go wandering off the roads.”
She left directly, telling them that she’d probably be the one to bring them any additional information they uncovered. “Less suspicious than the sheriff. Gideon has a business in trail rides I could claim to be trying to promote.” Indeed, she left them with Gideon’s business card. “He always knows how to find me.”
Then she was gone, and the house filled with silence. Neither Cade nor DeeJay moved for a minute, as they both absorbed everything they’d just been told.
“Masters General Contracting,” Cade said presently, and pulled out his notebook. “I hope there’s Wi-Fi around here somewhere.”
“You could always call directory information.”
He cocked a brow at her. “What, go back to the old days?” Then he shook his head. “Might as well. Maybe I can find out how to get us a decent internet connection while I’m tiptoeing through the Yellow Pages.”
A laugh actually escaped DeeJay. “You do that. Meanwhile I’m going to take a look at this file.”
He reached for the wall phone just as she bent the prongs on the envelope and opened it. One way or another, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant day.
* * *
Wyoming was a big state, not heavily populated. The state police often relied on satellite radio because there were so many places, especially in the mountains, with cellular dead zones. It was virtually impossible at times to maintain an internet connection. Things were changing, but the change was far from complete.
By two that afternoon, they were hooked into the local police’s Wi-Fi and able to map out the town and surrounding county. They both saved the maps to files on their computers.
The envelope contents were another matter altogether. Report after report of horror, accompanied by eight photos of boys who were at once strikingly similar and strikingly different. All had dark hair, all weighed less than a hundred pounds, all were short in stature—a definite type. The heartache arose not only for the terror they must have endured, but from the youth staring back at them from those photos. Lives had been stolen and many other lives had been torn apart.
“Slow asphyxiation,” Cade read from the last report. He made a sound of angry disgust and swept everything from the table back into the envelope.
DeeJay simply stared back at him. There were no words for this. None. Her stomach churned, and all the toughness she had donned over the years provided no protection against what she had just read.
She got up from the table, trying to pace off the anger and horror she felt. “It’s not like anything else,” she said, not sure what she meant, not expecting an answer.
“No, it’s not,” Cade agreed. “Damn, I need some fresh air. Do you want to walk to the market? It’s only thirteen degrees out there.”
“I need the walk but I also need my nose. And I don’t want to stiffen up from the cold.” Delayed reaction time could be dangerous, even when you thought you were safe.
“Agreed. We’ll drive. Damn, there’s no hole in hell hot enough or deep enough for this guy.”
She didn’t answer. It seemed pointless. After looking at all those young faces, this had become personal. It was no longer an intellectual detective exercise. “Dangerous,” she remarked a few minutes later as they climbed into their car. “Getting involved.”
“I know. I’ll work it off.”
“I feel the same way.”
He looked at her as he turned over the ignition. At least the car didn’t decide it was too cold to run. He needed to remember to plug the damn block heater in tonight. “You, too.”
“Of course, me, too,” she said hotly. “I’m not made of ice.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“Then what the hell did you mean?”
“Just trying to make conversation. You’re like a brick wall, Dawkins. Pleasant to strangers when it suits you, but you act like I’m a cow patty you’d like to brush off.”
“You weren’t exactly glad to have me for a partner,” she retorted.
He didn’t deny it, and she sat with her arms tightly folded as he drove them to the store. When they found a place to park between two snowdrifts, Cade set the brake but left the car running. The defroster began to lose the battle against their breath.
“Look,” he said finally, “my reaction had nothing to do with you. It had to do with something from my past. Probably the same as your reaction to me. So how about we call a truce at least until we catch this animal.”
“That gives animals a bad name.”
“True.”
He waited, and she knew she was going to have to answer. She didn’t have to explain, she realized. No heart-to-heart about what life had been like as a female cop. He probably didn’t want to share whatever his problem was, either. So if they could just take all the junk off the table, at least until they finished this job, they’d get by. “Some things matter more than others,” she finally said. This job mattered more than her feelings, certainly. “Truce.”
“Good enough,” he said. “Now let’s go squabble about what we want to make for dinner. The diner’s steak sandwiches and fries are great, but too many of them and I’ll be rolling down the street like a beach ball.”
She laughed because she had to. A similar thought had occurred to her. “Are you aware that bicyclists who ride in races can be slowed down by as little three kilograms of added weight?”
“Interesting. Well, the two of us could be slowed down by the fat. I think I feel my arteries hardening.”
The tension had seeped away, and they both climbed out of the car, walking through the cutting wind toward the grocery entrance.
“What kind of cook are you?” she asked.
“Passable. I’d starve otherwise. You?”
“Not so good. Too many chow hall meals. Lately I’ve been trying my hand at it. How brave are you?”
He laughed. “I’ll cook. As long as you don’t expect high cuisine.”
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