'Katie, you know it means so much to Nate and to me.'
'Of course it means something to you. You're a workaholic, and I'm an enabler. Nate's a fisher-holic. How's Maria doing?'
'I guess fine. She doesn't always tell me.'
'I think your boy is falling for her about as fast as his daddy.'
'Oh, come on. There is nothing between us. I'm not ready for that and you know it.'
'You should be, Dan. You should be. She died two years ago. She wouldn't want this. I'm sane enough to know that even if you don't. Why don't you ask Maria on a date?'
'You think she'd go?'
'Do pigs grunt on Sunday?'
'Well, it's not that easy.'
'Is your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth? What's hard about it?'
'It's like I said, I'm not ready. And we're adversaries.'
'Yeah, it's a regular civil war. Sleeping in the same tent must be tough.'
Dan found Nate and got him excited about fishing, then played catch until Jonathan showed up. Dan returned to his study and barely felt Katie's good-bye peck on the cheek.
Beside Dan hung every news article about the murder of Catherine Swanson. Since it was bizarre, violent, and had happened on Amada land, he'd thought it was worth investigating.
In front of him a giant bulletin board hid behind pictures and notes. Down the side of one bulletin board, every fact they knew or suspected about the person who took the money: female about 5'10'; lived in the mountains between Palmer and Interstate 5; probably single; lived alone; some police or military training; wore broken-in western riding boots; had connections either to industry or to the environmental movement; drove a black Chevy sedan with a license that included the letters SHR; used a. 300-caliber rifle, according to police ballistics; had a partner; was physically fit.
On a second bulletin board was everything they knew about the Amada compound. Dan had his secretary, Lynette, gathering information every moment she wasn't working on a critical legal project.
He had a huge stack of aerial photos and had begun trying to account for each house through the mountains in a swath 50 miles wide and over 120 miles long. Even though he started with the ones nearest the point of last contact, it was nearly impossible. There was Johnson City and other tiny towns along the rivers and hundreds of ranches. But he had a feeling in his gut that the person they were chasing through those mountains lived in them- somewhere.
He had just hung up from the photo shop and was getting ready to settle into his morning cup of coffee before calling Maria Fischer in her Sacramento office. It was his fifth try to the photo shop to make absolutely certain they had found no trace of his pictures in the rubble.
In his hand was a list of persons owning a residence within twenty miles of the point he and Maria had been blasted off the road.
His pen ran down the list, making checks by the names: Corey Schneider, Mary Jenkins Smith, Betty Franklin, Jennifer Mills. Most of the entries had two names, a husband and wife. Some listed only a man. Only a few bore the names of single women. These were the next four of those entries, and they were all names about which he had no information. He would check them.
After a couple of good sips of coffee, he got Maria on the line.
'They still claim the pictures were destroyed in the fire,' Dan said. 'At least they have a sense of humor.'
'I thought it was a one-hour photo place and you were going to wait.'.
'Nate had his soccer game. Look, I need you to find a female enviro who lives between here and 1–5 and who is really nuts.'
'Why do you think we were attacked by an 'enviro'?'
'Just humor me.'
'All right, I'll ask around. You gonna check on crazy loggers' wives?'
'Absolutely.'
'I have a confession to make,' she said.
Dan sat forward in the chair. 'What?'
'I think maybe you opened the bathroom door when I was showering. It's bugging the hell out of me.'
'Well then, I have a confession to make as well,' Dan said. 'I have another camera in my bedroom, and while you were showering, I also took a picture of the bat photo and the documents. They're still in the camera.'
'How the hell did you know when you opened the door that I would be in the shower?'
'Small window high in the shower. The top of your head is visible as a shadow from outside.'
'You're unbelievable. You picked that little lock and opened the door?'
'Ah.' He let out a long breath. 'I'm just happy that you're being so good-natured about this.'
'We know that Kim Lee, an industry man, is now in control of the environmental movement. He's the one who's passing the money. Stealing five hundred thousand won't stop it. Kim has already hushed it up. He controls the press, you know,' the German caller said. 'And he's got plenty more money to co-opt your people.'
'Why are you telling me this?'
'For the good of the cause.'
'How do I know I can believe you?'
'Was I right about the money? Was I right about who would deliver it?'
Corey could feel the manipulation, and yet everything he said rang true.
'Why would killing Kim Lee make any difference? Someone will replace him.'
'Fear. They would know someone knows their dirty secrets.'
She was still unconvinced. She liked to do things her own way in her own time. The voice on the line was pushing her and she didn't like it.
'I'm not trying to tell you what to do. You seem to manage fine in that department. Just think it over. Oh, and turn on your TV. The local news, channel three. It starts in three minutes.'
The line went dead. Hanging up on her was a form of control. One of these days she would make him regret it.
Sweat poured down the young man's chest in little rivulets and beaded on his face like rain on a wax-slick car. Corey gently squeezed his testicles, sensing that any moment he would come despite her attempt to hold him on the edge. Sitting in a slump against the headboard, his back supported by pillows, he obviously struggled to find release, to overcome her maddening rhythm that was just fast enough to keep him excited but not brisk enough to end his torment.
She had been waiting for this for a while, starting even before she brought home Denny, watching this Mike guy every day as he painted her house and did the landscaping. But every time Mike had touched her, she had shrugged and turned away, teasing him, waiting until she was ready. And then today she had looked at him while he painted the wood trim on the patio and said, 'We can have sex if you want to.' And now here she was astride him, one foot on the floor, her knee on the bed, her eyes closed, concentrating on the very moment she had pulled the trigger in the shower. Killing Denny still excited her. Her orgasm was long and slow, unfolding like a distant peal of thunder.
When she finished, Mike reached for her, trying to pull her to his chest, but she slid quickly from his grasp, picking up a towel and wiping herself. Then she turned to pull on her shorts. She had stripped only minimally-just enough to accomplish her purpose-and when her shorts were on, she was dressed and ready to go.
'You're not particularly cuddly for a woman who just made love.' Mike watched her from the bed.
'It was good sex,' she replied, otherwise ignoring him.
'You could be a little more friendly about it, that's all. Do you hate all men?'
'I need to work.'
He shook his head incredulously. 'When can I see you again?'
'When my shades aren't pulled, I suppose you'll see me through the window.'
'That's not what I mean.'
'But that's what I mean.'
