“And you’ll track that with the radio collar.”

“Where she goes, and when, how she gets there, how long it takes. When she mates. I’m doing a generational study. I’ve already tagged two generations through Baby’s littermate and a subadult male I captured and tagged last year in the canyon. I’ll start another with this one.”

They moved into an easy trot when the trail allowed. “Don’t you already know everything there is to know about cougars by this point?”

“You never know it all. Biology and behavior, ecological role, distribution and habitat, even mythology. It adds to the wealth, and the more there is, the better we know how to preserve the species. Plus, funding. Contributors like to see and hear and know cool stuff. I give the new girl up there a name, put a shot of her on the Web page, and add her to the Track-A-Cat section. Funding. And by exploiting her, in a sense, I add to the coffers going to protect, study, and understand her and her kind. Plus, I want to know.”

She looked his way. “And tell the truth, it’s a great way to start the morning.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Fresh air, a good horse under you, miles of what people pay good money for in art books, and an interesting job to do. It’s a good deal.” She cocked her head. “Even for an urbanite.”

“The city’s not better or worse. It’s just different.”

“Do you miss it? Your work there?”

“I’m doing what I want. Just like you.”

“It counts. Being able to do what you want. You’re good at it. The horses,” she added. “You always were.” She leaned over to stroke her gelding’s neck. “We’re still going to dicker over the price for this one, but you were right. Rocky suits me.”

She frowned, slowed. “There’s our friend again.” She gestured at the tracks. “He cut across, picked up the trail here. Long strides. Not running but moving fast. What the hell is he up to?” Something tripped in her heart. “He’s heading toward the grassland. Toward the cougar.”

Even as she spoke, the scream ripped and echoed. “He’s there. He’s up there.” She pushed the horse into a gallop.

The scream echoed again, full of fury. And the third, high and sharp, cut off with the snapping report of a gunshot.

“No!” She rode half blind, dragging at the reins to steer around trees, clinging, pushing as her mount raced through the snowpack.

She slapped out at Coop when he pulled up alongside and grabbed her reins. “Let go. Get off! He shot her. He shot her.”

“If he did you can’t change it.” Shortening Rocky’s reins, he kept his voice low to calm the horses. “There’s somebody up there, armed. You’re not rushing up, risking breaking that horse’s leg and your neck in the bargain. Stop. Think.”

“He’s already got a good fifteen, twenty minutes on us. She’s trapped. I have to-”

“Stop. Think. Use your phone. Call this in.”

“If you think I’m just going to sit here while-”

“You’re going to call it in.” His voice was as cold and flat as his eyes. “And we’re going to follow the tracks. We’re going to take it one step at a time. Call your people, see if the camera’s still up. Have them report the gunshot. Then you’re going to stay behind me, because I’m the one with a real gun. That’s it. Do it now.”

She might have argued with the tone, she might have argued with the orders. But he was right about the camera. She pulled her phone out while Coop took the lead. “I’ve got a rifle if I need it,” she told him.

She reached a sleepy-voiced Tansy. “Hey, Lil. Where-”

“Check the camera. Number eleven. The one I fixed yesterday. Check it now.”

“Sure. I’ve been watching since you called. I went out to check on the animals, brought Eric back with me so… Hell, it’s down again. Are-”

“Listen to me. Cooper and I are about twenty minutes from the site. Somebody’s up there, been up there. There was a shot.”

“Oh, my God. You don’t think-”

“I need you to put the police and game warden on alert. We’ll know in about twenty minutes. Get Matt on call. If she’s wounded I’ll get her in. We may need an airlift for that.”

“I’ll take care of it. Stay in contact, Lil, and be careful.” The line clicked dead before Lil could respond.

“We can move faster than this,” Lil insisted.

“Yeah, and we can move right into the crosshairs. It’s not how I want to spend my morning. We don’t know who’s up there, or what he has in mind. What we know is he has a weapon, and he’s had time to run, or find cover and lie in wait.”

Or he could have doubled back, Coop thought, and even now could be setting himself up for some human target practice. He couldn’t be sure, so he couldn’t follow the urge to immobilize Lil and tie her to a damn tree while he went on without her.

“We’d better go on foot from here.” He turned his head, met her eyes. “It’ll be quieter, and we make smaller targets. Take your knife, the drug gun, the phone. Anything happens, you run. You know the territory better than anyone else. Get lost, call for help, and stay lost until it comes. Clear?”

“This isn’t New York. You’re not a cop anymore.”

His gaze was frigid. “And this isn’t a bag-and-tag anymore either. How much time do you want to waste arguing with somebody who’s bigger than you are?”

She dismounted because he was right, and loaded a small pack with what she felt she needed. She kept the tranquilizer gun in her hand.

“Behind me,” he ordered. “Single file.”

He moved quickly, covering ground. She kept pace as he knew she would. Then he stopped, pulled out his field glasses, and using the brush for cover, scanned the grassland up ahead.

“Can you see the cage?”

“Hold on.”

He could see trampled snow, the line of trees, the jut of boulders. Countless opportunities for cover.

He scanned over. The angle was poor, but he could see part of the cage, part of the cat. And the blood on the snow.

“I can’t get a good look from here. But she’s down.”

Lil closed her eyes for a moment. Even so, he watched grief rush over her face. “We’ll cut over, come up behind the cage. It’s better cover.”