“Why not? There’s an old ghost town close to here. No one has gone there in years … but me. It will be a perfect place for you to finish your work on Kevin.”

Ghost town. She tried to keep any hint of eagerness or excitement from her expression. It had to be the ghost town Zander had mentioned, where he had stashed the phone and gun. Yet she couldn’t be that lucky. “Then why didn’t you bring me there first instead of that coin factory?”

“I told you, an alternate solution, an alternate location.” He pulled out his phone. “Now be quiet. I’ve got to call Blick and tell him that we’re moving in a different direction. He has his own part to play.” He gestured with his rifle. “Keep moving. Don’t think I’m not paying attention to you.” He was dialing quickly. “This will only take a minute. I have to—Blick?” He spoke quickly into the phone. “I’m leaving the coin factory and going to the ghost town. You know what you have to do. I’ll expect you up here right away. Wait, don’t hang up. What about Goldfork? Did you get it?” An instant later, he was cursing. “Failure after failure, Blick. Find her and get that journal from Kendra Michaels.” He drew a deep breath. “No, afterward, I told you where your priority lies. I have a feeling that everything might be closing in on me here. Things aren’t quite what they should be.” He hung up.

“Kendra Michaels?” Eve said. “What’s Kendra got to do with Blick?”

“Your friend, Kendra, is interfering in my plans. She’s searching for you, but she’s getting in my way,” Doane said grimly. “Another sign that your Quinn and Venable may be getting a little too close.” He nudged her again with the rifle. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Lisbon, Colorado

“HEY.” KENDRA LEANED in the passenger-side window and shook Margaret awake. “Ready to join the living?”

Margaret opened one eye, then the other. “It’s light out.”

“Excellent observation. And to think I was having doubts about bringing you with me.” Kendra pushed a tall drink cup through the window.

“What’s this?”

“I got you a green tea. No one who sleeps as soundly as you could possibly be a coffee drinker.”

Margaret smiled and took the cup. “It doesn’t make any difference. I lived next to a rock quarry for a while, and dynamite charges couldn’t wake me.” She glanced around at the old-growth trees and mountains in every direction. “Where are we?”

“Lisbon, Colorado. That’s the Continental Divide you’re looking at.”

Margaret nodded and gazed at the scenery a moment longer before looking at her phone. “It’s seven A.M.?”

“Yes. We got here a couple of hours ago. I thought this valley would be a good place to watch the sunrise, but I slept right through it.” She nodded toward a small white shack situated next to the lot where they were parked. “The coffee place just opened.”

“You’re not mentioning the journal. When we changed seats a few hours ago, I was too tired to ask you any questions. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Only a sadist would find Kevin’s journal interesting,” Kendra said soberly. “He was terrible. But there were a few things in it that sort of puzzled me. I’ll have to read it more closely.”

“By all means.” Margaret climbed out of the car and stretched. “Beautiful place, Kendra, but I have to ask—why here?”

“We found traces of gold in the trunk of Doane’s car. It wasn’t processed, at least not the way gold is now. This area was big during the gold-rush days, and some people still pan for gold around here.”

“Really?”

Kendra nodded toward a man, a woman, and three children climbing from an SUV. “Mostly tourists. There’s a gold-panning operation on the other side of that hill. There might be someone over there we can talk to.”

They followed the family up the path running alongside the parking lot, over a small hill, and found themselves looking down on a gentle stream babbling over rocks and a large tree that had fallen into the water. Two tents were set up next to the stream, staffed with young men and women renting out waders and pans. Two dozen or so people, mostly families, stood in the stream awkwardly moving their pans back and forth.

“Cool.” Margaret smiled. “But nobody here really looks like they know what they’re doing.”

“He does.” Kendra pointed to a bearded man, about seventy, who wore a bright orange vest adorned with the same company logo as on the equipment-rental tents. He was moving from party to party, demonstrating the proper technique for gold panning. “We’ll talk to him.”

They moved down a series of stepping-stones in the water and walked alongside the stream.

The bearded man looked at them and pointed back to the tents. “You rent your waders and pans over there, ladies. You might just strike it rich!”

Kendra smiled. “Do you own this operation?”

“Yes, ma’am, Martin Salle, at your service. I have over forty years’ experience working this area.”

Margaret’s eyes widened. “Forty years? In all that time, I’m surprised you didn’t strike it rich.”

There was nothing critical or catty in her tone, but her remark still caused Salle to look at them suspiciously. “Do you want to rent a pan or not?”

“We’re more interested in information,” Kendra said.

Salle raised his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. “What kind of information?”

Kendra pulled out her phone and showed him a photo of Doane on the screen. “Do you know this man?”

He studied it. “Afraid not. Should I?”

“Not necessarily. We think he may pan for gold in this area.”

“Huh.” Salle lowered his voice. “Did he run out on one of you?”

“No, nothing like that.” Kendra paused. “Are you sure you don’t know him?”

“Oh, I’m sure. It’s just that…” He stepped closer to them. “Look, the only people panning around here are doing it for fun, for a hobby. Like fishing. No one really thinks they’re going to score. It’s like buying a lotto ticket. They do it because it relaxes them. I know most of them, and this guy isn’t one of them.”

“Are there others who do what you do?” Margaret asked. “For tourists, I mean.”

“Sure. There are four or five companies that operate more or less regularly. And half a dozen other people who lead private gold-panning tours. But again, that guy isn’t one of ’em.” Salle looked downstream over his shoulder. “Sorry, but I gotta get back to my group. You might want to ask around at the visitors’ center if you haven’t already.”

“Where is that?”

He pointed to another hill behind him. “Over there. There are bathrooms, a little museum, and a gift shop all in one building. I seriously doubt he pans around here, but if he does, maybe someone there knows him.”

Salle turned his attention back to his group, leaving Kendra and Margaret to step across the stream’s most shallow section and make their way up the hill.

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Margaret asked.

“About not knowing Doane? I’m pretty sure. If he had, there probably would have been at least a flash of recognition when I showed him the photo. There wasn’t one. I was looking for it.”

Margaret smiled. “You have a lot in common with animals.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No, just an observation. Animals are very perceptive about people. They don’t understand our spoken language. So they depend on everything else to make judgments about us. Our tone of voice, body language, the way we smell … Kind of how you absorb everything to form a complete picture. It’s interesting.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. That’s why many animals are such good judges of character. People rely almost entirely on their words to deceive. If you’re not focusing on just that, you have a much better idea about the kind of person you’re dealing with. Of course, you take it to an entirely different level.”

“You mean you’re giving me more credit than you would a poodle?”