Black Hills

I’ve got to get on. I want you to sleep easier tonight, but I want you to keep your doors locked just the same. Don’t you work too hard now. Miss Lucy, Sam.”
    “I’ll be right back.” Coop walked off with Willy. “How long to verify it’s Tyler’s wallet, and match his prints?”
    “I’m hoping tomorrow. But I’m willing to put money down it’s Tyler’s, and that Howe’s prints will be on it.”
    “Are you putting the same money down that he tossed it, or dropped it?”
    “That’s not a gamble I’m willing to take.”
    “I’d put mine on him planting it.”
    Willy pressed his lips together as he nodded. “I’d say we’re on the same page of this book. It just strikes too easy. We barely find a sign of this bastard for days. Then he leaves a trail, even after it rains, that my nearsighted grandmother could follow. I may be small-time law, but I’m not as stupid as he thinks.”
    “He wants a little time, a little space, to prepare for whatever he has in mind. You make sure Lil understands that. I’ll be doing the same when I see her, but I want her to hear it from you first.”
    “I’ll do that.” He opened the door of his cruiser. “Coop, the feds are putting their focus on Wyoming. Could be they’re right.”
    “They’re not.”
    “The evidence points there, so they’re following the evidence. All I’ve got is a gut telling me he’s hornswoggling us. That’s what I’ll be telling Lil.”
    He got in the car, tipped Coop a salute, and drove back down the farm road.
     
     
     
    BY THE TIME Coop got to the compound, the dusk-to-dawn lights had glowed on. He knew by the sounds the animals made they were feeding. A group of interns, finished for the day, piled into a van. Immediately, Weezer rocked out.
    A glance at the office cabin told him that was locked up for the night. Still, he made the rounds, over gravel, concrete, mud to offices, sheds, stables, ed center, commissary to assure himself all was empty and secure.
    Lights shone in the windows of Lil’s cabin. As he circled, he saw her—her hair pulled back from her face in a tail, the strong blue of her cotton sweater, even the glint of the silver dangles that swung at her ears. He watched her through the glass, the way she moved as she poured wine, sipped it while she checked something on the stove.
    He saw the steam rise, and through it the strong lines of her profile.
    Love rolled through him, over him, in one strong, almost violent, wave.
    Should be used to it, he thought. Used to her after so much time, even counting the time without. But he never got used to it. Never got through it or over it.
    Maybe his grandfather was right. Time was wasting.
    He stepped up on the porch, pushed open the door.
    She spun from the stove, drawing a long, serrated knife from the block as she whirled. He saw, in that moment, both the fear and the courage.
    He held up both hands. “We come in peace.”
    Her hand shook, very slightly, when she shoved the knife back in the block. “I didn’t hear you drive up, and didn’t expect you to come in the back.”
    “Then you should make sure the door’s locked.”
    “You’re right.”
    Time might be wasting, Coop thought, but he had no right pushing now.
    “Willy’s been by?” Coop asked and got down a second glass.
    “Yes.”
    He glanced at the stove, the bottle of good white wine. “Lil, if you’re thinking of a kind of celebration dinner—”
    “When did I suddenly go stupid?” She bit off the words. Snapping more out as she took the lid off the skillet and made him lift his brows when she poured the good wine over the chicken she had sautéing. “He’s no more in Wyoming than I am. He made sure he left enough signs for them to follow, and might as well have put up a ‘Here’s a Clue’ sign pointing to that wallet.”
    “Okay.”
    “It’s not okay. He’s trying to make fools out of us.”
    “Which is worse than trying to kill us?”
    “It adds insult. I’m insulted.” She grabbed up her wine and drank.
    “So you’re cooking chicken using twenty-five-dollar-a-bottle wine?”
    “If you knew anything about cooking you’d know if it’s not good enough to drink, it’s not good enough for cooking either. And I felt like cooking. I told you I could cook. Nobody said you had to eat it.”
    After she’d slapped the lid back on the skillet he crossed to her. He said nothing, just grabbed her, tightening his hold when she tried to pull away. Drawing her in, holding