“No,cacciatoremeanshunterin Italian.” Russo shrugged. “It seemed fitting enough.”
Duncan looked between the woman and the cat. Even the lynx’s name spoke to the biologist’s cold manner. She had not picked out anything overly affectionate, just practical.
“Let’s get going,” Russo ordered. “I’ve a truck parked around back. We’ll take it as far as we can. Then it’ll be on foot from there.”
As they headed off, the lynx tracked them.
Sharyn noted this, too. “Is Katch coming with us?”
Russo didn’t turn around. “He needs training time in the wild. Plus, he’ll keep any other threats at bay.”
“Other threats?” Duncan asked.
She nodded toward the peaks. “Over sixty bears have resettled this corner of the Dolomites. There’ve been a few altercations. A hiker was mauled a few years back. Then there are the wolves slowly returning, which is a great show of the progress we’ve made.”
“Wolves?” From Sharyn’s pinched brows, she clearly did not share the biologist’s enthusiasm.
“Packs are mostly in the French Alps, but they’ve been successfully extending their territory across the mountains. A lone specimen was spotted in the western Dolomites about six months ago.”
Duncan looked at the large cat trailing them. While Katch might ward off such threats, he found little comfort with this furry danger at their back.
As if making this clear, a low rumble—sounding like distant thunder—rose from the bristling beast.
Duncan stared ahead at Russo, questioning Laurent’s choice of guides.
Eccentricdid not begin to describe this woman.
He settled on a more fitting word.
Dangerous.
41
10:55 a.m.
Sharyn dropped out of the rear cab of the truck. Per the number of dents and a mismatched door, the older-model pickup had clearly seen some rough travel. Still, the interior had been clean and, more importantly, warm.
She rubbed her palms and pulled on a pair of insulated gloves.
Archie and Duncan climbed out the other side, stamping and gasping at the cold. The three of them had shared the back seat, sitting on top of one another. But none of them had volunteered to travel in the truck’s bed, where a large aluminum cage confined the massive lynx.
Laurent had grabbed the front passenger spot and used the drive to review topo maps with their guide. Russo had scowled—or maybe it was just her resting face—throughout the discussion of routes and options. The pair spoke in Italian, which Laurent proved himself to be fluent in. As was Archie, who whispered a translation for her and Duncan.
The truck traversed an ever-narrowing road that went from broken pavement to gravel to a rutted dirt track clogged with frost-deadened weeds, until eventually they traveled a path of unblemished snow. The forest to either side dwindled from dense Norway spruces and Swiss pines to scraggly versions, contorted by wind and snow and pushing straight out of the icy rock.
They had finally come to a stop where a shoulder of the mountain blocked the way, rising in a sheer cliff. The precipitous face was surely a delight to rock climbers. But, for Sharyn, it appeared ready to topple over on top of them. The latter impression was reinforced by the tumble of boulders at its base.
Sharyn craned up. “How far is it to reach the northern approach from here?” she asked Russo.
The woman crossed to the back of the truck and opened the crate. “Not far. Twenty kilometers. During which we’ll gain a thousand meters in elevation.”
Sharyn winced at the challenge ahead.
Russo offered a bit of consolation. “We’ll be mostly hiking on the leeward side of the mountain, so the snow underfoot—at least for now—should be manageable.”
It was theat least for nowpart that worried Sharyn. She searched the late morning sky, which remained achingly blue and continued to show no evidence of a threatening storm.
Maybe it’ll pass us by.
