An inhuman shriek, long and drawn out like a woman’s scream. But it was no woman. The painter had followed Boyd up the mountain. It hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. The old cat knew his prey was weakening, slipping and sliding in the snow, gasping for breath. Then there was a very human scream that was cut off all too quickly.
Grace took gulping breaths of cold air and tried not to think of what the big cat was doing to Boyd. He would have killed her. And then he would have gone back after Nick.
Nick.
She turned to run back toward the lab, but slipped on the snow. She fell to her knees and the shotgun dropped from her grasp.
Her knee stung where she had slammed it against a rock and for a moment she saw stars. She blinked, rubbing at her knee, trying to make sense of what she
