The Drunkard's Path

The Drunkard’s Path

Sylvia Madsen

Copyright Warning EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. Published By: Etopia Press P.O. Box 66 Medford, OR 97501 http://www.etopia-press.net The Drunkard’s Path Copyright © 2012 by Sylvia Madsen ISBN: 978-1-937976-12-5 Edited by Thalia S. Child Cover by Annie Melton All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Etopia Press electronic publication: February 2012

~ Dedication ~ In memory of my father, Vernon Lyle Husk, a soldier, teacher, poet and dreamer.

Chapter One

“The Godwit flies tonight.” Michael “Call” Sanchez swung long legs off his desk at the Humboldt County Observer in Eureka, California. His feet hit the floor with a thump, and his cracked, imitation leather chair jerked upright. He tried not to choke on a mouthful of cinnamon mocha Frappuccino. “What?” He swallowed hard. “When? Where?” Bambi’s high-pitched giggle tinkled through the receiver. “You forgot who and why. The Elk Grove. Arcata Community Forest, eight p.m. Oh, and it’s semiformal, so dress nice.” Click. Call stared at the phone. What did she mean by that last comment? He shrugged it off. Women. Who could understand them? Everything about this particular woman had begun to annoy him. Her perfume was cloyingly sweet, and she never stopped complaining about the size of her ass. However, her voice, which ordinarily sounded like two cats mating on the back fence, today was sweet music to his ears. He resumed his customary pose, chair tilted back, feet propped on the desk. Phones rang, reporters

chattered, and keyboards clicked in the newsroom around him, but Call didn’t hear them. Bambi Martin, secretary to the mayor of Vleetville, had just handed him a ticket to the big leagues. He was about to break the story of the year, maybe of the decade. He’d unseat the mayor, possibly send his honor and a few crooked contractors to jail, and save the taxpayers a bundle. He was about to uncover the stinking sewer plant scandal. *** “No, Jeremy. For the last time, you may not have a paint ball gun.” Cameo Muldoon glanced at her nine-year-old son, riding shotgun in the farm pickup. Jeremy’s fists were clenched, and his lightly freckled complexion flushed bright pink. “But Jason has one. And so do Kyle and Monte and Connor. I’m the only kid in the whole fourth grade who doesn’t have a paint ball gun.” His hair seemed to emit streaks of red fire as he pleaded his case. Or maybe it was just the reflection of the setting sun. She sighed, determined to avoid another argument. “I’m sorry, Germ. You know how I feel about weapons. Even pretend ones.” Jeremy settled into what was lately his second most frequent posture. Sullen. Perhaps sensing further argument was futile, he slumped against the

pickup’s door, as far away from her as he could get, and stared out the window. The truck had barely stopped when he jumped out and ran into the sprawling gray clapboard farmhouse. A door slammed inside. She stood for a moment beside the open door of the pickup, gazing at the house. He was probably playing video games, another area of contention because she wouldn’t allow him to buy the more violent ones. Or maybe just lying on his bed with his pet rabbit, Attila, staring at the ceiling and brooding about the injustice of life. Should she go in and make him help unload the produce they hadn’t sold at the farmers’ market today? Probably, but she didn’t have the energy. Jeremy had always been such a sweet boy, but he was changing lately. He’d become moodier and more susceptible to peer pressure. He seemed desperate to fit in. Growing up without a father couldn’t be easy. And that damn camp down the road didn’t help. Within the past few months, it had morphed into a training ground for wannabe mercenaries, survivalists, and assorted wild-eyed lunatics from all corners of the globe. Cameo opened the tailgate of the cherry red 1963 Chevy pickup with a little more force than necessary. They could afford a new vehicle, but her partner and farm handyman, Tobias Greene, kept this one in mint condition. Besides, the vintage truck with the logos of Bunny Love Farms and Mama Gia’s Bakery painted

on its sides was an excellent marketing tool, helping draw tourists off Highway 98 to the family business in Nugget, California. She pulled a wooden crate filled with an assortment of baby salad greens from the back of the truck and began the first of many trips to the screened front porch. When Colonel Tremaine had been in charge of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience, the camp had taught solid outdoor skills emphasizing judgment and decision making. Folks in Nugget snickered a year ago when the new camp flyer included courses like Aligning Your Chakras and Spiritual Healing through Tai Chi. They’d all assumed the New Age offerings were the brainchild of Trevor Tremaine, the colonel’s chubby, adored, only child. The colonel had spent months grooming Trevor to take over the family business before he and Mrs. Tremaine went on a round-the-world cruise to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. Sort of a trial run, in case the colonel ever decided to retire. The Far Horizon had barely set sail before Trevor named himself CEO of Mad Jack Enterprises and brought Gundar Romanov to Nugget as the new camp commander. Gundar completely revamped the curriculum to attract a tougher, more fanatic brand of camper. He staked out a paint ball course and began advertising in the back of Soldier of Fortune-type magazines.

Unfortunately, hundreds of the pre-Gundar fliers had already been mailed, so the camp currently accommodated an uncomfortable mix of back-tonature types, along with look-at-me-wrong-and-I’llkill-you campers. Cameo dropped a box of brightly colored bell peppers onto the growing stack on her front porch. No sir. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. She’d called a family meeting at her mother’s house in Nugget to discuss the situation but the results had been disappointing. With three of her four sisters present, not one had supported her suggestion that they call Colonel Tremaine to let him know what was going on. As usual, Mama Gia had the last word. “Cara mia, I know you don’t like these men who come to Nugget, strutting around with their big muscles, pretending to be soldiers. I know you don’t want Jeremy to be like them. But have they committed any crime? I don’t think so. We can’t call Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine on their second honeymoon because we don’t like a man’s looks, can we? Trevor is in charge now. It’s not our place to interfere.” That was all well and good, but Mama hadn’t been going to the camp twice a week to deliver produce. Something wasn’t right. There had been a complete turnover in staff, and the campers looked more like felons than nature lovers. Several of the employees were even carrying guns.

Cameo stacked the last box of produce on the porch, then stood for a few minutes, gazing out at the fields while she caught her breath. She liked the physical work on the farm, liked feeling strong and independent. Until recently, she thought she’d done a good job as a single parent. Would Jeremy be any happier, better adjusted, if he had a father? Probably, but a father was one thing she couldn’t give him. Nor could she bring back the grandfather her son had loved so much. She stretched her back, watching the Klamath River flow past neat rows of snow peas, scallions, beets, turnips, and radishes. The ever-shifting face of nature helped strengthen her resolve. There were some things she couldn’t change, but by God, she could find out what was going on at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. And she planned to do just that.

Chapter Two

“Of all the lame-brained, idiotic schemes I’ve seen reporters come up with in my thirty years in journalism, this has got to top them all.” Managing editor Rand Murphy waved a copy of The Banana Slug in Call’s face. The banner headline on the alternative weekly screamed, “Observer Reporter Accosts Mayor.” An above-the-fold photo showed Call and photographer Eric “The Mole” Moeller at a picnic area in the Arcata Community Forest. Although the Mole’s face was hidden by his camera, Call looked like a man who’d just been informed that his doctor had amputated the wrong leg. A second photo showed sad secretary Bambi Martin with the caption, “I thought he loved me.” As Murphy continued to rant and wave the newspaper, Call escaped to his private inner world. It was a technique he’d perfected early in life, appearing to be tuned in while his mind was light years away. How had things gone so terribly wrong? Call and Mole had arrived at Arcata Community Forest right on time, expecting to catch the mayor as

he handed a suitcase full of money to one of his crooked inspectors. All was quiet as they crept down the road to the picnic grounds, not daring to use more than penlights to find their way. They were almost to the clearing they heard a man’s voice. “Is that you, darling?” They barely had time to exchange surprised glances before they were blinded by lights. Acting on instinct, Mole whipped the camera to his face and began taking photos. Numerous flashbulbs returned fire. The battle of flashes went on for a good minute or two, until the mayor’s wife wandered onto the scene in her pink party dress. “Henry?” she’d said in a high, wavery voice. “What’s going on here?” He and Mole attempted to slink off, claiming they were lost, but Bambi spotted them and started screeching about Call being her date, and what was he doing sneaking around with a photographer? Mayor Hind called them a few unflattering names and blasted them for ruining his wife’s surprise party. Bambi cried, the mayor’s wife cried, and the partygoers were beginning to form an ugly mob so he and Mole beat feet out of there. “I was set up,” Call said. Murphy stopped in mid-rant. “Did you hear anything I just said?” “You said I have my head up my ass,” Call said. “Bambi Martin set me up. She was my contact in the mayor’s office. I’ve been investigating him for months. I know he’s bribing contractors and paying

off inspectors so he can build a cheap, substandard sewer plant. In the meantime, he’s been buying up all the property he can get his hands on. The bastard stands to make a fortune when the new sewer plant is completed and Vleetville lifts its moratorium on growth.” The managing editor looked at him speculatively. “You have the facts to back this up?” “Some of it. I haven’t been able to find out how he cut costs on the sewer plant so he could sell the idea to the people of Vleetville. But I do have documentation of his land deals, most of which he bought through phony corporations. And I found out about the contractors and inspectors from his secretary.” “Who set you up.” “Yeah.” Heat rose in his cheeks. Murphy’s blue eyes bored into him like twin laser beams. “There’s nothing I hate worse than a crooked politician, unless it’s a mewling, puking bunch of granola heads who wouldn’t know a good story if bit them on the ass. Mayor Hind had The Banana Slug there for a reason, and I don’t think it was to capture the look of surprise on his wife’s face. “So you’re in luck, Sanchez. I’m not going to can you, mostly because I’d rather cut off my left nut than give Mayor Hind and that pretentious fish wrap the satisfaction.” Relief flowed through Call like a cup of hot java. He’d come in this morning expecting to be flayed alive and fired, but only half of his predictions were

coming true. He sat a little straighter. “Thank you, sir.” Murphy tossed the offending newspaper in his wastebasket. “However, I am taking you off the political beat. Your new assignment will be features. I’ve instructed Liz Lessard to get you out of town until things cool off.” He took off his glasses, regarding Call with icy disdain. “When you come back, you’ll be writing obits, editing the community calendar of events, and possibly covering the flower show, when Liz thinks you’re ready. Report to her immediately. I want your notes on this sewer plant mess typed and in my box by the end of the day.” Call felt like he’d been gut-punched. He wasn’t sure which was worse, getting fired or working for Liz Lessard. He unrolled his six foot, three inch frame from the chair and prepared to shuffle out the door. “A piece of advice,” Murphy said, voice gruff. “Yes, sir?” “Never underestimate the wrath of a woman.” Call walked out of the managing editor’s office with his head hung low, but not low enough to miss the evil looks of his coworkers. Shana, the cute little editorial assistant he’d dated a time or two, glanced his way, then tossed her head and flounced to the water cooler. A couple of female reporters looked up from their computers, mouths tight with disapproval. Features editor Liz Lessard cocked her head to one side, watching him with bright, hawkish eyes. Her thin lips parted in a cruel smile. As usual, scarlet

lipstick smeared her front teeth, making her look as though she’d just devoured a small rodent. Eduardo, the Observer’s art director, breezed past him, cool and stylish as always. “You know, there’s a name for guys like you.” Call wished he could sink into the worn linoleum floor. “Go ahead and say it. I can’t feel any lower than I do right now.” “Slut,” Shana said. “Gigolo,” Lessard said. “Man ho.” Eduardo dropped an ad page in the box for marketing and headed back to his domain. Call opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. They were right. He had no defense. He’d dated Bambi, slept with her, and used her for information. Maybe she had climbed him like a spider monkey on their first date. And maybe she was shallow, annoying, and spectacularly boring. Bambi Martin still had feelings. Call began the long walk to his cubicle. “Now that we’ve got the public scourging out of the way, I have an assignment for you.” Liz Lessard looked directly at him while she crushed what was likely her second pack of cigarettes for the day and dropped it in the wastebasket. He forced his legs to carry him into Liz’s lair, where the features editor handed him a large manila envelope. “Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. I thought it would be the perfect assignment for you. Plus, it has the added attraction of getting you out of Eureka for a couple of weeks. Accounting will issue a

check to cover your camp fees, but there will be no mileage or per diem. Count your blessings that you still have a job, darling. Have fun!” She waggled inchlong scarlet nails in his direction and punctuated her goodbye with a horrible cackle. Call hurried toward his desk before anyone else could hurl tomatoes. Damn! He’d thought Bambi’s laugh was bad. It probably didn’t help that Liz had caught him drawing a caricature of her as a velociraptor gobbling up society matrons at the Eureka Historical Society’s annual home tour. In the safety of his cubicle, he stared at the envelope. Growing up in Orange County in sunny Southern California, he’d done some surfing and had even tried hang gliding a time or two. He enjoyed shooting hoops, drinking beer, and watching sports on TV. But schlepping around in the forest with a bunch of guys who’d watched too many Steven Seagal movies was about as appealing as trading his BMW for a mud-splattered pickup truck. The Mole’s dreadlocked head appeared around the edge of the partition separating Call’s desk from the rest of the newsroom. Mole’s was the first friendly face he’d seen all day. “Hey, man. Can I come in?” “Sure.” Call sat back in his chair and gave the photographer a sympathetic smile. “Did Murph take a chunk out of you too?” “Naw, not so bad. He told me to clear all assignments through the city editor until further notice. And a few other things you probably don’t want to hear.”

Call raised his hands. “I’ve heard enough.” Mole’s eyes looked pinker than usual, and he wore a beatific smile. He’d undoubtedly smoked a little ganja this morning, a peccadillo everyone overlooked because he was the best photographer on staff. He plopped on the edge of Call’s desk, and his plaid flannel shirt flapped open to reveal a Bob Marley T-shirt. “I hear you’re going to camp.” “News travels fast. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me with a bunch of nosy reporters around. Whatcha got there? Lunch?” Call pointed to a canvas Nature’s Bounty tote bag his friend held. The Mole looked momentarily confused. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a going away present.” He took a generous square of cellophane-wrapped cake from the bag. “They make the best carrot cake in a little town called Nugget. I think it’s pretty close to your camp. Totally organic.” He leaned closer, bringing a whiff of marijuana overlaid with patchouli. “And it’s great for the munchies.” They bumped fists, and the Mole ambled away. “Good luck, amigo.” No sense in putting off the inevitable. Call tore open the manila envelope and dumped its contents on his desk. A glossy three-by-five color brochure caught his eye. It showed a broad wooden gate with a sign hanging from the top, reading Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. Beyond the neat redwood fence lay a parking area holding a fleet of Jeeps emblazoned with

the camp logo. A handsome lodge occupied the center of the photo. Smoke curled from its chimney, and comfortable chairs were scattered across the wide, deeply shaded veranda. In the distance, he saw several cabins tucked among the trees. When he opened the brochure, a beaming chef, flanked by his kitchen staff, displayed platters of delicious food. Wild salmon, a prime rib, vegetables, fruit, rolls…and dessert! The caption said, “We work our men hard and we feed them good.” This might not be so bad. It sounded more like a dude ranch for survivalists than hell on earth. He’d been so nervous about his meeting with the editor this morning that he’d skipped breakfast. The picture of Mad Jack’s feast made his stomach rumble. He eyed the cake Mole had dropped off. The label read Mama Gia’s Carrot Cake. Baked fresh with all natural ingredients. It showed a picture of a bunny rabbit nibbling a carrot. Although Call appreciated his friend’s thoughtfulness, the truth was he’d hated carrots since he’d been a kid with flaming orange hair. Not red, orange. Although his hair eventually darkened to auburn, all the carrot top jokes had branded him with a deep-seated aversion to the vegetable. Still, he was starving and he didn’t want to run the newsroom gauntlet to get to the snack machines in the break room. He peeled back the cellophane and took a tentative bite. Hey, this is good. I can’t even taste the carrots. Call leaned back in his chair and propped his legs on the

desk. Just who was this Mad Jack, he wondered as he munched the cake. He’d nose around and see what kind of dirt he could come up with. He’d ditch his byline name, Michael Sanchez, when he checked into Mad Jack’s. His assignment had been to write a feature story about the camp, and he couldn’t get an honest impression if everybody knew he was a reporter. Besides, he worked better undercover. He’d register as Call Sanchez, carpenter, from Orange County, California. His father was a general contractor, and Call had worked summers for him all through high school and college. He figured he knew enough about the business to fake it. Pot farms, fugitives from justice, simmering resentments, blood feuds. There were sure to be secrets in those ancient forests. A ghost of a smile played on Call’s lips as he drifted off to dream of vice, corruption, and evildoing in the wilds of Northern California.

Chapter Three

The silver-gray BMW wasn’t brand new but it definitely looked out of place in the parking lot of Mama Gia’s Bakery. A camper, Cameo thought. She’d just returned from a shopping trip to Nature’s Bounty natural food store in Arcata and now backed into a spot in front of the bakery. Ordinarily, she would have parked around back to unload, but Allegra had called and given her a heads-up that repairmen were working on one of the ovens. Business was slow this time of day and it seemed easier to walk through the bakery to the kitchen than dodge workmen. She’d barely come to a stop when Jeremy bailed out with his skateboard. “Hey! I could use some help unloading this stuff,” Cameo hollered. “Okay, Mom. Be right there.” He dropped the skateboard and clattered away over the asphalt. A couple of quick pumps and he was flying off the curb onto a quiet side street. She held her breath but managed to resist the impulse to yell at her son to be careful. She’d be so glad when school ended for the summer, and she

could delegate some of the errands to her sister BJ, the culinary arts teacher at Hoopa High School. Cameo felt like she spent half her life loading and unloading the darn truck. “Afternoon, Duffy. Doc Henshaw. Nice to see you.” She waved at two older gentlemen playing twohanded pinochle in front of the bakery. As usual, they’d bypassed the pretty patio tables in favor of a couple of dilapidated wooden chairs and an antique pickle barrel next to the front door. She’d be very surprised if the hot tea they were drinking wasn’t spiked with a little something from Duffy’s jacket. She smiled to herself. Arcata might have their Godwit Days in April, but folks in Nugget didn’t believe it was spring until Doc and Duffy made their appearance on the veranda of Mama Gia’s Bakery. They’d occupied the same spot every fine spring and summer afternoon she could remember. Doctor Matthew Henshaw had delivered most of the town, and Aloysius Duffet, of Duffet’s Funeral Home, had buried them. “Hello yourself, young lady. Need some help with those groceries?” Duffy asked. “Thanks, but I think I can manage,” she replied. “I don’t want to interrupt your game.” She doubted either of the seventy-something gentlemen could handle a forty-pound sack of flour or an ice chest filled with eggs and butter. She climbed into the bed of the pickup to plan her attack. “Maybe you’ll let me help.”

The rich baritone voice, so close to the truck, made her jump. Cameo turned to see an auburnhaired stranger looking up at her. He didn’t have to crane his neck far. Good gravy, he was tall! And very, very cute. She had a hard time looking away from his piercing blue eyes, but when she did, she noticed an engaging smile and a long, well-defined body that he seemed totally comfortable inhabiting. “No,” she said, a little too forcefully, then added, “Thanks, anyway.” She turned her back to the stranger and attempted to compose herself. He must be driving the BMW and was undoubtedly headed for Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. Hadn’t she learned the hard way not to get involved with campers? He might be gorgeous, but she wasn’t interested. She picked up a sack of organic flour with the intention of placing it on the tailgate for easier unloading. When she turned around Mr. BMW was still there. He cradled his arms like he was going out for a pass. “C’mon, coach,” he said. “Gimme a chance.” She couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, mister. But you break it, you buy it.” “Fair enough.” She lifted the sack of flour chest high and lobbed it to him off the back of the pickup. He caught it with just a small “oof.” “Nice work,” she said. “You made the team.”

Jeremy returned, no doubt attracted by the scene in front of the bakery, and sat on the bottom of two steps leading up to the raised veranda, watching them. “Jeremy, open the door for Mr…” “Sanchez.” He looked up at her. “Call Sanchez.” “Open the door for Mr. Sanchez.” She jumped down from the truck and grabbed a second sack of flour. She mounted the steps with care, leaning backward slightly to balance her load, and then hurried across the weathered wooden veranda. She had a clear view of Jeremy holding the door open and Call passing through it. “You can put the flour—” Her instructions were interrupted by an unseen obstacle at her feet. She lurched forward, nailing Call with forty pounds of flour and one hundred and twenty-five pounds of female. He went down like a bad case of mumps. Poof! A white cloud rose above the tangle of arms and legs. Cameo scrambled upright, then pulled the top sack of flour off Call. “I am so sorry! Are you hurt? I’ve come through that door a million times and never tripped before. I can’t imagine…” Call turned over and leaned against the broken flour bag, shaking his head and snorting like a horse. He was completely white. She giggled behind her hand. When she looked at the flour-dusted faces of Jeremy and her youngest sister, Gemma, who was working behind the counter, she laughed harder.

“You know, you look pretty funny yourself, Misty,” Call said with mock indignation. “Cameo,” she gasped. “My name is Cameo Muldoon.” As the silliness of the situation sunk in, Jeremy and Gemma laughed with them. Call’s deep baritone blended with Cameo’s lilting alto and the kids’ youthful giggles. “Hey Gemma, you look good with white splotches!” Jeremy shouted. His teenage aunt struck a pose. “Thank you,” she said in her best vamp voice. Cameo was wiping tears from her eyes when Duffy and Doc Henshaw wandered in to see what all the commotion was about. Mama came from the kitchen, closely followed by the repairmen. “Come on.” Cameo offered a hand to Call, who was still sitting beside the torn flour sack. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” “Not at all. In fact, that was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.” He stood and looked into her eyes, giving her a smile that sizzled her nerve endings. Uh-oh, thought Cameo. Red flag. She dropped his hand and took a big step back. The man had dimples. Not to mention a great laugh, killer smile, and incredible blue eyes. Dimples. She’d bet the egg money that long, lean body felt as good as it looked. Life could be so unfair.

*** After introductions were made and Call retreated to the bathroom to clean up, Mama Gia persuaded the oven repairmen to finish unloading the pickup, promising freshly baked bread. She lingered in the kitchen doorway, watching her family. Cameo had gotten out a broom and dustpan. Gemma and Jeremy were busy wiping flour off the tables with clean, damp cloths. They all look so happy, she thought. Even Gemma, who rarely showed any emotion. The young man brought laughter with him. And Mama hadn’t missed the flare of excitement in Cameo’s eyes when the handsome stranger took her hand. “So, what do we know about Call Sanchez?” she asked. “He ate two pieces of carrot cake and left a five dollar tip,” Gemma said. Mama nodded. This was good. “Curious sorta fellow,” Duffy said. “Asks lots of questions.” “What about?” Cameo stopped sweeping to lean on her broom. “He wanted to know about Mad Jack,” he replied. “And the camp,” Doc added. “He’s checking in Monday morning.” “Figures,” Cameo muttered. She turned her back and resumed sweeping with a vengeance.

“He asked if there are any bears around here,” Duffy said. The old-timers guffawed. Mama sidled up to the duo. “Is he single?” she whispered. “I didn’t see a wedding ring.” Doc Henshaw winked at her. Mama hurried behind the counter and made a show of straightening the already immaculate work area. Everyone else continued cleaning. When Call entered the dining room a few minutes later, the place looked good as new. “I’m afraid I’ve floured your bathroom,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll clean it in a jiffy.” Mama snapped her fingers. “Well, it doesn’t look like I can do any more damage here, so I guess I’ll be going.” He looked at Cameo. “Thanks for a memorable afternoon.” Cameo barely glanced up. “Bye.” As Call turned to leave, Mama Gia rolled her eyes heavenward. Her stubborn middle daughter seemed determined to let this nice young man walk right out of her life. “Wait!” she called. “We want to invite you to Sunday dinner. To thank you for your good nature.” Call didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to come. Thank you.” Mama clapped her hands. “Wonderful. You stop by the bakery this week for directions, yes? If you get lost, just ask anyone where the Muldoons live. We’ll see you at noon.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” With one last glance toward Cameo, he walked out the door. “Guess we better be going too,” Duffy said. “Don’t want to be late for supper.” Mama walked as far as the veranda with the two gentlemen. They’d been such close friends of her husband. After Finn had died, they continued to look out for her and the girls, in big ways and small. “Thank you,” she said, giving each of the men a hug. “Thank you, my friends, for everything.” The old men patted her awkwardly. “Don’t worry, Giovanna. Cameo will find a husband,” Doc said. “And a father for Jeremy. About time too.” Duffy sniffed. Mama Gia watched as the pair walked down the sidewalk and high-fived each other. Back in the dining area, Cameo was examining the entryway. “I can’t imagine what I tripped over,” she said. “There must have been a spot of grease.” Mama shut the door and put out the closed sign.

Chapter Four

Call took his time on the drive down Highway 96 from Nugget, stopping to check out the scenery and talk with locals. Mostly, he wanted to recover from being knocked over by Cameo Muldoon. Not physically, of course. He’d taken a lot harder spills during pickup basketball games. The alluring brunette packed a different kind of wallop. Call replayed the episode in his mind. Cameo in the back of the pickup truck, wispy, dark hair curling around her slender face and determined chin. She’d looked at him with the most enticing eyes he’d ever seen. They were a deep, misty green, and tilted up at the corners. When she hefted that industrial-sized sack of flour like it was a bag of chips, he knew he was in trouble. She couldn’t be more than five six, but her long legs and athletic body made her appear taller. She reminded him of the Southern California surfer girls he’d ogled at the beach but never had the nerve to ask out.

What would Cameo look like in a bikini? The mental image had his mojo rising, but he wasn’t going there. Uh-uh. Not again. He’d learned his lesson about mixing romance with journalism. This assignment was about one thing, and one thing only: to redeem himself from the stinking sewer plant scandal and escape the evil clutches of Liz Lessard. Okay, maybe that was two things. However you sliced it, he needed to come back with a hell of a story. It was dark and drizzling when he finally stopped in front of the shabby little office of Bart’s Fish Camp, after several wrong turns and a bone-jarring ride over State Route Where-the-Hell-Am-I? He knew he must be in the right place because a hissing, blinking neon sign spelled out BART’S in florescent pink letters. The place reminded him of every horror movie he’d ever seen. Lonely. Isolated. Creepy. After briefly debating whether he should try to find another motel in Willow Creek, Call decided he’d rather face Norman Bates’ mother than the drive back to civilization. Clean cottages and RV hookups, the brochure had promised. Damn Liz Lessard. He felt sure she’d placed the brochure for Bart’s Fish Camp in his packet as a sadistic punishment. Or maybe she’d planned his bloody demise. He could see the headline in the Humboldt County Observer, “Reporter Murdered in Seedy Motel.” He’d be lucky to make page six. After waking the deceptively normal-appearing proprietor and checking in, Call slogged to his

cottage, double locked the doors, and climbed into bed fully clothed. If he was killed by an ax-wielding psychopath, at least he wouldn’t suffer the final indignity of naked crime scene photos. *** By daylight, his room didn’t look nearly so bad. Okay, rustic was an understatement. The sink and tub had rust stains the color of dried blood, and threadbare carpeting shrank from the baseboards like a southern belle confronted by a damn Yankee. But, hey, the sheets were clean, the view of the Trinity River was nice, and old Bart made a pretty decent cup of coffee. Call took a sip of his morning brew, loaded with sugar and trans-fat. Ahhh. It wasn’t Starbucks, but it would get the job done. Where was he? Right. Reviewing the background information he’d gathered on the ride down from Nugget. He settled into a grungy armchair in front of the window and flipped open his reporter’s notebook.

