Wild Rain
Page 114

The leopard discovered the kill on one of his sweeps of the area and went berserk, roaring with rage, promising retaliation. He raced through the forest in the direction of Rachael’s small, deserted hut. Rio was grateful she was long gone. The leopard was in a killing mood and wanted desperately to rip something or someone to shreds. Rio followed at a much more leisurely pace, letting the intruder expend energy. He watched from a distance as the shape-shifter ripped apart the small, makeshift hut.
He was so enraged, he tore furniture into small sticks and smashed the little bowl of orchids.
Rio gave him no warning, no room to fight, leaping on him from the roof above, teeth sinking deep and hanging on while the leopard rolled and clawed and raked at him. Rio spent most of his life in the forest, most of his life running through the trees both in human and in animal form. The spy leopard had left his normal life for the city and the promise of power and money. He wasn’t nearly as fast or as ruthless. Rio accorded the body the respect of his kind, burning it to a fine ash and scattering the remains before joining Elijah.
The third hunter was taken at dusk on the third day, and this time they waited until the last of the professionals realized what happened and hurried away from the scene of death. Elijah padded after the lone hunter, a grim elation spreading through him. The hunter had finally conceded defeat and was stumbling back to camp, horrified at the loss of his friends. He clutched his gun to him as if that single item could save him from the terrors of the darkened forest. The man winced when he heard the low moan of the clouded leopards. He ran when he heard the grunting cough answering the smaller cousins.
He burst into the heavily armed camp, clothes torn, parasites on his body and his friends’ blood on his clothes.
Armando reacted in his typical fashion. Aggressive, furious that his plans were thwarted and not in the least listening to the hunter’s account of his nightmare hunt. Elijah had witnessed the scene many times in the past and knew his uncle was quite capable of erupting into extreme violence. His men knew it too, looking at one another uneasily as the lone hunter tried to explain his failure. Even in the high humidity, the heat of the forest, Armando wore his usual turtleneck sweater, stretched tight over his chest. It was his trademark, that soft expensive shirt that screamed of money and power. He was sweating, but his ego would never allow him to remove it. The leopard curled its lip in a silent snarl of contempt—of hatred.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Armando snapped, fingering his gun continually as a threat. His face twisted with black anger. “I hired four big-game hunters. What’s so damned hard about capturing a leopard? You’re being paid enough money not to care whether I want the thing alive or dead. Throw a net on it. Wound it. I don’t care how you do it. Tranquilize it. Do I have to think for you? If you fail me after the money I’m paying you, you aren’t walking out of this forest alive and I can guarantee that.
Ther e are four of you and one of him. It can’t be that difficult. So get the hell out of my sight and do your damned job.”
The man stepped back, this time careful to keep his rifle in front of him, ready to bring it up if he were forced to defend himself. “You aren’t listening to me, sir.” He glanced warily at the bodyguards, all armed to the teeth. “There aren’t four of us. The leopard killed Bob the first night. He just ignored the goat we staked out and went straight to the blind. We left Bob there to lure him in, all of us up in the trees with scopes. He took out Leonard the second night. Craig went last night. Whatever that thing is, he’s a man killer. He’s as cunning as hell. He didn’t even eat them, it was as if he was playing with us all.”
Armando swore as he jumped to his feet. The hunter stepped back, gave way immediately. “I don’t like any of this. If Rachael isn’t back at that hut tomorrow we get out of here. All of us are going to pay her a little visit.” When the hunter started toward his tent, Armando caught his arm and jerked him around.
“Not you. You have a job to do. You took the money, go get the leopard. Get out of here.”
Elijah crouched in the tree, hidden in the foliage overlooking the camp watching the last of the professional hunters reluctantly leave the safety of the site. He waited with endless patience, knowing the rhythm of the hunting camps. Talk died down when the mosquitoes came. Men slapped at the insects, tempers rising. The rain began, a steady downpour increasing everyone’s misery. They were essentially city men, only the four hunters were professionals and now three of the four were dead.
That put a pall over the campsite. Men disappeared into tents, leaving only the guards at the perimeters.
All of them tried to shelter beneath trees. None paid attention to the branches above them. Still he waited, patient. Leopards were always patient. He didn’t mind the insects or the rain. This was his world and they were the intruders. He settled down to wait, to get the rhythm of the camp and the men in it.
It was important to go in quietly, get the deed done and get out unseen. The camp was heavily armed.
Elijah didn’t want a bloodbath here in the forest. They didn’t want an investigation. This had to be a stealthy, silent assassination. He crouched there in the bushes not ten feet from one of the sentries and watched his uncle. The light from the lamp illuminated the inside of the tent. One side remained open to give Armando a wide sweep of the area with his gun. And the gun was never more than an inch from his finger tips. One by one the lamps were turned out so that darkness settled over the camp.