Had Lindsey killed him, despite how nice she seemed? Did Lindsey have the missing gun that they hadn't yet found in Gibbs's condo? And the romantic little tabby thought, Oh, if Lindsey turns out to be a killer, that will break Mike Flannery's heart.

"I'll see if I can lift latents from the letter," Davis was saying, "or get it off to the lab." And as Davis hung up, Dulcie dropped down to the counter.

Now, with this new piece to the puzzle, with two anonymous notes in the mix, Dulcie burned to bring the box of stationery to the detectives. And she burned to slip into the condo again, look in the remaining boxes for a laptop and maybe a small printer, for a gun, and for samples of hand printing. And she left the station beside Kit thinking, with sweating paws, about another break-and-enter within those confining walls.

22

IT WAS JUST dawn when Ryan's red pickup headed up the hills on the narrow dirt road that led to the Pamillon estate. Sunrise stained the green slopes and sent a rosy glow into the cab. Ryan drove, her dad sitting in the front beside her. Behind them Rock rode restlessly in the backseat of the king cab, his short tail wagging madly: Adventure lay ahead, he sensed Ryan's intensity, and the big dog quivered with anticipation.

Mike sat turned, watching him but thinking about Lindsey, who had gone on an errand with Dallas this morning, and the Scots Irishman was as restless as the Weimaraner. Ryan watched her dad with amusement, knowing that he was jealous, jealous that Lindsey was with Dallas, and she turned away to hide a smile.

Dallas, now that he had an ID on Carson Chappell, had wanted a look at Chappell's belongings, which Lindsey had stored in a locker up the valley. A perfectly straightforward errand, but it had Mike fidgeting. Dad, you're getting serious, she thought, grinning.

The day before yesterday, when Ryan and Clyde had gotten home from the wine country, her dad had swung by the house to bring Rock home, to drop off Clyde's roadster, and to pick up his clothes; Lindsey had followed him in her Mercedes. He'd said they were off to the dealerships, that it was time he bought a car, that they'd have an early dinner up the coast. In Ryan's opinion, when a guy took his date with him car shopping, he was hooked-and now this morning Lindsey was off with Dallas on a perfectly innocent errand and he was as jealous as a kid.

But as Ryan came up over the last hill below the Pamillon estate, she thought she'd have her dad's full attention very soon. That for the next hour, Lindsey would take a backseat to what was about to happen.

Mike thought this venture to "test" Rock's tracking skills was foolish, he'd made it clear it could do more harm than good, could create problems with Rock's future training-but early this morning, in the dark hour before dawn, Clyde and Joe Grey had left home in the roadster, heading up here to the ruins to execute their part of the plan.

Mike didn't have a clue to what he was about to witness. He knew Clyde had laid a trail, but he thought he was going to see a confused, uncertain dog or a dog running crazily off after squirrels or deer, that he was going to see a very embarrassed handler. But in a few minutes, her good dog was going to prove Mike Flannery way wrong. Was going to show Mike the impossible-and was going to win her a hundred-dollar bet. She could already feel that crisp bill lining her pocket.

Mike didn't often gamble. When he did, his bets were penny ante, never for a hundred bucks, but this morning he knew he couldn't lose.

He believed he couldn't lose, Ryan thought smugly. Yesterday she and Clyde, and Joe Grey, had worked with Rock up at the Harper ranch, with only Charlie to witness their bizarre training session as, quickly and efficiently, the gray tomcat had instilled in Rock a hunger for tracking, an intent focus, that would have taken a human trainer months to accomplish.

Joe's tutoring was inspired. The tomcat employed a brilliant show-and-tell method that no human trainer could ever duplicate.

Rock already knew the word "Find" that Clyde and Ryan used around the house: "Find Clyde," or "Find Ryan." Before Joe's first training session, Rock had considered the command a word to be obeyed, or not, depending on his mood.

Now, after Joe's training, that word brought the big dog to full attention. The command was no longer arbitrary.

Now, they must never again use "Find" in a casual or unthinking way. Now, "Find" must be reserved only for Rock's serious work.

Yesterday afternoon, before Ryan and Rock arrived at the ranch, Clyde had walked a complicated trail through the Harpers' pastures, leaving his scent in the air and on the low grass and earth, a trail that only an animal could detect, then he had vanished into the woods.

When Ryan and Rock arrived, her command to "Find Clyde" had garnered only a happy, doggy smile. Not seeing Clyde nearby, Rock had laughed up at her and was about to race away to the pasture to play with the two Harper dogs when Joe Grey took command.

The tomcat moved in front of Rock, fixing him with a bold gaze. "Find Clyde! Find Clyde now!"

Rock had always paid attention to Joe. The phenomenon of a talking cat had never quite lost its shock value. Now, when Joe commanded, Rock cocked his head, staring down at Joe, his ears up, his short tail wagging. Of course he had caught Clyde's scent, but Clyde wasn't in sight, so what was all the fuss?

Joe put his nose to the ground, sniffing up Clyde's scent, and again he told Rock to "Find! Find Clyde now!" and he set off on the trail in a passion of excitement, the tomcat's every move meaning business-and Rock came to full alert. Touched with doggy awe of the tomcat, the Weimaraner put his own nose to the ground and fell in beside Joe, drinking up the scent, huffing with Joe's challenge: This strange tomcat was, suddenly, keenly fixed on matters of mysterious importance.

Following Joe's lead, Rock stayed intently on Clyde's trail back and forth along every turn and backtrack that Clyde had made. Joe's intense concentration was the key. This predatory pursuit of the trail by another animal awakened in the Weimaraner's blood all the skills he was bred to. Soon he was racing ahead of Joe, nose to the trail, caught in the deep animal thrill of tracking, experiencing an explosive epiphany in his doggy soul-this pursuit spoke to the Weimaraner's deepest needs, to a genetic hunger older than the breed itself, to an imperative as ancient as Rock's wolf ancestors. He knew nothing but the scent he tracked, he flew after it, he wheeled and doubled back and plunged ahead through the woods, cutting sharply around the oaks and pines. He never wavered onto a rabbit or deer track, though Joe said later that those smells had been fresh and enticing.

When at last Rock found Clyde hiding in the woods, he keened a sharp, quick series of barks and plowed into Clyde, leaping on him, yipping and whining. The two of them tussled roughly, Clyde laughing and Rock barking with pleasure. The word "Find" had become a red flag of fierce excitement, the lesson imprinted so sharply on his keen Weimaraner mind that it would never be forgotten.

That same afternoon, under Joe's direction, Rock had tracked Ryan with equal focus and joy. And just before supper he'd tracked Charlie. When he found her hiding in the hay barn, he was all over her-manners were on hold when it came to tracking, manners would be considered later, under different circumstances. Right now the key was enthusiasm and joy, and the team let Rock know he was the most wonderful dog the world had ever seen.

Ryan had been so thrilled with the performance that she had hugged Joe Grey, nearly smothering him, hardly knowing what to say to him. "If you weren't so valuable to the department, you could be a professional dog trainer. Except Detective Davis, for one, would rather you stayed on as snitch, forever."