Page 82 of Hidden Nature

A woman peeked through a fractional crack in the door. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Corporal Cooper, ma’am, with the Natural Resources Police.” Sloan held up her identification. “You reported a possible assault.”

“In the woods! In the dark.” She flung open the door. Bundled in a thick robe over flannel pajamas, her feet in fuzzy pink slippers, the woman gestured wildly. “She—I’m sure it was a woman—screeched, and he—I’m sure it was a man, maybe more than one—howled. Terrible sounds. Oh, and he had a dog, too. Vicious barking.”

“Mrs. Colbert?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She gave Sloan the come-ahead, closed and locked the door behind her, then pointed toward the back of the cabin. “I’m sure it was back there, somewhere up in this wilderness.”

“Ma’am—”

“This is my brother’s cabin.” Dragging her hands through brown hair that stood up in tufts, she cast a withering glance toward the open stairs leading to a loft. “And where is he? Why, he’s in Florida, fishing orGod knows. And my husband insisted we camp here—because that’s what it is—for aweek. Do I look like a pioneer?

“No, ma’am, but—

“‘It’ll be quiet,’ he says. ‘Peaceful,’ he says. So I’m dragged up here from Richmond and civilization, and he wants to go snowboarding. Sixty-two years old, and he wants to go snowboarding? Now he’s got a bruise the size of a ham shank on his butt. Serves him right! And now there’s women getting raped and murdered, likely eaten by that vicious dog, and I say I could be next, but he’s ‘It’s just some animal, Patty, go back to sleep!’”

“Actually, Mrs. Colbert, your husband’s correct.”

“Correct?” Patty Colbert stopped with her hands pulling at those tufts of brown hair. “About what?”

“The sounds you describe—screeching, howling, barking. Foxes. It’s mating season.”

“Foxes? Are you out of your mind?”

Sloan simply pulled out her phone, hit an app, and played the shrieks and screams. “Is this what you heard?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s it!”

“Those are red fox calls, Mrs. Colbert. They’re common in this area, and they breed during the winter. What you heard are mating calls.”

“Well, for God—” She huffed out a breath, scrubbed her hands over her face. “She didn’t sound like she enjoyed it.”

On a laugh, Sloan put her phone away. “It can sound human, and scary.”

“Tell me about it!”

“She’ll have the kits in early spring, and he’ll help tend them. They often mate for life. They’re inquisitive. You might spot one.”

“You mean near this—this shack?” The woman looked toward a window as if expecting an attack. “Are they dangerous, aggressive?”

“Inquisitive,” Sloan repeated. “Clever and timid around humans. A fox is much more likely to run away from you than approach.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t. You heard what you thought was a woman being attacked. You reported it, and that’s the right thing to do. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.”

Sloan grinned all the way back to the truck.

Yes, it was good to be back.

If the days in November and December had dragged, January rolled toward February with barely a breath.

The lake froze and opened itself to the ice fishermen, the skaters, pickup hockey games.

And Travis asked her to take on a rookie.

“She’s smart, she’s enthusiastic, and she’s green. You’ve trained a few before so you could ripen her up a little.”

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