She went in to fill a go-cup with coffee, grabbed a flashlight, shoved her cell phone in her pocket out of habit.

She’d walk her land, she decided, her place. Wander the habitat trails before the sun rose, before it wasn’t all hers again.

As she stepped outside, a sudden, high beep-beep-beep stopped her in her tracks. Cage door alarm, she thought, as her pulse jumped. The coffee splattered when she dropped it to streak down the steps, to race to the other cabin.

“Which one, which one?” She booted up Lucius’s computer on the run, grabbed a drug gun and darts from Medical. Afraid of what she might find-or not find-she stuffed extra tranquilizers into her pocket.

She hit the switch for the path lights, the emergency lights, then rushed to the computer to call up a camera scan.

“Could be a blip, could be nothing. Could be… Oh, God.”

The tiger’s cage stood wide open. In the yellow glare of the emergency lights she saw a blood trail across the path and into the brush. And there the shadow of the cat, the glint of his eyes against the dark.

Go now, go fast, she ordered herself. If she waited she might lose him. Even at his age, he could travel fast, travel far. Across the valley, into the hills, into the forest, where there were people, hikers, farmers, campers.

Go now.

She sucked in her breath like a diver about to take the plunge, then stepped outside.

The alone, so appealing only moments before, now pulsed with fear. The air beat with it, matching the pounding of her heart, and stabbed at her throat like tiny, vicious needles with each breath. The steady beep of the cage alarm stirred the other animals, so roars, howls, screams broke across the compound and echoed toward the sky. That would help, she told herself, help mask the sound of her approach.

The cat knew her, but that made no difference. He was a wild and dangerous thing, more so out of containment and on a blood trail. More, the blood trail meant the cat wasn’t the only predator who could spring. She knew she might be stalked even as she stalked the cat.

She had to shut down the fear and ordered herself to ignore the rush of blood in her ears, the knock of her own heart, the snake of sweat slithering down her back. Her job-her responsibility-was to immobilize the cat. Quickly, cleanly.

She called on every instinct, every hour of training and experience. She knew the ground-better, in fact, than her quarry did. She forced herself to move slowly, to use caution, to listen.

She shifted direction. The route would take longer but would bring her upwind. If, as she believed, her tiger was busy with the bait that had drawn him from his cage, the route, the noise would be to her advantage.

She moved through the backwash of the lights, into shadows and back again. Gauging her ground, the distance, shutting her mind to everything but reaching the cat, immobilizing him.

She heard, under the calls from the habitats, a sound she knew well. Fang and claw rending flesh, the crunch of bone, and the low rumble of the cat as it tore through the meat.

Sweat slid down her temples, wormed down her sides as she angled again. The cat lay low, feasting. For a clear shot, one that injected the dart into large muscle, she’d have to step out into the open, stand in his line of sight.

Lil gripped the drug gun, moved sideways, and came out of the trees a bare six feet from him.

The cat lifted its head, and he growled. Blood from the nearly decimated elk calf smeared his snout, dripped from fangs. Eyes glinted at her, gold and feral.

She fired, struck him behind the shoulder, and prepared to fire again as he roared in rage. He twitched and shook, trying to dislodge the dart. She took a step back, and another, testing the placement of each foot before giving it her weight.

And he watched her, dipping his head back to the bloody meat while she counted off the time in her mind, while she listened to the thunder rumbling in his throat.

Though her fear screamed Run!, she knew running would spark his instinct to chase, to attack. So slowly, her muscles quivering, she continued the careful retreat. Get in his enclosure, she thought still ticking off the seconds in her mind, close the door. Inside, too far to make the shot, but close enough, maybe, to reach safety until the drug took him under.

Or to take a second shot if he went for her.

He should be under, going under. Goddamn it, go down. Don’t make me give you another dose. She heard the ragged whoosh of her own breath as he snarled again at her inching retreat, and readied to squeeze her trembling finger on the trigger as he bunched to spring.

Terror was bright. Bright and cold. She’d never make the cage.

But even as he gathered himself, his front legs buckled. Lil eased back a step, then another, maintaining distance, seeing the enclosure in her mind, as the tiger staggered. It sprawled, the feral glint fading from its eyes. She kept the drug gun aimed as she changed her angle and moved back into the shadows, the cover of trees.

She wouldn’t retreat to the enclosure now. The tiger was no longer the threat.

Nothing moved. The night birds had gone quiet, and the morning calls had yet to begin. She scented animal, and blood and her own clammy sweat.

If another hunted, she prayed he’d gone to ground. Though she crouched, made herself small, she knew if he was there, if he was armed, she was vulnerable.

But she wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her defenseless tiger alone. With her free hand she dug in her pocket for her cell phone.

Following instinct again, she called Coop.

“Yeah?”

“There’s been a break-in here. I need you to come, quick as you can. Don’t call my parents.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. It’s under control, but I need you to come.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he said, and hung up.

She made a second call to the sheriff, then went to check the big cat. Satisfied his respiration was normal, she went into the light again, and down to the path. She checked the cage door, studied the damaged lock, the baited trail.

She pivoted at a sound, searched the path, the brush, the trees for movement before she realized the sound came from her. Her breath was whooshing in and out, short, hard gasps, and the hand that held the drug gun shook violently.

“Okay, okay, good thing I waited until it was done to fall apart. Okay.”

She bent from the waist, braced her hands on her knees to try to get her breath back. Even her legs were quivering, she realized, and tipping her wrist, she saw with some shock that only sixteen minutes had passed since the alarm sounded.

Minutes, not hours, not days. A handful of minutes only.

She made herself straighten. Whoever had broken the lock, baited the tiger out of containment would be gone now. Logic demanded it. If he’d stayed to watch, he’d have seen her immobilize the cat, make the calls. If he was smart, and he was, he’d know she’d called for help, called the police. He’d want to be well away before that help arrived.

Back to his hole, back to his lair.

“Stay away from what’s mine,” she called out, more in fury than in any hopes he would hear. “I’ll find you. I swear to God I’ll find you.”

She paced the path, checking the near cages, and counted off the minutes. When another ten had passed, she risked leaving the unconscious cat. She made the dash back to the compound, into the equipment shed to load the harness and sling into one of the carts. Even as she backed the cart out of the shed, she heard the truck roaring on the road. Lil leaped out of the cart, waved her arms to signal Coop when his headlights slashed over her.

“I want to move fast. I’ll explain. Just get in the cart.”

He didn’t waste time, didn’t ask questions until they were both back in the cart and she was speeding toward the habitats. “What happened?”