His heart leaped so violently it made him dizzy.
The jaguar heard them too.
It turned toward the sound, tail twitching once. For the first time, uncertainty touched the animal’s posture. Not fear. Calculation.
Ricardo knew enough about the reserve to understand the danger. Even trained dogs could panic in jaguar territory. The wrong encounter could ruin everything—his rescue, the dogs, perhaps even the animal’s life if later someone decided it had become a threat.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please.”
It was an absurd plea. The jaguar owed him nothing.
Still, he said it again, softer.
“Please go.”
The animal looked back at him.
Rain clung to its whiskers.
A drop fell from the scar on its muzzle.
Then, with a grace that almost hurt to watch, it stepped away from the clearing and vanished into the undergrowth so quietly that the jungle seemed to swallow it whole.
One second it was there.
The next, it was only shadow and leaves and the emptiness it left behind.
Ricardo stared at the place where it had disappeared.
He had expected relief.
What he felt instead was a strange, sudden loneliness.
Then the dogs barked again, closer now, and human voices followed.
“Ricardo!”
“Marta!” His own voice cracked so badly the first call barely carried.
He tried again, louder. “Here!”
Branches crashed somewhere to his left. A flashlight beam swept wildly across trunks, ferns, rain.
Then a woman’s voice, sharp with disbelief and relief at once:
“Over here!”
Marta burst into the clearing first, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her forehead, machete hanging uselessly from one hand. Behind her came two reserve guards and a local guide with one of the dogs straining at the leash.
Continued on the next page
