the country at spotting or shaking a tail than him. Except …” With a glance at the distant Big Horn Mountains, he lapsed into silence.
Sera left him to his thoughts. His partner and friend was dead. Who better to understand how he felt than her? Even though …
She and Andrea hadn’t been friends so much as friendly rivals. They’d known each other since they were five years old, but it was circumstance that had truly defined their relationship. Coincidence had also played its wily hand. From where they’d started—not a pretty picture—to where they’d ended up—as psychiatrists who’d obtained their degrees within months of each other—the outcome read like a small universal anomaly to Sera.
She closed her eyes and let the memories in. The murderer had left Andrea face up and staring at the shadowed ceiling. Through a swarm of police and medical workers, she’d looked like a broken doll—her skin chalk white, her features frozen in a mask of astonished horror.
Pain stabbed, swift and sure, and made her open her eyes.
“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Sig demanded. “Trying to smash down that wall in your brain.”
She regarded the impressive peaks of the Big Horns. “It’s like I’m in an all-black room and there’s a strobe light flashing at random intervals. I get split-second glimpses of things I don’t understand, then it’s back to black, and I want to scream, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t make sense of them.”
“Could be you’re trying too hard.”
She slid him a vaguely humorous look. “Your name’s Rayburn, right, not Freud?”
“What, you’ve never said that to a patient?”
“Not any more.”
Sig went back to pushing on his forehead while Sera contemplated the landscape. The scenery was magnificent, as was the clear, blue sky. July in Wyoming was all about pine forests, spectacular mountain ranges and wide-open vistas that possessed a beauty all their own.
She felt a tease on the edge of her brain and tipped her head from side to side in an effort to center it. One image, that’s all she needed to extract. Unfortunately, research suggested that forcing a resistant memory tended to be as effective as striking a nail with a feather.
She watched a pair of hawks glide in a wide arc beneath a cloudless stretch of sky.
“What’s that look for?” Sig asked.
“I have a look?”
“Like you’d rather be riding a cable car.”
A smile tugged on her lips. “My face isn’t that readable, Detective.”
“Hell it isn’t. You’re sleek, sophisticated and polished. You probably wear high heels to the grocery store. I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but I have to warn you, where we’re headed, the only place you’ll see five stars is in the night sky.”
Sera’s smile widened. “Putting on your bad cop hat, huh?”
“Doc, you haven’t seen anything like bad yet. When we get—aw, hell, what’s this?”
“It sounds like a siren.”
“Was I speeding?”
“Unless the limit’s upward of ninety, yes.”
“Crap.” He slowed and pulled over.
The officer who approached the car did so with long, easy strides. He rested a forearm on the roof while Sig stretched back to snag the jacket behind him.
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
“Not unless you make one. Got your license with you?”
“Got better than that.” Sig fished in the pocket, handed Sera what she assumed was his lucky rock and produced his badge with a flourish.
“San Francisco, huh?”
She caught a trace of humor in the other cop’s drawl. His surprisingly sexy drawl, she thought. As for his features, she couldn’t see them under the brim of his hat.
She knew he glanced at her before pushing off. “Out of the car, please, Detective Rayburn.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Depends how fast you get out of the car.”
“Don’t move,” Sig told her. He had to shove twice on the door to open it. “You’re starting to piss me off here, Officer. I’m a detective with the San Francisco Police Department, homicide division. Who are you to be ordering me around like a common criminal?”
Sera saw the flash of a surprisingly attractive smile. “I clocked you at ninety-six miles an hour as you flew past Moss Creek.”
Sig’s balled right fist drew an even wider smile. A second later, her companion went from a short punch on the other cop’s shoulder to a backslapping hug.
It figured. Sera breathed out but couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. It was such a predictable male game.
“I’m damn glad to see you, Logan.” Sig drew back, grinned. “How’d you know? License plate give me away? “
The taller man glanced from side to side. “This isn’t a car, Sig—it’s dented metal on wheels. One of a kind.” Without looking or pausing, he asked, “Does she know?”
Sig shook his head.
That did it. Shouldering her door open, Sera slid out. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but ‘she’ has a name. It’s Sera, and the reason she doesn’t know is because the man with the San Francisco badge refuses to tell her anything.”
“It’s for your own …”
“Protection. Got that one yesterday, Sig. But six diners, five gas stations and one truly crappy motel later, I think I’ve earned the right to know not only where we’re going, but also why a police officer in another state is better informed than I am.” She sent them a placid smile over the roof of the car. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Apart from his badge and the lights on his Explorer, nothing about the man in front of her said law enforcement officer. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. His boots were dusty, his hat was decidedly more cowboy than cop and if he was carrying a gun, Sera couldn’t see it.
Sig matched her smile as he turned to his friend. “Handful,” he said.
“See that,” the man replied. He nodded forward. “Nadine’ll be serving dinner about now. Her place is on the edge of town. You can follow me.” Although his eyes were shielded, Sera felt his gaze across the top of the car. “Nadine runs her grandfather’s diner, Dr. Hudson. You can ask your questions while we eat.” Nudging his hat forward so the brim hid the entire upper portion of his face, he added, “Assuming once they’re answered, you still want to eat.”
She wouldn’t react, Sera promised herself. That would be counterproductive.
