“Not here, and not on the island,” Jack said. “We searched. From the blood patterns, we figured the crew numbered four. Maybe the bodies were washed overboard.”

“Or they were dragged overboard.”

“Dragged? By the cat?”

“From the blood on the stairs, that body wasn’t just washed away. The cat must’ve hauled it up from below.”

“But why?”

“That’s a good question. Cats often hide their kills to protect the meat, even hanging them up into trees-but if that’s not possible, they’ll normally just leave the bodies to rot as carrion and move on.” Lorna frowned. “The behavior here… it’s not typical. If I’m right, it displays an unusual cunningness, as if she’s trying to cover her trail.”

Lorna met his gaze. He saw the worry in her eyes.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it,” he offered. “The tropical storm blew to near-gale forces last night. Maybe the cat and the bodies were all swept out into the Gulf by the tidal currents.”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“How?”

LORNA WADED FROM the Zodiac onto the sandy beach of the neighboring island. She left her boots in the boat and rolled her pants to her knees.

Jack followed at her side, his attention on the hump of sand and tangled cypress trees ahead. He went barefoot, too, but he kept his boots laced over one shoulder in case he had to venture into the dense thicket that crowned the island. He also carried an M4 carbine assault rifle over his other shoulder. If the cat had survived the storm, it had likely already reached the coast, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

At Lorna’s suggestion, he had piloted the Zodiac from the trawler to the closest neighboring island.

“The cat would have come here first on its way to the mainland,” Lorna insisted as she climbed up the beach. “We need to look for any telltale pugmarks.”