Mad Jack Doc Henshaw: MJ was a mountain man and natural healer, roaming the forests of the Pacific Northwest in search of cures. Rumored to be a CIA agent in the Soviet Bloc before end of Cold War. Double-crossed by his

handlers, captured and tortured, but never talked. He found healing in nature. Devoted life to helping others. Aloysius Duffet: Called Mad Jack a great patriot. Spoke glowingly of Jack’s service in Vietnam and his role in rescuing civilians in the last days before the fall of Saigon. Claimed Mad Jack’s skill as a helicopter pilot was unequaled in military history. Young man servicing slot machines at Lucky Bear Casino, Hoopa: Repeated a story his grandfather told him. Mad Jack was more than half Native American. He enlisted in the marines when he was seventeen and fought at Iwo Jima. The spirit of the Black Bear made him strong during battle and the Coho Salmon protected him at sea. When he came home, Mad Jack became a great spiritual leader, sort of a prophet in the wilderness, teaching respect for all creation. Teenage girls in Hoopa Market: Heard Mad Jack was a wild man, with a really fine body. But he was, “like, all sulking in the forest.” One girl’s aunt claimed she got drunk with Mad Jack at a bar up in Happy Camp. Girl doesn’t believe her. Middle-aged stoner, sitting on bench outside Hoopa Market: Said Mad Jack grows the finest grass in all the northern counties. Really primo stuff. Heard MJ got

messed up in Kuwait. Gulf War syndrome. So he decided to go back to nature. “He’s a mellow dude but you don’t want to mess with his plants.” Call had the feeling that if he asked a hundred people about Mad Jack, he’d get a hundred different answers. The man seemed to have been everywhere and done everything. He thought a minute, then reached for the pencil stub he’d stashed behind his ear.

Questions: 1) Does anyone know Mad Jack’s last name? 2) Has anyone met him? 3) Is MJ alive or dead? And finally: Has he ever actually existed?

*** Cameo avoided going into Nugget all week, but still heard every detail of Call Sanchez’s visits to the

bakery, right down to how he took his coffee. Her mother and sisters had made sure of that. “Answer the door, please,” Mama Gia called from the kitchen. Cameo glanced around at her family. Gemma was stretched out on the couch, reading a true crime novel. Her second-eldest sister, BJ, stood at the lacecurtained French doors, gazing moodily into the backyard. BJ’s husband William was huddled with Jeremy over a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of a battle scene from Lord of the Rings. And her eldest sister, Allegra, fussed with a bouquet of wild flowers she’d picked for the centerpiece. Cameo squelched the urge to holler, “Doesn’t anybody hear the doorbell?” She set a handful of Mama’s good silverware on the table with a clunk and let out a small huff of exasperation as she headed for the door. Call stood on the front porch, holding two bottles of red wine and a basketball. Beside him was a fortypound sack of Nature’s Bounty organic flour. “You shouldn’t have,” Cameo said. “You break it, you buy it. I play by the rules.” She doubted that. She relieved him of the wine and basketball. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful. Just set the flour in the foyer. Dinner is almost ready.” She led their guest into the living room, prepared to make introductions, but it seemed none were necessary. Everyone greeted Call like an old friend. Even William seemed to know him.

Jeremy raced over. “You remembered!” He stole the basketball from his mom and threw a quick pass to Call. “Hey, not in the house!” Cameo said. “Can Call and I go outside and play then?” he asked. “He’s gonna show me some defensive moves.” “After dinner, honey,” Cameo said. “Let Call visit with the grown-ups for a little while.” Mama Gia bustled in, plump cheeks flushed, tendrils of black hair escaping from her signature bun. Cameo took the opportunity to open the wine and finish setting the table, but she kept an eye and ear on the scene in the living room. “Welcome, welcome,” Mama said, hugging Call and then stepping back to pat his cheek. “I see you have some color in your cheeks. Our forests must agree with you.” Call didn’t look the least bit embarrassed by Mama’s affectionate nature. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. “You’re right. I’ve had a great week exploring Six Rivers National Forest. You live in God’s country,” Call said. Mama Gia beamed her approval. “I must finish cooking. It’s almost ready.” She patted Call’s cheek one more time before departing. “Can I help?” he called after her. “No, no. This is my treat to the family for the hard work they do all week.” Mama’s voice trailed off as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“It’s a command performance,” Allegra said in a stage whisper. “Anyone who doesn’t show up gets extra duties the next week.” “I heard that,” Mama called from the kitchen. “And you can help with the dishes.” Everyone laughed. “She can hear a pine cone fall in the next county. Would you like to sit down?” Cameo pointed to the couch, where Gemma folded her legs to make a little room. Darn little. Everyone seemed to have wandered off, leaving Cameo to entertain their guest. Why didn’t that surprise her? As they squeezed into the small space Gemma provided, Cameo felt more than a little awkward. What could she say to him? I tried not to think about you this week, but you kept sneaking into my head. You have intelligent eyes. Your hair reminds me of Jeremy’s. God, you smell good. She scooted over until she was practically on top of Gemma and sat up straight, hands clasped in her lap. “Have you been—” “I was noticing—” Call said at the same time. “You first,” they chorused. Cameo giggled, feeling slightly relieved and more than a little gratified by his nervousness. “I wondered if you’ve been to the camp yet?” “I went out there this morning, as a matter of fact. The grounds are really nice. I didn’t see anyone around though. They were probably out fly-fishing or aligning their chakras,” he said.

Although Call was obviously joking, Cameo didn’t laugh. “How much do you know about the camp?” she asked. “Everything I read in the brochure. Why, is there more?” Cameo hesitated for a moment as she struggled with conflicting desires. Should she share her concerns about the camp or let Call find out for himself? It would certainly be interesting to hear his take on the place. She hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to any of the departing campers. But then, she’d cross the street to avoid some of the guys who’d been departing lately. She waved her hand. “Not really. I’ll let you form your own opinions. Now, what did you want to ask me?” “Where your mom got that quilt hanging over the piano. It’s really striking.” Cameo glanced at the swirling patterns of red, purple, and forest green in the quilt she’d made for Mama Gia two Christmases ago. It was one of the first she’d designed herself, in colors reminiscent of Mama’s home in Tuscany. She couldn’t help feeling proud. “It’s unusual for a man to notice quilts.” “Yeah, but that one’s different. I love the bold colors and design. My mom has a few quilts. They’re nice, but more traditional.” “Cameo made it,” Gemma said, without looking up from her book.

They both glanced at the slender, dark-haired teenager, startled by her unexpected contribution to the conversation. “Wow,” Call said. “That’s a work of art. Have you made any more?” Cameo couldn’t control the pleasant sensations that washed over her. “Just for everyone in the family. I’ve almost run out of victims.” “You should think about selling them. No fooling. You could make a fortune.” “That’s what we’ve been telling her,” Allegra chimed in from her position at the dining room table. Cameo turned to look at her older sister. “One free-spirited artist in the family is enough. Besides, quilting is what I do for fun and relaxation. I don’t need another job.” “Exactly,” Allegra said. “You’ve been a worker bee too long. It’s time you allowed your creative spirit to shine.” She walked behind Cameo and gave her shoulders an affectionate hug. Mama Gia appeared in the door separating the kitchen from the dining room. “Who would like to carry supper dishes to the table?” *** After two helpings of rigatoni with sweet sausage, salad fresh from Bunny Love Farm, and a

couple of Mama Gia’s garlic herb rolls, Call passed on dessert. He and Jeremy excused themselves and headed out the front door to practice their dribbling. Mama sat in the living room with her feet up, looking through the Sunday paper. And BJ, who’d been unnaturally quiet all during dinner, said she needed to go home and grade papers. “I’ll wash, you dry,” Allegra told Cameo. “Suits me.” Cameo was watching Call and Jeremy through the kitchen window. They looked like father and son, running around the driveway, taking turns dribbling and passing the ball, their red hair glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. Allegra followed her gaze. “He’s good with Jeremy,” she said. “Seems to be.” Cameo rinsed several plates and stacked them in the dish drainer, then selected one to dry. “I hear they had a long talk at the bakery on Saturday morning.” “What do guys talk about?” Allegra wondered aloud as she pulled a glass from the dishwater. “You mean when there aren’t any females present?” “Yeah.” Cameo thought about sneaking down to the basement when she was a little girl, listening to her father swap stories with his poker buddies. “Around our house, they talked about Mad Jack.” Allegra laughed. “Must still be a popular topic. I hear Call’s been asking about him all over town.”

Cameo paused in mid-wipe. “There’s something different about Call. He doesn’t strike me as the typical camper.” “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Although Allegra was six inches taller than Cameo and four years older, she was never bossy or intrusive. A redhead like Jeremy, she ran Mama Gia’s Bakery in the mornings and painted vibrant, modern art canvasses in the afternoon. She lived life on her own terms and respected the right of others to do the same. Most of the time. “I know what you’ve all been up to.” Cameo gave her sister a stern glance as she placed a stack of plates in the overhead cabinet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Allegra tried to look innocent, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Hmph.” Cameo grabbed a handful of silverware to dry. “Well, it’s not working. I like my life just the way it is. I don’t need a man to complicate things. Besides, I’m very happy with my relationship with Stan.” Allegra looked at Cameo like she had radishes growing out of her ears. “Your boyfriend wears recycled tire tread sandals and smells like humus.” “You’re not being fair. Of course Stan’s ecologically aware. He works for a natural foods store. He’s also sensitive, dependable—” “And boring. Look, I don’t have anything against Stan. He seems like a nice enough guy. But a woman can’t live on health food alone.” She lowered her

voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes you need a Twinkie.” Cameo’s eyes were drawn to the tempting newcomer playing basketball with her son. Call radiated a kind of healthy, male vitality that warmed her inside. Specifically, in the lower part of her anatomy. She gave Allegra a good-natured shove. “I can’t believe you said that.” But of course, she could. Allegra had always been totally uninhibited about sexual matters. Sometimes Cameo envied her openness. Allegra had a point. Stan was sweet and goodlooking. Better, as far as Cameo was concerned, he made very few demands. They got together when his job as a buyer for Nature’s Bounty brought him through Nugget or she could arrange a free evening in Arcata. The arrangement had lasted several years and suited both of them just fine. Or, at least it had, until Call Sanchez came to town. Something about the lanky, good-natured redhead triggered longings she wasn’t prepared to deal with. Her pulse quickened whenever he was in the vicinity, and she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his. Cameo caught Allegra’s knowing glance and quickly changed the subject. “BJ seemed down in the dumps tonight. Any idea what’s wrong?” Her sister refilled the sink with soapy water before tackling pots and pans. “The usual. Poor BJ. She had another big letdown. Mama told me she was a week late and thought she was pregnant.”

“I guess that high-priced fertility specialist they’re seeing isn’t helping much.” Allegra shook her head. “Not so far. He wants to do more tests. I’m afraid the expense, plus the constant disappointments, are putting a strain on BJ and William’s marriage. Did you notice how they stayed on opposite sides of the room before dinner? Even though they were seated together at the table, they hardly spoke, and they didn’t touch each other once.” Cameo felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been so mesmerized by Call, she’d hardly noticed anyone else. “I get the feeling BJ’s a lot more interested in having a baby than William. He seems, well, like he’s trying to make her happy. Not that he won’t be a great father,” she added quickly. “I know what you mean,” Allegra said. “William would like to have a child, but he’s not obsessed with the idea like BJ.” Cameo was drying the last pot when Allegra lightly touched her arm. “You still want to know what guys talk about?” She’d seen that gleam in her sister’s eyes before, and it always meant trouble. “Allegra, no!” “Shhh.” Allegra slid the window open. Call and Jeremy were sitting not more than twenty feet away. Call leaned back on his hands, long legs extended in front of him. Jeremy sat cross-legged, his body angled toward Call. “What’s it like, in the OC?” Jeremy asked.

“It’s a lot warmer in Orange County. The sun shines almost every day. Great for surfing.” “Do you know how to surf?” Jeremy turned big eyes toward the man seated next to him, his voice filled with awe. “Yeah, I surf a little.” Call ruffled the boy’s hair. “What do you like to do?” “Well…” Jeremy paused to think it over. “I like to skateboard and play with my friends. They’ve all got paint ball guns though, and Mom won’t let me have one.” Call nodded sympathetically. “I know how you feel. When I was in the sixth grade, all my friends got Mohawks but my mom said no.” “A Mohawk would have looked cool with your hair.” “That’s what I thought. But you know what? Mohawks went out of style, and I still had the same friends.” “Yeah,” Jeremy muttered. They were silent for a few minutes. “I don’t think paint ball guns will go out of style,” Jeremy said. “Even grown-ups play with them.” Call sat a little straighter. “They do? What grownups?” “The ones at camp. Mr. Tremaine made a paint ball course, and he hired a new commander named Gundar. My mom doesn’t like Gundar, but I think he’s awesome. He looks like the Terminator, only cooler.”

*** Later that night, when Jeremy was tucked into bed, Cameo sat in her favorite sewing chair with Attila stretched out at her feet. Her fingers busily stitched a Drunkard’s Path quilt while her mind replayed the events of the day. Call had been sweet with Jeremy, and she appreciated his help in the paint gun department. Not that he’d convinced her stubborn son. When Jeremy set his mind on something, she doubted all the surf wax in Southern California could slick him into changing it. She briefly considered enlisting Call’s help to find out what was going on at the camp, but decided against it. After all, what did she really know about the man? Except that he was tall, handsome, and dangerous to her equilibrium. What was it Allegra had called him? Oh yeah, a Twinkie. He probably had a cupcake waiting for him in Orange County. Heck, he might have a baker’s dozen, in every color of the rainbow. With sprinkles on top. She giggled at the mental image that produced, then quickly sobered. There was only one thing she knew for sure about Call Sanchez. When camp ended, he’d hop into that fancy car and drive out of their lives forever.

In the meantime, she planned to do everything she could to avoid him. “Maybe I should learn to surf,” she said aloud. Attila looked at her like she was a crazy lady. He was probably right.

Chapter Five

Call peered through the semidarkness at a line that snaked from the parking lot, through the camp entrance, to the lodge/induction center of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. His location—end of the line, outer limits of the parking lot, beyond cold, damp and disgusted. “Looks like we’ll be here awhile.” Call turned to see a stocky blond man with a friendly face, who had arrived even later than he. “Want some coffee?” the man asked, brandishing a giant red plaid thermos that was the twin of his red plaid shirt. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he seemed unaccountably good-natured for so early in the morning. Call had slept very little, due to disturbingly erotic dreams about a green-eyed forest nymph who teased and provoked him into a state of arousal so exquisite he couldn’t tell if he was experiencing pleasure or pain. Just as they were about to make love, she drifted away like mist through the trees. He awoke feeling edgy, exhausted, and just plain irritable.

“Love some,” Call replied. “I’m Bob MacBeth. Potato buyer, Pocatello, Idaho.” Call accepted the cup of coffee and the hand Bob offered. “Call Sanchez, carpenter, Costa Mesa, California,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind cream and sugar in your coffee.” Call wrapped his hands around the steaming cup and raised it to his lips, inhaling the delicious aroma before he took a big slurp. “Mmmm. You have no idea how much I needed this. I got up at the butt crack of dawn and raced over here, apparently so I could wait in line for an hour or two.” Bob nodded sympathetically. “Me too. Guess this must be the first test of our manliness.” As the caffeine hit Call’s nervous system, he began to feel a tiny bit better. “Think they’ll take points off for whining?” As the morning progressed, Call’s spirits rose with the temperature. Bob was quite a handy guy to have around. Not only had he brought coffee, but a pocketful of Snickers bars. Call was almost cheerful by the time they reached the gates of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. He and Bob observed their fellow campers with interest. Those who had gone through induction clustered around big, muscular guys in camp T-shirts, holding signs reading A Group, B Group, C Group, and D Group.

Call nudged his pal. “Check out A Group,” he whispered. “They all look alike.” Bob pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of his shirt and put them on. “They look like a bunch of gosh-damn Nazis.” “Good one.” Since they were having fun mocking their fellow campers, Call thought it might be safe to poke his new friend a little. “Hey, bud. What’s with the matching shirt and thermos? Did your mom buy you that outfit?” Bob looked down at his shirt and smiled ruefully. “Naw. My wife. I couldn’t hurt her feelings by not wearing it when I caught the early bird flight to Eureka this morning. I guess you’re not married, huh?” Call shook his head vehemently. “Not me, Kimosabe. Never even came close. The girls I’ve dated were looking for a BBD.” “BBD?” “Bigger, better deal. You know, more money, power, and prestige.” Call’s attention shifted back to the knots of campers milling around the parking lot. Each of the groups had begun to develop a distinct identity. The guys in Group A, who Bob had labeled goshdamn Nazis, were big, buff, Aryan types whose spitand-polish image extended from crew cut or bald heads to hiking boots. In between, they wore camo or khaki, shaved, pressed, and reeking of military training. The only question was, whose military?

“Come to think of it, they remind me more of my daughter’s Ken dolls, all dressed up to play soldier,” Bob said. Call laughed. “The Nazi Kens. I like it. How about B Group? What’s their story?” Group B was tie-dyed, long-haired, and sandalshod. Most seemed nonthreatening, with the possible exception of the guy dressed in a long, burlap nightshirt. He strode back and forth with wild hair flying around his face and the nightshirt flapping against hairy legs. He seemed to be angry about something, but they couldn’t make out what he was saying from a distance. Call nudged his buddy. “Get a load of the Mad Prophet.” Bob shook his head. “Ain’t he the pick o’ the litter? Looks like he’s wearing a potato sack.” “Survivalists?” Call asked. “Might do.” “Or maybe eco-terrorists, or religious fanatics.” Call’s imagination was shifting into high gear. “Shoe bombers,” Bob said direly. Call fake-coughed to cover his laugh. “Could be, except most of them aren’t wearing shoes,” he said when he recovered. “They all have crazy eyes,” Bob whispered. “That’s it. Crazy Eyes. You have a knack for this.” He bumped fists with Bob, keeping it low so no one would notice. “How about Group C?” The Cs were harder to pin down. A motley assortment of tattooed, scruffy, hard-edged

characters, C Troopers represented a jambalaya of race and ethnicity. They had a mean, hungry look about them. Bob didn’t waste any time. “Ugly Thugs,” he said. “Bingo. Now for the motor home and an allexpense paid vacation to beautiful Needles, California, what’s the code name for Group D?” Bob and Call considered the ragtag bunch at the far end of the parking lot. They came in all shapes and sizes, although none appeared particularly athletic. They slouched around, talking among themselves, probably cracking jokes to cover their nervousness. Several cast worried glances at A, B, and C Groups. In short, they seemed like regular guys. “Lambs to Slaughter,” Bob said. Call didn’t laugh this time. He had a sinking feeling their fate lay with the lambs. By the time they reached the lodge, the sun was high in the sky and Call was low on patience. What was with this “induction” crap, anyway? He’d signed up for wilderness survival training, not the French Foreign Legion. One of the Ugly Thugs had been assigned to man the table where they finally dropped their duffel bags. The small-eyed, broad-shouldered hulk gave them a quick once over, then seemed to dismiss them. “Here. Fill these out.” He tossed a couple of clipboards with questionnaires their way. “I hope Secrets of the Ancient Scout isn’t full,” Bob said. Piggy Eyes didn’t even look up. “Canceled.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Gosh damn it, I knew I should have flown in last night. How about Wildlife Tracking?” he asked. “Is that still open?” “Nope.” Bob looked crestfallen. He studied a list of courses he’d retrieved from his duffel bag. “Basic FlyFishing?” Piggy Eyes glared at Bob. “Listen pal, it’s been a long day. How about you just fill out the paperwork so I can assign you to the girls’ cabin and get out of here.” Before Bob could respond, Call leaned over the table until he was eye-to-squinty-eye with the incredibly stupid hulk. “Just what do you have to offer, pal?” Piggy Eyes stood, gripping the edge of the table as he visibly struggled for control. Lucky Call’s training as a journalist had taught him to be aware of the nuances of body language. It was a sure-fire way to tell if someone was lying. Or, if they were about to kill you. “What’s the problem here?” A tall, muscular blond appeared. He was dressed in the same khaki pants and camp polo shirt as the rest of the staff, but he still looked like he’d just wandered out of Abercrombie and Fitch. “This fella’s been extremely rude to my friend and me,” Bob said. “I think you could get someone with better people skills to register folks.” The blond guy passed a hand down his face. Evidently it had been a long day for him too. “I’m

sorry. The triad upon which we base our programs at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience is team building, problem solving, and self-confidence. We ask all our employees to keep that in mind. “Lech, report to me as soon as you’re finished here. We’ll have to see if we can find duties more suited to your people skills.” Underlying the faint sarcasm was an eastern European accent. “I hope your stay here will be rewarding.” The man gave them a nod and a tight-lipped smile before departing. Bob looked extremely pleased with himself. Lech, on the other hand, looked as if he might explode. His eyes were red-rimmed and his flat, Slavic face had turned the approximate shade of a ripe pomegranate. Call couldn’t stand a bully, probably because of the teasing he’d received as a carrot-topped kid. He’d learned some pretty handy self-defense tricks, thanks to his Uncle Joey, the cop. Among other things, Uncle Joey had taught him that when faced with an overwhelming adversary, sometimes the only thing to do is fight dirty. Still, Call was glad he hadn’t been forced to test his self-defense training on Lech, because instinct told him this bully knew a few dirty tricks of his own. By the time they’d finished filling out their personal history questionnaires, Lech seemed to have himself under control again. “Either one of you had any training in weapons or hand-to-hand combat?” he asked.

“I did my fair share of hunting when I was growing up. Haven’t gone for the last few years, though,” Bob replied. The big man grunted. He jerked his chin toward Call. “How about you?” Call puckered his brow and stroked his chin. “Let’s see,” he said. “Throwing stars, nunchaku sticks, and I’m pretty good with a cross bow.” Lech seemed to grasp, somewhere deep in his crocodile brain, that he was being messed with. He leaned forward, and his tiny eyes became evil slits. “Okay, smart ass. You and your friend report to Group C. For the next two weeks, your asses are mine.” Call and Bob exchanged uneasy glances. With grim faces, they shouldered their backpacks and marched toward the Ugly Thugs.

Chapter Six

Cameo looked toward the front doors of the dining hall for the umpteenth time as she attempted to break into Trevor Tremaine’s private office. Only, she wasn’t exactly breaking in. Breaking in implied forced entry, and she had a key. Colonel Tremaine had given the key to her father years ago, in case of an emergency. It had resided in the key cabinet at the farmhouse ever since, unused, but not completely forgotten. Because Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine were away, Cameo was doing the neighborly thing by checking on their interests. Or, at least, that’s what she’d told herself. Darn store-made keys. They never worked like the originals. Her nerves weren’t helping either. She took a deep breath and tried again. If she could just jiggle it into exactly the right position… Click. With one last glance over her shoulder, she was in. She stood for a few moments, surveying the office as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The desk stood like a silent sentry in the middle of the tidy room, empty except for a few papers neatly

stacked in the in-basket. Filing cabinet drawers remained tightly shut, and the wastebasket was empty. She traced a finger across the desktop, leaving a line in the dust. Apparently no one had been here in days, maybe weeks. The thought chilled her. How long had it been since anyone had seen or talked to Trevor? She pushed aside her dread. She could check on Trevor later. Right now, his unexplained absence gave her even more reason to rifle through his office. Where to start? She opened the front of the credenza-style computer stand behind the desk and pushed the button to start Trevor’s computer. As the computer worked through its opening sequence, she searched a box of CDs for an empty disc, taking a minute to read the titles as she looked. One of the discs contained the camp’s financial records for the past year. The detective shows she watched always said, “Follow the money.” From the looks of this office, she doubted anyone would miss the disc if she borrowed it. She stuck it down the back of her jeans and then continued to search. The wallpaper on Trevor’s desktop featured a slutty biker chick astride a Harley, showing way more tattooed skin than she was interested in seeing. Eeeeuuu! She clucked as she clicked the word processing icon. This would never be allowed if Colonel Tremaine were here. He ran a tight ship.

