The shotgun blast filled the air. Simultaneously, an automatic weapon sprayed bullets just a few feet from Saria’s brothers, throwing dirt and twigs into the air. More bullets were fired in front of the black leopard. Elie swung around, his rifle at his shoulder, but there was no target. Everyone froze.

“Stand down. The next one who moves is dead.”

Drake recognized Joshua Tregre’s voice. He sounded deadly and no one, least of all Drake, was foolish enough to move.

“Drake, move back into cover,” Joshua instructed. “Everyone else just stay right where you are and don’t make the mistake of thinking we won’t kill you. You don’t mean a damn thing to any of us. Fucking bastards, turning on your own kind.” He spat the words in disgust.

Two of Saria’s brothers flinched, faces darkening. One glanced at the gun he’d put on the ground near his shirt.

“Don’t,” Drake warned. “You’ll be dead your first step. They don’t miss.”

The black leopard contorted, fur rippling, joints and bones cracking as the man emerged from the beast. Saria gasped and pushed her face into the back of Drake’s shirt to prevent herself from seeing her oldest brother naked.

Remy was covered in blood and rake marks, but he straightened without wincing, his glacier-blue eyes sweeping the surrounding trees. “Don’ move. Any of you,” h commanded his brothers. He glanced at Drake. “I take it your boys have joined us.”

It was a measure of Remy’s strength that he’d fought back his leopard’s killing rage and sounded matter-of-fact, casual even. He also was drawing attention to himself. It wouldn’t work. Drake’s team members were too well-trained. Each had a target, or in this case, a couple of them. Remy’s brothers had been caught grouped too close together.

Drake gave him a curt nod. “I run a couple of teams in the rain forest.” It was a shrewd guess, but Remy was no home-grown boy. He’d been around. A leopard sought out the wilds. If Remy had traveled, he would have run across a lair, and at least a few of the men who worked hostage and rescue.

“Mahieu, throw me my jeans before Saria has a stroke.”

Saria’s brother was as big as Drake, with the same heavy muscles, but his hair was very dark and he wore it long and shaggy and loose. His eyes were a striking cobalt blue. His face was tough, strong, the lines carved deep. A scar on the side of his neck indicated a knife had nearly ended his life at some point.

“And hurry,” Saria added. “I do not want to see Remy in all his glory. I’ll be scarred for life.” Her voice trembled a little, but Saria wouldn’t crumble, even under the tense situation.

“Let him,” Drake told his team. They were concealed in the brush, impossible to spot, although the Boudreaux brothers had to have scented them by now.

Mahieu, using careful movements, retrieved his brother’s jeans and threw them.