I’m alpha here. No more Godivas or poodles on the menu.”

The cat tracked her with those exotic eyes as she circled. “Let’s get her out. Keep your hands away from the bars. Her favored killing method may be to pierce the skull, but she won’t quibble at taking a good swipe of a careless hand or arm. I don’t want any trips to the infirmary. And don’t let her taste for chocolate fool you. She’s got powerful jaws, arguably the most powerful of all felids.”

They lowered the cage by the lift, and as the tourist group took snapshots, positioned it at the entrance to the enclosure.

Cleo grumbled in her throat, displeased, Lil concluded, with the crowd, the scent of them, the scent of other animals. Across the compound the lion roared.

Lil lifted the cage door, locked it open, stepped back.

The cat sniffed the air as she scanned the space, the tree, the boulders, the fencing. And the other animals beyond.

Her tail switched as the lioness prowled along their shared fenceline and marked her territory.

“This melanistic, or black, female jaguar hasn’t reached maturity,” Lil began for the benefit of the tourists. “She gets her color from a dominant allele—a unique pairing of genes. But she does have rosettes—spots—that can be seen if you’re close enough. She’s one of the four big cats, along with the lion, the tiger, and the leopard.”

As she spoke, she studied Cleo’s reactions.

“As you can see, while young, she has a compact, muscular body.”

“It looks sort of like a leopard.”

Lil nodded at one of the men in the group. “You’re right. Physically she looks like a leopard, though she’ll be bigger and stockier in build. Behaviorally, she’s more like the tiger—and like the tiger, actually enjoys swimming.”

Cleo inched toward the opening of the cage. Lil stayed where she was, kept very still, and continued to talk. “And like the tiger, the female kicks the male to the curb after giving birth.”

That got a little laugh from the tour group as they angled for more pictures.

“She’s a stalk-and-ambush hunter, and no other species comes close to her abilities there. In the wild, she’s an apex predator, top of the food chain. Only man preys on her. Because of deforestation and encroachment and fragmentation of its habitats and poaching, jaguar populations are declining. The species is considered Near Threatened. Conservation efforts will help preserve her species, which in turn will help preserve other, smaller-range species.”

Crouched, the jaguar stepped out, nosing both ground and air. When she’d cleared it, Lil lowered the door on the enclosure, locked it.

The crowd applauded.

“She’ll be protected here,” Lil added. “Cared for by the staff, interns, and volunteers of Chance Wildlife Refuge, and through,” lest they forget, Lil thought, “the donations of our patrons and visitors. She’ll have a good life here, and may have it for over twenty years.”

She watched the black cat belly through the grass, nosing it, nosing the air, then rising to stalk. Squatting to pee, marking her territory as the lion marked hers.

She paced and circled, and even when she stopped to drink from her trough, Lil saw her muscles quivering.

She continued to pace, to prowl, sending out that hoarse roar. When she rose on her hind legs to sharpen her front claws on her tree, Lil felt her own muscles quiver at the beauty of the cat’s lines, the power of her build.

She watched, even when the others drifted away, she watched for nearly an hour. And smiled when Cleo leaped into the tree to spread her muscular body over a thick branch.

“Welcome home, Cleo,” she said aloud.

She left the new guest alone and went back to the office to check the paperwork.