Alain pressed his lips together, hunkering down to examine the brush. Here. Here, it was disturbed. Not much - his quarry, whoever he was, was remarkably deft - but to a well-trained eye, enough to be clear. And here, too, the curved edge of a bootprint's heel, unmistakable once you knew what to look for.

"I know you're here," he said, aloud, and straightened up. "You have three choices here. You can break and run, and I will follow you. You can go on hiding, and I will find you. Or you can come out and face me head-on, like a man. Your choice."