Nothing. Although the hard drive hadn’t been wiped clean, all the files were deleted. A quick search of the computer’s trash can found it empty too. She didn’t have the expertise to look any farther and seriously doubted she’d be able to get the computer out of the office without being spotted. Cameo checked her watch. She should have a good fifteen minutes to look through the filing cabinet before the campers came back from their morning training. She’d just pulled out the top drawer when she heard the doorknob turn. *** Call doubted anyone would miss him at the paint ball range, as intent as they all were on killing one another. He’d taken a couple of direct hits before managing to slip away. His camp T-shirt resembled a surrealist painting in neon pink, orange, and blue. Not the greatest camouflage for sneaking through the forest, but he’d have to work with it. He shifted the strap on the paint ball gun over his left shoulder and continued toward the lodge. No one had told him paint balls stung like a sonof-a-bitch. He rubbed the welt rising on his chest where the pink paint ball had hit him. In the new Mad Jack’s, war games and forced marches had replaced fly-fishing and Tai Chi. Even the food wasn’t as advertised. True, they had plenty

of fresh produce, courtesy of the beguiling Cameo Muldoon and family. Other than that, if it wasn’t runny, slimy or burned, the camp didn’t serve it. Thank God for Bob’s never-ending stash of Snickers. Call would have to treat his savior to a steak dinner when they got out of here. Call’s reporter’s instincts told him there was a lot more awry at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience than lousy food and a lack of meaningful recreational opportunities. But this time he planned to get hard, cold, irrefutable facts before he blew the whistle. If the stinking sewer plant scandal had taught him anything, that lesson was to trust his instincts but proceed cautiously. Never again would he get caught with his pants down. So to speak. He paused at the edge of the forest and peeked from behind a pine tree. The Mama Gia’s Bakery pickup was parked in the lot but he didn’t see anyone around. Darting across the open space, he entered the lodge through the back door. Cameo was probably in the kitchen, talking with the cooks. He’d seen her truck there two days earlier, on Tuesday. He faked a slight limp as he walked through the storeroom into the dining area. If anyone saw him, he planned to say he’d twisted his ankle and was seeking medical attention. As soon as he cleared the storeroom, Call picked up speed, heading straight for the office he’d discovered while mopping the dining area. Although Lech thought he was punishing Call by assigning him

to cleanup duty, Call had been grateful for the chance to reconnoiter. He pulled a credit card and an assortment of tiny screwdrivers from his pocket, prepared to make quick work of the lock. Another useful skill he had learned from Uncle Joey. Just for the heck of it, he tried the doorknob, which turned easily in his hand. What a piece of luck! As he slipped quietly into the office, Call’s excitement turned to apprehension. The computer screen displayed a nasty biker babe, and the top drawer of the filing cabinet stood open. Someone had been here. Or maybe, was still here. His first thought was to get the hell out. But when would he get another chance to investigate? Anyway, if he did have company, they didn’t have any more business being here than he did. His best play was to brazen it out. He scanned the room, noting only one place to hide, under the desk. He took a position to the right and slightly in front of the desk, then dropped to one knee. He had a clear shot at his quarry and an exit route in case the situation went bad. His adrenaline surged as he found the trigger on his paint ball rifle. Oh yeah, he was ready to blast someone into lime green hell. “Come out with your hands up,” Call ordered, careful to keep his voice low. He heard some shuffling under the desk and the crack of bone against wood. “Ouch!” A shapely derriere wriggled into view. Uh, oh. He recognized that butt.

Soon the rest emerged. Misty green eyes regarded him with fear, then relief. Or maybe it was irritation. He couldn’t be sure. He lowered his weapon and hurried over to give Cameo a hand up. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you were a burglar. Are you okay?” She ignored his hand, but stood, rubbing her head and glaring at him. He had no doubt about her expression then. She was seriously pissed. “You just about scared me to death!” Although she kept her voice low, the vehemence came through loud and clear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” They stood for a few moments, eyeing one another. “Okay, I’ll start,” she said. “What the hell are you doing here?” He considered lying, but couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for entering a private office and threatening her with a paint ball gun. “I’m a reporter for the Humboldt County Observer and I’m investigating Mad Jack’s.” She gave him a measured gaze. “You mean you’re snooping.” “Well, yeah. How about you?” “The same.” “Find anything?” “I borrowed a disc with the camp’s financial records for the past year. The rest of the files have been deleted.”

“You might want to turn that computer off if you’re finished.” She turned a delicious shade of pink. “I was just about to when you burst in and threatened to shoot me.” She maneuvered the mouse to shut the computer down. He thought it best not to mention he had entered very quietly through the door she’d neglected to lock. “Anything good in the files?” His fingers were itching to get at them, but in all fairness, he felt he should let Cameo have first crack. It was her crime scene. She faced him like a high school vice principal, feet wide and hands on hips. “Listen, Mr. Paint Ball Commando, I’m willing to work with you here, but you have to give me something in return. I’m talking about an exchange of information.” “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” he whispered. She stuck out her strong little chin and looked him square in the eye. “Something like that.” By God, the woman had spirit. He couldn’t resist pushing a little further. He spat in his hand and held it out. “Deal?” She didn’t flinch. Spitting in her palm, she clasped his hand with surprising force. “Deal.” He stood for a moment, savoring the feel of her work-roughened hand in his. It felt so right. Warm, wet, sticky, and absolutely right. Cameo pulled her hand away, wiping the palm against her form-fitting jeans. “Let’s get to work, then. We don’t have much time.”

Chapter Seven

“Why do you want to go to the Lumberbeast Tavern on a Friday night, when we could be doing something safe and sane?” Allegra asked. “Like, oh, bungee jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, or rafting the Trinity River in an inflatable pool toy.” Cameo sighed. Her sister wasn’t going to make this easy. “Trevor Tremaine is missing. He hasn’t been in his office and when I called his home, the answering machine said he’d gone to meet his parents when the Far Horizon docks in Perth, Australia. That just doesn’t make sense. Why would Trevor leave his position as the camp CEO to fly halfway around the world and join his parents on their second honeymoon?” Allegra looked troubled. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. That doesn’t sound like Trevor.” “I have information that an individual will be at the Lumberbeast tonight who can tell us what’s going on at the camp.” She turned off Highway 96 onto an old logging road. The bullet-riddled sign at the intersection read Road Not Maintained by County. It was flanked by a

hand-carved wooden sign with a red flag fluttering on top that pointed the way to the Lumberbeast. “If it makes you feel any better, I invited BJ to come along too, but she had to coach a Lady Warriors softball game.” “Why, oh why, didn’t I sign up as the batting coach?” Allegra lamented. “Because you can’t hit a softball to save your life?” “True, but I have other talents.” Allegra glanced through lowered eyelashes toward her younger sister, a teasing smile on her curvy red lips. “Which is why I especially wanted you to come. I need a woman with your, um, abilities.” Cameo didn’t dare take her eyes off the road for long. Deep ruts paralleled the center divider, marking the path of long-ago wagons, loaded with logs and pulled by teams of oxen. On either side, the old-growth forest rose, dark and foreboding. “Flattery will get you everywhere. What’s the skinny?” “I have information that one of Gundar’s goons will be at the Lumberbeast tonight. His name is Lech Nowak. He’s a big man with short blond hair and mean little eyes. According to a reliable source, he’s arrogant enough to believe a gorgeous, redheaded goddess could be interested in him. Especially after we ply him with alcohol.” “So my job is to flirt outrageously?” Cameo nodded. “And get him to talk.” She shot an imploring glance at her sister. “You’re the best

drinker in the family. And when sex appeal was handed out, you were definitely at the head of the line.” The rounded a curve and the Lumberbeast’s lights appeared, showing only five or six cars in the parking lot, but it was still early. Word of mouth had made the off-the-beaten-path bar a popular destination for loggers, bikers, university students, and anyone else looking for hard liquor and a good time. You never knew how a night at the Lumberbeast might end, but you could be sure it wouldn’t be boring. “I’ll be your designated slut on one condition,” Allegra said as Cameo parked about thirty feet from the weather-beaten wooden building. A couple of grizzled, middle-aged guys swilled beer on the front porch. One of them spat a wad of chew over the railing into the gravel lot. Cameo looked at her sister’s face, illuminated by the distant glow of neon beer signs in the Lumberbeast’s windows. “And that is?” “I want the name of your source.” Damn! She’d hoped Allegra would get caught up in the excitement and forget to ask. “I ran into Call at camp yesterday. He overheard Lech talking about going to the Lumberbeast with a couple of the other goons.” Allegra nodded as if Cameo had confirmed her suspicions. Then she unbuttoned the top two buttons on her gauzy red blouse and tucked the bottom into

tight jeans. Her green eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Let’s go give ’em hell.” Her fiery older sister could never resist an adventure. Cameo had counted on that. She, on the other hand, had always been the cautious, down-toearth type. Well, except for the short period in high school when she’d been anything but cautious, but she didn’t like to think about that. She patted the can of bear spray in the pocket of her denim jacket. “Don’t worry, Sis. I’ve got your back.” They pushed through the tavern’s heavy, scarred wooden doors. A fresh dusting of sawdust on the floor couldn’t completely disguise the mingled smells of stale beer, cheap cologne, and sweat. Cameo chose seats at the end of the long, curved bar where they could watch the crowd. She spotted a few people she knew, which was good in case things turned ugly. The locals always took care of their own. Several male acquaintances came over to say hello, some of them obviously hoping to get lucky. Cameo and Allegra shouted over the rockabilly blasting from the jukebox, insisting they were meeting friends. After about an hour, the door opened and three strangers swaggered in. Leading the way was a flatfaced, barrel-chested gorilla with squinty little eyes. A momentary hush fell over the room as the locals sized up the newcomers. The bartender tensed, his right hand slipping below the counter. “Testosterone alert,” Allegra whispered.

The three nodded to the guys standing closest to the door and made their way to the bar. Pool balls clattered as players resumed their games. The man next to Cameo loosened his death grip on his girlfriend’s chair. “I think that’s our boy,” she whispered, nodding at the group’s leader. “I’ll do it, but I won’t enjoy it,” Allegra whispered back. She waited until the foursome had settled in, backs to the bar, watching the scene. Then she made her move. Strolling to a pool table, she placed a quarter on its edge. “Care for a little competition, boys?” she asked. The three burly men standing around the table were reduced to tongue-tied adolescents as Allegra worked her magic. “Sure,” one of them managed to stammer. Allegra rewarded him with a bewitching smile. “Thank you,” she said in honeyed tones. “Let me know when you’re ready.” She turned and sashayed back to the bar, managing to look both regal and incredibly hot at the same time. Whistles and calls of “I’m ready, honey!” followed her, but Allegra ignored them. Cameo glanced toward the camp goons. Lech was practically salivating. “You’re my hero,” she said as Allegra slid onto the barstool next to her. “Did he take the bait?” “Like a big old bass,” Cameo replied. “Good. We should be getting a couple of drinks soon.”

Within minutes the bartender appeared, his expression deadpan. “The gentleman at the pool table would like to buy you a drink,” he said. Darn! Cameo thought. Allegra had hooked the wrong fish. “And the gentleman sitting by the front door, and the gentleman at the bar.” Allegra nodded graciously toward each of her admirers, letting her gaze rest longest on Lech. “Thank you,” she said to the bartender. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, light, please. And give my sister another seltzer with a twist.” When her drink came, Allegra raised the glass to Lech. He didn’t waste any time taking Allegra up on her unspoken invitation. Lech might look like the missing link, but he was smart enough to realize the chair next to her sister wouldn’t remain vacant long. Unfortunately, the two goons he came in with seemed to think the invitation included them. They were hot on Lech’s heels as he approached the bar. “Good evening, ladies.” He barely spared Cameo a glance before giving Allegra a thorough once over. Cameo held her breath. Her sister had a zero tolerance policy for impudent males. Allegra’s posture stiffened, but she didn’t cut the bastard off at the knees. Instead, she smiled a cool little smile and said, “Thank you for the drink.” Then she turned her back on him, giving Cameo a mischievous wink. Cameo hid her smile behind a cocktail napkin. “Uh, is this seat taken?” Lech asked.

Allegra turned back, feigning surprise that he was still there. “No, but where will your friends sit?” Lech turned to glare at his companions. They didn’t take the hint. “Maybe we can get a table,” Cameo said. If she distracted the other two, Allegra could get Lech alone and pump him for information. “Sounds good to me,” said the smaller of the two campers. “I’ll go find one.” He extended a hand toward Cameo. “My name is Duane. And this here’s my brother, Darrell. He don’t talk much.” She shook Duane’s hand and nodded at Darrell, who grunted in response. Duane departed in search of an empty table, Lech took the seat next to Allegra, and Darrell hovered, much to Lech’s annoyance. Cameo was left to toy with her drink and study Darrell, who appeared to be watching his brother. Darrell was a big man who somehow gave the impression of being half-grown. His jeans were a little too short, and his T-shirt strained to cover muscular shoulders and biceps. It bore the picture of a moose and the logo of a famous hunting store. She decided to try some conversation. “I like your shirt,” she said. Darrell’s eyes swung her way. He looked surprised that she had spoken to him and somewhat distrustful. Cameo felt a surge of pity for the big man/boy. He seemed a little slow and had probably been teased growing up. Darrell grunted.

She tried again, talking to him like she would a younger version of Jeremy. “I really like moose. Or is it mooses? I’ve never been sure. I think they might be my favorite animal. What’s your favorite animal?” Darrell glanced toward Allegra and Lech, who were busy drinking and flirting. He hesitated before speaking. “I like dogs,” he said. Well, that was progress. Duane motioned them toward a table on the edge of the postage stamp-sized dance floor. In the summertime, Lumberbeast employees shoved the pool tables against the walls to make room for a band on Friday and Saturday nights, but in early May, the college crowd was studying for finals, leaving the tavern to the regulars who came to drink, play pool, and wait for a fight to break out. Duane took the seat to Lech’s right. Allegra sat on his left, with Cameo next to her. Darrell squeezed in between Cameo and his brother. “This is cozy,” Cameo said. Allegra obviously wasn’t going to get any information out of Lech with the other two campers attached to him like leeches. Lech turned to his companions. “Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” He was obviously feeling the half dozen or so drinks he’d downed since entering the Lumberbeast. Duane looked up at the hulking camp leader, his face the picture of injured innocence. Unlike his brother, Duane was a smallish man. He could only be described as unremarkable, the kind of guy you might glance at once and then forget. Cameo sensed

shrewd intelligence beneath his John Deere baseball cap and aw-shucks manner. She didn’t trust him. “You promised to show us a good time,” he said. “And I’m having me a real good time. How ’bout you, Darrell?” Darrell grunted and gave Lech a look that would have caused all but the most foolish of men to adopt a friendlier manner. Lech got the message. He ignored the brothers from then on, turning his full attention to Allegra. Cameo continued to play the “What’s your favorite…?” game with Darrell, as she kept an ear tuned to Allegra and Lech’s conversation. Duane seemed content to nurse his beer and watch the crowd. She and Darrell had covered quite a few favorites before Duane finally announced a trip to the head. Jeesh, she was beginning to think the man never peed. No matter, she’d had a chance to bond with Darrell and come up with a plan to give Lech and Allegra some alone time. “Hey Darrell, I’ve got something really cool I want to show you. It’s out in my car,” she said. Darrell glanced toward the men’s room. He looked worried. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Allegra asked. Cameo deliberately misinterpreted her question. “Yeah, as long as Darrell goes with me, I’ll be fine. You’ll protect me, won’t you, Darrell?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up and strolled toward the tavern’s entrance. Not too fast,

and not too slow. She didn’t want to frighten Darrell, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to give him time to change his mind. She felt pretty sure he wanted to go with her. What kid could resist a cool surprise? With one last guilty look in the direction of the men’s room, Darrell followed.

Chapter Eight

Call and Bob lay on their backs, with their heads poking out the doorways of their debris huts, chatting quietly as they watched the stars. Every once in a while, their conversation was punctuated by a loud growl from Call’s stomach. “Easy there, buddy. You’re going to wake folks in Nugget,” Bob said. “I can’t help it. Can you believe the slop they gave us for dinner? I couldn’t even identify it.” “I believe it’s what they call a pit cook.” Bob rolled onto his stomach. “First, you dig a hole and fill it with hot coals. Then you shoot a few critters, pick a mess of wild edibles, throw everything in a pot, and bury it for a couple of hours. Sorta blends the flavors.” He chuckled. Call was horror-stricken. “The first mistake they made was digging it up. Let the dead rest in peace, I say.” He thrashed around, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. He paused and regarded Bob hopefully. “I don’t suppose you have any of those Snickers left?”

Bob shook his head. “They did a surprise inspection of the cabins this afternoon, looking for contraband. Found my stash of Snickers and sent me out here for punishment.” “No kidding. And I thought you were here because you enjoyed my company.” The two had spent the early evening hours framing their debris huts, then covering them with leaves, sticks, branches, and, well, debris. The main supporting log of each hut leaned against a pine tree. “I might have some salmon jerky, but it’ll cost you,” Bob said. What was it with these people and bartering? Didn’t anyone just give things away anymore? Call wondered. An empty stomach always made him irritable. No matter, he’d sell his soul for something to eat that didn’t look and smell like last week’s road kill. “Name it,” he said. “Where’d you disappear to this afternoon? And why are you here, anyway? No offense, but you don’t strike me as much of an outdoorsman.” Bob peered at him through the moonlit darkness behind the Ugly Thugs cabin. Call hesitated just long enough for his stomach to complain audibly. What did he have to lose? Bob wasn’t going to rat him out. In fact, he could actually be helpful. It never hurt to have an extra pair of boots on the ground. “None taken. I’m a reporter, working undercover for the Humboldt County Observer. I suspect there’s something going on at Mad Jack’s

Wilderness Experience that Gundar and his cronies don’t want the public to know about.” Bob whistled softly. “For heck’s sake. What have you found out so far?” “The owner’s son, Trevor Tremaine, is missing. We…I got into his private office this afternoon and looked through the filing cabinet and computer records.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to say “we.” Lack of sustenance was making him lose his edge. If Bob noticed the slip, he didn’t mention it. “Find anything interesting?” “It looked like things had been cleaned up pretty well. I passed a computer disc to an associate on the outside. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Bob snapped his fingers. “You know what this reminds me of? All the President’s Men. What were those two reporters’ names?” “Woodward and Bernstein.” Call couldn’t help saying the names with a degree of reverence. He’d read their book about the Watergate scandal when he was just a kid, and it had left an indelible impression. Someday, he thought, he’d follow in their footsteps. First the Humboldt County Observer, then the San Francisco Chronicle, and finally, if he worked hard and caught a few breaks, the Washington Post. He’d haunt the halls of power, exposing corruption at the highest levels of government. He’d… “You still want that jerky?” Call grunted in the affirmative, and Bob handed him a good-sized, orangey slab.

“Be sure not to leave crumbs,” Bob said. “There haven’t been any bears spotted close to camp, but we don’t want to take chances.” “I hate bears. They remind me of sharks. Only with fur. And claws.” Bob laughed. “They’re like any other wild animal. Treat with them with respect, and they’ll leave you alone.” Silence reigned as they munched their jerky. It was sort of like eating a salmon-flavored wood chip, Call thought. But he wasn’t complaining. At least his stomach had stopped growling. He considered repeating the tales of bear butchery he’d heard from the old timers at Mama Gia’s Bakery. Nah, he thought, he’d let Bob continue in his blissful ignorance. And he’d be darn sure not to leave any crumbs. “So what’s your story?” Call asked. “Why are you here?” This was the first opportunity he and Bob had to talk privately since they’d been sentenced to the Ugly Thugs cabin, and he was curious about his new friend. “Well, like I said, I haven’t had the chance to get out in nature for good long while. The wife and I, we’ve got six kids, and my job keeps me pretty busy.” “Six kids? Man, I guess you have been busy. I’m surprised your wife let you get away for two weeks.” “Meredith is a peach,” Bob said with real affection in his voice. “I’m turning forty this year, and I think she knew this trip was important to me.”

“I’m sorry the camp didn’t turn out as expected. Have you thought about chucking it all and going home?” “And let my kids think I’m a quitter? No, sir. Anyhow, it hasn’t been all bad. We learned some interesting stuff this week. The Ten Essentials for Survival class sure could come in handy. And Primitive Fire Starting was supercool. At least, that’s what my ten-year-old twins would say.” “Yeah, and don’t forget Paint Ball Genocide and Road Kill for Every Palate.” The meal, though meager, had improved Call’s mood. “You have tenyear-old boys?” “Sure do. My two oldest are girls, both in their early teens. They’re more interested in boys and music than going camping with dad,” Bob said, a bit wistfully. “Then come the twins, and after them, another boy and girl, four and six. My wife is looking forward to the last one starting school. Heck, if it was up to me we’d have six more.” Call thought about Jeremy. “If your ten-year-olds wanted paint ball guns, what would you say?” “Well, that depends. If they were supervised and wanted the guns bad enough to earn their own money, I guess I’d say go ahead. Why?” “I have a young friend who’s dying to get a paint ball gun but his mom disapproves.” Bob nodded. “You know, it’s been my experience that the more you deny a kid something, the more he wants it.”

They were silent for a moment as Call digested his jerky and Bob’s parental wisdom. “Say, where’d you get this jerky, anyway?” he asked. Bob chuckled. “I can’t give away all my secrets.” *** Cameo held the front door of the Lumberbeast for her super-sized protector. As Darrell walked toward her, she noticed that he sported some of the biggest tennis shoes she’d ever seen, adding to the impression of an overgrown child. “How old are you, Darrell?” she asked, partly to take his mind off his worries and partly because she was genuinely interested. As usual, Darrell needed time to think about his answer. They crossed the expansive front porch, passing a couple of old geezers spinning tales and a youngish couple making out in the shadows. “Twenty-eight, I think.” The truck was parked a couple of rows back in the gravel lot, but Cameo wasn’t afraid to be alone with Darrell. He hadn’t shown the slightest hint of aggression or even sexual interest. If anything, he seemed grateful for her kindness and attention. And, of course, she still had the aerosol can of bear spray in her jacket pocket. She opened the passenger door and reached into the space behind the bench seat. On the floor of the

pickup was a box containing Jeremy’s collection of action figures. Although he claimed to be too old for them, he still enjoyed playing with the miniatures on the rare occasions when he accompanied her to a farmers’ market. “Who’s your favorite superhero?” she asked Darrell as she removed the lid to the shoebox. Darrell’s face lit up like a kid’s at Christmas. He took the box Cameo offered and hunkered down in the parking lot to admire the toys inside. He removed the figures from the box one at a time, arranging and rearranging them in the dirt beside the truck’s left front tire. Cameo leaned against the truck and watched. He kept coming back to the blue Power Ranger. “Do you like him best?” she asked. Darrell looked at her with shining eyes and nodded. Their peaceful little world was shattered when Duane burst onto the scene looking madder than a nest full of hornets. “Darrell, you dumb son of a bitch! I told you to stay with Lech.” He took off his John Deere baseball cap and whacked his brother upside the head. Darrell didn’t defend himself, much to her surprise. He wore a frightened expression as he scrambled to his feet, covering his head with his arms. Duane was a bully. She hadn’t liked him from the moment she set eyes on him, and now she knew why. Well, that kind of behavior just wasn’t going to fly. Not while she was around.

When Duane raised his hat again, Cameo whipped out her canister, took two steps back, and aimed the bear spray straight at his face. “Hit him again, you bastard, and you’ll be in a world of pain.” Country boy that he was, Duane immediately recognized the business end of a can of bear spray. He held up both hands and backed away. “Heck, I was just horsing around. Darrell and me roughhouse all the time, don’t we, Darrell?” Darrell lowered his arms and glared at his brother. He seemed to draw courage from Cameo’s defense. She wasn’t finished yet. She kept the bear spray trained on Duane. “Your brother is a sweet, gentle human being who deserves to be treated with respect.” Once he had retreated a safe distance, Duane’s attitude grew surly. He slapped the baseball cap back on his head. “Lady, you don’t know my brother.” Then he turned and stomped back toward the Lumberbeast. Darrell looked distressed as he watched Duane stalk away. He thrust a grubby fist toward Cameo. When he opened his big fingers, she saw that he was still clutching the blue Power Ranger. Gently, she folded his hand around the toy. “Keep it. It’s a present,” she said. Darrell grinned. He stuffed the Power Ranger in the pocket of his too-short jeans and turned to run after his brother.

“If Duane ever hits you again, you hit him back. You hear?” Cameo hollered at his departing figure. She replaced the cap on the can of bear spray and tucked it into her jacket pocket. By the time she finished picking up the scattered action figures, she’d become excited about the evening’s possibilities. She’d managed to give Allegra a window of opportunity to charm information out of Lech and had no doubt her sister took full advantage of it. When she reentered the Lumberbeast a little past midnight, the tavern pulsated with alcohol-fueled energy. She estimated the crowd to be about eighty percent male and ninety percent drunk. The Friday night fight was due to break out any minute. She wriggled through the bodies to where she’d left her sister. Lech was there, passed out on the table, but no Allegra. Quickly, she scanned the crowd. A tall, voluptuous redhead waved at her from the bar. One of the bonuses of going someplace with her sister was that she never had to worry about losing her in a crowd. Allegra definitely stood out. “What did you find out?” she shouted as she edged between Allegra and a scary-looking motorcycle dude in chains and black leather. “I found out that Lech can’t hold his liquor,” Allegra shouted back. “What?” Someone must have turned up the jukebox. It seemed louder than when she left. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” Allegra set her half-full drink on the bar, hopped down from her stool, and blew a kiss to the scary motorcycle dude.

When they settled into the pickup, Cameo turned eagerly to her sister. “So tell me. What happened?” A man flew out the front doors of the Lumberbeast. He picked himself up and staggered back in, accompanied by dull thuds, thumps, shouting, and breaking glass. They’d timed their departure just right. Cameo levered the gearshift into reverse and backed out between parked vehicles. “After you left? Not a whole lot. Lech’s face hit the table before I could get ten words out of him.” Allegra dug in her purse until she found a small spray bottle of body splash, which she applied liberally, filling the cab with the smell of ripe peaches. She turned on the air, adjusting the vent to send clouds of red hair billowing around her face. “God, I can’t wait to get home and take a shower. That big ape spent the whole evening trying get into my pants. Yecch! Just the thought of him slobbering and pawing at me makes me want to hurl.” Cameo was accustomed to her sister’s theatrics. “Okay, okay, I get it. I owe you big time. What did Lech say before I left the bar?” Satisfied that her sacrifice had been acknowledged, Allegra turned down the air and the drama. “Well, he dropped a few hints earlier in the evening about a cousin in Canada and some big deal they have going down. I couldn’t get anything specific out of him. King Kong was shitfaced ten minutes after he walked in.”

Cameo couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t been out with Allegra for a long time. With the farm work, her accounts, and Jeremy, Cameo didn’t seem to have much time for a social life. She’d forgotten how much fun her older sister could be. “What happened to Duane and Darrell?” Cameo asked. “I didn’t see them after I came back in.” “Dumb and Dumber showed up about ten minutes before you. They took one look at Lech face down on the table and walked right on out the back door. That was the last I saw of them,” Allegra said. “Where’d you disappear to anyway? I didn’t like you going outside with that backwoods ax murderer.” “Darrell is not a backwoods ax murderer. He’s a sweet, shy man who’s spent his entire life being dominated and bullied by his older brother. And he can’t help being slow.” Ordinarily, Cameo wouldn’t take offense at her sister’s over-the-top manner of expressing herself, but Darrell had aroused her protective instincts. Allegra’s emerald eyes twinkled with amusement. “My, my. I seem to have poked a mama tiger. They’re twins, you know.” “No!” Cameo couldn’t believe it. She’d never met two more dissimilar people. “It’s true,” Allegra said. “Dumb, I mean Duane, told me. And, all kidding aside, I think those two country boys are crazier than a pair of rabid raccoons.”

