“Do you have any idea where this jaguar might have gone? Could it have drowned during the storm?”

“I doubt it. Big cats have no aversion to water, and jaguars are quite strong swimmers. And besides, these waters are shallow. It could easily have swum from island to island, taking rest stops along the way.”

“And you think it would have headed all the way for the coast.”

“Jaguars typically have territories covering a hundred square miles. These islands are too small. It would have kept going.”

“But what about her cub?” He nodded to the creature cradled in Lorna’s arms. “Would a mother abandon it so easily?”

“Not likely. Jaguars are very protective of their young. Nursing them until six months, mothering them until the age of two. But they’re also practical. This cub is sickly. A typical litter for a jaguar is two or three cubs. I suspect there was another cub caged with this one. The mother took the stronger of the two with her, abandoning the weaker as a means of survival.”

“So she’ll have a cub with her. That could slow her down.”

“It could also make her more dangerous. She’ll aggressively defend her last child.” Lorna’s brow tightened with a new concern. She pointed to the blood trail on the stairs. “Which raises another question. Where are the bodies? The ship’s crew?”

“Not here, and not on the island,” Jack said. “We searched. From the blood patterns, we figured the crew numbered four. Maybe the bodies were washed overboard.”

“Or they were dragged overboard.”

“Dragged? By the cat?”

“From the blood on the stairs, that body wasn’t just washed away. The cat must’ve hauled it up from below.”

“But why?”

“That’s a good question. Cats often hide their kills to protect the meat, even hanging them up into trees-but if that’s not possible, they’ll normally just leave the bodies to rot as carrion and move on.” Lorna frowned. “The behavior here… it’s not typical. If I’m right, it displays an unusual cunningness, as if she’s trying to cover her trail.”

Lorna met his gaze. He saw the worry in her eyes.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it,” he offered. “The tropical storm blew to near-gale forces last night. Maybe the cat and the bodies were all swept out into the Gulf by the tidal currents.”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“How?”

LORNA WADED FROM the Zodiac onto the sandy beach of the neighboring island. She left her boots in the boat and rolled her pants to her knees.

Jack followed at her side, his attention on the hump of sand and tangled cypress trees ahead. He went barefoot, too, but he kept his boots laced over one shoulder in case he had to venture into the dense thicket that crowned the island. He also carried an M4 carbine assault rifle over his other shoulder. If the cat had survived the storm, it had likely already reached the coast, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

At Lorna’s suggestion, he had piloted the Zodiac from the trawler to the closest neighboring island.

“The cat would have come here first on its way to the mainland,” Lorna insisted as she climbed up the beach. “We need to look for any telltale pugmarks.”

“Pugmarks?”

“Paw prints. We should search above the high-tide mark. Also watch for scat, urine, scratched trees.”

“I know how to track,” Jack said. “But what if the cat swam past this island?”

“Then we search the next one. She couldn’t have gotten too far before needing to rest. Fight and flight take its toll. Adrenaline eventually gives out. She’ll have needed a place to catch a breath.”

They began to circle the island, keeping to the high-tide mark in the sand. They scanned the beach in silence. The day’s heat had grown to a stifling blanket. Only a few clouds remained from last night’s storm. Sweat rolled down his back and pooled at his belt line.

“Over here,” Lorna suddenly said.

She hurried away from the water, heading up the sand to where a large cypress shadowed the beach. Spanish moss draped and formed a curtain. Some of it had been ripped away as if something large had torn through its mesh.

“Careful!” Jack warned and grabbed her arm. He pulled her back and raised his rifle. “Let me check it out first.”

He edged to the tree. With his rifle leading the way, he poked through the rent in the moss. He scanned the bower below, then the limbs above. It looked clear.

Lorna spoke at his shoulder, not heeding his command to hang back. “Look at the sand near the trunk.”

The ground had been churned up, but he noted a single distinct paw print pressed deeply into the sand. They crossed together into the shadows. Jack kept watch for any sign of movement around them. In such a heightened state of alertness, he was all too conscious of Lorna’s shoulder against his side, of the smell of her hair, of her skin.

“The thing is huge,” Lorna said as she knelt down. “From the size of this paw, I may have underestimated its weight.”

She splayed out her hand over the print. The paw was easily twice as big.

“So it definitely survived,” he said.

“And it’s headed to the coast.”

Jack stood up and clutched his rifle. “Even after the storm, the delta will be full of fishermen, campers, hikers. We’ll have to evacuate the area. Put together a hunting party while we still have daylight.”

Lorna joined him. “You’ll have a hard time finding the cat during the day. It’ll find a place to hole up and sleep. Your best chance is at dusk, when jaguars usually begin their hunt.”

He nodded. “It’ll take that long to put a team together anyway. Trackers, hunters, people who know the coastal region of the delta. I’ll bring along my SRT.”

She glanced at him for explanation.

“Special Response Team.” Jack nodded to the white patrol boat moored off the other island. “The Border Patrol’s equivalent of Special Forces.”

“In other words, Border Patrol commandos?”

“They’re good men,” he said a bit too defensively, only realizing afterward that she was gently joking with him.

Flustered, he turned away.

A flurry of activity was going on across the water. The Fish and Wildlife boat-a foil-supported catamaran-had arrived and anchored offshore. The wardens and border agents were busily ferrying cargo from the trawler’s hold.

“Let’s get back over there,” Lorna said.

Jack heard the desire in her voice, plainly anxious to oversee the offloading herself. She had left the jaguar cub on his boat, cradled in an empty fishing tackle box.

They were wading toward the Zodiac-when the fishing trawler exploded.

Knee-deep in water, Lorna watched in horror as the trawler’s hull shattered outward in a blast of fire and smoke. Its wooden fishing booms went sailing high, trailing flaming nets. Debris scattered over the island and out to sea.

Along with bodies.

She covered her mouth.

How many had been aboard the trawler?

Burning planks and wreckage rained down upon the two anchored patrol boats. Shouts and screams echoed over the water. Smoke roiled high into the blue sky.

Jack grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the Zodiac.

They climbed into the pontoon boat and shoved off. Jack yanked on the outboard’s starter, and seconds later, they were flying across the waters. He had the radio to his ear. She listened to his end of the conversation.

Confusion still reigned, but command filled his voice. “Call back that chopper! Let emergency services know we’re coming in with wounded.”

Across the way, the broken husk of the trawler smoldered on the beach. The other two boats circled the nearby waters, searching through the floating wreckage and flaming pools of oil. Survivors fished bodies out of the water.

Jack opened the throttle and shot the Zodiac back to the island.

Lorna pointed to a figure rising out of the surf. It was one of the Border Patrol agents. He struggled to his knees, cradling one arm. Blood ran down his face from a scalp wound. He looked stunned, in shock.