Rio was mumbling, his eyes glazed, his breathing shallow. Real fear bit at Conner with every step he took. He didn’t want to risk taking any more breaks. He forced each leg to work, concentrating on foot placement, calling on his leopard’s strength and endurance to help him put one foot in front of the other.

He was still two or three miles from the agreed-upon meeting place when his legs simply gave out. The ground rose up to meet him faster than he would have believed. As he toppled over, he thought he saw a tribesman standing just in front of him, the hallucination very vivid. The Indian carried a blowgun and was dressed in the more traditional loincloth to hunt in the rain forest. The absence of clothes was normal. Clothes only got in the way, growing damp, clinging to the skin and adding to the heat and humidity.

The tribesmen had it right, he decided, he shouldn’t have worn clothes. They were so heavy on his skin. What good were they? Conner smiled and gave an odd salute from where he lay on the ground to the vision of the Indian. Rio’s bulk weighed him down, nearly crushing his chest into the ground, but he didn’t have the energy to ease the man off of him. He just lay there, watching the tribesmen.

He looked familiar. Older. A worn face with faded eyes. The eyes crinkled and the tribesman came closer. He crouched beside Conner. “You don’t look so good.”

Conner didn’t like the idea of hallucinations speaking. Not when he was too weak to protect Rio. He tried to find the knife at his side, but the older man stopped him.

“It’s Adan, Conner. The men of our village met Isabeau and your team in the forest. There was a bit of a battle with those following them, but my men are very accurate. We’ve been backtracking them to find you.”

“The children?”

“All are alive and well.”

Several tribesmen lifted Rio gently from Conner’s back. Conner made a lunge for his partner, but Adan caught him in his strong grip. “They’ll take him to the helicopter. Both of you look a little worse for wear.”

“There’s a leopard dead a few miles from here,” Conner said. “The carcass has to be burned in a hot fire, enough to reduce the entire thing to ashes. Leave no evidence of our species.”

“It will be done. Let my men take you to the helicopter. And, Conner . . . don’t knife anyone. They’re on your side.” Adan grinned at him as his men laid Conner on a cot and began hurrying in the direction of the clearing.

21

THE old wooden rocking chair creaked in time to the breeze blowing through the trees. Boughs shivered and leaves swirled in the air as the wind rushed through the valley. A second chair groaned and rasped in counterpoint to the first one. A third one added a slight squeak to the symphony. Conner leaned heavily on his cane and surveyed the three men rocking on Doc’s porch in the sturdy, hand-carved rocking chairs.

“Well,” Conner said, “we burned her house to the ground. Imelda can’t hurt anyone anymore. We should at least feel good about that.” As he spoke he turned his head to look at the little boy throwing rocks with enough force to make dents in the wooden fence.

“As far as we know, no one left alive knows about our people,” Rio said. “And Adan’s tribe should be safe enough.”

“Until the next monster comes along,” Felipe said gloomily.

Jeremiah stirred. “We’ll cut their head off all over again.” His voice was husky, low, barely there, as if he whispered rather than spoke. His expression, as he looked at the others, was belligerent. “I’m joining your team.”

Rio flashed a small grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, kid. Welcome to hell.”

Conner studied the three drawn, gaunt faces. “Aren’t you three a sorry sight,” he observed. “Gossiping old biddies.”

Jeremiah, Felipe and Rio looked at one another.

“I don’t think you’re looking much better,” Rio pointed out. “In fact, you look worse than any of us.”

“The scars add to my rakish appearance.”

“You’re going to scare the kid,” Jeremiah said.

Conner sighed. “Isn’t that the truth?”

Rio frowned. “Conner, the boy wants you to like him. He’s trying as hard as he can. He watches you all the time.”

Conner snorted. “He runs from me. He’s watching me, because he’s afraid I’m going to eat him for dinner.”

“Try smiling,” Felipe offered helpfully.

Conner turned his head to observe the little boy talking so earnestly to Isabeau. Mateo hadn’t smiled once in the three weeks since they’d rescued him. He was a beautiful little boy, his body compact in the way of the leopard people, his eyes large and more gold than yellow, much like Conner. In fact, with his shaggy, unkempt head of hair and his bone structure, he looked very like Conner.

Conner sighed. He had no idea how to talk to children. The boy avoided him. He was a sober little child with big eyes holding too much sorrow and a terrible rage. Conner understood the intensity of both emotions, but didn’t know how to reach the boy. He kept his eyes on Isabeau. She reached her hand down toward Mateo. Conner held his breath. A heartbeat. Two. Willed the boy to take her hand—to make human contact.

Isabeau never moved. Never said a word. If anyone was going to get through to him, it would be Isabeau, not him. She was so patient. She never took his rebuffs personally. She never stopped trying with him. The boy took her hand and Conner let his breath out.