*** Lech stumbled blindly down the old logging road. He had a vague memory of his new friends hauling him out of the Lumberbeast and trying to load him into a camp Jeep. He hadn’t wanted to leave. Some friends, Lech thought. They’d dumped him in the middle of the forest with nothing but a Mylar survival blanket and a whistle. He supposed the whistle was a joke. He wasn’t laughing. He tripped over a root and grunted in pain, barely managing to stay upright. He’d love to beat the piss out of the bastards who’d left him, but he couldn’t afford to lose his job or provoke Gundar’s wrath. His run-in with the two idiot campers had already drawn the boss’s attention. If his plan was going to succeed, he needed to keep a low profile. Being an independent businessman wasn’t easy. In the past, he’d always worked for others, taking the risks while they collected the profits. No more. One more shipment and he’d be set for life. All the planning and ass-kissing would pay off big time. Maybe he’d eliminate his partner and keep all the money for himself, he thought. He’d never liked his cousin anyway. The forest was darker than a Cossack’s heart. Lech’s head pounded, and he could barely see the road. The chujeks could have left him a flashlight.

He pulled the blanket closer in an attempt to keep out the cold, damp air. It smelled strangely, he thought. Lifting his right arm, he sniffed. Fish. It smelled like someone had wrapped a damn fish in it. His heart began to pump faster. Although he’d spent most of his life working as a security contractor in big cities, he knew enough about wilderness survival to understand that smelling like a can of tuna fish was a bad thing. A very bad thing. He ditched the blanket and picked up his pace. He needed something to distract him from his unhappy state of mind. Like, the redhead he met at the Lumberbeast. She’d disappeared, or maybe he passed out. He wasn’t sure which happened first. But he knew where she lived. He’d go to Nugget the first chance he got and find her. Hot bitches like that weren’t available long. He took his eyes off the road long enough to scan the perimeter for threats. Just like they’d taught him in GROM, the Polish Army’s Special Forces Unit. That was where he’d learned English too, before he’d been court-martialed. He never understood why the army got so pissed off about him making a few extra zloty in the black market. God knew, they paid little enough. No matter. He’d put the skills they gave him to good use. Maybe he’d take the woman, what was her name? Allegra. He’d take Allegra with him after he earned his pay. He usually tired of women after a

couple of months, but he had the feeling the big redhead could keep his interest for a long time. Lech jogged as fast as he dared over the rutted road, his eyes and ears instinctively tuned for signs of danger. The alcohol was beginning to wear off, leaving him with a burning thirst. His head throbbed worse than ever. He tripped, his foot sinking into a hole, sending him to his knees. He grabbed his right ankle and rolled onto his back, eyes clenched in pain. When he opened them, an enormous dark shape loomed over him. Primitive terror gripped him, as the bear’s strong, musky odor filled his nostrils. A howl of pain and fear sounded in his ears. As if from a distance, Lech recognized the voice as his own. The bear rose on its hind legs, growling, and gnashing its teeth. No place to go. He couldn’t outrun the giant creature, even if he hadn’t injured his ankle. Suddenly, Lech remembered the whistle. Scooting backward, away from the bear, he retrieved it and blew as hard as he could. It was the last sound he ever heard.

Chapter Nine

The campers once again formed four groups in the parking lot of Mad Jack’s. Less than a week after induction day, Call noticed the groups had shrunk considerably. The Nazi Kens still boasted a pretty decent number, but the Crazy Eyes had lost a few of their members, and the Lambs to Slaughter were reduced to a handful of stragglers. Even the Ugly Thugs seemed a bit thin in the ranks. Conspicuously absent was their leader, Lech. “Pitiful.” Bob shook his head. “Almost makes you wonder if they’re trying to discourage folks.” The same thought had occurred to Call. “Looks like the Mad Prophet hung in there,” he said. “Some fashion statement, huh?” The prophet had replaced his sandals with combat boots. Although Call gave him points for practicality, the combination of boots and burlap shift, with hairy legs in between, was not a pretty sight. “I’d rather look at a busted watermelon,” Bob said.

They’d spent Saturday morning reviewing what they learned during the past week, with an emphasis on compass reading, fire starting, shelter building, and ass kicking. That afternoon, each man had selected ten essentials for survival to store in his backpack. They’d been given a plastic-coated forest service map on which their course had been highlighted and told to chart the azimuths and distances using their compasses. Now they were ready for the ten mile map reading and compass orienting exercise that marked the halfway point of their training. They’d have the opportunity to use all they’d learned and to find out if they were tough enough to stick around for another week. Or so the team leaders told them. A light rain began to fall as they waited to be called into formation. They were all to depart at the same time, with each team taking a different path to their destination. The leaders warned them that teams could be attacked at any moment by wild animals or human assailants. They’d have to keep their eyes and ears open. The first team to reach the designated meeting place would be rewarded with a free day in Nugget. Everyone else would spend Sunday doing maintenance at the camp. A guy they’d never seen before led the Ugly Thugs. Quaid had the battered mug of a junkyard dog and a disposition to match. Right now, he looked mad enough to chew his own leg off. “Where’s Lech?” Bob asked.

Quaid flicked his eyes toward him. “Probably in some dive drinking himself into a coma while I’m here babysitting. What’s it to you, Four Eyes?” Uh-oh. Call could see his friend starting to puff with indignation. The potato buyer was a really nice guy, but he had absolutely no sense of selfpreservation. “Nothing.” Call put his arm around Bob’s shoulders, tugging him toward the back of the group of Ugly Thugs. Quaid glared at them but seemed to decide they weren’t worth killing. “All right, you mangy misfits. Fall in,” he barked. Evidently, Quaid hadn’t heard about the Mad Jack’s philosophy of building selfconfidence through problem solving and team spirit. “Thanks, pal,” Bob said. “Sometimes these guys make me so mad I could just spit.” “I know.” Call fell into step beside him. “Me, too. Let’s hang back and keep a low profile.” As they half-walked, half-jogged behind the Thugs, the light rain turned into a downpour. Call raised his voice so he could be heard. “I mean, it’s not like we’re trying to win a merit badge or anything. We just want to make it through two weeks of camp.” “And find out what Gundar’s really up to,” Bob yelled. “Shhhh!” “Oh, sorry.” They jogged along in silence for a while, concentrating on not falling on the slippery mountain path. Quaid kept up a challenging pace, which either

meant he was determined to win a free day in Nugget or ditch the Ugly Thugs as soon as possible. Call suspected it was the latter. They were breathing hard when Quaid lifted his right arm, signaling a stop. Several thugs missed the signal and rear-ended the guys in front of them, causing a mud wrestling match worthy of ESPN. When the slipping, swearing, grappling, and shoving finally ended, the Thugs had morphed into a dripping, oozing army of swamp rats. Call and Bob were far enough behind to miss the carnage, although they hadn’t seen the signal right away either. The driving rain and dense woods made visibility practically nil. Soon, night would fall. Their leader’s voice vibrated with disgust. “All right, girls. If you’re finished playing grab ass, get out your maps.” The Thugs pulled off their backpacks and rummaged through the contents. Most managed to locate their maps. A few pulled out flashlights so they could read them, although the lights didn’t help much since everything the campers touched was smeared with mud. “The first checkpoint will be at Seven Mile Burn. Find that?” Quaid paused for less than a beat. “The second checkpoint will be in Halverson Saddle. The third checkpoint will be along the banks of Reynolds Creek. Then we’ll travel up the creek to the fork, which will be the fourth checkpoint. Our ultimate destination is the fire tower on top of the ridge above the fork. All checkpoints will be clearly marked with

red flags. Keep up, or I’ll leave your sorry carcasses behind.” Quaid flung the last statement over his shoulder as he resumed the race to the finish line. The Thugs fumbled with their backpacks, trying desperately to put away their stuff and keep their footing as they followed Quaid. “Did you get all that?” Bob asked. “Nope,” Call replied. “Guess we better keep up then, huh?” As they made their way down the forest service road toward Seven Mile Burn, Call could no longer ignore the guilty feelings gnawing at his consciousness. He wished he hadn’t told Cameo about Lech’s plans to visit the Lumberbeast. If Lech and his buddies hung out there, it couldn’t be a very highclass place. Surely she wouldn’t do anything so foolish as going to spy on Lech. No, Cameo was a down-to-earth gal with a good head on her shoulders. Mature. Responsible. A great mom. Suddenly the mental image of a shapely butt wriggling out from under Trevor Tremaine’s desk flashed in his mind. Followed by a tousled dark head and eyes that shot green sparks of defiance. He remembered how unrepentant she’d been about burglarizing Tremaine’s office. She’d demanded information in return for her cooperation, and Lech’s Friday night plans had been the only info he could give her.

Who was he kidding? Of course she went to the Lumberbeast. Now Lech was MIA, and Call had no way of knowing whether Cameo was safe. He made up his mind that neither mud nor rain nor wild beast would keep him away from Nugget on Sunday. *** “Follow the money” had sounded so easy when she tucked the computer disc in her jeans two days ago. The numbers on the spreadsheet swam in front of her tired eyes. She knew the program. It was the same one she used to do the books for Bunny Love Farm and Mama Gia’s Bakery. The calculations had been updated as recently as ten days ago. And she could find absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Cameo glanced at the old railroad clock that filled the silence of her home office with its gentle ticktocks. It dated back to the days of the steam donkeys and had hung in the farmhouse for as long as she could remember. In all those years, it had never missed a minute. Too bad life couldn’t be as steady and dependable as that old clock. Loved ones died, relationships faltered, and disappointments sometimes befell people who deserved so much better. She’d risen early, despite her late night at the Lumberbeast, and driven to Arcata to set up for the

farmers’ market. Ordinarily, BJ sold produce at the Saturday morning market but she’d been devastated by news from her fertility specialist. He told her it was she, not William, who couldn’t have children. BJ, who worried about everyone’s feelings, coached the girls’ sports teams at Hoopa High, and opened her heart to anyone in need. BJ, who was a born nurturer but would never be a mother. Sometimes life sucked. Cameo tiptoed down the hallway. The hardwood floor had been worn smooth by the stockinged feet of Muldoon children. She stopped at the door to her son’s room. He looked so young in the glow of the nightlight, and yet the San Francisco Giants and skater paraphernalia that lined his bedroom walls now competed for space with band posters. He was growing up too fast. She’d invited Jeremy to go to the farmers’ market with her, but as usual, he refused. Not that she blamed him. It was a lot more fun to play with his friends in Nugget than sell vegetables with Mom. Still, she couldn’t help feeling the divide growing between them. Jeremy, who used to be so open and loving, now kept his own counsel. On rare occasions, they had a real conversation, but often as not, it turned into an argument. She walked to the bed and straightened Jeremy’s covers, taking comfort in the small, familiar action. At least she could still mother Jeremy while he slept. Shutting the door all but a crack, she wandered into

the kitchen. She was exhausted but still too wound up by the day’s events to sleep. Maybe a glass of warm milk would help. The Drunkard’s Path quilt she’d been working on lay over one of the kitchen chairs. It was a pattern she’d always loved, combining swatches of light and dark fabric to form a maze with many dead ends. Or a collection of identical puzzle pieces. It all depended on how you looked at it. It all depended on how you looked at it. Cameo stopped dead in her tracks and hurried back into the office. She manipulated the mouse to bring up the computer screen she wanted: Trevor’s meticulous record of all camp expenditures. Scrolling down to payroll, she examined the names. Aha! she thought. They weren’t there. Nowhere in the records did the name Gundar Romanov appear. Nor did the names Darrell or Duane. She felt a pang of regret that the gentle giant might be involved in some kind of criminal activity. But where Duane went, Darrell would follow. Just as she suspected, Gundar and his cronies weren’t being paid, because they were involved in another, more lucrative business. One they operated under the guise of running a wilderness camp. A chill ran up her spine. What if Trevor had discovered the truth? Maybe Gundar made him disappear permanently.

Chapter Ten

They’d reached the first checkpoint at Seven Mile Burn. After pausing briefly to orient themselves, the band of weary Thugs pressed on. Although Call and Bob had missed the mud wrestling match, a couple of slips and much splashing through puddles had taken their toll. Like the rest of the group, they were in full mud camo. They left the forest service road and traveled along the ridgeline toward Halverson Saddle. At times, the trail became steep and narrow. On their right, stands of conifers loomed like dark giants. On their left, sections of the hillside had washed away, exposing a jumble of rocks and tree roots. It was all Call could do to keep moving, following the bobbing lights in front of him. Some dude ranch this had turned out to be. After a cold, wet, muddy eternity, he saw the lights stop. Finally. They’d descended into Halverson Saddle, the halfway point of their march through hell. Call turned to look for his buddy. He hoped Bob wasn’t too far behind. Quaid waited for no one.

He’d seen Bob’s light not too long ago. Or, at least, it didn’t seem like very long. He found it hard to judge time and distance out here. He shook his head and wiped the rain out of his eyes, then squinted down the ridgeline. Where was Bob? Could he have fallen into the canyon? It was entirely possible the trail had given way beneath him, sending him tumbling down the steep ravine. Call ran back up the ridge, yelling his friend’s name. He hadn’t gone far before he realized the utter futility of his efforts. The trail had washed out in several places, and the rain was so hard, Bob couldn’t possibly hear him. If Call wasn’t careful, he’d slide into the canyon too. Then there would be no hope for either of them. He had to get help. Call turned around and slogged down the muddy path as fast as he could, hugging the side of the cliff. Quaid was conducting a briefing when he reached the wet, miserable knot of Thugs. “Reynolds Creek is north forty-three degrees northwest. Got that? This will be the toughest part of our course. We’ll climb out of the Saddle and—” “We have to go back,” Call gasped. Quaid skewered him with a look that formed icicles in the air between them. Call rushed on. “My friend, Bob, is missing. I’m afraid he might have fallen into the canyon. The trail’s really narrow back there, and I…” He stopped to catch his breath. “And I think he might have slipped.” “And I should care, why?” Quaid asked.

“Because he could be hurt. He might even die, from his injuries or exposure. We have to find him.” Quaid seemed to be struggling with the impulse to swat him like a mosquito. Call decided to play the only card available to him. “And because, if you don’t call a search party immediately, I’ll make sure your refusal to help a camper in distress makes the front page of every newspaper in Northern California. Something tells me your boss won’t like that.” Quaid advanced on him with a guttural curse that sounded like the growl of wild beast. “I’m a reporter for the Humboldt County Observer,” Call yelled over the rain. “My editor knows I’m here. If anything happens, there will be a full-scale investigation.” Actually, he doubted anyone at the Observer would care if he disappeared. Heck, they’d probably throw a party. But Quaid didn’t need to know that. Quaid stopped. The Ugly Thugs seemed unsure about whose side to take. Quaid was definitely the alpha male, but if calling a search party meant an end to their forced march, they might be willing to switch allegiance. The Thugs were an every-man-for-himself kind of group. “I’m sure there will be a reward for anyone who helps find Bob. A big one,” Call lied. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Bob’s family is filthy rich. The MacBeths of Northern Idaho. Maybe you’ve heard of them.”

He glanced meaningfully at the confused Thugs. “Potato money,” he said. “They’re rolling in it.” A wave of discontent ran through the troops. They began to mutter among themselves. Sensing a mutiny, or perhaps fearing the wrath of Gundar, Quaid chose the path of least resistance. “Hell, I was just kidding,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave a man stranded. My cell phone should work on top of the ridge. Fall in, men. We’re headed back to camp.” Call couldn’t feel any elation over his victory. Not until they found Bob, and he knew Cameo was safe. First Trevor Tremaine had disappeared, then Lech, and now Bob. Could it be coincidence or were the disappearances linked somehow? One thing was sure. He wouldn’t rest until he found the answer. *** Call pounded on the locked door of Mama Gia’s Bakery. “Hello! Is anybody there?” he yelled. There was no answer, so he pounded again. “Holy Mother of God! Are you trying to wake the dead?” Call backed up to see Allegra leaning over the second floor balcony, red hair flying in all directions. “Where’s Cameo?” he demanded.

“Home in bed,” Allegra replied. “Where do you think she’d be at this hour of the morning?” “Are you sure?” Even as the words left his mouth, Call felt the tension begin to drain out of him. “Of course I’m sure. I just saw her yesterday. Come on up and I’ll make some coffee. I’m awake now anyway.” Call had stopped only long enough to take a quick shower before hopping into his car and driving to Nugget. He was AWOL from Mad Jack’s and had blown his chance for redemption at the Humboldt County Observer by revealing his identity as an investigative reporter. Which probably meant a life sentence on the features desk, but the events of the past couple of days made his career problems seem like small potatoes. He climbed the wooden steps leading to Allegra’s apartment over the bakery. Coffee would sure taste good. He’d been running on adrenaline since dinner last night. Allegra opened the door. “You look like shit.” “Nothing a cup of coffee and a piece of Mama Gia’s carrot cake won’t fix. I don’t suppose you have any?” He attempted a light tone but suspected his effort had fallen flat. She took his arm and led him to a sunny breakfast nook overlooking Nugget’s main street. “Sit. I’ll start the coffee.” Call gazed out the window as he reviewed the events of the last few hours.

Bob had been found at first light, huddled under his Mylar survival blanket in a debris hut, with a mild concussion and a badly sprained ankle. He’d signaled the search helicopter with the magnifying glass he included in his Ten Essentials for Survival backpack. The strange thing was, he’d drifted miles off course. So far that a physically fit man would have been hard pressed to cover the distance in daylight under perfect weather conditions. Call would have to remember to ask Bob about that when he saw him. Evidently his friend was the one tough tuber. What was with all the potato analogies? he wondered. He seemed to be stuck in the spud. He smiled at his lame pun, rested his head on his arms, and promptly fell asleep. The sound of a television talk show drifted in from another room as he opened his eyes. He lifted his head and sniffed. Fresh brewed coffee. And bacon. Following his nose into the kitchen, Call walked in on a cozy domestic scene. Allegra faced the stove and a sizzling pan of bacon. Jeremy sprawled at the kitchen table, playing a hand-held video game. And Cameo, beautiful Cameo, seemed to be waiting for the toast to pop. Unable to control himself, Call rushed over and crushed her to his chest. Cameo’s face barely came to his shoulder. She looked up with a surprised but not entirely displeased expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting her go. “I was worried about you. I thought you went to the Lumberbeast.” “I did go to the Lumberbeast,” Cameo replied. “And I went with her,” Allegra said. “Whoa,” Jeremy said. All adult eyes swung toward him. “You went to the Lumberbeast?” he asked in a voice filled with awe and admiration. “Well, yes,” Cameo said. “But I had a good reason.” Jeremy waited for her to go on. “She was working undercover,” Call said. “We’ve been investigating suspicious events at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience.” “Like what?” Call sat across from Jeremy at the table. “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” “Aw, come on.” “Seriously, sport. You have to keep this quiet. Your mom and I think that Gundar and some of his…employees, are running an illegal business at the camp.” Jeremy’s eyes were almost as big as the pancakes Allegra piled on his plate. “Like drugs? Or guns! I bet they’re smuggling guns.” “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s possible,” Call replied. He took a big slurp of his coffee, then doused it with more cream and sugar. Allegra filled his plate with eggs and bacon. “You want pancakes or toast?” she asked.

“Both, please. And some more of that delicious coffee.” He felt like he could eat everything in the refrigerator and still have room for more. Cameo sat on his right, while Allegra took the spot across from her and next to Jeremy. During breakfast, Call and Cameo exchanged news about what they’d learned since their chance encounter in Trevor Tremaine’s office. “Lech was fine when we left the Lumberbeast,” Cameo said. “Dead drunk, but otherwise just fine.” “What did he say?” Call asked. “Allegra, you tell him,” Cameo said. “Not much, really. He kept hinting about some big score but he wouldn’t tell me what. He did mention Canada. Said he has a cousin there and they’re involved in this mysterious business together. When I finally got a few minutes to question him alone, he passed out,” Allegra said. Cameo glanced at Jeremy. “All he wanted to do was flirt with Allegra, if you know what I mean.” Her sister snorted. “Like the lame offer of a trip to Canada is going to get me into his—” Cameo cleared her throat loudly. “Well, you know where. Honestly, men should learn to think with their brains instead of what’s in their pants,” Allegra finished. “Allegra!” “Oh, hell. Jeremy’s heard me talk before. Nothing shocks you, does it, Germ?” Jeremy grinned at her. “Nope.”

“There were a couple of other guys from camp there, but they left before Lech,” Cameo said. “They could have doubled back,” Allegra said. Cameo kept her mouth shut, but folded her arms across her chest. She obviously wasn’t going to be budged. “Who were these other guys?” Call asked. “A couple of yahoos named Darrell and Duane,” Allegra said. “They’re twin brothers, although they don’t look anything alike. They acted like country boys who’d never been to the big city, but I don’t think they were as dumb as they pretended to be. Especially Duane.” “You didn’t catch a last name, did you?” “No. At least I didn’t.” Allegra cast an amused glance in her younger sister’s direction. One look at Cameo convinced Call that this wasn’t the time or place to question her. Besides he had another important mission to accomplish this morning. “I hate to leave this good company,” Call said. “But I ought to be getting to the hospital to see Bob. I hear he’s in pretty good shape, except for the sprained ankle. His wife is coming to pick him up this afternoon.” Cameo pushed back her chair. “I’m coming with you.” Call ducked his head to hide a grin. The Muldoon women were a strong lot. He’d love to spend more time in Cameo’s company. Lots more. Which was

fortunate, since he didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter. “How about you, Jeremy? You want to come too?” Call asked. “Nah. I think I’ll skateboard to Grandma Gia’s,” Jeremy said. “Help Aunt Allegra with the dishes first,” Cameo said. They’d barely made it out the door when Cameo poked her head back inside. “And wear your helmet.”

Chapter Eleven

It was a relatively quiet Sunday at the Mad River Community Hospital in Arcata. Cameo led the way down the hall to the acute care nurses’ station. The place stirred memories. She’d given birth to Jeremy here, and years later, sat by her father’s bedside as he died. She suspected that’s why Jeremy hadn’t wanted to come. In his mind, the hospital would be forever linked with his grandfather’s death. Today would be a happy visit though. Call had told her all about his friend on the drive. She was looking forward to meeting him, and hearing what had happened last night. “Excuse me. Where’s Bob MacBeth’s room?” Call asked at the nurses’ station. A plump nurse with blonde hair and a pleasant face looked up from her paperwork. “104-B. The doctor’s with him now though. And his wife just arrived.” “I’m a good friend of Bob’s.” He reached down and extended his hand. “Call Sanchez.” The nurse looked a little surprised but took his hand. “Linda Jo McClouski. Pleased to meet you.”

Call leaned in and spoke in a low, confidential tone. “How’s he doing?” Nurse McClouski’s expression hardened. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to give out that information.” Cameo smirked. So much for the Sanchez charm. She stepped forward. “Hi, Linda Jo. How’s it going?” “Cameo!” The nurse stood and gave her a hug. “You with him?” she asked, tilting her head toward Call. “Yeah. He’s okay. Is there anything you can tell us?” Linda Jo glanced around to be sure no one was listening. “Well, they brought Mr. MacBeth in from the ER about eight a.m. I was just coming on duty. He was covered in mud and raving about space ships, green men, lights in the forest. That kind of thing. We cleaned him up and gave him a hot meal. He just woke up about an hour ago. Seems like a nice fellow.” “Thanks, Linda Jo. We’ll keep this to ourselves,” Cameo told her. “I know you will, honey. If you can’t trust a Hoopa High alumnus, who can you trust?” *** The door to Room 104 flew open just as they arrived. Doctor Emilio Valverde hurried out. “Hi, Doc. How’s it going?” Cameo asked.

The doctor’s kind brown eyes peered at her over half glasses. His white lab coat looked like he’d slept in it, and he obviously hadn’t taken the time to shave. “It’s too damn busy. Since Doc Henshaw retired, I’ve been taking up the slack. When’s your sister going to take over his practice?” “Just a few more years.” In truth, Cameo wasn’t sure her brilliant and beautiful sister, Donata, would ever come back to Nugget. Of course, she’d never say that out loud. It would break Mama Gia’s heart. “How’s your patient doing?” Cameo asked, nodding toward Room 104. “He’s a friend of ours.” “Remarkably well, considering what he’s been through. I just released him to go home.” “Can we say hello?” “I don’t see why not. His wife’s with him. Nice to see you, Cameo. Say hello to Mama Gia.” The doctor nodded to Call and strode down the hallway toward the nurses’ station, dictating into his hand-held recorder as he walked. “Man, you know everybody,” Call said. “No, just everyone who’s ever lived or worked in Nugget, Hoopa or Willow Creek. Big geographic area, small population. I would have introduced you, but he seemed to be in hurry.” Call pushed open the door and peeked in. “Hey, partner. Feel like some company?” Bob was sitting up in bed, wearing a hospital gown and a woeful expression. His right ankle was wrapped, booty-clad, and elevated on a couple of extra pillows. He brightened on seeing Call. “Here’s

the guy I’ve been telling you about,” he said to the attractive brunette who stood by his bedside. “Come on in.” After introductions were made, Bob told his wife, “This is the guy who really saved my life. The paramedics told me he insisted a search team be called.” “How would they know that?” Call asked. “A couple of the Ugly Thugs contacted them about sharing the reward. Said they’d been out all night in the rain looking for me.” Bob chuckled. “I wish I had the money you told them I did.” “I merely spun gold from potatoes,” Call said. “You saved my bacon.” Bob sobered again. “I heard you gave up your undercover identity to do it. I’m sure sorry, pal. It looks like I screwed up all the way around.” Uh-oh. Now Call understood the reason for his friend’s long face. “Wait just a minute. The only person who saved Bob MacBeth was Bob MacBeth. You found a clearing where you could be spotted by rescuers. You kept yourself warm and hydrated. You built a shelter with a sprained ankle, for God’s sake. And you signaled for help with the magnifying glass you included in your Ten Essentials for Survival backpack.” “There, you see. That’s just what I’ve been telling you,” Meredith said. “I didn’t put a magnifying glass in my backpack,” Call said. “All I had were some matches. Good luck lighting a fire after that downpour.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t slide down the gosh-damn canyon,” Bob said. “Could have happened to anybody. I heard one of the Nazi Kens broke his leg. They had to make a litter to drag him back to camp. Their group never made it to the rendezvous point.” Bob sat a little straighter, and his blue eyes regained some of their twinkle. “Really?” “Yep, and the Crazy Eyes wandered around lost half the night. A couple of them made it to the main road and hitchhiked back to camp. The rest were picked up this morning.” “So who won?” Bob asked. “Don’t tell me…” Call nodded. “That’s right. The Lambs to Slaughter are enjoying a free day in Nugget.” Bob broke into a wide grin. He slapped his leg, wincing slightly. “If that don’t beat all. Good for them!” Cameo and Meredith exchanged amused glances. “Nazi Kens?” Cameo asked. “Lambs to Slaughter?” Meredith arched a dark eyebrow in her husband’s direction. “I’ll explain later.” Bob looked at Call. “I guess you heard about the space ship and green men and all.” “I might have heard something,” Call said. He didn’t want to break a confidence but he was dying to hear what happened. “It’s all right. I grew up in a small town, and I know how fast news travels. Especially a story as crazy as mine.”

