Her friend's eyes were closed. She couldn't tell if he'd heard or not. Perez had rolled up his windbreaker and placed it beneath the ranger's head. Even with the roughness of two days' worth of whiskers lining his cheeks, Kent looked so young.
The faint sound of a distant helicopter drifted up the canyon. Thank God! It had made the trip sooner than she'd expected.
Perez placed a gentle hand on Kent's good shoulder. “The copter's arrived. We'll have you out of here in a few minutes.”
Surprising them both, Kent opened his eyes and said distinctly, “I'm not going without the cat.”
The helicopter neared, the thunder of the blades echoing in the narrow canyon. They'd have to land on the plateau above and bring the stretcher down.
“I mean it,” gasped Kent. “I'm still pretty feisty, too.” He raised his left arm, his fingers curled into claws, and wheezed out a weak imitation of a snarl.
“Knock off that crap,” Sam ordered. “I'll see what I can do about the cat, but you're going regardless.”
“Dart him. Tranq pistol . . . my pack.”
“I'll dart you, too, if I have to, to get you on that copter.”
The slapping of helicopter blades gave way to a low whine, then blessed silence. Sam ran to meet the two men who were struggling down the steep slope from the plateau above, bearing a stretcher with an emergency pack and oxygen tank lashed between the poles. Both men wore the navy uniforms of the St. George Fire Department. One sported a baseball cap with SUPER FLY embroidered on the front.
“How many people can your chopper carry?” she demanded.
“Six adults, tops. That includes the three of us.”
“Do you have more than one emergency?” The other fellow touched her pants leg where she had wiped Kent's blood off her hands.
Park Superintendent Thompson, his face beet red from exertion, skidded down the slope in a shower of gravel to join them. He studied her bloody clothing with concern. “You okay, Westin?”
“I'm fine,” she snapped, swatting the medic's hand away from her leg. “It's Ranger Bergstrom who's been shot.” She pointed toward Perez and Kent. Then she gestured across the canyon. “And a cougar.”
“You've got to be kidding,” said the pilot, staring at the animal. The cat had managed to pull itself up into a crouch. It snarled at the new intruders.
Kent's face now had a blue tinge she'd seen in her nightmares, but as the rescue workers knelt down beside him he opened his eyes. Sam took comfort in knowing that Kent was a fighter.
Thompson stood by Sam's side, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, staring doubtfully at the wounded cougar. “We should probably just shoot him.” He glanced toward Perez, who already had a hand on his pistol.
“No way,” Sam warned.
Thompson's head swiveled back, his expression showing surprise at her tone.
“Kent has darts. I'm a wildlife biologist, too, remember? I know how to use them.” Sam unzipped the lower compartment on Kent's pack, found the tranquilizer pistol, darts, and a vial of clear liquid.
“I'm estimating the cat at about a hundred and thirty pounds,” Sam said, praying she remembered the right proportions for the tranquilizer.
“Looks about right,” Thompson agreed.
After measuring the dose and loading the dart syringe into the pistol, she walked to within twenty feet of the cougar. The cat sat up, its whole body shaking now. It growled. She raised the pistol. The cougar spat, its muscles rippling with tension. Its ears were folded back against its sleek head, its amber eyes on fire. How could anyone aim a bullet at such an incredible creature for sport? Not for self-defense, not to save livestock, but just to put out the light in those eyes.
She aimed at the cougar's hindquarters where the needle could lodge in thick muscle, and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired with a loud pop. The cat lunged to its feet with an outraged snarl.
Startled, she tripped over her own feet, came down hard on her backside and had to scramble backward like a crab. The cat's teeth snapped together a few inches shy of her calf. “Shit!”
Five pairs of male eyes were watching her. She pushed herself to her feet, thankful that she hadn't wet her pants. “Well,” she said, “I guess it's a good sign that he can stand up.”
“You didn't get him.” Thompson pointed to the ground behind the cat.
He was right. The dart was embedded in the base of the tree. Even worse, she'd dropped the gun when she fell. The pistol now lay three feet from the cougar's new position.
