But he stayed right where he was, hunkered down tight. He acted that way when he had a mouse or other varmint between his paws, but his tail would flip back and forth like a windshield wiper, and within a few seconds he'd jump, bat the critter around, and pin it down again, especially if he was showing off for an audience.
Now he didn't so much as twitch.
I stopped the truck, got out, and knelt down beside him. His eyes looked glazed, his chin was wet with drool, and he was purring loudly.
'What's going on?' I said. I passed my hands over him lightly, starting behind his ears-and immediately felt wet sticky fur at his left front shoulder. My fingers came away red with blood.
The bobcat. I'd damn near forgotten about him.
I stood and did a quick 360-degree scan of the surrounding tree line. The nearest cover was fifty yards away, and it was relatively thin for another ten or twenty yards beyond that; there were no suggestive shapes in there. Most likely the assault had happened someplace else and the tom had escaped, or maybe the bobcat had been spooked by the approach of my truck. But daylight was fading, and he could be hidden where I couldn't see.
I strode back to the pickup for the.41-Magnum pistol that Madbird had lent me, loaded it, and shoved it in my belt. Then I grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and went back to wrap up the tom. I'd never had to use an animal emergency room before, but I knew there was a veterinary hospital in town with an after-hours service.
'Come on, buddy,' I said, picking him up gently. 'You're going to hate this, but you've got to trust me.'
He made a hoarse growl deep in his throat like he was ready to fight, but he stayed docile-a sign that he was badly hurt. It was a tribute to his toughness and a near miracle that with the big cat biting him so close to his head and throat, he'd managed to get away.
I carried him around to the passenger side of the truck to settle him on the floor, still watching the woods for any movement.
If I hadn't been on the alert like that, I'd never have seen the figure near the cabin, stealthily slipping behind a tree.
But, just as I'd known instantly when I first saw the bobcat that it wasn't a deer, I knew this wasn't the bobcat. It was hunched, but standing on two legs-human. And even in that glimpse, there was something familiar about the bulky shape.
I dropped to a crouch and lunged toward the back of the truck. There came the pop of two quick gunshots, the first one smashing into the passenger window and the second spanging off the metal behind me. I kept on scrambling around to the driver's side, got behind the protection of the rear wheel, and clawed the pistol from my belt.
I waited there, shaking, trying to understand who the fuck wanted to kill me this time.
The answer came fast. The reason the shape seemed familiar was because it was Lon Jessup. He must have come to get revenge for the part I'd played in outing him.
But the truth of that came clear fast, too. He had assumed that Renee would be with me. She was the one he wanted to kill.
I'd been an idiot to think he'd let her go. He knew perfectly well that everyone assumed he'd left the area, and he'd decided that murdering her now was a safer course than coming back in the future. In this isolated place, no one would hear his silenced gunshots or even know it had happened for a day or two-just like with Astrid and her lover, an eerie, ugly parallel.
And it was a gunshot from Jessup, not the bobcat, that had wounded my tom. He greeted strangers with the same kind of noisy show he put on for friends, letting them know that this was his place and they didn't belong here. Maybe Jessup had feared that the yowling would give him away. Maybe he was superstitious, and the feisty black cat had unnerved him. Most likely it was sheer meanness.
But that was what had saved me from already being dead-or worse, first being forced by Jessup to tell him what I knew about Renee's whereabouts.
That was when I made up my mind to kill him.
I'd heard that after you'd done it once, it was easier to do again. The first time had been unintentional, a fluke of self-defense, and I'd have done anything to relive that moment so it hadn't happened, even though the son of a bitch had it coming.
Now I just hoped to Christ I'd succeed.
I took off in a crouching run for the tree line across the road, keeping the truck between me and Jessup. The gunshots sounded like they had come from the silenced.22 pistol that Darcy had seen. At that range, moving fast, I'd be hard to hit-although he might also have a bigger pistol or a shotgun or rifle.
And he undoubtedly had a vehicle hidden nearby. He might already be on his way to it, figuring he'd blown his chance and he'd better get out of here.
Then again, he might be stalking me.
I was no Madbird, and no match for a man with SEAL-type training even if he was aging and out of shape. But I'd hunted all my life, and these woods had been my childhood playground. I knew every stick and stone. The fading daylight was in my favor; my eyes for the terrain were in my feet. The.41 Magnum was an excellent weapon for this, with long-range power and accuracy.
I settled the cat under a pine and kept on running down-road. For sure, I could cover ground faster than Jessup could, then work my way back up-cut him off he if drove out, or if he was still on foot, try to find him before he found me.
58
I glided along like my feet were barely touching the earth, straining to listen for the rustling and cracking sounds of a big animal on the move. But the evening forest was as peaceful as an enchanted land in a fairy tale, with only an occasional birdcall and the whisper of the breeze through the treetops.
I worked my way around to a tree-sheltered rise that gave me a good perspective of the road and surrounding country toward my cabin, and waited for a longer time. I didn't want to put too much distance between us. If Jessup had seen me take off, he might guess what I was thinking and do the unexpected, like head in another direction.
After three full minutes, there was still no sight or sound of him, or of his vehicle. If I waited too long, I risked losing him.
I started back, this time in diagonal crisscrosses, going slowly in a stealthy crouch and setting each step carefully on the duff-covered ground, like I was zeroing in on an elk or buck. By now twilight was deep enough in the trees that I wasn't much more than a shadow, and I knew the paths where I could pass through noiselessly and still keep cover.
But my tense adrenaline high was cut by the fear that I was moving and he might be laying for me.
Then my straining ears picked up a sound that didn't belong-a metallic clank, coming from the direction of my gate, a few hundred yards ahead. I froze in place, trying to identify it. It was too loud for a pistol being cocked or loaded.
But whatever it was, it had to have come from Jessup.
I'd just started moving again when a much louder noise split the stillness. There was no mistaking this one- the growl of a vehicle engine starting up. I listened in disbelief, stunned that he could have hidden his ride so close to my place without me seeing it.
Then I recognized the rumble of my own pickup truck, familiar as a mother's voice.
That was what he'd been doing. I'd taken the keys out of the ignition, but somebody who knew their shit could hot-wire an old rig like mine in a minute or two.
The sounds kept coming fast-the engine revved, the clutch caught, and the tires spun. He was on his way toward me, fast.
I broke into a sprint for the road. But within a few seconds I realized that he wasn't staying on it-he was cutting off to the west where he could swing a wide loop, weaving through the trees until he got past me. I dug in a bootheel and spun to change direction and intercept him, gauging his progress by the sound.
I caught sight of the pickup just as it was coming abreast of me, thirty yards away, going like hell and
