Lorna refused to believe that. The mother had gone to great lengths to protect her child thus far. She would not give up so readily.

So then where was she? What was her plan?

Another five minutes passed. Still, there remained no sign of her. The helicopter made a sweeping pass, its searchlight spearing the dark forest below.

Scott retreated to the far side of the boat, talking and coordinating with the Coast Guard on his satellite phone. The rescue force would arrive on site in another ten minutes.

Burt curled on the deck, his nose tucked under his tail. The dog seemed little concerned-and that worried her. The wind blew out of the east. If the cat’s scent was in the air, Burt should still be wired, pacing the deck, whining.

“She’s gone,” Lorna mumbled.

Behind her, Scott’s voice grew agitated. She turned as he lowered his radio and hurried over to Lorna.

“Jack radioed in. The cat’s been spotted over at the farm. Why isn’t it here? I thought you said she’d stay by her cub.”

Lorna turned and stared toward the burning cabin, digesting the new information. The helicopter swept past, stirring hot smoke over the channel, yet careful not to fan the flames toward them. Still, fiery ash rained over the boat and sizzled into the water.

“I’m sending the chopper Jack’s way,” Scott said. “See if it can’t chase that monster away from the children.”

Despite the heat, Lorna went cold. Children. Slowly she sensed an inkling of the cat’s intent. She thrust out an arm.

“Give me the radio. I need to speak to Jack now!”

JACK INSPECTED THE circle of fires. They completely surrounded the campsite. Randy kept in step beside him. They both carried their rifles. Jack had everyone retreat into the center of the camp’s tents, as far from the edge of the bayou as possible. Only those with weapons kept guard near the flames.

Still, they only had seven men.

Not enough to keep a perfect vigil on the forest.

With the fires blazing high, Jack’s night-vision goggles were useless. The surrounding old-growth forest remained a dark, impenetrable wall. The cat had been spotted briefly by one of Jack’s men. But it was gone before he could even shift his rifle into position.

“Fucking ghost” were the words used to describe it.

Randy spoke at his side. “She’s playing with us. Like a cat with a bunch of mice.”

Jack knew what his brother meant. The jaguar had proven to be a skilled hunter. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be spotted so easily. It was as if she were testing them.

Something felt wrong about this.

His teeth ached with tension of it all.

“Over here!” a man shouted on the far side of the encampment. It was one of the scoutmasters. His rifle blasted.

Other men scrambled toward his position.

Some fired blindly.

Randy made a move to follow, but Jack grabbed his arm. “No!”

Maybe it was his years of hunting the bayou, or his two tours playing cat and mouse with insurgents in Iraq, but Jack recognized that they were being set up.

He scanned the forests to either side. Randy understood, mirroring his action, his rifle poised and ready at his shoulder. But there was too much ground to cover for just the two of them.

Jack spotted the danger too late.

On the far side of a tent to the left.

A boy had been carrying firewood-a camp chair broken into kindling-toward the stockpile near one edge of the tents. He had stopped, half turned toward the sound of the gunshots. Behind him, a large shape burst out of the forest. In one bound, the cat hurdled the fires and landed within their secured area.

The attack was so fast, the boy didn’t even have a chance to scream.

The cat grabbed him by the back of the shirt, spun off one paw, and leaped back over the fire and into the woods with the child.

Jack had his rifle up and pointed, but he had hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeart, afraid he’d hit the child, an instinctual reaction. And the wrong one. The boy was dead either way.

At his waist, his radio kicked in. “Jack! Come in!”

He would’ve ignored the call, but the voice was Lorna’s, and she sounded panicked. He snatched the radio and lifted it to his lips.

“What is it?” he barked, unable to hold back his frustration and anger.

“The cat! I think she’s going for the children.”

Jack let out a shuddering breath. “You’re too late. She already attacked and killed a boy.”

“Killed? No, Jack, that’s not what-”

From the forest, a sharp cry echoed out. Jack lowered the radio. It had to be the boy. His wails continued to echo out of the darkness, rising and falling in raw terror.

But at least he was still alive!

Relief fired through Jack, but also worry.

Why was the boy still alive?

Jack remembered Randy’s description of the cat and the mouse, which suggested one grim answer.

Cats played with their food before killing it.

As Jack listened, the screaming went on and on.

LORNA HEARD THE cries through the radio’s open channel. That was enough. She turned and shoved the radio at Scott. “Call the chopper back.”

The helicopter had begun to sweep toward the farm.

“What for?”

“I need to get over there! With the cub!”

Scott frowned but he didn’t argue and lifted the radio. He shouted into it. Seconds later, the helicopter retreated back toward the boat. He lowered the radio.

“We can’t land the chopper on the deck,” Scott said. “They’re going to drop a harness. It’s a short hop over the fire to the farm.”

As realization struck her, Lorna felt instantly ill. Her blood drained to her feet. Her stomach tried to follow.

“They can haul you all the way up into the helicopter,” Scott explained. “But it’ll be quicker if they don’t have to. They can simply ferry you in the harness.”

As she pictured swinging by a wire, the helicopter returned with a pounding sweep of its rotors. She looked up. Spooling from a winch by the chopper’s side door, a thick cable lowered down a yellow rescue harness.

She suddenly regretted her rash decision. She hadn’t fully thought this through. It was bad enough flying in a chopper while inside the cabin.

The harness arrived, swinging and bobbing. Garcia grabbed it and hauled it toward her. She fought not to back away. It took all her will to simply hold her ground.

Scott took the blanket-wrapped cub as Garcia helped her into the harness. He slipped it over her head and under her arms, then cinched it tightly. “Are you okay?” he asked.

As answer, she pointed. “Pass me my rifle.”

Childress retrieved the tranquilizer gun from the deck. With a bit of effort, she awkwardly slung it over her shoulder. Once she was ready, Scott passed the cub back to her. She hugged it to her chest.

Scott gave her a questioning thumbs-up.

Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded.

Satisfied, Scott backed a step and twirled his arm over his head.

The engine above gunned harder, and the harness suddenly dug into her armpits. Her legs lifted off the deck. She kicked, anxious to touch ground again. But it was too late. The helicopter climbed while, at the same time, the winch retracted several yards of the cable.

She stared down as the boat dropped away under her. She tore her gaze away. She wanted to close her eyes but knew that would terrify her even more. Ahead, the log home still blazed. The roof had long caved in, leaving behind a smoldering frame. Smoke poured upward, licking with flames.

The helicopter climbed higher, aiming to fly over the ruins. She didn’t think they’d make it. The pilot must have thought the same. The winch hauled her up farther. Then they were over the inferno.

The chopper’s blades cut through the smoke and swirled a searing tornado around her. She held her breath and finally closed her eyes. The heat scorched as if she were flying over the mouth of a volcano. She hugged hard to both the harness and the blanket-wrapped cub.