Conner fired his gun from his hip as he burst off the ground, drawing fire away from Isabeau, the bullets cutting a straight dotted line across Harry’s chest. Harry tried to bring up the shotgun again, but he went to his knees, the weight too much for him with the blood pumping from his body.

Isabeau sprinted for the greenhouse, ignoring her screaming body. She caught a glimpse of the leopard turning his attention back to Alberto as the old man dragged himself through the dirt toward the gun. The leopard’s expression stayed the same, focused completely on his prey, all the while the mind beneath those spots was working a cunning, savage plan. The eye contact, laser-sharp, never left Alberto. Ears flattened, belly close to the ground, the leopard crept closer. Alberto screamed and gestured wildly for the cat to leave him, but those merciless eyes never blinked.

The leopard rushed forward, lightning fast, and grabbed his prey with extended claws. The hind legs were firmly on the ground as the suffocating bite was delivered. The cat’s canine teeth forced apart the two neck vertebrae, breaking the spinal cord.

Isabeau hadn’t realized she’d stopped and was staring while a hail of bullets struck just a few short yards from her. Conner grabbed her hand and yanked her into motion, practically dragging her to the greenhouse. When he tried to pull the door open, it was locked from the inside. He simply shot the lock and jerked it open, thrusting Isabeau behind him. He rolled in first, going right, clearing the room before he called to her.

Isabeau hurried inside and stepped behind him, trying to stay small and not make noise as he threaded in and out among the plants, making his way toward the back of the building. There was another door, clearly leading to a small room, probably originally a potting or tool room. There was the sound of a scuffle. A curse. A yelp of pain. Conner put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it.

Isabeau flattened herself against the wall at his gesture to stay back as he eased the door open. At once bullets smashed into the door and zipped past into the greenhouse. Conner kicked the door all the way open, standing to one side back behind the doorjamb. A very scared- looking man held a boy in front of him like a shield. Isabeau gasped. It was Adan’s grandson, Artureo.

Conner called out in the Indian dialect, his arm flashing up, gun extended. He pulled the trigger as the boy jerked to his right. The bullet took the man behind him dead center in the middle of his forehead.

“Nice to see you,” Artureo greeted. “You took longer than I expected.” He stepped over the body and waved to the other children to come out into the open.