Gage let him out at the next fork where there was far more cover for the leopard. He tracked Bijou’s car for several miles when he heard voices just ahead of him. Remy crouched low in the brush, the leopard’s heart beating fast, a silent snarl rising. The three men in the pickup truck stank of booze and pot. He recognized all three.

Ryan Cooper and his friends had come into the café to get an autograph from Bijou and made trouble. Brent Underwood and Tom Berlander nearly always accompanied Cooper. To Remy’s disappointment, sometimes Robert Lanoux, one of the leopards, did as well. Fortunately not this time. Cooper had a bad reputation. The cat struggled against his control, wanting to creep up behind them. A bottle came crashing into the brush, hitting a foot from where the cat crouched. Remy held him still when the cat’s instinct was to bolt—or attack. He could make short work of all three men fast.

Ryan Cooper pulled out a pistol and shot the bottle, shattering it. The leopard whirled and ran toward deeper grass, just as another vehicle came along the road. The Land Cruiser swerved, did a U-turn and stopped almost in the center of the road. Bob Carson, the photographer, got out of the driver’s side, a camera slung around his neck. He peered into the brush where the leopard had just been. Remy dropped to earth and began a slow, almost freeze-frame crawl away from danger just as Gage drove up in the patrol car.

Cooper and his friends began swearing. Carson continued to block the road, looking no doubt for Remy. Remy kept moving away from the group, but so slowly and stealthily that he could hear Gage’s drawling sarcasm.

“What the hell are you doin’, Cooper? You and the boys drink yourselves sick and then get behind the wheel of your truck and drive that way?”

“You don’ see us drivin’,” Cooper objected, his voice slurred, but belligerent. “We’re just out here mindin’ our own business and you can just do the same.”

Gage turned his head slowly to look at Bob Carson. “What are you doin’ blockin’ traffic? Have you been drinkin’ with them?”

“I just saw a . . . leopard. I think it was a leopard.”

The three men standing by the truck suddenly looked sober, casting wary glances around them. “You saw the Rougarou,” Cooper said in a low, frightened tone. “Here?”

Carson frowned. “What’s a Rougarou?”

“He’ll tear you apart and leave no blood left in your body,” Cooper said.