Page 65 of Easy, Tiger

"Careful, Miss Gallagher. We both know you're far too intelligent to play dumb." Unfazed, he yanks his hand back and lounges casually against the railing of the lookout, entirely relaxed and in no rush at all. "Back in September. Wounded tiger by Willow Creek. Ring any bells?"

My shoulders tense, but I keep my demeanor neutral. "I sketch a lot of wildlife. Hard to remember every animal."

"This one had a rifle wound through the shoulder. Took considerable skill to extract that bullet without proper surgical equipment. Even more impressive that you managed it without getting mauled."

"Why didn't you finish it? You had a scope on him, clearly." My question tastes bitter, but I need him talking, need every second I can buy.

"I was half a mile out when you stumbled onto him. Watched the whole thing through the scope, actually, waiting to see if you'd panic and run, which would have solved my problem for me. However, you didn't." His teeth grind together, the first real break in his composure. "And that half mile wasn't a straight line. Gorge cut the direct route in half, forcing me around through deadfall thick enough to slow a mule train. By the time I finally closed the distance, you'd both vanished into the tree line. You became an unforeseen obstacle that day, Miss Gallagher. I don't appreciate obstacles."

He moves forward, his gaze sweeping over my face. "Like how I didn't appreciate your little trick with the false hiking trails this week. Dropping water bottles and scuffing up dirt on routes that lead nowhere. It was a cute attempt at misdirection, but I track apex predators for a living. I know a staged trail when I see one. And did your boyfriend honestly believe I'd simply sit freezing my ass off in a sniper nest at Allegheny Passage forever? I know when my prey is shifting its patterns. That's why I came searching for the one variable they left unprotected: you."

The sketches in my hands instantly feel like evidence at a crime scene. "You're the one who shot it."

"Guilty as charged. Though I have to admit, getting a front-row seat to you patching up my target was quite educational." He removes a tablet from his gear bag, swiping through a folder of photographs. "You spent the day with that animal. Most people would have run screaming after the first thirty seconds."

"Most people aren't wildlife illustrators."

"True, but most wildlife illustrators don't fall in love with their subjects." He turns the tablet toward me, flashing a telephoto shot of Nolan's workshop. "Especially when those subjects happen to be the local carpenter."

The blood drains from my face. He's been stalking and photographing us. Building a case like some demented detective.

"Nolan Maren is an interesting fellow. Moves through the forest like he owns it, always seems to know when you're in danger, remarkable recovery time from serious injuries. Almost like he's not entirely human."

"You're insane."

"Am I? Because I've spent a lot of time documenting some fascinating behavioral patterns. Tigers that follow migration routes older than any conservation records. A man who appears wherever you happen to be hiking, regardless of how remote the location. Bullet wounds that heal faster than medical science would suggest possible." He looms closer, and I catch the stench of gun oil and cold metal. "Tell me, Miss Gallagher—when you saved that tiger's life, did you have any idea you were also saving your boyfriend's?"

It catches me entirely off guard how easily he says it. He knows, and somehow, frighteningly, he knows everything.

"I can see from your expression that the pieces are falling into place." Nico's words drip with the satisfaction of a chess player announcing checkmate.

"What do you want?"

"The tiger. Isn't that obvious?" Nico's smile turns predatory. "And you're gonna lead him to me whether you like it or not."

Before I can react, he lunges forward and snatches my phone from my pocket, leaving my small sketchbook untouched in the other. The device disappears into his fist, then reappears in fragments as he crushes it against the lookout's railing.

"Insurance policy." The broken pieces scatter across the wooden deck. "Can't have you sending any emergency texts."

He doesn't bother with the sketchbook tucked against my ribs. To him, it's merely an artist's habit, harmless. To me, it's the only tool I have left.

My mind races as I back away toward the easel. The nearest trail is half a mile down a steep slope, and Nolan won't expect me back until evening. No one knows where I am.

Nico produces zip ties from his gear bag, smooth and rehearsed, as if he's done this before. "Hands in front."

"Why not behind my back?" I ask, buying time.

"Because we have steep, treacherous terrain ahead, and if you can't catch your balance, you'll fall and slow me down. Now give me your hands."

"Go to hell."

"Admirable spirit, but we both know you're going to cooperate." He gestures toward the valley below. "Because if you don't, I'll simply wait for your boyfriend to come looking for you. And when he arrives in his furry form, well..." He pats the rifle slung across his shoulder. "This time I won't aim for the shoulder."

He leaves no room for negotiation, so I extend my wrists.

The plastic bites into my skin as he cinches the restraints tight. "There's a good girl." He does a hasty, rough pat-down of my jacket pockets, finding my extra pencils and tossing them into the snow. But he's moving too fast, his eyes constantly scanning the treeline for Nolan, and he completely misses the small, bound sketchbook pressed tightly against my ribs beneath my sweater. His arrogance is my only advantage. "Now let's take a little hike."

"Where?"