He nodded to the others. “Good to be back.”

“How’s Drake?” Felipe asked.

Drake was probably the most popular of all the leopards they worked with and often ran the team on rescue missions. He was the most methodical and disciplined. Leopard males were notoriously bad-tempered, and when so many were in close proximity, outbreaks of anger quickly escalated. But not with Drake around. The man was a born diplomat and leader. He’d been injured so severely during a rescue that he’d had plates put in his legs, plates that prevented him from shifting. Everyone knew what that meant. Sooner or later he would be unable to live with the loss of his other half.

“Drake seems to be doing well.” Drake had gone to the States, putting distance between himself and the rain forest in an effort to alleviate the pain of not being able to shift. He had taken a job with Jake Bannaconni, a leopard unknowing of their ways, since he lived in the United States. Conner had followed Drake to the States and had worked for Bannaconni. “We had some trouble and Drake was injured again, same leg, but Jake Bannaconni arranged for a bone graft to replace the plates. We’re all hoping it works.”

“You mean Drake might be able to shift again?” Leonardo’s eyebrow shot up and some of the worry in his black eyes receded.

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Conner replied. He glanced at Rio. “I wouldn’t have come back, with Drake in the hospital, but you said it was urgent.”

Rio nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked but we really need you on this one. None of us is familiar with this territory.”

“Have you informed the locals?” Conner meant the elders of his own village. They were reclusive and difficult to find, but the leopards could send word when they were passing through one another’s backyards.

Rio shook his head. “The client’s representative warned us that a couple of the leopards have gone rogue and now work for this woman.” Rio tossed a photograph on the rough tabletop. “They call her mujer sin corazón.”

“Woman without a heart,” Conner translated. “Imelda Cortez. I know of her. Anyone growing up in those parts knows her family. She’s also known as víbora, the viper. You don’t want anything to do with her. When they say she has no heart, they mean it. She’s been murdering the local Indians for years, and stealing their land for her coca growing. Rumor has it she’s been pressing deeper and deeper into the jungle, trying to open up more smuggling routes.”

“Rumor is right,” Rio said. “What else do you know about her?”