Night of the Panther

by Suzanne Forster

  She was surreal in the moonlight, naked beneath a gauzy, luminescent gown. Her long blond hair flowed like the water at her feet, and though her face was veiled in shadows, he knew who she was.

  “Johnny,” she whispered, holding out her hand to him. “Come for me.” The river picked up her whispers and repeated his name, chanting it magically, sensually. Johnny knew she must be some kind of vision, but he was struck by how hauntingly lovely she was, and the way her nakedness was revealed to him in such fantastic detail.

  As though aware of his fascination, she drew a hand to her breast, running her little finger over its fullness, encircling the aureole. Johnny watched, both excited and disturbed as she let her hand glide down her body. She touched herself erotically, and he began to harden.

  “Deliver me,” she murmured. She held out her hand again, beseechingly, almost sadly. “Johnny . . . take me, save me.”

  Johnny started toward her, but the river roared and grew wild. Transfixed, he watched as she waded into the turbulent water. Johnny, take me, save me. Her plea reverberated in his head and echoed thunderously in the rapids. The water raged, plastering the gown to her body and beating against her violently, but she kept going as though unaware of the danger.

  Suddenly she sank thigh-deep in the swirling water and faltered, struggling to catch her balance. The current was deadly, and she plunged deeper, sucked into a howling vortex where the rocks were jagged and slick with moss.

  “Johnny!” someone screamed. The cry echoed in the blackness above him. The hawk?

  The woman reached out to him in desperation as the turbulence dragged her down. Her broken whisper was torn away by the thunderous currents. “Johnny . . . forgive me.”

  Johnny plunged into the river, the water beating at him as he caught hold of her arms. Adrenaline spiked his heart rate. He fought to pull her out of the whirlpool, trying to drag her toward him. With a roar of rage he pulled her free. But as he lifted her into his arms, he saw her anguish. A brilliant glitter of tears flowed into the water droplets on her face.

  It wasn’t until he reached the shore with her limp body that he realized he must have been hallucinating. The woman was Honor, but she wearing a traditional Apache camp dress, not a luminescent gown. And though she was wearing her hair down, it had been drawn loosely into a single braid.

  The night air had a sharp bite to it as he headed back to camp with his sodden burden. He broke into a jog, knowing he had to get her out of the cold. She was semiconscious and shuddering violently. By the time he reached the sheltering copse of pine and spruce where he’d spent the last several days, the fire had nearly died out.

  He settled her in the primitive lean-to he’d rigged together from tree branches and leaves, then set about building up the fire. Her wet clothing had to come off, he told himself, but he had nothing dry to cover her with and no inclination whatsoever to undress a woman who’d already given him a world of grief with her clothes on.

  Moments later, bending over her huddled form, he realized he couldn’t even give her his own clothes. He had none. He couldn’t see any visible injuries on her body, but she could easily die of exposure alone.

  His conscience worked at him as the night wore on and the temperature dropped. Between her convulsive tremors and his own experience with the freezing conditions at night, he finally talked himself into removing her voluminous skirt. The damp cotton fabric resisted him, clinging to her skin and tangling up in his hands as he tried to peel it away. With a soft curse he gave up trying not to touch her. His fingers pressed into her flesh, sending a shudder through him as he worked the material loose and stripped it away from her body.

  As he tugged the fabric over her moccasined feet, she made a sound and drew her legs up, curling into a fetal position. Reluctantly aware of the transparent wet panties she wore, of the tantalizing curve of buttock he’d exposed, Johnny couldn’t stop himself from looking at her, or from wanting her.

  Something rose wildly inside him—animal lust or longing. Whatever it was, the flash of desire hit him so hard, it took his breath away before he had it under control. The position she’d curled into conjured images of the most erotic kind of lovemaking possible. He imagined himself lifting her hair and kissing the nape of her neck, caressing her naked legs and cupping the rounds of her buttocks in his palms. He imagined how hard he would be as he fitted his body to the luscious curve of hers.

