“Pugmarks?”

“Paw prints. We should search above the high-tide mark. Also watch for scat, urine, scratched trees.”

“I know how to track,” Jack said. “But what if the cat swam past this island?”

“Then we search the next one. She couldn’t have gotten too far before needing to rest. Fight and flight take its toll. Adrenaline eventually gives out. She’ll have needed a place to catch a breath.”

They began to circle the island, keeping to the high-tide mark in the sand. They scanned the beach in silence. The day’s heat had grown to a stifling blanket. Only a few clouds remained from last night’s storm. Sweat rolled down his back and pooled at his belt line.

“Over here,” Lorna suddenly said.

She hurried away from the water, heading up the sand to where a large cypress shadowed the beach. Spanish moss draped and formed a curtain. Some of it had been ripped away as if something large had torn through its mesh.

“Careful!” Jack warned and grabbed her arm. He pulled her back and raised his rifle. “Let me check it out first.”

He edged to the tree. With his rifle leading the way, he poked through the rent in the moss. He scanned the bower below, then the limbs above. It looked clear.

Lorna spoke at his shoulder, not heeding his command to hang back. “Look at the sand near the trunk.”

The ground had been churned up, but he noted a single distinct paw print pressed deeply into the sand. They crossed together into the shadows. Jack kept watch for any sign of movement around them. In such a heightened state of alertness, he was all too conscious of Lorna’s shoulder against his side, of the smell of her hair, of her skin.

“The thing is huge,” Lorna said as she knelt down. “From the size of this paw, I may have underestimated its weight.”

She splayed out her hand over the print. The paw was easily twice as big.