C. Box - Endangered

Of course the conversation was being recorded, he thought. Probably by multiple agencies.

“I’m going north for a job,” Nate said.

“I see that. What kind of vehicle are you in?”

“We’ve got the Yarak, Inc. van. I’m not driving.”

“Who is with you?”

Nate hesitated. He was sure Olga knew the answer to her question, and he didn’t want to bring Liv into the conversation.

“My partner,” he said.

“Olivia Brannan?” the woman said.

Nate sighed. He noticed that Liv was looking over at him, curious about the conversation.

“What is the location of the job?” Olga asked.

Nate covered the mouthpiece on the BlackBerry and asked Liv. She told him what she knew.

“It’s a ranch outside of Saddlestring,” Nate said. “The HF Bar Ranch. It’s been there for generations and I know where it is, but I’ve never been on it before. It’s a working ranch, but also a dude ranch. From what we know, the wranglers want starlings chased out of the barn before the guests start to arrive this summer so the backs of the horses and the saddles aren’t covered with bird poop. I’m telling you this so you don’t think we’re being lured up there by the bad guys.”

He could hear her tapping keys on a keyboard.

She said, “Saddlestring. Isn’t that where Mr. Pickett lives?”

“It is.”

“Do we have a problem?”

“No, Olga. We don’t have a problem. The county itself is nine thousand, three hundred and fifty square miles. That’s as big as New Hampshire. It’s not likely I’ll just run into Joe.” Nate felt his face flush hot.

“I see,” Olga said. “Special Agent Dudley will be interested in this information.”

“Tell Mr. Dudley to piss up a rope, Olga,” Nate said. “I signed the agreement. I’ll abide by it.”

“Noted.”

“Until tomorrow, Olga,” he said, and punched off.

Nate dropped the phone on the seat between them and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I’m not going to be able to do this,” he said.

“It’ll be a process,” Liv said, but she looked worried.

—

DESPITE BEING WITH LIV AGAIN, despite the champagne she’d arranged for and the honeymoon suite she’d reserved, Nate had not been able to perform the night before. She’d been patient, alluring, and enthusiastic, but he couldn’t get aroused. He loved her, but something was wrong. He drank too much Wyoming Whiskey and fell asleep, and when he woke up in the middle of the night, he didn’t know where he was. He thought he was back in his cell.

Liv had held him tight the rest of the night, skin to skin.

She’d awakened him gently that morning.

He’d said, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re not yourself,” she assured him. “You’ve been through a lot and your feet aren’t on the ground yet.”

He told her how he’d thought of her constantly, how he’d fantasized about being with her again. In none of his dreams had it gone like it had in real life the night before.

He’d said, “I feel like I’ve been emasculated.”

“Is it because they took away your gun?” she asked.

“No. It’s because they took away my honor,” he responded. “That’s all I’ve ever had.”

—

THE SPRING SKY ROILED with thunderheads, and Nate could see downspouts miles away that looked like Greek columns connecting the high plains to the sky. Small herds of pronghorn antelope grazed on the fresh carpet of green grass, their burnished-copper and white color scheme making them stand out like highway cones. The smell of moist sage was thick in the air, as was ozone.

“I almost forgot what it smelled like when it’s about to rain,” he said to Liv.

“Maybe it’ll help bring you back,” she said. “And once you get your birds in the air and you have a job to do, I think it’ll get better. Work is good for the soul. Every man needs work.”

He nodded, and said, “I knew you were beautiful and smart, but I didn’t realize until recently that you are also very wise.”

She laughed. She had a great laugh, he thought, an all-out Louisiana low country belly laugh.

“No one’s ever called me wise before,” she said.

—

AS THEY PASSED the town of Kaycee, Nate lifted an imaginary glass and said, “Here’s to Chris LeDoux.”

“Who?” Liv asked.

“He used to live here,” Nate said. “Chris LeDoux was a championship professional rodeo cowboy and a country singer. He’s a Wyoming icon. Garth Brooks sang a song that mentions him called ‘Much Too Young to Feel This Damn Old.’ Joe and I always salute his memory whenever we pass by.”

Liv took a deep breath. She said, “Speaking of Joe, there’s some bad news.”

Nate looked over, concerned.

“His daughter April was found beaten and left for dead outside of Saddlestring,” Liv said.

Nate sat up immediately. His first thought was to remove the Governor out of the console and strap it on, agreement or no agreement.

“They caught the guy who did it,” Liv said.

“Who was he?”

“Some local weirdo,” she said. “From what I read about it, the case is pretty much open-and-shut.”

Nate said, “I can only imagine what Joe and Marybeth are going through. They dote on their daughters. I never knew April that well, but Sheridan is my falconry apprentice.”

Liv told him the few facts of the case she’d read in that morning’s Casper Star-Tribune .

Nate said, “I’d like five minutes in a room with that guy. I’d guess Joe would say the same thing.”

“Except Joe’s on the right side of the law,” Liv said.

“He is. Man, I’d like to be able to see him and Marybeth,” Nate said. “I’d like to tell them I’m thinking about them.”

“We’ll be in the general area,” Liv said, nodding toward the Bighorn Mountains that had risen on the horizon to the west. “I know you’re not supposed to make contact with him. But what if he makes it with you? Like if some little bird let him know you’re working on the HF Bar Ranch for a few days?”

Nate smiled. “And who would that little bird be?”

“Gee, I have no idea,” she said with a wink.

—

IT WAS AN HOUR before dusk when Nate and Liv drove the van under the ancient pole archway decorated with whitened antlers and a hanging wrought iron sign that indicated they’d arrived at the historic HF Bar Ranch in the Bighorn Mountains. Gates made of weathered pine poles had been swung open, and the chain that had locked them together hung from the top rail of the left-side gate.

The van left the pavement and climbed through dark pine forests and open alpine meadows bursting with wildflowers on a gravel corduroy road. Rain had swept through the foothills in the previous hour, freshening the air and darkening the roadbed. Moisture glistened on the tips of pine needles like tears.

From the looks of the sky to the north, another thunderhead was on its way.

For the first time since he’d walked out of the Federal Building the day before, Nate began to feel good. Whether it was the smell of the pine-rich mountain air or simply being in Liv’s company, he felt his equilibrium start to level out.

The ranch road wound through groves of pine and aspen. Deep in the shadows of the trees, there were still crusty log-shaped snowdrifts from the winter. Mule deer grazed on spring grass that had grown from the benefit of sunlight shafts through the canopy. At least one set of tire tracks glistened in the muddy road on the way to the ranch. No doubt the tracks had been made by whoever had unlocked the gate for them, Nate thought.

The trees opened onto a sprawling ranch headquarters: a main lodge, wings of guest cabins, a network of roads and trails that spun off from the center like spokes on a wagon wheel. Liv parked in front of the lodge near a sign that said LOBBY.