  How hard he was now!

  Desire slammed into him again, a blunt force. She was leaving in the morning, he told himself. However she’d managed to get here, she was going back the same way.

  He held her skirt over the fire, shaking it until it was warm and dry enough to provide her with some protection. Less erotic questions took over his concerns as he covered her with the warmed material. He couldn’t imagine what she was doing up here, unless she’d been sent to bring him news about the case.

  His hunger forgotten, he sat through the night, feeding the fire and waiting until her moans and shudders gave way. Finally she sank into a heavy sleep, and he closed his eyes in relief, thinking to catch a moment’s rest. Within seconds he’d drifted in a haze of exhaustion. . . .

  The chatter of mockingbirds brought him to with a start. He couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened until he glanced around and saw Honor still sleeping in the lean-to. Dawn was breaking over the hills, painting the jagged crests with a rich silvery light. In a few more moments the mountains would be awake, alive.

  He’d fallen asleep sitting up, and the muscles of his thighs screamed in protest as he pushed to his feet. An animal growl vibrated in his throat as he stretched the kinks out of his body, taking pleasure in the heat and energy that seeped back into his muscles and dissipated the aching stiffness. The next sensation that hit him was hunger, ravenous hunger.

  The earth smelled fresh and fertile. Night had left a veil of moisture on the forest’s verdant undergrowth. He glanced around, knowing there wasn’t time to hunt game. He’d been given various tests of strength to pass before he could return to Whiteriver, including scaling the mountain’s highest peak where the gaan were thought to reside in their sacred caves. He’d planned to do that today, and he needed an early start. He would have to go in search of food—roots, berries, nuts, anything that was edible.

  When Johnny returned to the camp an hour later, Honor was stirring, as though about to wake up. Much of her heavy blond hair had pulled loose from its braid, and she looked tousled and beautiful, a princess coming awake after a century’s sleep. He was standing over her as she opened her eyes, wishing she didn’t make him ache like that moonstruck young kid who had worshiped at her feet, wishing he didn’t still harbor such volatile feelings.

  Honor blinked to clear her fuzzy vision, and as the dusky-skinned man above her gradually came into focus, she told herself to say something intelligible, like good morning. She couldn’t manage words, however. Not even something that basic. It was more than physical weakness stopping her, it was the impact of Johnny himself. He wore a scarlet sash around his head in traditional Apache style, and a medicine cord hung from his neck. Other than that, and the moccasins and the G-string he called a loincloth, he was as naked as the night he’d stood before the fire at the fairgrounds.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet.” She was aware of a general soreness, but nothing that might indicate a serious injury. “I’m afraid to move and find out.”

  “Think you could eat?” He held up the leather pouch he’d filled with pine nuts, wild berries, and roots.

  “I’ll give it my best.”

  He knelt to help her sit up, and the warmth of his arms and hands supporting her felt wonderful. Suddenly she knew what was different about him! He wasn’t scowling. He looked more concerned than angry.

  “Be careful,” he said as the cotton skirt slid off her legs. “You haven’t got much on under there.”

  She lifted the material, glanced at her bare legs, and
lowered it just as quickly. “You did this?”

  “Don’t make it sound like an act of perversion. I was trying to keep you from catching pneumonia.”

  He was still touching her arm as if to steady her, but Honor was only aware of the slow burn of his fingers against her skin. He seemed to brand her in some way every time he touched her. The position he’d crouched in made the muscles of his thighs stand out, and no matter which way she looked, there seemed to be brawny arms and legs to contend with. Having him up close and unclothed made her more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Maybe we could have some of that food you mentioned,” she suggested.

  He helped her get settled more comfortably, then opened the leather pouch and handed it to her. “Help yourself,” he said. “It’s the closest thing to fast food we’re going to get up here.”