Call patted his friend awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. You hit your head, plus you were probably delirious from pain. And exposure,” he added. “I’ve thought about all that. I had a long time to think when I was lying in that debris hut. I turned it all over in my mind, looked at it from different angles. I admit, some of last night is fuzzy, but I know what I saw.” Bob gave Call a look of dogged insistence. “Tell me about it.” “The trail gave way under me. It was like the earth opened up. That’s the last thing I remember for a while. When I woke up, I was half-buried under dirt and tree roots. “Once I figured out I was still alive, I dug myself out and tried to walk. My head was pounding, and my ankle hurt something fierce. I didn’t have anything to bind it with so I limped down the canyon a ways.” “Which direction were you going?” Call asked. “South,” Bob said. “Back toward camp. I’d walk for a while, then sit down and rest for a while. I’m not sure how long I’d been out there when I saw the lights.” “Lights?” “Yeah. Straight ahead, in the canyon. I saw a big light hovering in the sky. I hollered and waved my flashlight, then I started crawling toward it. Guess I must have passed out again. When I woke up they were all around me.”

“Who were all around you?” Call asked. “The green men. It was raining buckets, and I admit, I was a little out of it. But I swear I saw them.” Call pulled a pencil and a thin reporter’s notebook from the pocket of his cargo pants and started making notes. “What did they look like?” Bob shrugged. “They were green. Green clothes, green faces that kind of floated around me. I heard them talking in a language I couldn’t understand. Pretty soon, a couple of them picked me up and carried me to their aircraft.” “Do you remember anything else? What the aircraft looked like?” “It was just a dark shape. Dark green, maybe even black.” Bob hesitated for a moment. “Before they loaded me in, I smelled a horrible, nauseating odor. After that I must have passed out.” “What did it smell like?” Call asked. Bob’s nose wrinkled, and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Sickly sweet. Not chemical, exactly, but not like any perfume I ever smelled either. The next thing I remember, I was in the debris hut, wrapped in a blanket.” “So you didn’t actually build the debris hut?” Bob shook his head. “Not unless I did it in my sleep.” “Very strange.” Call had begun to sketch in his note pad. It helped him think. “Yeah. Damn strange. I’d find it hard to believe too, if it hadn’t happened to me. Someone or

something rescued me last night. I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you if they hadn’t.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Hey, that’s good.” The female voice startled Call. He turned to see Meredith peering over his shoulder. Cameo crowded behind her. He passed the caricature to Bob. Bob stared at the sketch of spooky, disembodied faces surrounding a prone camper. “It looks like my worst nightmare.” He grinned as he handed it back to Call. Call waved the sheet away. “Keep it. To remind you that the truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.” *** “So, what did you think of Bob’s story?” he asked Cameo on the drive home. She looked at him with big, solemn eyes. “Bob seems like a really nice guy, but right after the accident, I think he may have been a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.”

Chapter Twelve

Gundar paced nine steps across Trevor Tremaine’s office, turned, and repeated the process. He was reminded of the Siberian tiger he’d seen at a traveling circus as a boy. Although caged and unable to escape, the tiger never stopped watching for an opportunity. He’d felt an affinity for the tiger then, as he did now. Wild animals lived ruthlessly. They killed what they needed, protected their young, and drove off competitors. Unlike people, who he found to be wasteful, self-indulgent, and utterly incompetent. He hadn’t had the luxury of being any of those things growing up on the streets of Bucharest. From the age of nine, he’d fed himself and his sick, alcoholic mother by selling smuggled cigarettes, drugs, pornography…any commodity he could deal or steal in Romania’s thriving black market. By the time he’d reached his teens, he’d graduated to serving as lookout, drug mule, and, finally, smuggler for the Russian Mafia. His mother had died along the way, leaving him without any family ties.

Not that she’d ever been much good to him anyway, he reflected grimly. After his father had deserted them, Oksana had turned to prostitution to keep them from starving and vodka to numb whatever feelings she had left. Still, he’d been one of the lucky ones. He’d avoided the state-run orphanages and stayed in school long enough to learn the basics. But his real education had taken place on the streets. There, he’d learned to be ruthless. Now, greed and stupidity threatened all he’d struggled to accomplish. Lech with his disgusting side business, Tremaine’s attempts to interfere, and an investigative reporter snooping around the camp. Gundar sat in the big executive chair, resting his elbows on the desk, and steepling long fingers in front of him. Someone had been in Tremaine’s office. He’d sensed it as soon as he entered. The chair was not pushed in at exactly the right angle. The box of discs to the left of the computer had been moved. A disc was missing, although he wasn’t sure which one. He should have taken an inventory of the items in Tremaine’s office after the self-appointed CEO had departed on his little vacation. Gundar didn’t think he’d left anything incriminating, but he couldn’t be sure. The reporter was responsible for the break-in. Gundar had no doubt about that. But had the reporter acted alone? Some of the locals were unhappy with the camp’s new direction. Perhaps one of them had

decided to help. The lock appeared untouched, which meant someone had a key. Gundar would have to be more vigilant. In the meantime, those who betrayed him had been punished. He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he contemplated their fate. He’d spent a small fortune to hire the Hicks brothers to capture the bear and transport it from Canada in a twenty-five foot climate controlled trailer. All the expenses had been worthwhile. Nature’s justice had proven swift and merciless. The brothers had performed well. He’d keep them in mind for future assignments. He doubted Tremaine would give him any more trouble. The spoiled son of privilege had learned his lesson. As for the break-in, in time the thieves would be revealed. Like the tiger, he had only to watch and wait. *** “There’s no record of Gundar being paid. Not for a single hour. I’m pretty sure he’s not working for free,” Cameo said. The family had gone their separate ways after the Sunday afternoon meal, but Call and Cameo lingered at Mama Gia’s dining room table. Call was so tired he could barely hold his head up, but he sensed that

Cameo was dying to continue the conversation they’d started on the short drive back from Mad River Community Hospital. He took a fortifying slurp of coffee. “Which means he’s being paid for something, by someone other than Tremaine. Only, we don’t know what or who.” “Right. We have two people who’ve disappeared, a normally rational man who swears he was rescued by aliens in the forest, and a camp commander who evidently is not being paid for his services.” “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” “I’m worried about Trevor,” Cameo said. “No one knows exactly how long he’s been gone. The only information we have is the message on his answering machine. I’ve listened to it three times now. He says he went to Perth, Australia to meet his parents’ ship but doesn’t mention any dates.” “The big cruise lines all have web sites. Maybe they posted the ship’s itinerary.” “I checked that. The Far Horizon stopped in Perth last week. Trevor should have been home by now.” “Do you want to fill out a missing person report? She shook her head. “I think my next move is to call his parents.” “Good plan.” He stood, stifling a yawn. “I’d better go before I fall asleep on the table. Again.” Cameo jumped to her feet. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized how exhausted you are.” She looked so cute, all flushed and contrite. On impulse, Call leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Which caused her to blush even pinker. “It’s been an eventful twenty-four hours,” he said. She stepped back and her hand flew to her cheek. Watching her through sleep-heavy eyes, Call sensed her struggle to regain composure. Her response triggered one of his own. His heart picked up in tempo, and his jeans tightened. Yowzer. All that over a little kiss on the cheek. How would it feel to kiss her lips? And maybe some other delicious body parts? Cameo jammed her hands into her jeans pockets. “Where will you stay?” she asked. “Probably in my car. I’m too tired to drive anywhere to get a room. Would it be all right if I park in front of Mama Gia’s Bakery?” he asked. “Absolutely not. We have two empty apartments over the bakery. The one next to Allegra’s place is fully furnished. It’s not fancy but the bed’s comfortable. You can stay there tonight.” Call was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Any bed sounded better than cramming his six foot, three inch frame into the back seat of a BMW. “If you’re sure it won’t be any trouble.” “I insist. You’re riding with Jeremy and me. We’ll pick up your car tomorrow morning.” He liked the way Cameo took charge. She was strong, direct and oh, so tempting. A real, honest-toGod, hot, farmer’s daughter. That is, when she wasn’t an ethereal, elusive, and erotic sprite. Whichever it was, Cameo had put a spell on him.

*** Call woke the next morning to the sound of someone pounding on the door. Groggily, he lifted his head and saw sun streaming through the bedroom window. Where was he? Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat for a few minutes trying to wring memories from his sleep-addled brain. He recalled walking up the stairs above the bakery, tumbling into bed, and someone throwing a blanket over him. Cameo, no doubt. He sniffed. The pillowcase had a nice rain-fresh scent, reminding him of her. More pounding. “All right, all right. I’m coming,” he muttered. He threw the door open, dressed only in jeans. Cameo stood there, looking excited. Her eyes traveled somewhere south of his bare torso, then hastily retreated to his face. Call tried not to look amused. He found it endearing that she was too honest to be able to hide her interest in his morning missile. “What’s up?” he asked with a lazy grin. She flushed slightly but managed to rally. “You’ll never guess who called this morning.” Without waiting for a response, she rushed on. “Trevor Tremaine.” “No kidding. Where is he?”

“He’s back at the camp, and he wants to talk to you. He’s sticking by his story about going to Australia.” “Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the bakery.” Call shut the door and hurried toward the bathroom. Perhaps all wasn’t lost. If Tremaine was willing to talk, Call could break the story wide open. He might get his old job back. Or, at least, a shorter sentence on the features desk. The thought of Liz Lessard’s bright, malicious eyes and the cruel, scarlet slash of her mouth caused an involuntary shudder to run through his body. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away the horrible image. Drying himself with the fluffy towel Cameo had provided, Call reflected on how his redemption scheme had evolved since coming to Nugget one short week ago. He’d assumed his article would be about Mad Jack, but that storyline paled compared to all he’d learned since. The only problem was, there still seemed to be more questions than answers. Maybe all that would change after today. Call found Cameo waiting for him in the bakery, her foot tapping faster than a Rockette on speed. She jumped up as soon as she spotted him. “Come on,” she said. “I got you a coffee and croissant to go. I’ll drive. You eat.” She was halfway out the door before he could grab her arm. “Hold on a minute. Where do you think you’re going?”

Cameo turned to look at him. Her lovely green eyes grew wide with surprise, then narrowed. “To camp, of course. I have a lot more invested in finding out what’s going on there than you do. And, in case you’ve forgotten, we made a deal.” They stood in the doorway, practically nose to nose. Call dropped his hand from Cameo’s arm and tried for a reasonable tone of voice. “The deal was to share information, not put you in danger. Think about it. They know I’m an investigative reporter. If Gundar is involved in something illegal, as we suspect, he shouldn’t see us together.” Cameo shoved the coffee and pastry at him. “I’ll take my chances.” She turned and strode out the door. Call hurried after her. “What about Jeremy? You have to consider his safely too.” He wasn’t sure she heard him. As she power-walked toward the Bunny Love Farm pickup, he couldn’t help admiring the sway of her hips and backside, although Cameo’s enticing walk was the last thing he needed to be thinking about right now. Sheesh. The woman had moxie. He hated moxie. She got into the truck and gunned the engine, wearing the most stubborn look he’d seen since his youngest brother hit the terrible twos. What had ever made him think her strong will was cute? Reluctantly, he crossed the gravel parking lot and jerked open the passenger door of the pickup. She was going to camp, with or without him.

She guided the truck onto Highway 96 and turned north. “I’m doing this for Jeremy,” she said. “Nugget used to be a nice, safe little town, until Gundar and his henchmen showed up. I don’t like them, and I don’t like what’s been happening since they got here. This might be just another story to you, but it’s my home. I plan to fight for it.” He decided the best course of action was to keep his mouth shut. He could understand her point of view, but he still hated to have Gundar put the two of them together. Maybe the commander wouldn’t be there. Call had rarely seen him around camp. Still, he had the feeling Gundar made it his business to know everything that went on at Mad Jack’s. He figured they could come up with a plausible story and hope Gundar bought it. “Did you go to school with Trevor?” he asked. She looked surprised. “Yeah. Why?” “Were you friends with him?” “Not really. I went through kind of a phase in high school. I had a reputation for being wild.” She glanced his way, visibly uptight. “Oh, heck. I was wild. Trevor asked me out and when I said no, he started talking trash about me.” He experienced a rush of anger and protectiveness. “The little worm.” She tried to laugh, but it came out brittle and dry. “He wasn’t any worse than the rest of the boys. I guess I just expected better from him.” “Because?”

“Colonel Tremaine was one of my father’s poker playing buddies and a close friend. Although Trevor is a couple of years older than me, we grew up together.” He nodded. “All right, then. We have our story. Trevor is an old friend of the family. He called the bakery looking for me. You insisted on coming along to check on him.” Her expression brightened, and she loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “That works. I’ve called and left several messages on Trevor’s machine, so he’ll know I was concerned.” “The best lies are always based on truth,” Call said.

Chapter Thirteen

“Okay, remember. Act concerned but don’t lay it on too thick,” Call said. “I know, I know.” Jeez. He acted like she’d never told a lie before, Cameo thought as she walked through the back door of the main lodge. Obviously, she wasn’t as practiced as Call but she’d certainly heard her share of whoppers from Dad and his pokerplaying cronies. She hoped some of her father’s blarney had rubbed off on her. Call knocked three times on the door of Trevor’s office. “Come in,” a voice inside called, and they did. Trevor looked like he’d lost twenty pounds. Cameo gasped. She couldn’t help it. His normally ruddy complexion had faded to a pasty white, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Call put his hand on her arm and squeezed gently. Too late. “What happened to you?” she blurted. Trevor tried to smile but it came off as more of a grimace. “Dysentery. Otherwise known as Montezuma’s Revenge, the Traveler’s Two-Step and a few more graphic names I won’t repeat in mixed

company. I had to extend my stay in Australia until I was well enough to travel. How’s your family, Cameo?” “Fine, but we’ve all been worried about you. I insisted that Call bring me along so I could see that you’re okay. Mama Gia won’t like what I have to tell her. I’m sure she’ll insist on feeding you.” Trevor tensed. “That’s very kind, but the doctor has me on a strict diet and very limited activity. I’m supposed to rest as much as possible, so I’m afraid visitors are out of the question. I only came in this morning to get a few things caught up. Would you mind excusing us, dear? I need to talk to Mr. Sanchez alone.” Cameo bristled. Where did Trevor get off treating her like a helpless female? If the pompous little turd thought he could dismiss her, he was dumber than he looked. She crossed her arms, planted her feet, and glared at the formerly chubby CEO. “She can stay,” Call said. Trevor shrugged. “As you wish. Take a seat. Please.” He gestured toward a couple of upholstered office chairs that faced his executive desk, the same desk she’d hidden under just a few days ago. “Sure.” Call arranged his long limbs in one of the chairs and waited. She did her best to imitate her partner’s relaxed body language and amiable expression. She reminded herself she was there on a mission. She couldn’t afford to let anger cloud her judgment. Besides, a little

voice in her head insisted that something felt very, very wrong. “It has come to my attention that you were inducted under false pretenses, Mr. Sanchez.” Trevor adopted the chiding tone of a disapproving parent, although he and Call were close to the same age. “I’ve recently been told that you are, in fact, an investigative reporter.” “That’s true,” Call said, all blue-eyed innocence. “I didn’t know reporters weren’t allowed in your camp.” Trevor threw up his hands. “No, no. Quite the contrary. We welcome members of the media to Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. If you had only called in advance and identified yourself, we would have been happy to arrange a press tour. But all this skulking about, creating dissent among the campers.” Trevor shook his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to relinquish your campership. We’ll refund your second week’s fees, of course.” Cameo glanced at Call, wondering what his response would be. His expression hadn’t changed a bit. Damn, he was good at this. Call leaned forward in his chair, maintaining eye contact with Trevor. “I understand your position. And I’m certainly willing to meet you halfway. Let me make you a proposition. I’ll relinquish my campership if you tell me what’s really going on here. No one needs to know, if you get my drift. I’ll refer to you as a source close to the investigation. In return,

I’ll give you a chance to come clean and possibly avoid prosecution when this whole mess breaks open.” Trevor blanched even whiter. “I, I don’t know what you mean. There’s nothing going on here.” He stood, swaying slightly on his feet. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m not feeling well at all.” Call’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if you change your mind.” *** “If you’d cinched the flanking strap any tighter that bull wouldn’t have any balls left.” Cameo steered the Bunny Love Farm truck toward Highway 96. She glanced at Call in time to catch the spark of amusement that lit his eyes. For a second, she thought she saw something else, too. Affection? Lust? Admiration? Naw. “I don’t exactly know what a flanking strap is, but I’ll take that as a compliment,” Call said. “It’s the rope they put around a rodeo bull’s hindquarters to make him buck. Doesn’t hurt him, but it sure makes him ornery.” “Actually, Trevor wasn’t the bull I was after.” Cameo stopped at the intersection of Highway 96. “You mean, Gundar. He’s a pretty mean bull to mess with.”

Call answered in a John Wayne drawl. “That’s right, little lady. But a man’s got to do what a man’s gotta do.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or slug him. Call Sanchez was entirely too cocky for her tastes, maybe even to the point of recklessness. But she had to admit he was exciting. She hadn’t felt so alive since, well, she couldn’t remember when. Maybe when she and her sisters had thrown caution to the wind to go on some great adventure. Usually one Allegra had dreamed up. Only this was her adventure. Hers and Call’s. “You know Trevor was lying through his teeth, don’t you?” Cameo asked. “Absolutely.” “You’re not really planning on going back to camp.” Call shook his head. “I can’t learn anything there now. Gundar and company would be watching my every move.” They rode for a while in silence, each contemplating the implications of Trevor’s strange behavior. He was obviously nervous and most likely repeating the story Gundar had fed him, Cameo thought. What hold did Gundar have on him? Before she could broach the subject, Call spoke. “I couldn’t help but notice that you drove right through Nugget. Are you planning to abduct me and make me your sex slave?”

Her cheeks heated, and a pleasurable, tingly sensation in the lower part of her body made her temporarily forget about Gundar’s evil intentions. Maybe she was right. Maybe Call was looking at her with affection, lust, and admiration. She sneaked a glance in his direction. Definitely lust. “You wish,” she said. “I’m merely following up on a lead. One you may have overlooked.” They continued south toward Willow Creek on the narrow, winding Big Foot Highway. The sun slanted through dense stands of fir, pine, spruce, and cedar, casting shafts of sunlight on the road ahead. The highway followed the Klamath River until it merged with the Trinity on the Hoopa Indian Reservation. They passed no other vehicles. Her awareness of the man next to her intensified, making it hard to breathe in the close confines of the pickup. She cranked the driver’s side window down. “Stuffy in here.” Taking a deep breath of fresh, pine-scented air, she wrenched her thoughts back to the mysterious chain of events at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. “I was working on a quilt the other night when it occurred to me that maybe we’ve been looking at this whole thing wrong. I think we need to pay more attention to the white spaces.” “White spaces?” “Yeah, as in what’s missing.” Call appeared to turn that over in his head. “Trevor was missing, but he turned up. The record of

Gundar being paid is missing. The only other thing missing is Lech.” “Exactly. The Lumberbeast is closed Sunday through Wednesday. I doubt Gundar would have reported Lech missing yet. He wouldn’t want the publicity.” “Or maybe he doesn’t want Lech to be found at all.” The suggestion sent a chill down Cameo’s spine. She’d suspected as much herself, but didn’t want to put it into words. “So either Lech is still wandering in the woods, or he’s injured—” “Or he’s dead.” “Maybe. Or maybe he took off for Canada to chase that big score he was talking about. Anyway, I thought it couldn’t hurt to take a look around.” “Great idea. There’s only one problem. If something sinister is going on, I don’t want you in the middle of it. I suggest we go back to town and notify the authorities. A lot of this is in the Six Rivers National Forest. I’m sure the rangers would be interested in investigating.” Cameo cast a suspicious glance in his direction. As usual, Call looked totally innocent. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He could walk through a cow pasture and not get a speck of manure on his boots. Yeah, right. “Nice try, Sanchez. Then you can climb in to that fancy sports car and slither up here to investigate without me.”

“BMWs do not slither.” The corners of Call’s mouth twitched. She wanted to grin too. “No, but snakes do.” “Okay, fine. I was only trying to protect you.” “How considerate. But I brought my own protection, thank you very much.” Keeping her eyes on the road, she leaned across him and opened the glove box. Nestled inside was her can of bear spray. Call whistled softly. He took it out and turned it over in his hands. “I’ve been meaning to get some of this stuff. Pepper spray, right?” “Industrial strength. You don’t want to be downwind of it.” “I can see that you’re a resourceful woman, but pepper spray is no match for a gun. Now that your cover’s been blown, I think you should steer clear of Mad Jack’s.” Cameo deliberately ignored his last comment. “Look. There’s the turnoff. It’s about six miles to the Lumberbeast so keep your eyes open.”

Chapter Fourteen

Cameo sat on the tailgate of the pickup, dangling her feet, and soaking up the spring sunshine. She took a long drink from her water bottle and enjoyed a few minutes of solitude while Call took a short detour into the woods. She wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed that they hadn’t found any sign of Lech on the old logging road leading to the Lumberbeast. It had been a long shot at best. If Gundar had Lech killed, he was undoubtedly smart enough to do it someplace where the body wouldn’t be found. Most likely, Lech had received a better offer and left town without telling anyone. He hadn’t exactly struck her as the kind of guy to form lasting friendships with co-workers or worry about giving notice to his employer. “Hey, good lookin’. Got another one of those water bottles?” Call emerged from the forest grinning like a second grader on a Sunday school picnic. A sheen of sweat moistened his face. “Over there.” She gestured toward a small ice chest in the bed of the pickup. “Help yourself.”

He took a long drink, tilting the stainless steel bottle and draining it, throat working as he drank. A rivulet dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it with a strong, tanned forearm. She sipped from her bottle and looked away. What had gotten into her? She was behaving like a sex-starved teenager. Get a grip. Drinking water is not an erotic act. He plopped down beside her on the tailgate, apparently unaware of her surge of libido. “You have stuff in your hair,” she said. He swatted at the dark auburn thatch, dislodging an assortment of leaves and pine needles. “Better?” He looked at her with those expressive blue eyes, sometimes sharp, sometimes teasing, but at this moment disarmingly boyish. Warmth radiated from his body. She smelled pine and damp earth, along with the subtle scent of his cologne. Or was it him? She didn’t care. She wanted, needed, to get closer, inhale his scent more deeply. To feel his strong arms around her. His eyes darkened, and his expression shaded from innocent to intensely sensual. Had he read her thoughts? He leaned in to kiss her, and she met him with an urgency she didn’t know she possessed. Twining her fingers through his hair, she opened herself to the explorations of his mouth, drinking in the scent, taste, and feel of him. His kisses were hot and hard, just as she needed them to be. She moaned softly, trying to shift into a position where she could feel more of his

body against hers. She wanted the length of him pressed against her. His right arm tightened around her as his left slipped under her knees. In one swift motion, she was in his lap. She shifted to face him as he deepened his kisses, leaving her breathless and aching for more. With quick fingers, she unbuttoned his light flannel shirt, running her fingertips over the sprinkling of red-gold hair that gleamed in the late morning sun. He rained kisses down her cheeks to her throat, hesitating on the pulse that throbbed just beneath the surface. She let her fingers stray from his soft flannel shirt to brush lightly across the hard maleness that strained against his jeans. A bee buzzed past them, and Call went absolutely still. She glanced up at him. “What’s wrong? Are you allergic?” “Shhhh.” He didn’t move but his grip tightened. Confused, she turned to follow his gaze. Not five hundred yards away was the biggest bear she’d ever seen. And he was looking straight at them. *** Diane Chan plowed through the stack of reports in her in-basket at the Six Rivers National Forest

Rangers Station in Nugget, pausing occasionally to gaze out the window at the beautiful spring day. Her recently adopted dog lifted her head and whined softly. The golden retriever mix seemed to sense her owner’s restless mood. Diane thought she’d never return to Nugget. Her life was supposed to be different. As different as she had felt, growing up on the Yurok reservation. Just goes to show you, she thought, never say never. A broken leg that had healed badly and a series of operations had led her back to her hometown, but her heart longed to return to the fire line, with the hotshot crew that had become her family. When the final cast came off, the docs told her that, with therapy, she might walk well enough to do field conservation work. Jumping from airplanes to fight forest fires was out of the question. It was just one of those things, the doctors said. She was the one in a hundred who hadn’t responded well to traditional treatments. Easy for them to say. Bitterness rose in her like bile. She had to get out of this office or go crazy. Her supervisor and the other two rangers were in the field, and the volunteer who manned the front counter had gone to lunch. At least she could step out on the front porch and get some fresh air. “Come on, Golden. Let’s take a break.” The beautiful, taffy-colored dog jumped up, lifting her plumed tail high. She streaked out the front

door of the ranger station, while Diane limped behind, just in time to see a vintage, cherry red pickup fishtail into the parking lot, peppering the air with pebbles and wood chips. The couple who bailed out looked like they’d just seen Big Foot. *** “Okay, slow down and tell me again. Exactly where did you see this bear?” Ranger Chan asked. She’d invited Cameo and Call into the ranger station to fill out a report. “It was four point two miles from Highway 96, on the road leading to the Lumberbeast,” Cameo said. “I checked the odometer.” The ranger jotted down the location. “Can you describe the bear?” “It was huge. Bigger than any black bear I’ve ever seen. It had a rough looking, brownish coat. It stared at us for a while and went back into the forest,” Cameo said. “You don’t think it could have been Old Mose or Four Toes, do you?” Call asked. Both women looked at him, surprise etched on their features. Then they began to laugh. Cameo laughed so hard he thought she might wet her pants. “What did I say?” Call asked, feeling slightly injured by their hilarity.

