"I don't have her." Fear sharpened Crystal's voice. "Why would I have her?"
Wark hit Crystal again. "Where?"
She pounded him and kneed him. He stumbled, beating her. Above them the cougar crouched. Fighting, the two fell writhing to the ground. The cougar was on them in a hot surge of power, snatching Crystal by the neck, knocking Wark against the wall.
Three shots rang out.
The cougar turned, snarling. Harper fired again into the sky. The big cat dropped Crystal and crouched facing Harper, poised between springing at him and running. His paw still held Crystal. He glanced at her once, licking blood from his whiskers. In that instant, Lee Wark spun away, running. Harper shouted and fired after him-Harper knew better than to run. Nor would he leave Crystal. The gunfire and shout decided the cougar. He fled up the hill into the black forest.
And Lee Wark, too, was gone. Harper looked after him for a moment, then knelt over Crystal, his gun on her as he spoke into his radio. The air stank of gunpowder and blood. Joe could see where the puma had torn her shoulder and arm. He backed away, fading into the shadows-and found Dulcie beside him, pressing close.
And when the two cats looked up the hill above the ruins, the cougar stood watching, sleek and powerful against the silver dawn. The big cat screamed once, wheeled, and vanished toward the wild mountains. They looked after him, shivering.
"Oh," whispered a small voice behind them. "Oh, so beautiful." And the kit pushed between them, her dark little face and round yellow eyes filled with yearning, her furry ears sharp forward as if waiting for another wild scream.
Joe couldn't speak for the kit, but that golden image left him feeling as small and insignificant as a fly speck.
But then Dulcie brushed her whiskers against his, purring, and pressed close to him, and he felt fine and strong again, the boldest and most elegant of tomcats.
And Max Harper turned from his cuffed prisoner, where she lay curled into a fetal position, her head on Harper's folded jacket. Harper had managed to stop some of the bleeding, using pressure. They could hear the ambulance screaming up the hills, and soon they could see its whirling red light and the lights of two squad cars.
As the cats came out from the shadows, Max Harper knelt and, in a rare gesture, reached to stroke Joe Grey. "Thanks, tomcat. With all that hissing and taking off up the stairs, you kept Crystal from slipping down on us. Maybe you stopped the cougar, too." Harper grinned. "Maybe Clyde's right, maybe cats are good for something."
26
DRIVING UP the coast with Hanni, Kate couldn't keep her mind off Lee Wark. She leaned back in the soft leather of Hanni's SUV, meaning to enjoy the morning, and spent the entire drive staring into every car they passed, with the paranoid notion that she would see Wark.
The sun was bright, the air just cool enough to be fresh, their windows cracked to an ocean breeze, the sea on their left thundering with sufficient wildness to both beckon and repel. And all she could think of was Lee Wark.
Stubby Baker was in jail, this morning. And that was good news. And Crystal Ryder was under arrest, in the emergency wing of Molena Point Hospital. But Lee Wark was still free, and Dallas had reason to believe that Wark had killed Ruthie Marner.
What an amazing thing, that Crystal had been attacked by the cougar. What a strange end to Crystal's part in a bizarre crime.
Certainly nothing had changed in the threat that she, Kate, felt from Wark. She was obsessed with the idea that he was near. When Hanni turned off the freeway into the city, just before noon, she was tense with nerves.
And alone again in her apartment, before she must return to work the next morning, she felt the afternoon stretching ahead, peculiarly unsettling.
She needed to lay to rest her fears-at least those surrounding the Cat Museum. That fear, she had come to realize, was in part fear of the museum itself. Fear of what she might learn there, as well as her unease that Wark would find her there and hurt her.
She wasn't home half an hour, glancing through her mail that had been shoved through the door onto the rug, before she grabbed her jacket, locked the door behind her, and headed for the Iron Horse. She'd have a quick lunch, then call a cab. Wark wouldn't be in the city.
He would be too busy, with the Marner murders hanging over him, too busy running from the police to think about her. To think about her possible connection to what she believed was a whole, traceable line of individuals possessed of the spirits of both cat and human. Certainly Wark would not be interested in her search for a man who might have been her grandfather.
Hurrying into the restaurant, heading for her usual table- praying that Ramon wouldn't start about the cat killer-she greeted him with an unusual reserve.
"Buenos dias, senora."
"Good afternoon, Ramon."
She felt guilty at his puzzled look, that she hadn't spoken in their usual joking Spanish. Why had she come in here, only to be rude to him?
"It's good to see you, Ramon."
"You have been away. Did you enjoy your village? Molena Point, verdad?"
Kate laughed, telling herself she should be pleased that he would remember. "It was nice to be home in the village, yes." He was such a shy, kind person. There was no need to be rude to him. He was only very curious-and so easy to hurt, easy to rebuff, backing away if he felt unwanted.
There was a reluctant, almost stray quality about Ramon. He was a loner. A shy, needy person and a loner. She gave him a smile. "It's nice to be back in the city. Very nice to see you."
Her friendliness eased him. When he had taken her order and brought her sandwich, he fetched his own cup of coffee and sat down opposite her, glancing at her diffidently.
"You were all right when you were in your village, senora? You had a happy time?"
"Oh, yes, Ramon. Quite happy." What was he getting at? He couldn't know that she had left the city frightened, had been frightened, in a painful undercurrent, the entire time she was at home, and was still scared.
She said, "There have been-no more terrible incidents?"
Why had she said that? She hadn't meant to mention the cat killer, she didn't want to hear about him. It came out before she thought.
"No, senora. No incidents. Maybe that man went away. Except…" He glanced out at the street, his white skin going paler, the rust-colored scar on his cheek seeming to darken.
"Except, maybe an hour ago when I took out the trash, I saw three cats running, very frightened, into the alley as if something was chasing them."
"City cats, Ramon. They run from cars, from dogs, from small children."
"I suppose." Ramon finished his coffee and rose. She wanted to ask if he'd gone into the alley where the cats had run. Had he seen anyone chasing them?
But she didn't ask. She was so foolishly obsessed. At least she could keep her fears to herself.
She ate quickly, irritated with herself, paid her bill, and left; she looked back once, to see him standing in the window watching her. He had turned the open sign around to read closed, and had pulled the sheer white curtain across the lower half of the glass. She supposed he had an errand; he did that sometimes, left after the noon rush, returned in time to prepare for the dinner hour.
Heading up Stockton, she decided not to look for a cab. The sun felt good on her shoulders. She liked watching the clouds racing overhead trailing their shadows swift as birds across the pale hillside houses. She swung along until soon, above her at the crest of Russian Hill, the white walls and red tile roofs of the museum glowed beneath their dark, twisted oaks. Hurrying up the hill, only once did she glance behind her.