Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

shot to almost any line on the southern side, with the exception of the area she’d chosen to enter. What had possessed her to go into an area so thick with brush he had no hope of coming to her aid? The moment he spotted Ottila slinking around the garden, deliberately avoiding the old man in the wheelchair and his guard, he knew the rogue was up to no good. Isabeau was too close to emerging.
    Even he had been affected, in spite of his moral code.
    He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead onto his sleeve. “Come on, Isabeau. Show yourself. Get him out in the open.”
    The leaves of a large bush swayed slightly, giving him a direction, but he couldn’t see his target. He waited, holding his breath, never taking his eye from his glasses. He knew the distance, the wind, every variable he might need, every calculation, but he couldn’t actually get the target in sight. He knew he was there. He could visualize him. He could taste him. But he couldn’t see him.
    “Damn. Damn. Damn.” He wasn’t going to fail, not the first time he had a chance of proving himself. And if he failed, they’d lose Isabeau. Aside from the fact that Conner would kill him, he didn’t want anything to happen to her. He liked her—like a sister, of course.
    It was starting to drizzle—a steady, but fine rain that made the tree branch slippery. He shifted, trying to peer through foliage. His heart leapt. He caught a glimpse of blue. Isabeau definitely had been wearing a blue dress. He kept his gaze fixed on that small bit of material. She moved again, inch by slow inch.
    “Good girl,” he murmured. “Bring him to Papa.”
    Now he could see a vague shadow in the deep foliage. Black. Ottila was wearing black, but many of the security guards were. It seemed to be a popular color. Even Elijah had changed to a black shirt.
    Frustrated, he forced a deep breath. Most of his job was patience. He knew he could make the shot if he could just get a visual. He breathed away the fear for Isabeau and irritation that he didn’t have a visual. It would come. She was working it.
    “I’m here, honey,” he assured. “Bring him to me.”
    The blue material was on the move again. She wasn’t running. Good girl. She had courage. She took another step and this time he could see her profile. She hadn’t removed the barrette from her hair, although her hair was messy, strands tumbling around her face. She didn’t look toward him; she kept her attention focused on the man he was certain was Ottila following her.
    A hand came into view and pressed, fingers splayed wide on her belly. He knew the significance of that with a woman in the throes of the Han Vol Dan. She slapped the hand away and retreated a few more steps until she was fully in the open. Jeremiah smiled and fit his eye to the scope.
    “Now I have you, you bastard. Touch her again and you’re a dead man.”
    The wind shifted and he caught the faint scent of cat. Without hesitating, he leapt, taking his rifle with him.
    Behind him, something hit the branch he’d been in hard enough to shake the tree. He landed in a crouch and sprinted fast, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He managed to make it into the dense foliage before he dropped to one knee and fit the rifle against his shoulder. He let his cat take over, senses flaring out to read the night.
    He was being hunted. Definitely leopard. Probably Martin Suma. “Come on, you bastard,” he hissed between his teeth. There was no sound, but he wouldn’t expect that. Leopards didn’t make sound. They could creep into a house and select a victim in a bedroom, or even a living room where people were gathered watching television, and drag him out unnoticed. It happened more often than one would think at the edge of the jungle. He wasn’t going to hear Suma. And he probably wouldn’t smell him either.
    He stayed low, keeping very still, making no noise. Suma had to know he was dealing with leopard. And he’d probably caught his scent. He wouldn’t expect much opposition from an untrained kid. That was the only advantage Jeremiah had. He waited, his heart pounding, expecting any moment for Suma to drop on him from above. His gaze continually swept the trees overhead.
    The scent of wet fur hit his nostrils and he turned, squeezing the trigger at the leopard emerging from the brush just to his left. He rolled, shot again from a prone position and kept rolling. The leopard grunted in pain, roared once, and thrashed. Jeremiah jumped to