Page 53 of Handcuffed to the Bear

But she’d come too far to turn back without gathering a little more information to take to Jack.

She turned right and prowled along the edge of the clearing, careful to stay on the downwind side of the encampment. The land rose in a little ridge, and soon she was above the Fallons’ camp, among the trees.

Suddenly there was no more land in front of her, just a steep bluff dropping some thirty or forty feet to waves crashing on jagged rocks. She was on a small headland, sheltering the bay where the Fallons had decided to build their dock.

It looked like a good harbor, at least to the extent she could tell. The little bay was a deep cleft in the mountainside—was that what they called a fjord?—very steep on the other side and more gentle and rolling on this side, where the Fallons had opted to build their camp. From up here, through the trunks of the pines and cedars, she had a decent view of the boat, a white cabin cruiser, bobbing at its moorings. There was a short wooden dock and then a beaten muddy road that went up a short, steep hill to the flatter area where they had built their camp.

This appeared to consist of four or five cabins arranged in a rough horseshoe shape around a muddy central yard. They were rough frame buildings with metal roofs, utilitarian rather than pretty. At least one of them was some kind of equipment shed—she glimpsed a brawny red ATV with a trailer under the overhanging edge of its roof—and another was probably the generator shed. The trees were cleared in a broad swath around and behind the buildings. At the far edge of the open field, a bulldozer gleamed like a splash of bright yellow paint amid all that green and brown.

Overall, the place was not beautiful. It was actually something of an eyesore, a plain and homely hunting camp rather than the sort of pretty resort she would have expected the Fallons to favor.

Of course, it wasn’t like they brought investors here to impress them. This place was strictly for the family.

But were any of the family home, was the question. The only sound was the thumping of the generator. No engines droned; no vehicles moved. In the late afternoon light, she couldn’t tell if lights were on in any of the buildings.

The wind, coming to her from the campsite, brought her smells of lions and people, but it was impossible to tell if it was residual, or if some of them were still in residence.

She gazed down at the tempting target of the white boat. The element of surprise was on her side, and most members of the cat family were capable of short bursts of great speed. She could dash down the hill and leap onto the boat right now. Even if anyone saw her, they couldn’t possibly be close enough to do anything about it.

Briefly she gloried in the mental image of the look on Jack’s face when she presented him with the stolen speedboat as afait accompli. A much better gift to lay at his feet than a dead squirrel ...

But then common sense reasserted itself. First of all, she had no way of knowing if any of the Fallons were actually on the boat itself. She didn’t see any sign of it from here, but that’d be just her luck, to leap onto the deck and find herself facing a couple of lion shifters on their home turf.

Also, her only experience with boats consisted of a handful of ferry trips to various islands in Puget Sound—and then, of course, the ill-fated cruise that had landed her here. She hadn’t the slightest clue how to operate one. Even if it was similar to a car, or as simple as “push the button to go forward,” she didn’t think trying to figure it out while maneuvering out of a narrow bay, under attack by lions, was a good idea.

And what if a boat, like a car, needed a key?

Focused on the boat and the campsite, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a man’s, voice behind her said quietly, “Hi there.”

Casey jumped and whirled, ears going flat. She knew that voice.

Roger Fallon, human-shaped and naked, stood at the edge of the low, wind-sculpted trees on the headland.

He was only about twenty feet from her.

She had neither smelled nor heard him approach, and she realized now that he’d taken advantage of the wind in the same way she had. While she was carefully circling downwind of the camp, Roger had been stalking her from downwind as well.

Casey flattened her ears and snarled.

Roger smiled. It was the same pleasant smile he’d always had, with an apologetic note to it. His blond hair fluttered in the wind. He spread his hands to show he was unarmed.

“Hi, Casey. Don’t run off. I just want to talk.”

Jack had said to run if she encountered the Fallons. But Roger was between her and the escape route. He could shift and block her.

Also—lions are ambush predators. There might be more of his siblings out of sight in the bushes. And, if so, there was very little room to maneuver around them.

She had allowed herself to become trapped on the headland.

Casey took a quick look down the cliffside to the waves pounding on the rocks. It wasn’t that much of a fall. Into deep, still water, she could have risked it. But it would be suicide to attempt a leap onto those jagged rocks with surf swirling between them.

Still, if it was a choice between dashing herself on the rocks, or being torn apart by lions ...

“Casey, don’t do anything rash,” Roger said. He didn’t approach her, just remained where he was, hands turned palm-up and body language open. “I’m here to talk to you. We’re alone. No one else is nearby.”

She didn’t believe that for an instant, but she also didn’t see she had much choice. She shifted and stood up.

“That’s better,” Roger said, still smiling.

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