“What the hell are you talking about?” Armando snapped, fingering his gun continually as a threat. His face twisted with black anger. “I hired four big-game hunters. What’s so damned hard about capturing a leopard? You’re being paid enough money not to care whether I want the thing alive or dead. Throw a net on it. Wound it. I don’t care how you do it. Tranquilize it. Do I have to think for you? If you fail me after the money I’m paying you, you aren’t walking out of this forest alive and I can guarantee that. There are four of you and one of him. It can’t be that difficult. So get the hell out of my sight and do your damned job.”

The man stepped back, this time careful to keep his rifle in front of him, ready to bring it up if he were forced to defend himself. “You aren’t listening to me, sir.” He glanced warily at the bodyguards, all armed to the teeth. “There aren’t four of us. The leopard killed Bob the first night. He just ignored the goat we staked out and went straight to the blind. We left Bob there to lure him in, all of us up in the trees with scopes. He took out Leonard the second night. Craig went last night. Whatever that thing is, he’s a man killer. He’s as cunning as hell. He didn’t even eat them, it was as if he was playing with us all.”

Armando swore as he jumped to his feet. The hunter stepped back, gave way immediately. “I don’t like any of this. If Rachael isn’t back at that hut tomorrow we get out of here. All of us are going to pay her a little visit.” When the hunter started toward his tent, Armando caught his arm and jerked him around. “Not you. You have a job to do. You took the money, go get the leopard. Get out of here.”