All wolves are predators, but not all predators are wolves? Why is someone--or something--killing campers in remote False Cape Park? Autopsies reveal their throats have been torn out by a large canine. Locals recall a colonial-times legend of the "wolfwraith." New ranger, Shadow Fletcher, a one-handed Native American, feels ancient evil as he finds body after body, while park authorities try to cover everything up. He becomes the main suspect, which dredges up old secrets, yet he finds romance in the midst of an F.B.I. investigation. Finally a clue: the hair of a long-dead wolf clutched in the fingers of his murdered best friend. Shadow battles a raging hurricane to confront the Wolfwraith, save his new love, and solve the mystery of the cover-up. Excerpt: Moments later, he heard it again. It was coming from the girls' tent. He moved closer. There! He heard it again. It was definitely a female sound, and it sounded like she was in pain. Jesus! While he'd been standing on the damn dock daydreaming, the girls had been attacked, as he'd imagined earlier. He drew his pistol. Then he heard another noise. This time it was more of a grunt, and not the same person, because it coincided with another moan. Someone was being attacked! Shadow quickly put his flashlight under his right armpit, pulled the slide of his automatic back to cock it, and then fumbled for the flashlight again. He turned it on and played it on the side of the tent, surprised to see it had not been ripped open, as he'd feared. The fabric rippled as someone thrashed around inside. "Freeze!" he ordered, hollering so loud the nearest of the frogs shut up.