“We're ready,” the fire department medic shouted. “We've got to get goingâthis guy's lost a lot of blood.”
“We're out of time,” Thompson growled. “Agent Perez, can I borrow your pistol?”
“I'll do it.” Perez reached for his gun.
The fire department team picked up the stretcher. “Put me down,” Kent wheezed angrily. “I'm not going without the cat!”
Sam studied the cougar. The animal tried to touch his injured leg to the ground, wobbled for a moment, then sat down. His tongue slid in and out of his mouth as he panted. The effort of lunging at her had cost him severely.
“He's coming, Kent.” She lowered herself to her hands and knees and crawled toward the pistol.
“Don'tâ” Thompson hissed.
She sprawled full length on the rocks, stretched her hand out as far as she could toward the pistol. The cougar snarled and raised a paw. The cat reached out at the same time she did but missed her arm by inches. Her fingers curled around the handle. She rolled back over the rocks, the pistol clutched in her fist.
Her hands were shaking so hard that she had difficulty loading the second dart. Thompson shook his head and reached for the gun.
Sam grabbed the tranquilizer pistol away. “No, I'm going to do it right this time.” She clutched the weapon in both hands and strode toward the cat.
“She's a little hardheaded,” Perez grumbled.
The superintendent nodded. “I know that.”
The cougar stood, wobbling on its feet. Sam stopped her advance ten feet away and braced herself, her legs spread, clutching the pistol with both hands. One more chance. She aimed at the middle of its right rear haunch and fired. The cat snarled and lunged, stretching out a muscular paw with razor-sharp claws extended. She jumped back.
Perez ran to steady her as she staggered backward. “Did he get you?”
She pulled aside the ripped flap of her canvas trousers. Three red stripes gleamed against the skin, beads of blood beginning to ooze out. “Barely. Just a scratch.”
The cougar stumbled, fell back onto his haunches, then collapsed on its side. The dart extended from its flank, the cylinder moving in rhythm with the cat's harsh breathing.
“We're loaded,” the pilot shouted from above.
“Wait!” she screamed. “We're coming.”
She gingerly prodded the cougar with her foot. “Is anybody going to help me carry this mountain lion or do I have to drag him up by his tail?”
Her belt and Thompson's were used to secure the big cat's feet. It took Sam, Perez, and Thompson to carry the animal up the slope, slipping and sliding with the limp burden in the loose gravel.
They slid the cat onto the helicopter floor beside the stretcher. It was painful to see both Kent and the cougar reduced to such dependent states, broken bodies to be carted around like so much baggage.
“Call Dr. Stephanie Black in St. George about this cougar.” In the past, the vet had donated her services to help injured wildlife: she'd been instrumental in healing Leto and her cubs.
The medic anxiously regarded the lolling head beside his foot. Saliva drooled out between the cat's jaws. The animal's eyes were open but glazed and unfocused.
She tugged on the medic's sleeve. “Dr. Black. Can you remember that?”
The man nodded, his eyes still fixed on the tranquilized cougar. “Black,” he repeated. His eyes widened as a patch of skin on the cat's back shuddered as if a fly had landed there. “Are you sure he's completely out?”
“He's paralyzed but not unconscious. He'll start coming out of it in about forty minutes.”
The medic shot a glance toward the pilot. “Dave, let's go.”
The pilot started the engine. Thompson clambered into the passenger seat, puffing.
“Damn!” Perez interjected. “Wait!” He trotted down the hill toward the canyon, yelling, “FBI business!” back over his shoulder.
The pilot's hands clenched on the controls. “No more than two minutes,” he warned.
The medic inserted an IV into Kent's arm. He coughed wetly, but his eyes were open. He clenched his free hand into a fist with his thumb-pointed upward. “I'm okay,” he rasped.
“No talking,” ordered the medic. “And no more moving.”
Sam returned the thumbs-up sign. “Hang in there, Kent.”
