Archie raised a question, diverting attention from Duncan. “What’s soeccentricabout this guide of ours?”
Laurent waved ahead. “Like I said, she’s a wildlife biologist. She’s been involved with a project to repopulate Alpine species that were decimated over the past centuries. It’s why she spends so much time in the backcountry. From what I’ve heard, she can be bristly. Preferring animals over people.”
“After all that’s happened,” Archie muttered, “I’m beginning to agree with her.”
“In fact, I should warn you that—”
From out of the tree line, a gray-haired woman stalked into view. She carried a bucket sloshing with milk, along with a shotgun resting on her opposite shoulder. Only now did Duncan spot the outline of a barn deeper in the woods, in a small clearing with a few penned goats nearby. The woman’s eyes pinched at the sight of them.
“SignorLaurent?” she called over.
“Yes. And the companions I told you about.”
“You should’ve been here an hour ago,” she scolded. “The storm will be upon us before nightfall. We will be hard pressed to reach the mountain’s northern approach before then. If that’s still your goal. Like I told you before, there is little worth seeing out there.”
Duncan knew Laurent had refrained from sharing too many details with their guide, certainly not the exact location of their goal. Before leaving the Barbier estate, Laurent had grabbed everything he needed from his hardshell case, including a thumb drive that held a copy of their decryption. On the long journey here, using topo maps of Monte Antelao, he and Laurent had managed to assign rough coordinates to the glowing blip on the pixelated mountain.
The woman crossed to the cabin’s wooden porch and set down her shotgun. “Let me get this goat milk in the icebox and we’ll be underway.”
She vanished into the cabin, the interior of which was softly firelit. She closed the door, not bothering to invite them inside to warm themselves.
As they waited, Duncan stamped his feet to stir circulation. “She’s a bit gruff, like you said.”
“And what’s with the shotgun?” Archie added.
Laurent shaded his eyes to stare up at the towering peaks, snow-crested and deeply valleyed. “The Dolomites are not without their dangers.”
A low rumbling growl confirmed this.
From the dark woods, a shape slinked into view. The massive cat crept low, shivering its tawny hackles, baring long fangs. Its shoulders stood as tall as Duncan’s thigh. As it crouched, its raised haunches revealed a bobbed tail. Long tufts trembled atop its ears, which flattened against its skull in a threatening manner.
“No one move,” Laurent whispered.
The door opened and their guide returned, having only donned a mid-length coat, still loose and undone, along with a pack over one shoulder. She also had a large pistol strapped at her waist.
Duncan opened his mouth to warn her, but she spotted the cat first.
Unfazed, she retrieved her shotgun. “Maledizione,Katch, were you off stalking the goats again? You had better not have scared them and soured their milk.”
As the woman crossed to join them, the mountain cat circled to follow, maintaining a wary distance.
Their guide shook each of their hands in a perfunctory manner. Her grip was iron with nothing friendly about it, just professional. “I’m Dr. Bianca Russo.”
“And . . . And that big cat?” Archie asked.
She glanced at the beast. “A former breeding stud. For a project to return the Eurasian lynx to these mountains. Unfortunately, after six years with the program, he’s been deemed too dependent on humans to survive on his own in the wild.”
Duncan gaped as the huge cat stalked back and forth. Its pads were larger than his palms and tipped by black claws. Only now did he note the thick leather collar around its neck, supporting a knob of metal, some sort of a wildlife tracker.
“So, you keep him as a pet now?” Duncan asked.
“Not a pet. Never forget that. While Katch will mostly mind me, he’s still a wild animal. A Carpathian lynx, to be exact. I’ve been working with him out here. A case study. To judge if it might be possible to return him to the wild after all.”
“And you named him Katch?” Sharyn asked.
“Short forcacciatore, though spelled with a capital K.”
Archie frowned. “Like the stew?”