“I’m sorry,” Cameo gasped between giggles. “I’m not laughing at you. I think it’s a release of tension.” “Glad I could be of service,” Call said, a little grumpily. “Who told you about Old Mose and Four Toes?” Ranger Chan asked. “Doc Henshaw and Duffy told me about them the first week I was in Nugget.” “I guess they forgot to mention that Old Mose and his son, Four Toes, have been dead for a hundred years?” Call grinned sheepishly. “I guess they did. The way they told the story, you’d have thought it happened yesterday.” Cameo had been watching the tall, dark-haired ranger intently since they walked into the office. “You used to live here, didn’t you?” she asked. “Yeah, I did.” The ranger seemed reluctant to elaborate. Cameo snapped her fingers. “Diane Chan. I knew you looked familiar. You graduated from Hoopa High a few years ahead of me.” “Yep, that’s me.” Diane picked up her pencil. “Did the bear behave aggressively toward you?” “Not really,” Call said. “He just looked at us for a while, then turned and wandered back into the woods.” “The thing is, there’s a hiker missing in that vicinity,” Cameo put in. Diane looked up from her report. “Really? I haven’t heard anything about a missing hiker.”

“That’s because no one has reported him missing,” Cameo replied. “Until now, that is.” The ranger set down her pencil. “I’m confused. Are you here to report a bear or a missing person?” “Both.” Cameo glanced at Call. “Shall I tell her or do you want to?” They’d decided on the way to the Lumberbeast to share their story with someone from law enforcement or a forest service ranger. The bear sighting had tipped the balance in favor of the ranger. “Go ahead,” Call said. “I’ll jump in later.” Cameo started with the changes at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience and Trevor’s mysterious disappearance. She mentioned Gundar was working without pay, while neatly avoiding the part about burglarizing Tremaine’s office and stealing a computer disc containing the camp’s financial records. Last, she described her night at the Lumberbeast and Lech’s disappearance. Call filled the ranger in on Bob MacBeth’s story and their impressions after meeting with Trevor. Diane’s intelligent, almond-shaped eyes shifted between them as they spoke. Her expression betrayed nothing. When they’d finished, she sat quietly for a minute, as if weighing her response. Call understood her hesitation all too well. He’d been in her position dozens of times, listening to some well-intentioned if slightly whacko citizen spouting a conspiracy theory. He knew the facts in their story didn’t add up to much but he also trusted his

reporter’s instinct. Something was very wrong in the north woods. Finally, she spoke. “I understand your concern about Mad Jack’s. But the camp is on privately owned land. The Forest Service has no jurisdiction there. As for Trevor Tremaine’s odd behavior, well, I have no explanation other than the one he offered. And Lech may well have disappeared for reasons of his own. “Taken separately, each of these incidents has a perfectly logical explanation. I know when you put them all together they seem suspicious, but it doesn’t appear that any laws have been broken.” “The more you stir it, the more it stinks,” Cameo said. Diane nodded, and Call sensed that some shared knowledge passed between the women. “I’ll tell you what. I can’t justify filling out a report but I’ll do some investigating on my own. I have the next two days off and I’m supposed to be exercising my leg.” She grimaced. “Moderately.” They’d done all they could here, Call thought. He got up and pulled out Cameo’s chair. “Thanks. We appreciate whatever you’re able to do.” “Be careful,” Cameo told Diane. “If you go anywhere near the Lumberbeast, I’d leave your dog at home.” Diane stood and patted Golden’s head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Golden Girl won’t be going on this adventure.”

Chapter Fifteen

“What was that all about?” Call asked as they got into the pickup. “What?” “The stirring-stinking thing. It seemed to convince Ranger Chan to help us.” Cameo smiled. “‘The more you stir it the more it stinks.’ It’s an old saying from the logging days. The lumber mill in Willow Creek closed years ago, long before I was born, but some of the expressions have stuck around.” He leaned back in the passenger seat, feeling relaxed but, at the same time, pleasantly stimulated by Cameo’s proximity. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to bring up the subject of Nugget’s folklore and legends. Specifically, the one about Mad Jack. “This area seems to have more than its share of tall tales.” He stretched his arm across the bench seat and stroked the soft fringe of dark hair at the nape of her neck. “Makes it hard for an outsider to separate truth from fiction.” Her gaze touched him briefly. “They’re all true.”

“Come on. You don’t really believe in Big Foot, do you?” She seemed to consider her answer as she navigated the short stretch of highway leading from the ranger station to downtown Nugget. “Of course, I haven’t met the big guy personally, but there are plenty of folks who swear he exists. Down in Willow Creek, they named a museum after him. It’s chock full of Big Foot memorabilia.” “How about Old Mose and Four Toes?” he asked. “Old Mose was the most feared grizzly in the United States, according to newspaper clippings of the time. He weighed over a thousand pounds and supposedly killed three men and eight hundred head of cattle. His son, Four Toes, was just as fearsome. When they were killed in 1904, they were believed to have been among the last wild grizzlies in California.” “Can’t believe everything you read in newspapers.” “So I hear.” She shot him an amused glance. “And Mad Jack?” Call realized he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer. More than a story, more than uncovering the truth, even more than escaping the evil clutches of Liz Lessard, he wanted Cameo to trust him. The realization caught him by surprise. “Mad Jack was as real as you and I.” Disappointment welled up inside him. He removed his arm from the back of her seat. “I’ve probably talked to ten different people and gotten ten

different stories about Mad Jack. If you believe all of them, he’s been in every combat situation since World War II, pioneered the environmental movement, and, in his spare time, grown the best marijuana in the Pacific Northwest.” “Really?” She looked at him, wide-eyed. “I may have exaggerated just a little.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “You don’t believe me.” She sighed. “And I can’t say that I blame you. Mad Jack’s story seems to grow in the telling. People put their own spin on it.” She stopped the truck in front of Mama Gia’s Bakery. “No kidding.” He climbed out of the vehicle and started across the gravel lot to his temporary home above the bakery. He knew he was behaving like a sulky child but he couldn’t help it. After all they’d been through together, he expected better from her than another tall tale. “I’ll tell you what. Come to my house for dinner this evening and I’ll show you proof of Mad Jack’s existence.” He turned to study her, squinting into the afternoon sun. “What kind of proof?” “I’ll introduce you to Mad Jack’s grandson.” *** Cameo put the finishing touches on her chicken and wild rice casserole and popped it into the oven.

She’d straightened the house, then packed Jeremy off to spend the night with BJ. Her sister’s husband was attending some math symposium at Humboldt State University in Arcata, leaving BJ home alone. Again. Everyone in the family believed that BJ and William’s inability to conceive was causing problems in their marriage. Although BJ struggled to put on a brave face, Cameo could see the hurt in her eyes. William seemed to spending more and more time away from home, while BJ grieved for the child they would never have. Hanging out with Jeremy always cheered up her sister. BJ planned to pick up her nephew’s favorite fast food and a DVD on the way home. Cameo smiled. All BJ’s training as a nutritionist went out the window when she had the chance to spoil her nephew. Cameo walked into the bathroom, spritzed on a little perfume, and checked her hair. She’d taken a shower that afternoon but hadn’t changed until after Jeremy and BJ departed. If this was going to be a temporary affair, the less Jeremy knew about it, the better. She examined herself critically in the mirror. Her soft, sea green blouse gathered at the waist, then flowed over pants made from the same crinkly cotton material. The color was good, bringing out the green in her eyes, but she hoped she didn’t look like she was wearing her pajamas. On the other hand, wasn’t bedding Call Sanchez exactly what she had in mind?

She was tired of playing it safe. Tired of doing the same things, day after day. Tired of dating the same sweet but boring man. Most of all, she was tired of always being responsible. She walked into the large farmhouse kitchen, the family gathering place. She and her sisters had done their homework at the big, rough-hewn wooden table. They’d laughed, argued, and shared the stories of their lives here. After Dad died, Mama Gia had decided to move into Nugget. She said she wanted to be closer to work but the sisters suspected she needed a fresh start, away from the daily reminders of her life with Finn. So that had left just Cameo and Jeremy. And, of course, Attila, the farm bunny. She’d decided against starting a fire in the big pot-bellied stove that occupied the center of the kitchen. The day had been mild, so she still had the windows open. The smells of her herb garden mingled with the delicious aroma of the casserole baking in the oven. She lit two tall candles in crystal holders. The table was set with creamy linen placemats and napkins. She didn’t own any fancy china but thought the pretty, slightly ornate, antique silverware she’d bought in Weaverville created a nice contrast with the farmhouse’s earthenware dishes. She arranged a few sprigs of lilacs in a vase turned purple by the sun, and her table was complete. With nothing left to do, she wandered into the living room and picked up the Drunkard’s Path quilt

she’d been working on. Although a lot of quilters used sewing machines, she preferred doing the piecing by hand. She did some of her best thinking while sewing the tiny stitches that bound her creations together. She was taking a big chance getting involved with Call. She’d almost certainly get her heart broken. But she didn’t care. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” she said in what was probably a poor imitation of Scarlet O’Hara’s Southern drawl. No matter, there was no one to hear her except Attila, who had taken his usual position by her feet. The little rabbit flicked his ears in her direction, then resumed his nap. Call moved her. He surprised and delighted her. And he made her laugh. She suspected he was a dreamer, the type of man she’d sworn to avoid. But for once, just this once, she’d decided to throw all her carefully crafted rules out the window. Caution be damned. She was ready to live a little.

Chapter Sixteen

Call pulled through the gate to Bunny Love Farm at a quarter to five. He couldn’t believe the pastoral scene before him. Plots of carefully tended produce created a patchwork of shapes, colors, and textures. The Humboldt River flowed majestically through the landscape, forming the eastern boundary of the farm. A small, white clapboard house, not much bigger than an outbuilding, sat on a rise overlooking the river. As he drove around a slight curve in the road, the main farmhouse came into view. Bunny Love Farm was aptly named. The house sprawled in several directions, reminding him of a rabbit warren. It had a comfortable, homey look about it. Cameo must have heard his car approach because she came out on the shaded front veranda and waved. Wow. She was wearing a clingy, green outfit that accentuated every curve. He’d never seen her in anything but blue jeans. She looked damn good in them, but the soft green brought out her feminine side. And it made him acutely aware of how much he wanted her.

“Come on up,” she called, and disappeared into the house. He mounted the two steps to the wooden veranda that ran the length of the house. Like the rest of the farmhouse, it shone with fresh, light gray paint. A double glider occupied the space between the steps and the front door. He paused for a moment to look at the farm. The scene was right out of the heartland. He had the strange sensation of being dropped into an alternate reality, like the Wizard of Oz in reverse. Instead of Munchkin Land, he’d arrived in Dorothy’s front yard. Only, that didn’t look like Toto hopping toward him. Cameo followed the sleek, gray rabbit, holding two glasses of wine. She handed him one, sending shock waves of awareness through his body as her fingertips brushed his. “Welcome to Bunny Love Farm,” she said. “Would you like to sit down?” She motioned to the glider. Boy, would he. He selected a spot in the approximate center of the glider. She curled up at the far end, tucking her feet under her. In the late afternoon light, her short, dark hair caressed her heart-shaped face, softening, but not completely disguising the strength of her chin. “To myths, legends, and tall tales,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

Call grinned but said nothing. If she was about to spill the magic beans, far be it from him to rush her. He’d let her tell her story in her own time. “Where’s Jeremy?” he asked. “Spending the night with BJ.” Call sipped his wine while he digested that bit of information. It definitely ruled out the idea that Jeremy was the elusive Mad Jack’s grandson. Could he be whoever lived in the little white house overlooking the river? But there was another part to this equation he couldn’t ignore. Sexy outfit, plus wine, plus no son added up to an evening ripe for seduction. Jeremy was a great kid and all, but seeing his mom in those clingy, green pajamas stirred memories of a certain Xrated dream Call’d had. In it, Cameo had slipped like a mist into the forest. This afternoon, she was tantalizingly close and very real. She must have read something in his expression because a look of panic flitted across her face. She turned toward the gray bunny who sat at the opposite end of the porch, looking wistfully toward an enclosed vegetable garden. “Attila,” she called, bending over to pat the wooden decking with her hand. “Come here, boy.” The little rabbit hopped toward them. “Attila? As in Attila the Hun?” He raised an eyebrow. “Right. Only in this case, it’s Attila the Bun.” “Very creative.”

Cameo stroked the rabbit’s ears and head. It seemed to relax her and Attila obviously enjoyed it. Call couldn’t help feeling a little envious. “It was Jeremy’s idea. We had a long line of farm bunnies with the same name, but after my dad died, Jeremy wanted to do something different. That particular name was so connected with his grandfather it seemed best to break with tradition.” They sipped for a few minutes in silence. “Well, aren’t you going to ask?” Cameo said. “Ask what?” The warm afternoon, good wine and Cameo’s alluring closeness had overloaded the pleasure receptors in his brain. He was having trouble focusing. “The rabbits’ name, silly.” “Okay, I’ll bite. What was their name?” “Mad Jack.” Call sat straight, and the glider rocked backward. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “You mean Mad Jack, the Mad Jack, was a bunny rabbit?” “That’s right. Every Thursday night Dad, Doc Henshaw, Duffy, Colonel Tremaine, Tobias Greene, and Bud Purdy, the town newspaper editor, got together for a game of poker in the farmhouse basement. Mad Jack was always with them. He never left my father’s side. No one really knows how the stories got started, but it became a poker night tradition for the guys to spin tall tales about Mad Jack. “Uncle Bud published a couple of their yarns in the Nugget News. Then Colonel Tremaine named his

wilderness camp after Mad Jack, and a legend was born.” “So none of the stories are true,” Call said. “Actually, a lot of the stories are true. You may have noticed that most of them have a common thread: Mad Jack as a wounded warrior who overcomes his personal tragedy to help others. The poker buddies took their own life experiences and embellished them. I guess you could say Mad Jack is the hero in every man.” “I like it,” Call said. A vision of the headline flashed in his brain. “Mad Jack: The Hero in Every Man.” “But you can’t write about it,” Cameo said. “Why not? It’s a great story. And it would be good publicity for the town.” The wheels in his head were spinning. A great feature story would make the Humboldt County Observer readers forget about his recent, er, indiscretion. And if the readers loved him, management had to forgive and forget. “Because the economy of Nugget is based on the legend. Willow Creek has Big Foot. Happy Camp has Jedediah Smith. We have Mad Jack. The camp brings hundreds of men here every year. They’re the main source of income for most of the businesses in town, including ours.” She fixed him with big, earnest eyes. He began to melt, but tried one more time. “Surely people must know Mad Jack doesn’t exist. I’d just be confirming it. And I’d portray Nugget in the most flattering light possible. Heck, my story could create a boom in tourism.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get it. People want to believe. Exposing Mad Jack as a fantasy would be like saying there is no Santa Claus.” Oh, great. Just what he needed. The reporter who outed Santa Claus. She was right though. He couldn’t take a chance on hurting so many people he cared about. “Okay, you win. I’ll let Mad Jack continue to live in the hearts and minds of children everywhere. Are you happy now?” “Yes,” she said simply. Then she leaned over and brushed his cheek with her beautiful, pink, Cupid’s bow lips and the pursuit of truth and justice didn’t seem nearly so important. *** Dusk settled gently over Bunny Love Farm as Call and Cameo strolled toward the Klamath River. Dinner had been aromatic, fresh, and beautifully presented in the rustic farmhouse dining room. Call was pretty sure it tasted good but he’d been too distracted by Cameo to notice. He’d given himself a stern lecture on the drive over. He was in Nugget for a story. Period. Once he got his career back on track, he’d return to Eureka and from there, who knew? After the stinking sewer plant fiasco, he’d vowed never to mix romance with journalism again. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to get involved with Cameo when he had other plans. Big

plans, none of which involved hanging around Nugget. The minute he’d pulled up to the farmhouse and seen her standing on the front porch, all his good intentions had flown right out the window. “Who lives there?” he asked, pointing to the cozy, white cabin overlooking the river. “Tobias Greene. He’s the farm manager, handyman, and an all-around great guy. I’m not sure we could have kept Bunny Love Farm going without him, especially after Dad died.” “Is he a local?” Call asked, more for something to say than out of any real interest. The sexual attraction between them pulsed like a force field. “No.” She chose a narrow path that wound down to the river. On either side were neatly planted rows of baby lettuce, what looked like tomato vines, and some other leafy things he didn’t recognize. He was forced to fall back a little to avoid trampling the crops. Not that he minded. The view of Cameo’s curvy backside in those clingy sea-green pajamas threatened what little self-restraint he had left. Call had a flashback to an especially uncomfortable period in his adolescence. Whenever he’d gotten up the nerve to talk to a pretty girl, his voice had cracked. He cleared his throat. “Where’s he from?” “Who?” Oops. He’d slipped into another dimension again and lost track of time. Unfortunate habit of his. “Tobias Greene.”

She didn’t answer, and he wondered if she’d heard him. She stopped on a small bluff overlooking the river, farm, and surrounding countryside. “This was my favorite place as a girl. I haven’t been up here for years. Never seem to have the time.” She opened the backpack she’d insisted on toting and pulled out a large yellow and white woven tablecloth. Next came a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a small Tupperware container. Call kicked a few rocks and pinecones out of the way, then helped her spread the cloth over a soft carpet of pine needles. The feeling of intimacy was immediate. Surrounded by towering pine trees, they could see everything yet were hidden from the world. Below them and across the river, a few headlights zipped past on Highway 96. She opened the Tupperware and pulled out some fat red grapes and a wedge of soft cheese. “Dessert,” she said, handing Call the bottle of wine and opener. She sliced some cheese with a little red pocketknife, then magically produced a couple of plastic camp glasses. You had to admire a gal who carried a pocketknife, Call thought. He poured a little Chardonnay into the glasses, then stretched out, propping himself on one elbow as he watched Cameo arrange grapes and cheese on the Tupperware lid. He was vaguely aware of a shadow creeping toward them as the sun sank behind forested hills across the river. He picked up a grape, dunked it in the wine, and held it to her lips.

She tilted her head back, exposing her creamy throat and caught the grape between her teeth. “Ummm, good.” Cameo had a surprisingly low voice for such a feminine girl. Somewhere in the alto range, he thought. Like Stevie Nicks, only sweeter. Her velvet voice, the dark fringe of lashes against her cheeks, and those sharp, little white teeth made him giddy with desire. God help him. He was trying to be good, but he didn’t think he could take much more. She took a sip of wine and, in the gathering darkness, Call thought he saw her brow furrow. He wondered if she too, was torn between desire and caution. As if in answer to his question, she set her glass down so hard the wine sloshed onto the cloth. She held out her hand. “Come here,” she said softly. *** Cameo’s heart raced as she saw Call’s eyes flash with desire. He hesitated only a moment before reaching over to cup her face with his hand. She leaned in to meet him, all her senses in a heightened state of awareness. His kiss was surprisingly restrained. Not at all like the passionate embrace they’d shared on the tailgate of her pickup earlier in the day.

She pulled away. “What’s wrong?” Call let her go. He retreated to his side of the spread and took a deep, raw breath. He passed a hand over his face. She waited, hurt and confused. Had she read all his signals wrong? Her seduction scene seemed to have turned into one big humiliating mistake. She wanted to jump up and run to the farmhouse, but her limbs felt frozen with embarrassment. “Sorry. I guess I misunderstood.” She began to gather up their picnic with stiff, jerky movements. Call took her hand. “Cameo.” Was that all he could say? She jerked her hand away, as a wave of welcome, cleansing anger washed over her. She no longer cared that what Call thought. She just wanted out of there. Now. Scrabbling over the tablecloth on her hands and knees, she began tossing picnic supplies in her backpack. Grapes, cheese, utensils, camp glasses, any loose item that met her grasp. All the while, she avoided looking at him. She jumped to her feet and started speed walking toward the farmhouse, surprised at how quickly night had fallen. No matter. She knew this path well. Call could follow her or find his own way in the dark. She’d strode maybe a hundred feet down the path when strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. Gasping in surprise, she started to cry out, but a demanding mouth settled over hers, smothering any protest.

She could see only dim outlines but the feel, the smell, and the taste of Call filled her senses. He pulled her to him. His kiss was fierce, possessive. His desire jutted hot and hard against her belly. She stretched to meet him, wrapping her arms around his neck, giving his hands free access as they ranged over her body. They were both breathing raggedly when Cameo tore herself away from him. “I thought you didn’t want me,” she said. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman. But I care about you too. My career—” “Will take you far, far away. I know. I’ve thought about that.” As she stood with her back against a pine tree, she knew she’d reached a crossroads. She could go back to her old safe but boring life or she could plunge headfirst into the unknown. Unexpectedly, her mind flashed on the quilt she’d been piecing. The Drunkard’s Path was named for the jagged ribbon of color that meandered through white spaces. When finished, the quilt had a crazy logic all its own. Maybe the same would be true for her and Call. She was tired of traveling the safe path. For once in her life, she wanted to feel deliriously happy, outrageously sad, mad with desire. She wanted to experience all the passion life had to offer. She tried to sound casual, like a woman in full control of the situation. “The truth is, I’m not looking for a long-term commitment. I’m tired of being responsible all the time. I want fun, excitement,

adventure.” She cast about for exactly the right words to explain her feelings. “I want a Twinkie,” she blurted. Call looked slightly startled but he didn’t laugh. He took her face between his hands and kissed her resoundingly on the lips. “Honey,” he said, “I’m your man.”

Chapter Seventeen

Cameo’s bedroom was at the back of the house, with a view of the Klamath River, and beyond the river, the highway. Call stood in front of sliding glass doors leading to a redwood deck and watched as an occasional pair of headlights wound through the trees on the opposite side of the river. Watched and waited for Cameo to emerge from the bathroom. He didn’t know if he felt more excited or nervous. Cameo was no ordinary woman. She was strong, sexy, grounded in her life but at the same time, he sensed a creative spirit longing to be set free. The elusive sprite he’d dreamed about, fragile, ethereal, and yet full of the joy of living. “Hey there.” He turned to see Cameo in a short, white negligee with a tight-fitting black top that accentuated her breasts. Tiny black panties peeked through the sheer material. She pirouetted for him, and the material swirled around her curvy hips and rear. “What do you think?”

He’d died and gone to heaven. He crossed the room and took her hands in his, then backed up to take a better look. He’d never seen a more luscious sight than Cameo in black and white. His breath caught in his throat and, for once, words failed him. “Wow.” She giggled, a little nervously. When she pressed her wonderful curves against his bare chest, he forgot everything except how good she felt in his arms. He began slowly kissing her hairline and forehead, then continued down her cheeks to that adorable little Cupid’s bow mouth. She lifted her face. In the moonlight, Call saw fear, hope, and the stirring of passion. He knew Cameo was breaking her rules by allowing him to get close, and he vowed to make her very, very glad. Tonight, there would be no rules. He kissed her sweet lips, reveling in her small moans as he stroked her back and bottom. Then he cupped his hands under her rear and lifted her so they were at eye level, never pausing in his exploration of her mouth. Her strong legs wound around him, holding him tight, as she rubbed her breasts against his chest and nipped playfully on his bottom lip. He shuddered from the intensity of the pleasure. The little outfit she was wearing had served its purpose. Now he wanted it off. Turning in a half circle, he laid her gently on the bed and, with clumsy fingers, began to untie the black

laces that held her bodice together. “Too many clothes,” he whispered. She said nothing, but lay languidly in the moonlight, looking up at him with a bewitching smile. At that moment, despicable cad that he was, he would have promised her anything to lie between her thighs. And yet, she asked nothing. He felt both grateful and undeserving. When the ties finally came undone, he parted the gauzy material to reveal Cameo. His Cameo. With small, high breasts, a slender waist, and rounded womanly hips. His eyes traveled the length of her, from her pretty pixie face to pretty painted toenails. Sparkly pink. Probably sprinkled with fairy dust. She accepted his adoring gaze, seemed to relish it, but when he bent to kiss her, she placed a hand against his bare chest and pushed gently. “Now you,” she said. He grinned. He stood by the side of the bed and slowly unbuttoned his 501 jeans. One button at a time. Cameo had never felt so wanton, so thoroughly womanly, as she did at that moment, watching Call perform his slow striptease. Button number three revealed a thatch of red-gold hair. With button number four, his straining erection threatened to pop out. Button number five revealed all. Call shimmied the jeans past his hips, but Cameo couldn’t take her

eyes off his erection. It stood as tall and proud as a young redwood. “They grow ’em big in Southern Cal,” she said. “Must be all that irradiated food I ate growing up,” Call replied. “I said big, not monstrous.” Call’s sexy baritone laugh seemed to fill the corners of the bedroom. “I’ll show you monstrous.” Tossing his jeans on the floor, he threw himself onto the bed and rubbed his body against hers. She felt the friction of his red-gold chest hair, the warmth of his skin and then, a spear of heat as his erection slid between her thighs. She cradled it there, as her feminine juices went into overdrive. Cameo stroked his muscled shoulders and forearms, then used her legs to leverage him onto his back. “Hey! Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked. “Self-defense class. My sister, BJ, is an expert. She taught me some moves.” “Remind me not to piss you off.” He looked up at her with admiration and, yes, excitement. Exultation rushed through her. Call liked her strength, was turned on by it. He wasn’t one of those guys who wanted a wimpy, subservient woman. She could be herself with him, maybe even push a few boundaries. She’d never felt so gloriously, unashamedly sexual. She cast off the skimpy negligee. Clad only in a black thong, she sat on his pelvis, stroking his shaft as it reached toward her belly. She opened the drawer of

the night table and took out a condom. Removing it from its foil envelope, she rolled it slowly down his length. “I think it will be a perfect fit.” Call groaned, whether from pleasure or the effort to control himself, she wasn’t sure. “Maybe I’d better check you too,” he said. Still straddling his body, Cameo scooted up to his belly. He rubbed rough palms over her nipples, squeezing her breasts, then cupped them as though feeling their weight in his hands. He had the long, tapering fingers of a piano player or an artist. Funny, she’d never noticed that before. His right hand dipped lower, over the curve of her belly, past the skimpy barrier of her thong, and she forgot everything but the gentle explorations of his fingers as they probed the warm, wet depths of her. Throwing back her head, she grasped her breasts and rubbed her fingers over the nipples. He was driving her mad with his teasing. She began to grind her pelvis. Call had a firm grip on her left hip, probably to keep her from writhing off the bed, as he plunged his fingers deeper inside her. She was beginning to spiral into ecstasy when he withdrew his wickedly talented digits. “I think you might be ready now,” he said. His blue eyes twinkled, and he had self-satisfied grin on his face. “Smartass.” “Sassy wench.”

