The Desert Eagle didn't shine with chrome. It was matte finish, dark, and all business. The weight of the weapon told Dan what he already knew-it was loaded. With automatic motions he released the safety and held the gun down along his leg. Quickly, silent but for the faint crunch of glass beneath his shoes, he went back across the living room and stood to the side of the broken window.

Moonlight poured into the living room through the torn curtains. He stared out at the front of the property. Nothing moved except a black shape speeding away down the road.

Someone was running without lights.

"Dan?" Carly's voice was a whisper.

"Not yet." His voice was low, pitched to reach only her. "I think he's gone, but I want to be sure. Don't move from your bed until I get back."

"But why should you be the one to…" Her voice died as she spotted the gun held against his leg. "Oh."

He tossed his cell phone to her. "Call 911. My house is in the county's jurisdiction."

She grabbed the phone out of the air and began punching in numbers. "You're really going to have to tell me about your job," she muttered.

He went out the kitchen door without saying anything. The night was bright and clean and icy. The faint smell of a badly tuned gasoline engine lingered on the air.

If Dan had thought he was the target, he would have taken a long, careful time going around the house and narrow lean-to. But Carly was the target and he wanted to wrap his fingers around someone's neck. He went through the motions of a search with a speed that would have appalled his Special Ops trainers. But then, as he'd told them every day of training, he was a scholar, not a soldier, and there was no way they could turn him into a lean, mean killing machine.

All Dan found was a blurred set of tracks going from the road to the frozen front yard and back again. The combination of half-melted and then refrozen snow and mud didn't offer much in the way of information. The person hadn't been a giant or a midget, and hadn't worn spike heels or anything that left a distinct impression.

He put the gun on safety and jammed it into his jeans at the small of his back. It wasn't comfortable that way, but it wouldn't wander.

"It's okay, Carly," he called out. "But stay in bed anyway. There's glass all over and it's damned cold."

He went to the lean-to, found some old fence posts, and brought them into the house.

Carly watched in silence while he nailed the posts over the broken window. He wielded the hammer like a man with vengeance on his mind. The butt of the big handgun showed against his shirt.

Moonlight glittered through broken glass and vertical posts.

"Looks like a jail," Carly said.

He smiled rather grimly. "It won't do anything for the warmth, but it will keep out visitors. I'll get some plywood in the morning." He really looked at her for the first time. She was pale in the moonlight, almost ghostly. She was holding what looked like a greeting card. Her hand trembled. "You okay, honey?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be? People throw bricks through my windows all the time. And leave dead rats, and trash my car, and scream at me over the phone, and…" She swallowed hard, trying to remove the adrenaline huskiness from her voice. "Outright death threats are still new. They'll take some getting used to."

He crunched through the glass and sat on his heels beside the inflatable mattress. Silently he took the card from her hand. It was a standard greeting card, available in any store. The front said: I'VE BEEN MEANING TO TELL YOU…

He opened the card. The action triggered the tiny recorder that was part of the card. A voice whispered, "Get her out of town before she dies."

Chapter 27

QUINTRELL RANCH

WEDNESDAY MORNING

MELISSA COVERED HER FACE WHILE THE HELICOPTER SETTLED ONTO THE SMALL PAD and shut down. She didn't step forward until the rotors stopped turning and the air settled down.

"Governor, what an unexpected pleasure," Melissa said. Her expression asked what was wrong. She raised her hand, signaling to one of the ranch employees. "Jim just brought the mail in from Taos. He'll take care of your luggage."

Josh rubbed his face wearily. He and Anne had spent a long night hashing out the least politically destructive way to handle the Jeanette Dykstra situation. He hadn't planned to move this quickly after the Senator's death, but he didn't have any choice now.

"Thanks, Jim," Josh said, shaking the man's hand. "How's the hunting?"

"Real slow. The drought has cut way back on the predators."

"Good news. I could use some."

"Yeah, you look kinda like you been rode hard and put away wet."

Josh almost laughed. "Good thing you're a hell of a shot. You'd never make it in politics."

"That's the Lord's truth." Jim scooped up the single duffel the chopper pilot unloaded. "Traveling light."

"Yes."

Josh's tone didn't invite conversation, but he knew Jim wouldn't be insulted. The wolfer's job kept him away from people most of the time. If Jim didn't like being solitary, he would have found other work.

Biting her lip, feeling fear clench her stomach, Melissa followed the governor to the main house.

"Is the doctor finished with Sylvia?" Josh asked.

She glanced at her watch and then at the driveway. The doctor's Mercedes was still parked to the side, dusty from the ride in.

"He'll be through soon," she said. "As you requested, I told him to wait for you."

Josh grunted. As soon as they were inside, he headed for Sylvia's suite. When he got there, he walked in without knocking.

Winifred glanced up, frowned, and then turned to Sylvia again, rubbing in more smelly goo. Though no one could tell it, Winifred was impatient for everyone to leave. In the mail Jim had brought there was a package from a DNA testing group. She wanted to get the samples mailed as quickly as possible.

And as quietly.

Dr. Sands removed his stethoscope, draped it over his neck, and straightened up from his exam of his patient.

"Well?" Winifred asked the doctor.

"She's slipping. It's fairly slow, but it's sure. Pulse is shallow and rapid, same for breathing, dry skin, barely any flesh."

"You said that last week."

"I meant it then. I mean it now. It's a miracle she's still alive. I should send that stinking cream you use to a lab for analysis."

For a moment, Winifred closed her eyes. She knew more than the doctor how close her sister was to death. Only Winifred's all-day, every-day care kept her alive. Damn that womanizing son of a bitch to the deepest circle of hell. And damn his son, too. She opened her eyes and gave Josh a bleak look.

He said, "I think it's time to admit Sylvia to a care facility."

Whatever Winifred had been expecting, it wasn't that. "No!"

"Yes." Josh's voice was like he was, calm and immovable, a man used to being heard.

The doctor busied himself putting away the blood pressure cuff and other gear.

"I've kept her alive for years," Winifred said.

"We're grateful. Unfortunately, you've traded your health for hers. Most nights you spend sleeping in a chair next to her. Now, even five feet away from you, I can hear the difficulty you have breathing." Josh looked at the doctor, who nodded.

"I'll check Miss Winifred before I leave," Dr. Sands said.

"It's nothing," she said. "My lungs just got cold when I went out for more firewood, that's all."

The doctor looked at her and frowned. "If you don't take care of yourself, you'll have pneumonia. Sounds like you're more than halfway there right now."

"In any case, we can't have you close to Sylvia when you're ill," Josh said. "She's too fragile. Dr. Sands, I want you to arrange medical transport for Sylvia to Oasis Nursing Home in Santa Fe as soon as possible. Surely within the next few days."