“She’s guessing.”

“She’s a scientist, Gregor, and what she saw last night is akin to waving a bone under a dog’s nose. So either you get rid of the beast, or I will—before it goes from stealing doughnuts to hurting someone.”

Kenzie stared at him in silence, apparently trying to decide how much of a threat Jack really was. Then he suddenly headed back to where the sled had been stuck, grabbed his jacket, and started walking toward shore.

“One week, Gregor. Then I start hunting your pet,” Jack called.

Kenzie lifted a hand to indicate that he’d heard, and kept walking. Jack glared down at his snowmobile, wondering if confronting the Scot directly had been wise, or if he’d just plastered a bull’s-eye on his own chest. Because if Grand-père was correct, he had just backed the brother of a very powerful drùidh into a corner.

Jack was just popping the cap off his second Canadian lager when he spotted the two snowmobiles three miles down the lake, headed toward him. He crossed his feet at his ankles, settled back against the cowling of his sled with a sigh, and used the bottle cap to draw in the snowpack.

He outlined an upright body with a long tail, took a sip of his beer, then added a set of large wings coming out its back. He glanced up to find that the snowmobiles were about two miles away, took another sip, then added a head to his sketch, complete with beady little eyes, a long snout, and flared nostrils.

Yup, it sure as hell looked like Puff the Magic Dragon to him.

The muted whine of the two sleds told Jack they were about a mile away. He checked the position of the sun, figured it was about an hour before noon, and took a long guzzle of the ice-cold beer, swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. He sure would love to have a power bar right now, or even better, another roast beef sandwich slathered with mustard. He tilted the bottle all the way up and drained the last drop of beer just as the sleds stopped ten yards from his feet and suddenly went silent.

“Morning, gentlemen,” he said when the two men pulled off their helmets. “Nice sleds. I see they’re both two-seaters.”

They sat on their snowmobiles, eyeing him. Well, Robbie MacBain was eyeing him. Greylen looked more like he was deciding exactly how he intended to kill Jack.

“You promised to bring my daughter home safe and sound.”

“She is safe and sound,” Jack told him. “And I had Matt Gregor take her home, so she’d get there quicker. You don’t happen to have any food, do you? Megan ate my last power bar this morning.”

Grey’s scowl intensified.

Robbie unzipped his saddlebag and tossed Jack a package of beef jerky.

“Thanks,” Jack said, setting down his empty bottle and ripping open the small bag. He pulled out a strip of jerky and shoved the whole piece in his mouth.

“What happened?” Greylen asked.

Jack chewed. He knew he was pissing off Laird MacKeage, but he wasn’t exactly in a happy mood himself. He’d lost a three hundred dollar helmet, his brand-new sled was likely ruined to the tune of another thousand bucks, he was hungry and tired, and his knee was hurting again. And then there was the fact that as soon as Kenzie told his brother about Jack’s planned hunt, he was going to have a damn drùidh dogging his heels.

He finally swallowed and stood up—smudging his drawing with his boot as he did so—and walked over to where his sled had been stuck. He drove his empty beer bottle into a small patch of slush that hadn’t frozen, filled it up, then faced the men as he held the bottle between his hands to warm it.

“Something ran across in front of us as we were heading down the lake, and Megan had to leave the trail to avoid hitting it.” He used the bottle to point toward the ledge. “She broke through over there. I fished her out, then built a fire to warm her up and dry her clothes. It was my decision to stay put until daylight, when either I could get my sled out, or you came and got us.”

“What was the something?” Robbie asked.

“What were ye doing running the lake at night?” Greylen asked at the same time.

Jack answered Greylen, as he still hadn’t decided how much to tell them about the creature. “The trail we were following came out on the lake ten miles north of where we wanted to be, so we decided to connect up with the ITS trail another six or seven miles south of here. We weren’t speeding, and we were following the club trail.”

“Until something ran out in front of you,” Greylen said, climbing off his sled. He walked over to Jack. “So what was it that caused my daughter to leave the trail, Stone?”

Jack took a guzzle of the melted slush and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. If Megan wanted to keep secrets, then she could lie to her father. “I’m not sure, exactly.” He pointed toward shore. “It was headed that way, last I saw it. I was more worried about Megan than it.”

Robbie got off his sled and walked toward the ledge. Greylen followed. Jacked dug another piece of beef jerky out of the package and stuffed it in his mouth, wondering how Megan expected to keep the creature a secret, considering it had left tracks a blind man could follow. He trudged after the two men, washing down the jerky with another gulp of lake water.

“Megan said we have a week to get your sled out before you get fined,” Jack said. “It’s only in about ten feet of water.”

Robbie stopped beside the tracks Jack had made dragging her out. He looked at the frozen rope still lying on the ice, then toward shore, and then at the tracks on the ledge leading into the water. “You pulled her out, but then you went in yourself. Why?”

Yup, the guy definitely knew how to read signs. “For her survival equipment. I knew everything was in a dry sack, and I had hoped to find a radio.”

Megan’s father wasn’t paying attention to their conversation; he was staring at the black ice covering the hole where his daughter’s sled was. He suddenly bent down and picked up her ice-caked helmet, the broken shield falling onto the snowpack with a muted thud. Greylen stared at it in silence for several seconds, then lifted his gaze to Jack. “I would thank ye, Chief, for saving my daughter’s life.”

Jack nodded. “You’re welcome,” he softly returned, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in ten minutes. He started walking to shore. “I was just about to break camp when you arrived. Any chance of my hitching a ride back with you?”

“Your sled isn’t running?” Robbie asked.

Jack shook his head. “I think something burned up in it when I hit the slush. I’ll have to hire Paul Dempsey at Pine Creek PowerSports to tow it home for me.”

“Then how come you didn’t get in the plane with Matt?” Greylen asked.

“I don’t fly unless I’m at the controls. Did you meet Kenzie Gregor on your way up the lake?”

“I thought he was with Matt,” Robbie said.

“He stayed and helped me get my sled out, then decided to walk home. I have the impression he doesn’t much care for anything with an engine, especially if it goes faster than a horse,” he said, heading for shore again.

While packing up camp, Jack watched through the trees as the two men made their way over to the tracks the creature had made, studying them in silence. MacBain looked toward the mountain, then in Jack’s direction, before finally turning to speak to Greylen.

Oh, yeah. MacBain definitely knew about the creature, though it seemed Greylen was only now learning about it. Jack wished someone would tell him what in hell a mythological creature was doing roaming around Pine Creek, Maine, in the twenty-first century. And why none of the men in the three families seemed surprised by that fact?

He snorted as he bent down to pick up the sleeping bag. Because they had two drùidhs on board, that’s why—one of which was Greylen’s youngest daughter. Jack wondered when Megan intended to let him in on that particular little secret.