  Honor reached into the bag and scooped out a handful of what could have been trail mix, except it had blackberries instead of raisins. She chewed the concoction slowly, aware of the stringy toughness of the roots and the tart snap of the unripe berries.

  Johnny took a handful, too, then several more. She quickly had her fill, but he wolfed down about half of the bag’s contents before he stopped to ask her how and why she came to be there.

  “Your grandfather could answer better than I can,” she said. “He told me it was time I joined you in the mountains. I argued with him, but he isn’t easily swayed, as you know. I was brought up here on horseback by a man from the tribe, dropped off by the river, and told to wait there for you.”

  “Wait for me at the river? How would anyone have known I was going to be there?”

  “How does your grandfather know anything? He has a sixth sense. I’m convinced of it.”

  Johnny didn’t share her certainty, and he wasn’t at all happy with what his grandfather had done. “You nearly drowned in that river,” he said, remembering her cries and his own confusion. He’d thought she was a hallucination at first. What if he’d walked away and let her drown? The thought made him sick inside. Fear and anger welled up in the pit of his stomach, mixing with a sense of frustration at the things he couldn’t control. What if she had died?

  “I don’t know what the old man has in mind,” he said roughly, pushing to his feet. “But you can’t stay here. You’ll be dead from exposure or eaten by wolves before the week is out.”

  “I can’t go back,” she said. “Not by myself. I’d never find the way.”

  Johnny swept up the leather pouch and attached its rawhide ties to the waistband of his loincloth. She’d never find her way back to Whiteriver, and he couldn’t take her there now, not without going up against his grandfather again. “In that case you’re going to be stuck here alone. All day, maybe the night too. I’m climbing the peak this morning, and I don’t know when I’ll get back.”

  She started to rise, hesitating as the skirt slid off her legs. Her eyes emanated desperation. “Take me with you,” she said.

  “No, that’s out of the question. You’d never make it.” God, but she tugged at him with her soft yearnings. She pulled at his gut, his heart, every damn vital organ in his body. “You’re not exactly dressed to scale cliffs,” he said, regarding her clothing with barely veiled contempt. “That skirt would end up wrapped around your neck.”

  “That’s not a problem. I can shorten it.” She pulled the skirt off, apparently intending to begin her alterations immediately. “Look, I’ll rip off the bottom tier.”

  Johnny took a deep breath and sent up a prayer to the gods of willpower. She didn’t seem to have any idea that she’d just exposed most of herself to his eyes—silk panties, hips, and bare, shapely legs. Everything but her breasts, he thought grimly, and that was probably coming next if he complained about the blouse she was wearing.

  “You’re not coming with me.” His gaze was scathingly hot as he raked it over her body, climbing up her naked limbs to the startled expression on her flushed face. “We have a deal, remember? You agreed to do what I ask. Anything I ask. So if you don’t want me to start asking right now, then you’d be wise to cover yourself up and quit arguing.”

  She set her jaw as though fighting a wild desire to defy him. “That will teach me to make deals with arrogant bastards,” she mumbled, yanking the skirt over her legs.

  Johnny’s faint smile revealed none of the hunger that was building inside him. His blood was rushing, pooling in dark male places. One day soon he was going to take her up on their deal. He was going to ask, and she was going to give. Anything he wanted. Everything she had. He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less. One day soon, he told himself.

  Seven

  “A FRESH KILL,” Johnny murmured, kneeling for a closer look at the carcass he’d found on the bank of the creek he’d been following for the past half hour. The animal wasn’t much bigger than a large rodent, probably a pack rat, and it was unlikely that the predator who’d killed it had satisfied its hunger with such a meager meal. There was a good chance the big animal was still in the area, still hunting.

  Johnny touched the top of his moccasin, reassuring himself his knife was still there. He would have to stay on guard. Perhaps the puma he’d seen the night before hadn’t been a hallucination. But even if it was, there were plenty of other predators known to inhabit the area, including wolves and bobcats.

