Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer #1) by Kendra C. Highley

I’ll have a
four- or five-mile hike to get into the center of the forest, but that’s a
piece of cake after running with you this past week.”
    Mike turned out of the airport’s main driveway. “All right
then, off to Will’s.”
     
    * * *
     
    We parked down the street from the Cruessan’s house. Mike
took a long look and whistled. “Good Lord, kid. What, did Will’s family win the
lottery or something?”
    Will’s house was a nine-thousand-square-foot mini-mansion.
I’d gotten lost in it a few times. “No. His dad’s retired NFL and owns some car
dealerships. His mom’s a neurosurgeon.” And they were never home, which made
this the perfect spot to sneak in. “They have six acres out back, so we can
skirt the house to the woods without being seen.”
    That earned me an approving smile—a real one, not the faint,
fleeting ones I’d gotten on base all week. “Good thinking, Chief. Really good.”
    We crept around the back edge of Will’s property, passing
the detached four-car garage. There was a gap in the hedges that I could
squeeze through easily. It was a bit of a challenge for Mike, but he made it
and we sneaked into the back yard.
    “Didn’t they have a garage on the house?” Mike asked.
    “Yeah. That one’s for the actual cars. The detached garage
is where they store the boat, the ATVs, and a bunch of hiking and camping
stuff. Will’s dad is a big outdoorsman. We play ping-pong out here sometimes,
too.”
    “Must be rough being this well-off,” he whispered.
    I sighed. “Believe it or not, it is. Their housekeeper,
Millicent, hangs with Will most of the time. His parents travel a lot. But we
have him over for dinner about once a week, so he gets plenty of nagging and
worry-warting from Mom.”
    Mike grunted. “That sounds familiar.”
    We got into the woods via a small gap in the trees near the
southeast corner of Will’s property. I’d only made it ten feet before Mike held
up a hand. “Stop.”
    I skimmed behind a holly bush. “What?”
    “Thought I saw someone moving on the back patio.”
    “Probably just Millicent. She smokes, but doesn’t want
Will’s folks to know, so she sneaks a cigarette out there.”
    “Okay. Oh, as your uncle, let me just say that smoking’s
stupid.” Mike gave me a self-righteous nod and crept into the trees.
    “Sir, yes, sir.” I followed him, laughing that my cigar-loving
uncle would give me an anti-smoking lecture while he dragged me into the woods
to hunt a big, hairy monster.
    We fought our way through scrub brush and pines until we
found one of the main hiking trails. The night was cloudless, with a waxing
moon lighting our way. The weather stayed mild, about forty degrees, and if I
hadn’t been apprehensive about what we were looking for, it would’ve been a
great hike. We trekked single file, marching toward the coordinates of the last
attack. I stopped every so often to don my night-vision goggles and search the
trees for heat signatures, but the beast eluded us for the first hour.
    About three miles in, we found the first hint that we were
getting close. I scanned the ground with my flashlight, looking for signs. “Mike.”
    Two giant paw prints crossed the trail, leading off to the
east. The prints were longer than my size-eight sneakers and they sank down
into the dirt, like the creature who made them weighed more than a
refrigerator. Mike took a picture of the paw print with his digital camera,
then gestured for me to lead him through the trees. I followed the tracks until
I pushed into a small, moonlit clearing. I stopped short, hand over my mouth so
I wouldn’t yell in fright.
    The remains of a deer had been scattered in a twenty-foot
radius around the clearing. Bits of meat hung from the pines, stuck in the
needles, and splattered the matted mulch of the forest floor. The stag’s horns
had been discarded to one side. Everything else, including its hooves, was
gone, taken.
    “A bobcat or grizzly didn’t do this,” I