He hiked another few minutes, then stopped. He was buried within the thicket, and he was alone. Picking up his handheld mike, he decided to call in to civilization, find out about the progress of the investigation…and that’s when he heard it.

In an eye blink, Decker had gone into a crouching position behind a wall of brush.

He froze.

It was a low-pitched growl, so completely without tone that it sounded like a series of rapid clicks. Instantly, the air became stifling as perspiration shot out from his pores. For just a moment, everything went quiet and still. The seconds ticked on, and then a few brave crickets dared to chirp. But within moments, they were silenced.

Because there it was again—a menacing admonition.

I’m here. I belong and you don’t. Don’t fuck with me!

As hard as he tried, Decker couldn’t see anything—no shape or form, just gray, blurry space. His quadriceps tightened from his awkward posture, immobilized halfway between kneeling and standing. He knew that within minutes, his muscles would start cramping. He resisted the urge to squirm, to adjust to a more comfortable position. Things that go bump in the night were very perceptive creatures.

Of all the things to run up against. But then why not? He was in their territory. He had trespassed and now someone was pissed. He considered the options. Wolves hunted in packs, but cats were solitary animals. The growl that had pricked his ears wasn’t from anything canine, so let’s hear it for the evenly stacked odds. This was going to be a game of one on one.

Ten seconds…twenty…thirty and forty. A full minute passed with time moving verrrry slowly, as if on TST—treadmill standard time. Minutes were always protracted when jogging on that god-awful contraption, working up a sweat by going nowhere. (Wasn’t that an apt metaphor for life?) Just the opposite happened in sex: the clock ran at warp speed.

Why was life so unfair?

It felt like an hour had elapsed although it was probably not more than a minute. Wild cats were naturally reclusive, and this mountain lion was no exception.

At least, he hoped there was only one mountain lion.

Because that’s what was out there: a mountain lion, or a puma, or a cougar…take your pick. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the official name. It was something savage. It was something with sharp claws and glinty teeth. It was a goddamn, motherfucking big cat, and it sounded goddamn hungry.

He considered shining the flashlight in the sucker’s eyes, but nixed the idea. It might spook rather than scare the kitty.

Just wait it out.

Except that his thighs were starting to ache real badly.