  He scanned the woods around him and rose to continue his climb. The rock-studded creek provided a natural clearing and a ready source of fresh water, but the trail ahead presented a problem. The babbling brook turned into steep cliffs and a spectacular waterfall. He would have to take a detour through the trees.

  He stopped for a moment in the dark, cool shade of the forest, breathing in the earth’s natural, fertile musk. The smells triggered memories of the more pleasant aspects of his early childhood, when he would escape to the hills and pretend that the Apache still ruled these mountain, forests, and rivers with the same freedom they had in earlier times. As a boy, he’d taken pride in the fact that the Apache were the fiercest warriors in the Indian wars, subdued only because the white soldiers had pitted Apaches against each other. In many cases captive warriors were turned into scouts and forced to search out their own kind, the “invisible enemy” hiding in these very mountains.

  A rustle of leaves pricked Johnny’s senses, bringing him out of his reverie. He went still. Even if an animal had picked up his scent, it wouldn’t see him unless he moved. The faint sounds were coming from behind him, from lower down the slope, and he thought they were made by a surefooted cat moving through the brush. Humans were clumsy and noisy.

  As the rustling continued, nearing him, he drew his knife and turned into the trunk of a huge spruce. He crouched soundlessly. The forest was dark and mysterious, alive with shadows. It was difficult to see, but if the animal was close enough and Johnny was quick enough, he could come from behind and sever its jugular before it even sensed his presence.

  His heart was pumping in quick, hard jerks. This was the first time he’d used his military training since he stopped doing recovery work for the Pentagon, and the adrenaline that had flowed through his veins then was surging now. He quieted his mind and his senses, listening, waiting.

  His knife blade glinted, hit by a laser of sunlight.

  A tree branch snapped explosively.

  Johnny lunged as a shadowy form moved into his line of sight. He knocked it off balance with a body blow and pinned it to the ground with his weight. Reacting out of instinct more than training, he grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked the creature’s head back, pressing the knife blade to its soft throat.

  Soft throat?

  His hand froze as he realized he had a human being underneath him, a female human being! He sat up and rolled her over roughly, quickly, without releasing her. The knife that was locked in his fist still hovered near her throat.

  Johnny’s blood roared through his veins as he stared down at Honor’s terror-stricken expression. “I could have killed you,” he said, his voice tre
mbling with fury and disbelief. “I was a muscle twitch away from killing you!”

  She was rigid with fear, apparently unable to speak.

  Johnny was astonished at the violence coursing through him. He could barely control the impulse he felt to shake her senseless, to punish her with all the brutality in his soul for her idiocy in coming up behind him that way. It enraged him to think that she would have taken such a risk.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She shook her head, apparently unable or unwilling to speak with the knife blade at her throat. He kept it there anyway. To hell with what she wanted. The only perverse satisfaction he got from this woman was in frightening her, and that was damn little compensation for the horror she’d just put him through.

  Straddling her, he brought her arms over her head and locked her wrists to the ground with one hand. Adrenaline was still pounding through him as he bent low over her body, pinning her down with his forearm, his face inches from hers. The knife was right where he wanted it, at her pale, trembling throat.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, his voice a menacing whisper. “What are you doing here?”

  She spoke with great effort, her voice so hoarse she couldn’t finish the sentence. “Th-there’s a mountain lion—”

  “Mountain lion? Where?”

  “D-down at the camp. I couldn’t stay there.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you yell or do something to get my attention?”

  “I couldn’t.” She swallowed against the knife blade. “I was afraid to yell for fear it would attract the cat. I found your trail along the creek and followed it. Then I lost you.”

  A tremor shook her body as Johnny drew the knife back slightly. Her throat caught in a dry sob of relief, and she began to shudder like a woman snatched from certain death. Johnny knew it was a delayed reaction to the horror of what had nearly happened, but he didn’t release her. Nor did he apologize for his fury, even though it was clear she hadn’t been playing games or trying to catch him off guard.