Golden Eyes - Maya Banks Page 0,1

to spin a yarn or two. But then Silas Maynard had reported seeing an animal that he swore looked just like a tiger. A day later, Mrs. Humphreys had called to tell him she’d seen an honest to goodness lion, not a mountain lion, and then she’d heard shots.

Hunting season didn’t start for several more weeks, but Duncan knew that didn’t hinder overzealous hunters. He’d get out, do a little tracking, look around, and hopefully quiet any fears of strange beasties running around the mountains.

He walked a straight line behind Mrs. Humphreys’s house, his gaze darting along the ground for any fresh sign. He wondered if the shots had been people merely target practicing and if the animals were just mountain lions or even a large bobcat.

Not that he really thought he’d find the answers, but he would do his job and reassure the people of his town. Even with their quirks, he wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. His parents had died when he was young, just in high school, and the townspeople had stepped in, taken care of him, and later made sure he could go to college. He owed them more than he could ever repay, and returning here to act as sheriff after gaining a degree in law enforcement seemed the least he could do. These were his mountains. His home. These people were his family.

The terrain had begun to slope more sharply upward, and his breath came a little harder as he climbed in elevation. He stopped and dug a bottle of water from his backpack and rested for a moment as he sipped.

He reckoned he was about a mile from Mrs. Humphreys’s now. He’d go another at the most. She’d said the shots sounded distant, not close. He capped the bottle of water, tossed it back into his pack, and resumed his hike.

When he topped a slight rise, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A group of men, one holding a compound bow, the others carrying rifles, moved stealthily through the craggy underbrush.

Duncan crouched and took out his binoculars so he could zoom in on the group.

They appeared to be tracking, their heads down as if following a blood trail. Anger tightened his muscles. Friggin’ poachers.

He noted their appearance, took mental notes of their characteristics. No way he’d approach them blind. He was outnumbered, and more than one wildlife officer had been killed when crossing an illegal hunter.

Instead, he pulled his rifle around and uncapped the scope. He brought the gun up and stared through the crosshairs until he found his target.

He re-sighted a good twenty yards in front of the men and squeezed off a warning shot. They jumped back and sprawled on the ground, guns and bows flying everywhere. Duncan grinned. City slickers.

After a few seconds, they warily rose then scrambled for their guns. They took off in the opposite direction, and Duncan could hear their thrashing all the way to where he hunkered down.

Duncan waited. He pulled out a snack and ate it in silence. Half an hour later, the poachers hadn’t returned, so Duncan made his way down to the area they’d been scouring.

After a few minutes of searching the area dotted with their boot prints, he found the first sign of blood. Son of a bitch. They had been tracking a kill.

He shook his head in disgust and began following the sign. There wasn’t a lot of blood, which told him the shot hadn’t been clean. He grimaced at the idea of having to put down the animal. If he was even able to find it.

It wasn’t an easy trail to follow. Several times he had to backtrack to the last spot he’d seen blood and circle out to pick up the trail again.

The sun rose higher overhead, breaking through the canopy of trees and whisking away the damp coldness that morning had brought. Duncan unbuttoned his jacket as he walked on.

He followed the spots of blood to an area where brush was thick and bushes huddled, their leaves and limbs twining together. He glanced ahead, hoping to find the animal rather than wade through the thick growth. A warning hiss stopped his foot in mid-air.

He stood there a moment, paralyzed by what he’d almost done. Feral eyes stared up at him, glazed with pain and warning.

Holy mother of God.

He scrambled back, putting at least ten feet between him and the…what exactly was this animal?

The cat lay panting, an arrow protruding from the left haunch.