Chapter Fifty-Seven

Except for the thick roar of the waves behind Grand, the living room was silent. Hannah took a slow sip of tea, then walked toward a white leather sofa in the center of the room. She sat down in the middle and huddled around the mug. She looked past Grand at the sea.

"You know, we could be wrong about this," she said. "There may be another interpretation of that painting."

"I don't think so," Grand said.

"Why not?"

He picked up his coffee and walked toward her. "Since this started I've been bothered by the amount of carnage we've seen, especially at the campsite. Two cats could have been responsible for killing all of those people and carrying them away, but this-"

"Makes a lot more sense."

Grand stopped beside the sofa and nodded. "The cats we saw are probably point cats watching the pride's flank."

"Like an army."

"Yes. There are probably one or two more serving as scouts. They're going to be tough to bring down alive or dead," Grand went on. "The question is, where are they going? What were they doing eleven thousand years ago when they were incapacitated? Seasonal homes, hunting grounds-we have no idea what their migratory habits were back then, assuming they had any."

"I just had a thought," Hannah said. "One you may not like."

"What?"

"We better let Gearhart know about the other cats," she said. "Even if we convince him to use tranquilizers, he'll still need enough darts and guns to deal with a dozen or more animals."

"Good point," Grand said. "I'll make the call."

"You know, this is incredible, Jim. Just incredible."

"I know."

"Thanks for sharing it with me."

He smiled and took a swallow of coffee as he walked toward the bedroom phone. That was a sweet, heartfelt thing to say. It made him feel good. A flower in the midst of carnage and chaos.

Grand left a message with Deputy Young in the sheriff's office communications center. The scientist explained that he had no evidence of a larger pride, only suspicions, but that care should be taken before pursuing the saber-tooths into any caves, tunnels, or drains. Grand added that the heart of the pride might have been using the blockhouse for a den, which would explain the remains Senior Officer Lyon had found. Grand told them it would be okay to phone if they had any questions. That was the only way he could keep on top of what they were doing.

Grand hung up and returned to the living room. Hannah had curled up on her side on the sofa.

"What did they say?" she asked sleepily. Exhaustion had caught up to her. He knew the feeling.

Grand walked over to the desk. "The sheriff is up in the mountains and they'll forward the information. I told them to call if they needed anything." He took a sip of coffee.

"You better keep the phone with you," she said. "I'm bad at middle-of-the-night calls. I sound like I have socks in my mouth."

Grand still had the coffee in his mouth. He held it there, then swallowed slowly. "I told them to call me at home."

"That was dumb," the young woman mumbled. "Call back and tell them you're here. You can have the bed. I'm comfortable where I am." Hannah snuggled in a little deeper. Her voice continued to fade. "I should take a shower. All that running, the rainwater… but I don't want to get up."

"Don't," Grand said.

"Okay. Good night, Jim."

"Good night, Hannah."

"Thanks again for everything."

"You're welcome," he said.

Hannah passed out.

Grand continued to look at her. He felt awkward standing there, but he didn't turn away.

It was strange. Grand had held both of Hannah's hands, carried her, felt her neck and limbs for broken bones. She had rested against his chest back at the foot of the mountain where they fought the cats. Yet this was more intimate than any contact they'd had.

He liked it.

Grand didn't bother to call the sheriff's office again. He called his home phone and programmed it to forward calls to this number. Then he phoned Walker and left a message asking him to give Fluffy a very early once-around-the-block in the morning. Walker was up at dawn, and Fluffy would be pretty unhappy by then. Finally, Grand lay down on the bed. He shut off the light.

The oversized pillow was rich with Hannah's scent, mostly perfume or hairspray or whatever it was women put on. Rebecca had never bothered with any of that. She smelled of sea breeze and Rebecca.

But this was nice. Grand realized, suddenly, that he was smiling. For the first time in months he felt a sense of contentment.

Sleep came easily, which he happily embraced even as thoughts of ice and fangs played on the fringes of his mind.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Hannah was already showered, dressed, and working at her laptop when Grand walked into the living room. He winced as he glanced through the wide-open glass sliders at the white beach. The sands were blinding. He turned away and looked around the room for a clock. He saw one on the VCR. It was seven-forty. Hannah wasn't the only one exhaustion had caught up to. He hadn't slept this late in years.

"Good morning," Hannah said.

"Good morning," he said groggily.

Grand walked toward Hannah. The young woman was dressed in a sky blue blouse and faded jeans. The long sleeves of the blouse were rolled back. There were scratches and bruises on her forearms, cheek, and neck. Despite the wounds, she looked fresh. It was her attitude, he decided.

"There's coffee in the kitchen. I brewed it this time."

"Smells good," Grand said. He went in and poured himself some. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks. Listen-there's been news."

Grand woke up fast.

"My managing editor called a few minutes ago. It may not have anything to do with the tigers, but the helicopter with Officer Lyon went down."

"The Special Ops officer?"

Hannah nodded.

"Is he all right?"

Hannah shook her head. "Both he and the pilot were killed."

"In the crash?" Grand asked.

"I don't know," Hannah said. "The coroner is doing an autopsy, but of course no one is telling the press anything yet."

"So there were bodies this time," Grant said.

"Yes," Hannah said. "Besides, how would the tiger have gotten inside the cockpit of a helicopter that was airborne?"

"We've always suspected that saber-tooths may have been climbers," Grand said. "Are climbers," he corrected himself. That would take some getting used to. "They have the claws and strength for it. They could have jumped off a treetop, off a cliffside. Or maybe the helicopter landed and tried to take off again."

"But why would they attack?"

"To protect their territory. I told Gearhart to have Lyon follow a route southeast, remember? He may have found what he was looking for and tried to take them out. Is there any other information?"

"Not about that," Hannah said. "The only other news is that Gearhart has requested assistance from the Army National Guard to seal off the area. He's going to get it."

Grand turned back toward the sliders. Since the night before, when Gearhart had threatened to kill the creatures, Grand had been wondering how they would fare against automatic weapons. These very saber-tooths had probably faced prehistoric hunters with spears or arrows. They might understand the concept of projectiles. If so, they might also have come up with a strategy for dealing with humans and their weapons.

He needed to collect his thoughts, make a plan. He slipped his hands into the pockets of the robe and breathed deeply. The sea air smelled good. He looked along the beach toward the south. There was a wharf with a pair of workers hanging over the side painting the pilings. There was a faint smell in the air, one he couldn't quite place that was coming from the wharf. His mind was sidetracked as he thought back to when he lived on the beach with Rebecca. There was something different and he realized at once what it was. There were joggers but no dogs. Usually the beach was full of them at this time of day. He wondered if the animals sensed the presence of the saber-tooths and were refusing to come out. Maybe that was the reason that Fluffy had been so quiet the day before.