Without warning, he flipped her onto her back. Before she could react, he’d pinned her with his lower body. Strong hands grasped her wrists, holding them on either side of her head. “Hey, no fair.” The protest sounded weak, even to her ears. In truth, she was enjoying their contest of wills. Never had she experienced such uninhibited foreplay. “I know a few tricks of my own,” Call whispered. He lowered his mouth over hers, giving her a long, slow, soul-satisfying kiss. He was in control, but she was more than receptive to the demands of his of lips and tongue. When he finally pulled away, she whimpered with wanting. In the dim glow of a nightlight, she recognized something fierce in his expression. The possessiveness of a lover. At that moment, she belonged totally to him, and he to her. Letting go of her wrists, he trailed his fingertips over her body and then followed them with his tongue, stopping to taunt, tease, and tickle along the way. When he found her breasts, Cameo arched her back, greedy for more of the exquisite sensations his hot, demanding mouth created deep in her belly. She felt as though she might come apart if she didn’t have Call inside her. She needed him to complete her. “Now,” she said. “Please, now.” He lifted his head. Supporting himself with his forearms, he held her gaze as he eased inside her. Clinging to his arms, Cameo lifted her pelvis to meet him. Her muscles tightened as the first rolling

wave of a climax washed over her. “I don’t…think…I can wait,” she gasped. “Come for me,” he whispered. “I want to watch.” He stroked slowly at first, letting her get used to the girth and length of him. But Cameo was in no mood for gentlemanly discretion. She grabbed his firm buttocks and pulled him to her. Soon, he was plunging into her hot, slippery center, harder, faster, until neither of them could hold back. She was teetering on the precipice of ecstasy when Call stiffened and cried out. His climax pushed her over the edge. She felt as if she were shattering into a thousand pieces. Bright lights glittered behind her eyelids. Her heart pounded, her breasts ached and, for a moment, she forgot to breathe as every atom of her being focused on the incredible sensations. The climax was like nothing she’d ever experienced, and she wanted to savor the aftershocks for just a little longer. As she lay with her eyes closed, she became aware of a musky scent in the air, like the rich, dark earth of Bunny Love Farm after a summer rainstorm. It was Call and her, she realized. The scent of their bodies and their passion. “You are incredible,” Call said. She opened one eye and looked at him. He was propped on an elbow, gazing at her with obvious appreciation. “Really?” she asked. “Yep. Incredibly beautiful, hot, sensual, and uninhibited. I think you are a very naughty girl.”

Cameo cuddled against him, nuzzling his neck. She caught his earlobe between her teeth and pulled gently. “You have no idea,” she whispered. *** They made love twice more that night. Playfully, gently, tenderly, passionately. And creatively. Call smiled as the images flowed like streaming video through his semiconscious brain. He looked at the still sleeping Cameo. The sheet had fallen away, exposing her upper body. His eyes drank in the contrast of dark hair, fair skin, and rosy nipples in the early morning light. He couldn’t get enough of her, and she seemed to feel the same, as though his perfect lover had been waiting for him. His perfect lover. He bet that the more time he spent with Cameo, the more inventive their lovemaking would become. They seemed to inspire one another. Right now, he’d better get up before he was inspired to wake her so they could make love again. He looked down at the tent he’d created under the sheet. Mojo had no conscience. Sliding quietly out of bed, he pulled on his jeans, and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t know what time Jeremy was due home, but suspected it would be

after school. He felt sure Cameo had planned to avoid any surprises. He spotted a coffeemaker on the counter and soon had a pot perking. Rummaging in the refrigerator for breakfast fixings, he wondered about Jeremy’s dad. The kid had never mentioned him. Call suspected Jeremy’s male parental unit was completely out of the picture. Kind of like Call’s father. Maybe that explained his empathy for Cameo’s son. Jeremy obviously needed a male role model. Or at least a friend. He’d talk to Cameo about the paint ball gun when she woke up, Call decided. Maybe pass along the advice he’d gotten from Bob MacBeth. The opinion of a man with six kids would surely carry more weight than Call’s. He had bacon frying and eggs ready to scramble when Cameo shuffled into the kitchen in a fluffy robe and matching slippers. The color reminded him of Pepto Bismol, but on her it looked good. She’d combed her hair, washed her face, and he suspected she’d brushed her teeth too. Which made her a lot more presentable than he was. Presentable, hell. She was positively radiant. He hauled her into his arms, crushing the soft material of her robe against his bare chest and kissing the top of her head. “Morning, Misty. You look beautiful today.” If her smile was any signal, she didn’t mind his disheveled appearance. “And just who is this Misty?”

she asked, poking him playfully in the chest. “It’s the second time you’ve called me that.” He leaned back so he could look at her. “Misty green. Like your eyes.” He put her in charge of watching the bacon and hurried to the bathroom to clean up. When he came out, she’d set the table and was scrambling eggs. The toaster ejected a couple of English muffins with a loud pop. Call plucked a hot muffin from the toaster. The second stuck, and he accidentally touched hot metal. “Ouch!” He tossed the muffin into the air and sucked his burnt finger. Luckily, the muffin landed on the counter. She shot him an amused glance. “All right, so I’m not handy in the kitchen. I admit it. But I do have other talents.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She laughed. “You won’t get any argument out of me.” He slathered the muffins with butter. When you worked on a farm, he guessed you could afford to eat the real thing. She hadn’t earned that delectable body by going to the gym. Hanging out with her in the farmhouse kitchen, doing small domestic tasks, brought back memories of his childhood. He’d spent many an evening working on a project at the kitchen table while his mom cooked dinner. “This is a big place for just you and Jeremy,” he said.

She looked up from the frying pan where she was scrambling eggs. “Sometimes I feel like we rattle around here. There were five of us growing up, plus my mom and dad. Every time Mom had another baby, Dad added a room.” He did a quick mental calculation. “You must have a sibling I haven’t met.” She turned off the gas burner and scooped scrambled eggs onto plates. “Donata. She’s attending the University of San Francisco, majoring in premed.” Call whistled softly. Five sisters. No wonder Jeremy craved male attention. “And where do you fit into the lineup?” She held out plates, laden with bacon and eggs, so he could put a half muffin on each. “Right in the middle. I’m sister number three.” “Aha. The middle child.” He took his plate and sat at the end of the long, wooden table. Cameo slugged him on the shoulder before joining him. “Don’t say it like that. I wasn’t any more competitive than the rest of the girls. We all wanted to shine, especially in our father’s eyes.” “Tell me about him.” She nibbled thoughtfully on a muffin before answering. “Finn was a dreamer. An idea man. He served in Vietnam and afterwards, decided to backpack through Europe. That’s where he met Mama. Dad always said it was love at first sight. Mama says Dad was faint with fatigue and hunger when he stumbled into their tiny village in Tuscany.

She fed him and took care of him. Later, she fell in love.” She smiled, looking both loving and amused. “And that just about sums up their personalities.” “So what happened?” Call asked. “Dad came back to California and bought the farm, then sent for Mama. They struggled for the first few years. Dad didn’t know anything about farming and Mama kept having babies. She baked carrot cakes and sold them so they could pay for diapers and milk. Mostly, they survived on what they grew or traded. Then Tobias Greene showed up and everything changed.” Call put down his fork. “Ahhh. The mysterious Mr. Greene. I seem to remember asking you about him last night. What’s his story?” “I don’t really know,” she said. “If he told Finn anything about his personal history, Dad didn’t share it. They were both Vietnam vets. Maybe that’s why they bonded right from the start. “Tobias needed a place to stay, so Dad let him move into an outbuilding and put him to work. Between the two of them, they were able to make the farm profitable. “I think Dad needed a buddy, someone to bounce ideas off and swap stories with. Tobias doesn’t talk much, but he’s a good listener and a genius with anything mechanical. They seemed to complement one another.” The whole scenario offended Call’s inquisitive nature. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you just ask Tobias

about his background? I mean, he could be an ax murderer for all you know.” Cameo seemed nonplused by his outburst. “I grew up around Tobias Greene, and I know him as well as I know my own family. He is family. And now he’s my partner on the farm. If Tobias was an ax murderer in a past life, frankly, I don’t care.” Call still didn’t get it. “Okay, you trust him. But what about the rest of the town? Isn’t anyone curious about who he is and where he came from?” “We have a rule in Nugget that I call Wait and See. Folks in this area are intensely independent. They don’t want anyone prying into their business, and they don’t pry into anyone else’s. People are judged by their actions, not their pedigree or past history.” She got up to rinse her plate in the sink. “However, I do sometimes make exceptions.” She fixed him with a glance that spoke volumes. Unease roiled in the pit of his stomach. The big plate of bacon and eggs he’d just downed wasn’t sitting well at all. “I guess you heard about the stinking sewer plant scandal.” “Amazing what a little internet research will turn up, Mr. Michael Sanchez. Who is Call?” “When I was in fourth grade, there were three other Michaels in my class so the teacher started calling me by my middle name, McCall. The kids shortened it to Call and it stuck. I only write under Michael.” “Did you really break that poor secretary’s heart?”

Bambi Martin again, come back to haunt him. “I think I hurt her pride more than her heart, but I did use her for a story.” He forced himself to look Cameo in the eye, dreading the disgust and disappointment he expected to see there. “I’m not proud of it.” “There, you see?” She waved her fork as she made her point. “If I’d judged you by what I read in The Banana Slug instead making up my own mind, I would never have gotten to know you. And we wouldn’t be here right now.” He laughed as tension flowed from his limbs. Her good opinion meant more than he could say, more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. “I thank the Creator of All Good Things for making you fair and open-minded. I only hope I can live up to your expectations.” She became serious. “I don’t have a lot of expectations for you and me.” He nodded. Although it pained him to admit it, she was right. Her life was in Nugget. Who knew where his dreams would take him? All they really had was this short space in time. “I have to drive to Eureka today and pick up a few things from my apartment. Could I borrow the computer disc you, um, liberated from Mad Jack’s? I want to do a little research.” “Sure.” She left the kitchen quickly. A little too quickly, like she needed to compose herself. A pang of conscience stabbed him. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Cameo. He’d tried to be noble. He really had. But when she fed him the Twinkie line,

his defenses crumpled. He’d never been anybody’s Twinkie before. She returned with the disc containing the camp’s financial records, seemingly normal. Maybe he was imagining things. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I checked Gundar Romanov and Lech Nowak for criminal records. They don’t have any, at least in this country,” she said, handing him the disc. “Didn’t you say Lech has a relative in Canada?” “That’s right. Do you know anyone in Canada?” “A good reporter never reveals his sources,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “When can I see you again?” She backed up and glared at him. “I don’t care about your sources, Sanchez. Just remember our agreement. We share information.” Relief surged through him. This was the girl he felt comfortable with. “When I spit and shake, I never forget.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Make sure you don’t. How about dinner at Mama Gia’s tonight? BJ and Jeremy are meeting me there. I know they’d love to see you.” “Sounds great. What time?” “Around six. And bring your game. Jeremy’s been dying to shoot hoops with you.” Jeremy. Call had forgotten all about the paint ball gun. He’d have to broach the subject tonight. Come to think of it, the delay might work in his favor. A doting grandma and aunt could definitely help close the deal.

Chapter Eighteen

Ranger Diane Chan climbed out of her compact Ford pickup, hitting the ground with a soft grunt. Although she was careful with her injured right leg, sometimes it balked, refusing to take her where she wanted to go. She hoped this wouldn’t be one of those times. She gently stretched and flexed her leg, doing the exercises the physical therapist had taught her, and then popped a couple of ibuprofen. She’d showered and washed her hair that morning with unscented soap prepared especially for hikers. Last night, she’d washed her clothes in unscented detergent, rinsed them twice, and hung them outside to dry. Although she’d briefly considered taking a gun along for protection, she decided against it. From the description Cameo had given of the bear, Diane doubted her 30-caliber pistol would do much more than piss it off. Instead, she’d opted for bear spray and caution. Now, if her leg would just cooperate. She stood for a moment, scenting the air while she waited for the ibuprofen to kick in. Although

there were just a few scattered clouds in the sky, she caught a hint of moisture. She’d driven to the exact location Cameo had given, four point two miles from the junction of Highway 96 on Lumberbeast Road. Although Diane doubted the bear was still around, this was as good a place as any to start. The one redeeming feature of having Tuesday and Wednesday off was the scarcity of hikers in the national forest. Usually, she would have taken Golden Girl with her, but today Diane couldn’t chance it. Even though the odds of a bear encounter were slim, she loved the dog too much to risk exposing her to danger. She and Golden had bonded quickly. The dog had an uncanny ability to sense when Diane was sad or in pain. Golden offered her own brand of comfort. Sometimes it was a head on Diane’s knee, with big, brown eyes begging for attention. Sometimes, a cold nose, nudging her as if to say, “Let’s get going.” Golden Girl had helped lift the fog of depression that threatened to smother Diane during the past year. She checked the bear spray and water bottle she’d tucked into her utility belt. She ambled rather than strode, giving her leg a chance to loosen up. Crossing to the tree line on the left side of the road, she headed east toward the highway. No bear scent, thank goodness. She didn’t want to get close enough to smell him or her. Several times a season, hikers reported a strong, musky odor, sometimes accompanied by a glimpse of a shadowy

figure in the woods. Many were unwilling to accept the ranger’s explanation that it was probably a black bear. She guessed Big Foot made a better story for the folks back home. From what Cameo had told her, the bear they’d seen was much bolder than the norm. Maybe it had been successful in raiding campsites or even become accustomed to humans feeding it. Either scenario spelled trouble. Diane wished people could get it through their heads that bears were wild animals that could and would turn on you at any minute. Even the normally shy and reclusive black bears had been known to attack when they associated humans with food. Then they had to be hunted down and euthanized. As forest service brochures warned, “A fed bear is a dead bear.” She kept her eyes to the ground, looking for signs the underbrush had been disturbed. Sure enough, she found the location Cameo told her about, a hundred yards or so from the pickup. Although it had been almost twenty-four hours since Cameo and her friend spotted the bear, signs of its presence remained: broken branches, crushed pinecones, and squashed ground cover. Strange. It seemed like almost too much evidence. A wide swath of damage had been left on the forest floor. Too wide for a single bear, even a big one. Unless the bear was dragging something. When Diane stooped to take a closer look, the rhythm of her heart picked up, and she had the

strangest sensation of passing through a knothole in time. She was ten years old again, and her Yurok grandfather stood beside her, instructing her in the ancient art of tracking. She felt his presence and heard his voice in her head. “See like an eagle. Hear like a dear. Smell like a bear. Use all your senses.” She slipped off the road and into the forest, careful not to obscure the signs of the bear’s passing. It was cooler in the shade of the tall trees. A Stellar’s jay scolded loudly from a branch above. Within minutes, she came to a game trail. The tracks were clearer here. Diane dropped to her hands and knees, ignoring the pain in her leg. She couldn’t believe what she saw. These were not the tracks of a black bear. The toes formed a straight line and the front claw marks were huge. She’d seen footprints like these in Montana, working the fire line with her hot shot crew. She crawled a little farther and found a perfectly defined footprint in the soft earth of the trail. No doubt about it. These were grizzly tracks. Diane sat on the forest floor, stretching her right leg in front of her as she considered the facts. This was the first grizzly bear in California in almost a century. The only people who had seen the bear were in the vicinity chasing a conspiracy theory involving Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. Add to that a missing hiker, reported by the same two conspiracy theorists, and she had a hell of a mess on her hands.

She hadn’t found any drag marks close to the game trail, which either meant her suspicions were wrong, or Saturday night’s rainstorm had destroyed the evidence. She sincerely hoped it was the former. The bear’s footprints were probably a day old. It wouldn’t hurt to follow them a little farther, maybe get an idea which direction it was headed. She wasn’t sure if excitement or dread motivated her to continue. No matter. Any emotion was better than lethargy. She had to admit, this was the most alive she’d felt since returning to Nugget. The underbrush was getting thicker, so she couldn’t walk on either side of the trail. She tried to step lightly to avoid obscuring the layers of animal tracks. The bear’s were the biggest and most recent. A shadow passed over the forest. Diane looked up to see the broad V of a turkey vulture cruising above the trees. The scavenger had a wingspan of at least six feet. And he wasn’t alone. Several vultures joined him in wheeling, circling arcs over the forest. Although it was a warm, humid day, Diane broke out in goose bumps. Something was dead, and she had a bad feeling that it wasn’t an animal. “Stay with me, Grandfather,” she whispered. *** As soon as Call departed, Cameo hustled into the bedroom to shower and change into her work clothes.

Thank goodness he hadn’t remembered it was Tuesday, her regular delivery day at Mad Jack’s. She’d delayed getting dressed, hoping he’d think she didn’t have any place special to go. Her plan had worked. The big, bad investigative reporter didn’t have a clue. With him gone, she could pursue a potential lead into Lech’s disappearance. Call wasn’t the only one with “sources.” An hour later, she drove into the parking lot at the wilderness camp. As usual, there wasn’t much to see. The campers were probably in classrooms, or more likely, blasting each other with paint balls. She smiled as she recalled her own brush with paint ball annihilation. Call had looked so ridiculous in his camouflage gear, splattered with florescent paint. She hadn’t known whether to laugh or deck him for scaring the bejeezus out of her. At the time, anger had seemed like the safer response. It usually was with Call, at least when they both had their clothes on. She’d come dangerously close to letting her emotions run away that morning. Thank goodness he’d asked to borrow the disc. Leaving the room had given her a chance to repeat the speech she’d been giving herself ever since she invited Call to dinner. Just for good measure, she mentally rehearsed it one more time in the cab of pickup. This is a fun interlude in my life. Nothing more. Call is impulsive, irresponsible, and geographically undesirable. He’s a Twinkie, not a keeper. There. She felt better now, didn’t she?

She hopped out of the pickup and walked toward the back entrance of Mad Jack’s. Usually, she carried the first couple of boxes of produce herself, until someone from the kitchen staff offered to help. Today, she wanted to separate her helper from the rest of the employees for as long as possible. Few of the old guard were left in the kitchen. Gundar had gotten rid of the chef and more experienced cooks who were loyal to Colonel Tremaine. That left the slicers, dicers, and dishwashers he deemed too unimportant to sack. She was in luck. José Mendoza looked up from mopping as she approached the entrance to the big storeroom. She’d always liked the short Salvadoran man. Before Gundar took over, José had proudly showed her photos of his family, explaining in broken English his dream of bringing them to America. Now, like the rest of the kitchen grunts, he kept his eyes down and his mouth shut. She beckoned him out into the sunshine. With a quick glance around, José set his mop in the bucket and walked toward her. “Good morning, Señorita Cameo. How are you today?” “Wow. Your English is improving. You must be studying.” José broke into a wide grin. “Sí. I listen to the CDs at home but I want learn more. This is my last day work here. I have new job in Arcata. I take English class.” She shook his hand. “Congratulations. I know you’ll do well.”

“You need help, Señorita Cameo?” “Yes.” As they walked toward the pickup, she thought fast. This was the perfect opportunity to get information without causing trouble for José. “I’ve noticed people aren’t happy here anymore,” she began. “I think there are some bad things happening. I think Gundar is a bad man. Have you heard anything?” Looking frightened, he shook his head. “Look, I know you didn’t want to lose your job. But you’re leaving. Gundar can’t hurt you now.” He seemed to be struggling with his conscience. She sensed he wanted to tell her something but was afraid. She tried a different line of questioning. “Have you heard anything about Lech Nowak?” At the mention of Lech’s name, José’s eyes grew wide. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned into the bed of the pickup, his back to the lodge. He spoke softly. “One day I clean by Señor Romanov’s office. I hear him talk inside. He muy enojado, very angry. Tell men he want Lech dead. After that, I no see Lech. I look for new job.” She nodded. “Thank you.” She opened the pickup’s tailgate and stacked a couple of boxes of vegetables in José’s arms. She reached for some tomatoes. “Miss Muldoon. Just the person I wanted to see.” She whirled. Gundar stood in the open door leading to the dining hall, looking cool as a cucumber and deadly as nightshade.

Quickly, she arranged her features in what she hoped was a friendly expression. “Mr. Romanov. I asked Jose to help me unload the pickup.” Nodding at José, she could feel waves of anxiety emanating from the diminutive Salvadoran. Gundar flicked his cold gaze over the kitchen worker. “Good man, José. We’ll be sorry to lose him.” “Yes, well, I guess we’d better get back to work.” She started to turn toward the pickup. Gundar’s voice stopped her. “Let José finish that. I’d really like to speak with you. Business matters.” His smile was polite, his manner smooth, but she had no doubt he’d issued a command, not a request. “Sure. I’ll be right there.” She gave him a smile and a careless little wave, then watched until he’d disappeared into the building. She turned back toward the pickup and pretended to be sorting boxes. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I won’t say anything.” José nodded. “I know, Señorita Cameo.” He took a couple of steps toward the kitchen and then turned back. “Cuidado,” he muttered. “Be careful.”

***

If the interior of Gundar’s office reflected the character of the man, she wasn’t sure what to make of him. The colonel’s office had been businesslike,

functional, with a few family photos and mementoes from his military career to save it from being downright sterile. Gundar had completely redecorated. The neutral palette of beige, chocolate, and cream soothed the senses, while plush but understated furnishings created a sense of opulence. Paintings were tasteful, but not particularly eye-catching. The focal point of the room was Gundar himself, seated behind a modern glass and stainless steel desk. His animal vitality dominated the room. A sculpture of a snarling Siberian tiger was the only object on the desk. Cameo got it. Gundar and the tiger were kindred spirits. She shifted uneasily in the visitor’s chair as she waited for Gundar to speak. “I hear you and Mr. Sanchez paid a visit to our chief executive officer, Trevor Tremaine.” Your puppet, you mean. “Yes, Trevor asked Mr. Sanchez to meet with him. I’m afraid I insisted on coming along. You see, Trevor is an old friend of the family and I was worried about him.” “Yes, he told me. He also said Mr. Sanchez has some wild theory about, shall we say, unsavory activities at Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience.” Although Gundar had a strong Eastern European accent, Cameo was impressed by his command of English. She almost enjoyed the verbal cat-and-mouse game they were playing. He obviously knew she was lying, just as she knew he was probing for information. Or perhaps, he had a message to convey.

When she didn’t answer, Gundar continued. “I hope you don’t share his opinion.” “Mr. Romanov, I’m a businesswoman. Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience is our biggest customer. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that account.” Gundar smiled. “Nor would I like to withdraw our business. But you must understand, Miss Muldoon, that in an organization such as ours, reputation is everything.” He looked at her for confirmation. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I understand perfectly.” Gundar stood and escorted her to the door. She waited for him to open it, eager to escape. But he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. “You know, Miss Muldoon… May I call you Cameo?” Okay, now he was starting to make her nervous. “Uh, sure.” “You are by far the most intriguing young lady I’ve met since coming to Northern California. I’d love to take you to dinner some evening.” She felt her mouth fall open. “Well, uh, um, let me think about it,” was all she could get out. Gundar smiled, and she thought she caught a glint of triumph in his eyes. He opened the door for her. “Of course,” he murmured. She swore he’d purred, deadly but enticing, just like the Siberian tiger. “You know where to find me.” Cameo hurried out of his office and out of the building without a backward glance.

On the drive back to Nugget, she thought about their conversation. The veiled threat hadn’t surprised her. Gundar obviously didn’t want any interference in whatever game he was playing. But an invitation to dinner? She sure hadn’t seen that coming. Score one for Gundar. *** Gundar steepled his fingers, as he often did when contemplating something pleasant. The interview had been a most rewarding, his suspicions about the break-in confirmed. As an old family friend, Cameo undoubtedly had a key to Tremaine’s office. He was surprised Trevor hadn’t informed him of the fact immediately. Even under intense questioning, the CEO insisted he didn’t know how anyone could have gained access. Evidently, Tremaine had more backbone than Gundar gave him credit for. Although, he could easily see why Trevor would protect Cameo. The woman had displayed remarkable composure. She was lying, of course. He knew it, and she knew he knew it. Yet, she played her part so skillfully he almost wanted to believe her. What had persuaded Cameo to become involved in this dangerous game? He’d learned long ago that once he knew what motivated a person, he held the key to effectively controlling them.

The reporter was motivated by ambition, Lech by greed, Trevor, fear. But what was the key to Cameo? Gundar’s thoughts strayed to her muscular body, with rounded hips and firm thighs. He’d especially enjoyed the view of her backside as she strode toward the door. God, how he hated skinny women. He was so sick of American women, with their toothpick arms and narrow hips. They’d never done a day’s work, and yet they did nothing but complain. Cameo looked like she worked hard and screwed harder. He could use a woman like that in his bed. With a sigh, Gundar rose from the chair. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to jeopardize the mission. After months of struggling with the idiots and incompetents who seemed determined to undermine him, he was within days of achieving his goals. Nothing or no one could be allowed to interfere. Miss Muldoon would have to be dealt with.

Chapter Nineteen

Call drummed his fingers on the desk. As he looked down on the quiet street, a light rain began to fall. He’d rented an upstairs apartment in the rundown Victorian when he landed the job at the Humboldt County Observer. Although his neighborhood wasn’t on any of the Eureka tourist maps, he found its slightly shabby ambience charming. A real slice of the Pacific Northwest. Unfortunately, the view of his neighbors’ weedchoked yards and peeling gingerbread houses wasn’t helping him arrive at any solutions. He’d checked the disc containing the camp’s financial records, searching for names he recognized. Cameo was right. The story was in the white spaces. Not one of the unit leaders’ names appeared on the payroll. At least, not as far as he could tell. The staff at Mad Jack’s rarely used last names. The only reason he knew Lech’s was because he’d heard one of the unit leaders address him as Nowak during an early morning calisthenics session. Lech

had been annoyed, but assumed the campers were too busy grinding out push-ups to notice. A lesson from Journalism 101: Never assume. Call had one lead left to follow, and that’s what had him stumped. How could he convince the Mole to help him with yet another crazy-sounding investigation? Since he didn’t have any good ideas, Call decided to employ a technique that had brought mixed results in the past. He called it “fishing for favors,” and he hadn’t learned it in J School. He dialed the main number for the Humboldt County Observer and requested the newsroom. Shana, the editorial assistant, answered the phone. “Humboldt County Observer. Editorial Department. How may I help you?” Call was ready for her. He cleared his throat, lowered his voice an octave and crinkled some notebook paper into the phone. “Eric Moeller, please.” Long pause. “Who may I say is calling?” More crinkling. “It’s personal.” “All right. I’ll put you through. Have a nice day, Call.” She didn’t have to be so snotty about it, Call thought as he waited for the Mole. He’d never done anything to her. Oh, yeah. Except not call for a third date because he’d been busy schmoozing Bambi Martin. The Mole picked up. “This is Moeller.” “Hey, buddy. It’s Call Sanchez.”

