in.
Before the cougar had gotten to her, someone had fractured her skull, then stabbed her violently enough to nick her ribs with the blade. Her pack, her watch, the compass her father had given her, the one his father had given him, weren’t found.
Because she’d asked, Coop drove his bike to the start of the Chance farm road at dawn. Melinda Barrett’s murder had delayed his start by two days, and he couldn’t delay it longer.
He saw her standing in the early light, the dogs milling around her, the hills at her back. He’d remember that, he thought. Remember Lil just like that until he saw her again.
When he stopped and got off the bike, the dogs raced and leaped. Lil simply went into his arms.
“Would you call, when you get to New York?”
“Yes. Are you all right?”
“It’s so much. I thought we’d have more time alone. Just alone to be. Then we found her. They don’t have any idea who did that to her, or if they do, they’re not saying. She just walked that trail, and someone killed her. For her pack? Her watch? For no reason? I can’t get it out of my mind, and we haven’t had our time.” She tipped her face up, met his lips with hers. “It’s just for a while.”
“For a while.”
“I know you have to go, but . . . did you eat? Do you need anything?” She tried to smile as tears drenched her throat. “Watch how I stall.”
“I had flapjacks. Grandma knows my weakness. They gave me five thousand dollars, Lil. They wouldn’t let me say no.”
“Good.” She kissed him again. “Good. Then I won’t worry about you starving to death in some gutter. I’ll miss you. God, I miss you already. Go. You need to go.”
“I’ll call. I’ll miss you.”
“Kick ass at the academy, Coop.”
He got on the bike, took one last long look. “I’ll come back.”
“To me,” she murmured when he gunned the engine. “Come back to me.”
She watched until he was out of sight, until she was sure he was gone. In the soft, early light, she sat on the ground, and gathering the dogs to her, wept her heart out.
6
SOUTH DAKOTA
February 2009
The little Cessna shuddered, then gave a couple of quick, annoyed bucks as it buzzed over the hills, the plains and valleys. Lil shifted in her seat. Not from nerves—she’d been through worse air than this and come out fine. She shifted for a better view. Her Black Hills were white with February, a snow globe of rises, ridges, and flats, rib-boned by frozen streams, laced by shivering pines.
She imagined the wind on the ground was nearly as raw and mean as it could be up here, so a good, strong inhale would be like gulping down broken glass.
She couldn’t have been happier.
She was nearly home.
The last six months had been incredible, an experience she’d never forget. She’d been drenched, had sweltered, been frozen, been bitten and stung—all while studying pumas in the Andes.
She’d earned every penny of the research grant, and hoped to earn more with the papers and articles she’d written, and would write.
Money aside—though in her position that was a luxury she couldn’t afford—every mile she’d hiked, every bruise, every sore muscle had been worth the sight of a golden puma stalking prey in the rain forest, or perched like an idol on a cliffside.
But now she was ready for home. Back to her own habitat.
Work waited, and plenty of it. Six months equaled her longest field trip, and even keeping in touch when she could, she’d face mountains of work.
The Chance Wildlife Refuge was her baby, after all.
But before she dived in, she wanted a day, even a day to wallow in home.
She stretched out her legs as best she could in the confines of the cabin, crossed her hiking boots at the ankles. She’d been traveling, one way or the other, for a day and a half, but this last leg washed away any travel fatigue.
“Gonna get bumpy.”
She glanced over at Dave, the pilot. “And it’s been smooth as a lake so
Before the cougar had gotten to her, someone had fractured her skull, then stabbed her violently enough to nick her ribs with the blade. Her pack, her watch, the compass her father had given her, the one his father had given him, weren’t found.
Because she’d asked, Coop drove his bike to the start of the Chance farm road at dawn. Melinda Barrett’s murder had delayed his start by two days, and he couldn’t delay it longer.
He saw her standing in the early light, the dogs milling around her, the hills at her back. He’d remember that, he thought. Remember Lil just like that until he saw her again.
When he stopped and got off the bike, the dogs raced and leaped. Lil simply went into his arms.
“Would you call, when you get to New York?”
“Yes. Are you all right?”
“It’s so much. I thought we’d have more time alone. Just alone to be. Then we found her. They don’t have any idea who did that to her, or if they do, they’re not saying. She just walked that trail, and someone killed her. For her pack? Her watch? For no reason? I can’t get it out of my mind, and we haven’t had our time.” She tipped her face up, met his lips with hers. “It’s just for a while.”
“For a while.”
“I know you have to go, but . . . did you eat? Do you need anything?” She tried to smile as tears drenched her throat. “Watch how I stall.”
“I had flapjacks. Grandma knows my weakness. They gave me five thousand dollars, Lil. They wouldn’t let me say no.”
“Good.” She kissed him again. “Good. Then I won’t worry about you starving to death in some gutter. I’ll miss you. God, I miss you already. Go. You need to go.”
“I’ll call. I’ll miss you.”
“Kick ass at the academy, Coop.”
He got on the bike, took one last long look. “I’ll come back.”
“To me,” she murmured when he gunned the engine. “Come back to me.”
She watched until he was out of sight, until she was sure he was gone. In the soft, early light, she sat on the ground, and gathering the dogs to her, wept her heart out.
6
SOUTH DAKOTA
February 2009
The little Cessna shuddered, then gave a couple of quick, annoyed bucks as it buzzed over the hills, the plains and valleys. Lil shifted in her seat. Not from nerves—she’d been through worse air than this and come out fine. She shifted for a better view. Her Black Hills were white with February, a snow globe of rises, ridges, and flats, rib-boned by frozen streams, laced by shivering pines.
She imagined the wind on the ground was nearly as raw and mean as it could be up here, so a good, strong inhale would be like gulping down broken glass.
She couldn’t have been happier.
She was nearly home.
The last six months had been incredible, an experience she’d never forget. She’d been drenched, had sweltered, been frozen, been bitten and stung—all while studying pumas in the Andes.
She’d earned every penny of the research grant, and hoped to earn more with the papers and articles she’d written, and would write.
Money aside—though in her position that was a luxury she couldn’t afford—every mile she’d hiked, every bruise, every sore muscle had been worth the sight of a golden puma stalking prey in the rain forest, or perched like an idol on a cliffside.
But now she was ready for home. Back to her own habitat.
Work waited, and plenty of it. Six months equaled her longest field trip, and even keeping in touch when she could, she’d face mountains of work.
The Chance Wildlife Refuge was her baby, after all.
But before she dived in, she wanted a day, even a day to wallow in home.
She stretched out her legs as best she could in the confines of the cabin, crossed her hiking boots at the ankles. She’d been traveling, one way or the other, for a day and a half, but this last leg washed away any travel fatigue.
“Gonna get bumpy.”
She glanced over at Dave, the pilot. “And it’s been smooth as a lake so
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