Perez galloped up, jerked open the passenger door, and thrust the USGS map and a page of notes into Thompson's lap. “Get this to Agent Boudreaux ASAP and tell her to get a Crime Scene team to this location on the double.”
“Crime scene team?” Confusion warred with annoyance in the superintendent's expression.
A flicker of anger crossed Perez's face. “Just get the message to Boudreaux. And see what you can dig up on Coyote Charlie.”
“Coyote Charlie? That nut? What for?”
The pilot interrupted. “We've got to go.
Now!
”
Sam tapped Perez on the shoulder, gestured toward the open door. “Room for one more. You need to handle this yourself.”
“You get in first,” he told her.
“Not with the cat,” the pilot shouted over the whir of the prop. “Only one. If either of you is coming, get in! This bird is leaving now.”
Perez looked at her. “I don't want to leave you up here alone,” he said loudly.
She studied his face. “Why not?”
They stared at each other for a second. Then she pulled on Perez's sleeve and when he leaned close, she said into his ear, “I'm headed for the ruins.”
Perez nodded, then swung through the open door and slid into the jump seat by the medic's side, his boots straddling the inert mountain lion on the floor.
“Catch the hunters that shot Kent,” she yelled. The medic leaned forward and slid the door closed.
Just before it latched, Perez shouted, “Don't go near that skeleton. And I damn well better not see anything about it on the Internet!”
The helicopter rose from the ground. She ducked her head to protect her eyes. Swirling sand bit into her bare neck and arms.
16
AT four o'clock, Thompson dropped Perez at the Las Rojas Police Station. Nicole met him at the door.
She eyed his bloodstained shirt and dirt-streaked khaki trousers. “You're in violation of dress code.”
“So report me.”
Nicole's turquoise silk blouse and cream-colored slacks were, as usual, immaculate. Her chestnut hair was clipped at the back of her neck with a tortoiseshell barrette. She folded her arms. “Are you sure you're okay?”
He gestured at the rust-colored streaks on his ruined shirt and pants. “None of the red stuff belongs to me.”
“I brought you some clean clothes. They're inside.”
“You broke into my hotel room?”
She smiled. “The maid was happy to open the door. By the way, you're an incredible slob, Perez. Do you always leave your underwear on the closet floor?”
“Only when I know you'll be visiting,” he said. “I suppose you hang yours up.”
“How's the ranger?”
“Don't know yet. They took him to surgery right after I talked to you.”
“The cougar?”
Perez snorted. “Oh, he was pretty feisty even before we landed. I sat on him the last ten minutes of the flight.”
Her face lit up. “That must have been interesting.”
“Fascinating. I kept envisioning those two-inch fangs sinking into my gluteus maximus. Fortunately, the vet was there when we touched down.”
“What's with Crime Scene?” she asked.
“On their way from Salt Lake, according to Martino. He was really pissed that they'd just come back from here.”
She nodded, familiar with the normal grumpy attitude of the Crime Scene team leader. “They finished doing the kids' truck yesterday around two. Flew back last night.”
Perez glanced at his watch. “A park ranger is standing by to escort them as soon as they arrive. If there are no hitches, they should be in position by four. That'll give them almost three hours of daylightâit should be enough to do at least a preliminary check of the immediate dump site.” He turned toward her. “So it's obvious that I've been doing my part. How's the cushy end of the investigation going down here?”
Nicole stared him in the eye. “Don't give me that crap. I can tell you've enjoyed your little escapade in the wilderness. And don't think that I didn't notice the blond reporter pixie you were chasing. I don't think she's your type.” She walked toward the station entrance.
He followed. “I have a type?”
The Las Rojas Police Station was quiet, devoid of the hectic bustle and coded conversations that he associated with big-city police stations. Nicole's heels echoed on the scuffed tiles as they crossed the lobby to the tiny interview room. “I'm surprised the press isn't here,” she said.
“Give 'em time. When we left the hospital, they were doing live reports in front of the helicopter. They kept asking Thompson if the cougar was the one that killed Zack.”