Black Hills

me.”
    “They’re going to start installing the new security tomorrow, weather permitting. Then we can stop this insanity.”
    “That’s good. Want some wine?”
    “It’s my wine.”
    “Actually, I brought it with me.”
    “I have my own.”
    “Suit yourself.” He watched her as he took the first sip. “This is pretty nice.”
    She dropped down on the bench, gave the candles the evil eye. “Is this supposed to be romantic?”
    “No. It’s supposed to be a backup if the power goes out.”
    “We have a generator.”
    “Takes a minute to kick on. Blow them out if they bother you.”
    She huffed, but not at the flames. “I hate that you can do this. Be all casual and reasonable when I’m feeling bitchy.”
    He poured a second glass of wine, took it over, and set it on the table. “Drink the damn wine, bitch. Is that better?”
    She sighed, nearly smiled. “Maybe a little.”
    “It’s some job, feeding that zoo in this rain.”
    “They have to eat. And, yes, it is.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m tired. I’m edgy. And I’m hungry, so that stew—which I’m assuming is Lucy’s doing—is welcome. I haven’t written out a list, but I have it in my head, and we need to discuss things. I changed things. My choice, my move, my doing. I’m sorry if it was a mistake, if it affects our friendship. I don’t want that.”
    “You changed things the first time around, too. Your choice, your move, your doing.”
    “I guess that’s true.”
    “It can’t always be your way, Lil.”
    “I’m not talking about my way, or your way. Besides, it sure as hell hasn’t been all my way. I just want to put us back on solid ground, Coop. So—”
    “We may need to wait to get into all of that. I need to tell you what else I’ve found out about Ethan Howe.”
    “The man you think abducted Carolyn Roderick.”
    “Yeah. And the man I think abducted other women, killed other women. The man I think killed Melinda Barrett.”
    She went very still. “Why do you think he killed her? That was nearly twelve years ago.”
    “We’re going to eat, and I’m going to tell you. And Lil? If there’s anything on that mental list of yours that gets in the way of me being here, of me making sure nothing happens to you, you’d better scratch it off now.”
    “I’m not about to refuse any help that protects me, my staff, my family, my animals. Any of it. But you’re not responsible for me, Cooper.”
    “Responsibility has nothing to do with it.”
    He set the stew, the biscuits on the table. Candlelight flickered between them as he sat and told her of murder.

19
    She heard him out, saying little as he related facts, wove them into theory. She tried, again, to get a clear picture in her mind of the man Coop spoke of. But all she could form was vague outlines, smudged details, like a faded pencil sketch.
    He’d meant nothing to her, made no real impression. They’d had only a few conversations when he’d come to volunteer or see Carolyn.
    “I remember him asking me about my ancestry, the Lakota Sioux bloodline. It’s the sort of thing people I don’t know ask fairly regularly. We use it in my bio because it sparks interest, and it shows that my family’s lived here, in the hills, for generations. But he wanted more specifics, and told me he was Sioux, descended from Crazy Horse.”
    She lifted her hands. “You get that, too. Some people want to claim the heritage, and since they do, why not go for the gold, so to speak? I didn’t pay that much attention, because the Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull claim is usually an eye-roller for me.”
    “So you dismissed that, and him.”
    “I was probably polite. I don’t make a habit of insulting people, especially volunteers or potential donors. But I didn’t offer to buy him a beer and talk about our ancestors.”
    “You dismissed him,” Coop repeated. “Politely.”
    She blew out an annoyed breath. “Probably. I just don’t remember that well. He was ordinary, mildly irritating but only because he seemed more interested in asking me about that sort of thing than about the refuge. Coop, I have dozens of conversations any given week with people I don’t know and don’t remember well.”
    “Most of them don’t kill people. Try harder.”
    She pressed her fingers to her eyes, thinking, thinking, trying to put herself back to that summer, that brief period. Hot, she thought. It was hot that summer, and insects—the parasites and diseases they