“How you doin’ man? I was thinking about trying your cell, see how Mad Jack’s Camp for Big Boys agrees with you.” “Actually, that’s what I’m calling about. I’m working on a story about some strange things that are going on at the camp. I was wondering if you’d check a couple of names for me with your sources in Canada.” “Whoa, dude, I don’t know. It’s kind of soon for me sign on for another Sanchez extravaganza. I’m still catching flak for the last one.” Call imagined the Mole in his disgusting cubicle, coexisting peacefully with days, weeks, maybe months’ worth of fast food wrappers. What could he possibly offer the man to shake him out of his marijuana-induced lethargy? Call snapped his fingers. Of course! He had the perfect bait. “Come on, Mole. I know you used to work for that paper in Vancouver. One phone call to the reporter on the cops’ desk. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll make it worth your while.” “Oh, an incentive.” He heard an upsurge of interest in the Mole’s voice. “What kind of prizes are we talking about? Do I get to pick a door?” Call smiled. He had Mole on the line. Now all he had to do was reel the photographer in. He lowered his voice slightly. “Listen, don’t repeat this to anybody, okay?” “Dude, I’m the soul of discretion. My lips are Superglued.”

“Okay, I was talking to this stoner in Hoopa. He told me Mad Jack grows the most awesome weed in Northern California. Bar none.” The Mole snorted. “I’ve heard that one before.” “Yeah, I know. But Mad Jack is legend around here. I met his grandson the other day. Attila’s carrying on the family business. If you come up for a weekend, I’ll hook you up.” “Attila? He sounds like a bad ass.” “Naw, he’s totally nonviolent. He doesn’t get off the farm much. What do you say?” Call held his breath while he waited for an answer. “All right. You got me. What are the names?” Yes! Call pumped the air with his fist. Mole was a connoisseur of ganja, a devoted follower of Saint Sinsemilla. Fine weed was his weakness. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try some strange stuff. After supplying Mole with the names and extracting a promise of an expedited service, Call hung up. He felt the tiniest bit guilty for misleading his friend. He really liked the Mole. But he wasn’t asking for the guy’s left nut or anything. Just a little research. He shut down the computer, picked up an overnight bag stuffed with clean clothes, and tucked his laptop under his arm. Taking a last look around, he locked the door to his apartment behind him, and trotted downstairs. When Mole coughed up the information, he’d come clean and they’d have a good laugh about it, Call thought as he slid behind the wheel. Right now, he needed to put the Beemer into warp drive if he

was going to make it to Mama Gia’s by six. *** Cameo looked at the circle of expectant faces around the table. The dinner dishes had been stacked neatly in the kitchen, Jeremy had been dispatched to finish his homework, and she’d received permission to include Call in their family meeting. She took a deep breath and started her pitch. “I went to Mad Jack’s today.” Call frowned. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go there again.” “She’s a Muldoon,” Allegra said, as if that explained everything. Cameo ignored the comment. “It’s my job, remember? I make deliveries to the camp every Tuesday and Thursday. And I didn’t agree to anything.” “You could have asked me to go with you,” he said. She noticed ears pricking up at their exchange. Mama Gia was getting that future-son-in-law gleam in her eye. Oh dear, this wasn’t what she wanted at all. She forged ahead. “One of the kitchen workers told me about a conversation he overheard in Gundar’s office.” She looked at Call. “Gundar said he wanted Lech dead. Right after that, Lech disappeared.”

Call thumped the table with his fist. “I knew it.” “Who is Lech?” Mama asked. Call and Cameo repeated the story they’d told Ranger Chan. “I don’t understand,” Mama said. “If a bear killed Lech, how could Gundar be responsible?” “We don’t know that the bear killed Lech,” Cameo explained. “We’re not sure how the bear fits into the picture at all. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence that we spotted him in the approximate location where Lech went missing.” Mama Gia shook her finger at Allegra and Cameo. “And what is this about the Lumberbeast?” she asked. “That’s no place for nice girls.” “Mama, Cameo is twenty-six and I’m twentyeight. We can take care of ourselves,” Allegra told her. “How come you didn’t invite me?” BJ wanted to know. “You had a softball game that night, remember?” Cameo said. “I don’t care how old you are. You still need to listen to your mama. No more Lumberbeast.” Mama glared at her three eldest daughters. Cameo rapped on her water glass with a spoon. “To get back to the purpose of this meeting, I think it’s time we called the colonel and Mrs. Tremaine.” “Without a body, you have no grounds to accuse anyone of homicide. Lech could have gotten lost in the forest, or left the area for reasons of his own,”

Gemma said. The family’s true crime fan, murder was one of the few subjects that interested her. “Yeah, where’s the body?” Allegra asked. “Lech wasn’t stiff when we left him. At least, not so you could notice.” Mama glared, and Allegra ducked her head to hide a smirk. “I’m afraid I have to agree with the others. Although a lot of what you told us sounds suspicious, you don’t really have any evidence. Sorry.” BJ looked pained at having to take a stance. Cameo turned to Call. “What do you think?” “I say we let it ride. For just a few more days. I have a hunch things are about to come to a head.” Disappointment swelled in her chest. She’d expected Call to support her. Silly girl. The big city reporter wanted to break the case and take the credit. She made a final attempt. “What about Trevor? He seemed so nervous, plus he’s lost at least twenty pounds. I’m worried about him.” “I’ll take him some minestrone and fresh rolls. The poor boy’s been sick. He needs to get his strength back,” Mama said. “Anyway, I want to hear how his mama and papa are enjoying their cruise.” “I guess that’s it then.” Cameo started to rise. “Wait!” Call and Mama Gia spoke at the same time. “Ladies first,” Call said. “Thank you.” Mama Gia inclined her head in his direction. She sat straighter and lightly touched her

bun before folding her hands in front of her. This was Mama’s negotiating posture. Uh-oh, Cameo thought. “This talk about bears, and space aliens, and, God forbid…” She crossed herself. “Murder. This makes me nervous. I don’t like Cameo and Jeremy living on the farm by themselves with all this going on.” “Wait a minute,” Cameo began. All eyes swung toward her. She’d broken the first rule of family meetings. When Mama has the floor, no one interrupts. She sank down in her chair. “Sorry,” she muttered. Mama gave her The Look before turning to Call. “Mr. Sanchez, if you plan to be in the area for a while longer, I’d appreciate it if you stayed at the farm. There are several empty bedrooms, and of course, with Jeremy there, it wouldn’t be improper.” Allegra snorted. “Like anyone around here cares. I think it’s a great idea.” “It would be nice to know you and Jeremy aren’t alone, at least until this camp mystery is resolved.” BJ looked like she was about to apologize again, but instead said, “Ouch!” and bent to rub her shin. She glowered at Allegra. “Stop apologizing for everything,” Allegra said. “I’m sorry.” BJ put her hand over her mouth. “I mean… Never mind.” Gemma shrugged. “Sounds like a plan. What do you think, Germ?” she called.

Jeremy’s red head poked out of the doorway leading into the family room. “That would be awesome.” He grinned at the assembled family, looking a little sheepish at being caught eavesdropping. “I’d be honored to stay at the farm. If it’s all right with Cameo,” Call said. All eyes swung her way again. Cameo threw up her hands. “Fine,” she said. With any luck, Call would get his story and be out of there in a few more days. As soon as the spiteful thought crossed her mind, a pang of regret stabbed in the vicinity of her heart. “Good. It’s settled then. Mr. Sanchez, you have the floor,” Mama said. “It’s Call, please.” Mama Gia nodded. “Jeremy, would you join us?” He held out his hand to the youngster. Jeremy seemed awed. He’d never been invited to a family meeting before. Kids were included when they reached double digits. With a start, Cameo realized that would be next year. He joined Call, who put his arm around the boy, giving his shoulders a courage-bolstering squeeze. When Jeremy gazed at Call, adoration shone from his eyes. Cameo caught the melting expression on her sisters’ faces and understood its meaning. Call looked like the father Jeremy had never had. “Jeremy and I had a discussion today about paint ball guns. I know Cameo doesn’t approve of them,

and I can certainly understand why. Without adult supervision, a paint ball gun can be a destructive toy. I had some experience with paint balls during my week at Mad Jack’s, and I can tell you that they hurt like the devil when the gun is set at a high PSI.” “What is PSI?” asked Mama. “Pounds per square inch.” Call looked at Jeremy. They’d obviously practiced their presentation before supper while Cameo thought they were playing basketball. “I would never set my gun any higher than fifty,” Jeremy said. “And I’d never use it without adult supervision. They’re opening a new paint ball course in Willow Creek. Some of the moms are going to take turns driving down there.” Call looked at Cameo. “Jeremy is willing to earn the money to pay for his own paint ball gun. He’ll help out at farmers’ markets, do chores, whatever it takes.” “Please, Mom,” Jeremy asked. No one said a word, but she couldn’t miss the sympathy on her family’s faces. What the hell, she thought. If earning money for a paint ball gun helped Jeremy become more responsible, maybe it was worth the trade-off. “All right,” Cameo said. She had to yell to be heard over the chorus of cheers. “But only on the condition that you earn the money yourself.” She couldn’t help feeling a little hurt when she saw Call and Jeremy exchange a high five. Maybe

there were some things only another male understood. A minute later, Jeremy threw himself into her arms, giving her a fierce hug around the neck. “I love you, Mom,” he said. She’d take what she could get. *** Gundar watched as Cameo, Call, and the boy ran from the house to the waiting pickup. He’d driven to Arcata that afternoon and rented a beat-up brown van, figuring the more disreputable the vehicle, the less trouble he’d have blending in with the locals. A light rain had started mid-afternoon and was now coming down in great, wind-blown waves, punctuated by bursts of thunder. Jagged forks of lightning lit the sky. The wild weather had made it easier to avoid detection as he’d followed Cameo from the farm to her mother’s home in Nugget. Right now, he could bide his time. He had a couple more diversionary tactics in play. But if Cameo and the reporter became too bothersome, Gundar knew exactly how to neutralize them. In the space of a single afternoon, he’d discovered what the sexy brunette valued most. It had almost been too easy. Cameo was motivated by love for her family: her mother, sisters, and the boy. Especially the boy.

*** Cameo tucked the forest-themed quilt around Jeremy and then sat for moment on the side of his bed, listening to the storm, which didn’t seem to be letting up. She hoped the wind and rain wouldn’t damage the spring crops she and Tobias had been planting. Jeremy was displaying remarkable tolerance for her presence. He usually protested that he was too old for their bedtime rituals. Maybe she should promise him weapons of mass destruction more often. “Mom.” “Yes, son?” “You don’t really think somebody murdered that guy, do you?” He peered at her in the semidarkness. His light green eyes appeared troubled, and his voice held a frightened little boy tone she hadn’t heard for quite a while. He must have listened to more of the family meeting than she realized. “I honestly don’t know. It could have been the bear.” “Was he a big one?” Jeremy asked. “The biggest I’ve ever seen. But he was down by Willow Creek, over forty miles from our farm.” She hoped her answer would reassure Jeremy. With the thunder booming and flashes of lightning

illuminating his room, it was no wonder he felt unsettled. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight, Germ?” He appeared to consider the offer. “Naw. Call’s here. I’ll be fine.” Upstaged again. She supposed she’d better get used to it. She hadn’t realized just how much Jeremy needed male attention. The thought set off warning bells in her brain. “You know, Call will only be here for a little while. He has a job in Eureka.” “I know.” Jeremy hesitated for a moment before asking, “You like him too, don’t you, Mom?” “Yes, I like him too.” She bent to kiss her son’s cheek. “See ya later, ’gator.” Jeremy turned on his side, burrowing into the pillow. “After while, ’dile.” *** She found Call at the kitchen table, sketchpad and glass of milk in front of him. He was drawing Jeremy dressed in paint ball gear. “Thanks for backing me up at the family meeting,” she said. His hand flew over the paper. “Thanks for ignoring my request and going to Mad Jack’s. By yourself.”

Oh no. He wasn’t going to sidetrack her that easily. She had something to say, and she intended to say it. “All you’re interested in is a story. You don’t care about Trevor or anybody else. Just your precious career.” She stood with her hands on her hips, daring him to contradict her. That got his attention. He dropped the pencil and glared at her, fire in his eyes. Good. She was glad he was angry. That made two of them. “I care about you and Jeremy,” he said. “That’s why I plan to be on you like a bad smell. From this day forward, wherever you go, I’ll be right there with you.” “Fine,” Cameo said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll be re-staking tomato vines. After that, there are carrots to pull, and undoubtedly a lot of storm damage to clean up. I hope stoop labor agrees with you.” She walked away, turning at the door. “Oh, and did I mention that we start our days early? Your wake-up call will be at four a.m.” *** Lying in bed, Cameo tossed and turned while she replayed the events of the day. She had a nagging feeling they were missing something. An important piece of the pattern. Or maybe her conscience was keeping her awake. She hadn’t been fair to Call. She’d known from the

beginning that his career came first. He’d never lied to her. Heck, she’d told him she wasn’t interested in a committed relationship. As for Trevor, he’d turned down their offer of help. Still, she couldn’t forget the terror on his face when Call had challenged him. She was glad Mama Gia planned to pay him a visit. Maybe he’d talk to her. Remembering Call’s threat to stick to her like a bad smell, she smiled. Of course, she’d never admit it, but she welcomed his company. They’d have little enough time together. Her mind drifted to his choice of words. He couldn’t have chosen a more unlovely simile, she mused. Why hadn’t he said, “like sunshine on a summer morning,” or even, “like a puppy on a June bug?” Honestly, you’d think a writer could come up with something better than… That was it! That’s what they’d been missing. Her eyes popped open, and she sat up straight in bed. Tomorrow afternoon, she’d pay a visit to her two favorite curmudgeons. If anyone could supply the answer she needed, Doc and Duffy could.

Chapter Twenty

Late morning sunshine spilled through lace curtains in the farmhouse kitchen. The sketch of Jeremy, outfitted for paint ball games, had been stuck to the refrigerator door. Call wandered over to take a closer look at his drawing. In it, Jeremy was grinning under an exaggeratedly large helmet. He held a paint ball gun in his left hand while giving the peace sign with his right. The kid had obviously seen the cartoon. He’d left a smear of something sticky on a corner. On the counter, the coffeemaker held a half pot of high-octane java. An English muffin poked out of the toaster. Jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam waited next to an empty plate. All evidence that he had overslept. Ten minutes later, coffee cup in hand, Call walked toward two figures he’d spotted by the little white house. The smaller one waved as he drew closer. “Good morning,” Cameo hollered. “I thought you were going to wake me,” he said. Cameo stood beside a tall man in overalls. At first glance, he seemed thin, but Call recognized the

sinewy strength of arms beneath a short-sleeved, checked shirt. A broad-brimmed straw hat obscured the man’s features. “I figured you could use a little extra beauty sleep,” Cameo said. “Call Sanchez, this is Tobias Greene.” The face that looked up at Call was unremarkable, except for the eyes. Tobias’s faded blue eyes reflected an ancient soul. In their depths, Call imagined he saw wisdom born of suffering. Tobias held out a work-roughened hand. His grip was firm. His face displayed a network of fine lines as he offered a gentle smile. “Pleased to meet you.” “The pleasure’s mine,” Call replied, shaking his hand. “I was beginning to think you didn’t exist.” Tobias ducked his head. “I had some business. Took me away for a few days.” “Tobias, if you want to go on with your planting, Call and I will finish up here,” Cameo said. With a nod, Tobias turned and walked away. “Doesn’t say much, does he?” Call asked as soon as Tobias was out of earshot. “No.” Cameo turned to the rows of green stuff she’d been tidying with a hoe. “I’m glad you wore the hat and gloves I put out for you. The sun can be strong, even this time of year.” “Believe me, you don’t have to preach sun protection to a redhead. I used some sunscreen I found in the bathroom too.” “Great. See that patch of tomato vines? Some of them need to be re-staked. The broken branches

should come off. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to clean up the whole area. The storm sure made a mess of things.” “Sure did,” Call said. The truth was, he had no idea how to re-stake a tomato vine. He hoped he could figure it out by examining what had already been done. He didn’t want to look like a tenderfoot or anything. “Hey, these vines are crawling with ladybugs,” he yelled. “I know. That’s a good thing,” Cameo called back. Well, he guessed so. Better ladybugs than cockroaches, or something with pincers. Bugs were not his favorite creatures. As it turned out, re-staking tomato vines wasn’t all that difficult. When he finished that job, he helped Cameo pull a porous polyester cover off rows of onions and lettuce so they could check their condition after the storm. They worked their way back toward the farmhouse, weeding, hoeing, and pruning as they went. The storm hadn’t done too much damage, although some early bell peppers had been knocked to the ground by the wind and rain. They gathered the peppers and headed back to the house for lunch. “What are you going to do with these?” Call asked, indicating his armload of red, green, yellow, and purple peppers.

“Some of them will finish ripening on the front porch. The ones that aren’t salvageable go into the mulch pit,” Cameo said. “You don’t waste much, do you?” “That’s the way an organic farm works. We conserve, reuse, and employ the most natural methods possible to produce healthy food. Even our pesticides come from nature. Remember all those lady bugs you saw?” “Yeah, I thought it was weird there were so many in one place. They must really like tomatoes.” He followed Cameo up the steps to the front porch. “They don’t like tomatoes, they like aphids.” She dropped her load of peppers into a wooden crate on the porch and motioned for Call to do the same. “We had the lady bugs shipped in to protect our crops.” “No kidding.” Call envisioned a feature story. Something like “From Farm to Table: Growing Organic Food.” Not exactly Washington Post material but it might interest local readers. He plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table and ran the idea by Cameo. “I think that would make a terrific story.” She turned toward him, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I know some other organic farmers you could interview. There are quite a few in this area. And if you wanted to take the article a step farther, you could gather information about how organic produce is marketed and distributed. I have a good friend who’s a buyer for the Nature’s Bounty Natural Food chain.”

“Yeah, it could be a three-parter, running on consecutive Sundays.” He noticed a sudden pinkening of Cameo’s complexion. She began washing carrots with what seemed like unnecessary vigor. What had he said? he wondered. For once, he thought they were in agreement. Uh-oh. Maybe it wasn’t anything he’d said. “So, who’s this friend at Nature’s Bounty?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “Oh, just a guy I know. We get some bakery supplies from him, and he buys our produce. Is tuna fish okay?” “Yeah, fine. Guess I’d better go wash my hands.” Call slunk off to the bathroom to deal with the completely irrational storm of jealousy that raged inside him. He was being unreasonable. Cameo had every right to a relationship with this, this pastyfaced, sprout-sucking, eco-nerd. After all, Call had nothing permanent to offer. But if he had a paint ball gun in his hands right now and old tofu breath was standing in front of him, the buyer would suffer a severe splattering. Call pulled a guest towel off the rack and whacked the wall several times, imagining the force of the paint balls as they hit Cameo’s “friend.” A tentative tap at the bathroom door interrupted his fantasy. “Everything okay in there?” Cameo asked. “Yeah, fine. I was just swatting a mosquito.”

“Oh.” Slight pause. “Well, the sandwiches are ready.” “Be right out.” Call inserted a hearty cheerfulness into his tone. Seated at the table, attempting to eat the sandwich and apple wedges, he couldn’t shake his jealousy. A snarled knot of emotions seemed to have settled in his throat, making it hard to swallow. “I know it’s none of my business, but are you and this buyer more than friends?” he asked. Cameo gave him a cool look. “You’re right, it’s not. But since you asked, Stan and I have been dating for quite a while. I wouldn’t call it serious though. Like I told you, I’m not looking for a committed relationship.” They chewed for a while in silence. “You know, there are a couple of questions I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said. “Shoot.” “I was wondering about your family. Were you raised by a single mom? Do you have siblings? And how did a white boy like you end up with the last name of Sanchez? No offense.” He smiled. “None taken. My mom and dad separated when I was a baby. He’s pretty much been out of the picture ever since. She remarried when I was five, and her new husband adopted me. His name is Andrew Sanchez, but everybody calls him Andy. “Mom and Dad had two more sons, Joseph, named after my Uncle Joey, and Dominic, because

Mom liked the name. Both of them are adults now. Joey followed Dad into the family construction business. Dominic is a sophomore at UC Irvine. He’s thinking about going to law school.” “Were you a happy family?” “Yeah, I think so,” Call said. “I have to admit, I felt a little different growing up. I didn’t look like the rest of the family. Joe and Dom are dark like my dad. Even my mom has dark hair and eyes. “And I had different interests, too. My brothers were jocks. They played all the sports, from t-ball and Pop Warner on up. I was never very interested in team sports, except for basketball. We had a hoop in our driveway, and I played Horse with my dad and brothers. I didn’t get my growth spurt until the summer between my sophomore and junior years in high school. By then I’d developed other interests.” “Such as?” Cameo prompted. “Journalism. I was the nerdy little kid who produced a weekly newspaper and distributed copies around the neighborhood. In high school, I was the editor of the school paper all four years.” He added as an afterthought, “And drawing, although that was more of a hobby. I could always count on an easy A in art class.” “It sounds like you were a bright, special kid,” Cameo said. “I was a scrawny, four-eyed misfit with hair the color of this carrot.” He held up one of the vegetables. “I noticed you weren’t eating them.”

Call shivered in mock horror. “Bad associations. Between you and me, I think the only reason I didn’t get beat up more was because the kids were afraid of my younger brothers.” He grinned to take the sting out of his remark. Everybody had their rough patches growing up, but he’d been one of the lucky ones. He could always rely on the love and support of his family. Cameo carried their plates to the sink. He came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and inhaled the sweet, salty smell of her sun-warmed skin. “Now that I’ve told you about my childhood, I think some reciprocation is in order. You’ve teased me with a few crumbs of information, but I want the whole jelly roll.” When she turned, Cameo had a mischievous spark in her eye. She put her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “While I’d love nothing better than to satisfy your, um, appetite, I’m afraid we have a busy afternoon ahead of us.” He gave her a squeeze and release. “I figured it was worth a try. What’s on the agenda? More stoop labor?” “Actually, I thought we might drive to Arcata.” Cameo dried her hands on a dishtowel. “If Jeremy is determined to buy a paint ball gun, I think we should see about renting a couple so you can give him some pointers. I want to make sure he knows how to handle it safely.” “Woman, you are full of surprises,” Call said.

They were headed out the door when the phone rang. *** Cameo hung up, perplexed. “That was Diane Chan. She asked us to meet her at the bakery at four. Said she has some news she wants to tell us in person.” “Maybe she found the bear,” Call said. “Or Lech.” She rubbed her arms to relieve an unpleasant prickly sensation. “I guess we’ll find out. That means we won’t have time to go to Arcata today though.” “Why don’t you take care of whatever you need to do around here while I run to Arcata and rent the paint ball guns? I can be back to the bakery by four, easy.” She hesitated. “Well, the farm accounts do need to be updated, and I like to be here when Jeremy gets home from school. I can get him started on some chores this afternoon so he can earn that paint ball gun. I’m sure Tobias will be happy to have the help.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t do anything dangerous.” She laughed. “Nothing as dangerous as driving to Arcata and back in under three hours. You have that thing turbo-charged, or what?”

“The Beemer and I have an agreement. I take good care of her and she goes really, really fast.” He flashed her a grin as he let himself out. “See ya later, Misty.” Cameo rolled her eyes. Cocky, irresponsible, and completely irresistible. That pretty much summed up Call Sanchez. No wonder that secretary had fallen for him. She, however, was made of sterner stuff. She opened the door to the front porch and called Attila. “Come on, boy. Let’s hit the books.”

Chapter Twenty-One

It looked like Doc and Duffy were well into the second phase of a hotly contested two-handed pinochle game. They barely acknowledged Cameo’s presence as she settled into one of the café chairs outside Mama Gia’s Bakery. As usual, the two friends flanked the cracker barrel. She checked her watch. A quarter to four. Darn it! She wished they’d hurry up. She wanted to talk to them before Call and Diane arrived. Too late. A few minutes later, Call made his entrance accompanied by steel drums and a shower of gravel. When his car door swung open, a Jimmy Buffett tune threatened to blast them all off the patio. “Aha!” Duffy threw down his card. “I’m over a thousand points.” “Dag nabbit! How’s a man supposed to concentrate with all that racket?” Doc Henshaw grumbled. Duffy leaned back until his rickety wooden chair balanced precariously on two legs. He folded skinny arms over his little pot belly, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Didn’t make a darn bit of difference.

You were losing anyway.” He turned his attention to Call. “Evening, son. You run into Old Mose or Four Toes yet?” Duffy burst into raucous guffaws. He laughed so hard the chair twisted sideways and nearly dumped him on the wooden deck. Doc Henshaw forgot his defeat and joined in the merriment. “Don’t take it too hard,” Doc said between chuckles. “You’re not the first young fella to fall for that story.” Call looked at Duffy. “As a matter of fact, I think I did.” Duffy stopped laughing, curiosity sharpening his features. “Did what?” “Run into a bear big enough to be Old Mose or Four Toes. Maybe he was a great-great grandson.” He handed a flyer to the two old gents. “These are posted all over Willow Creek.” Cameo scooted behind Duffy so she could see. The flyer read:

Caution! Fatal bear attack in the vicinity of Highway 96 and Lumberbeast Road. Visitors to Six Rivers National Forest are urged to avoid that area until the bear is located and euthanized.

It was signed by the head of the Willow Creek Ranger District and bore today’s date.

“Lech.” Cameo wasn’t aware she’d said the name aloud until Duffy peered at her over his glasses. “Who’s Lech?” he asked. “One of the unit leaders at camp who’s been missing for a few days,” Call said. “Cameo and I took a drive down Lumberbeast Road on Monday afternoon. We saw a huge bear on the edge of the forest and reported it at the Nugget Ranger Station. I’d be very surprised if it wasn’t the same bear that attacked the hiker.” “Isn’t that something?” Duffy accentuated his statement with a loud thump as the front legs of his chair hit the wooden patio. “We haven’t had a bear attack around here in years. How long’s it been, Doc?” Doc rubbed his chin. “I patched up the last one about ten years ago. Don’t recall the exact date. He was pulled from his tent in the middle of the night. The bear was after food, of course. The camper played dead and got off with a few scratches and bruises. Doesn’t sound like this Lech fellow was so lucky.” Duffy gathered the pinochle cards. “Guess we better be getting home. It’s just about supper time.” Doc set a flat-billed driving cap on his head at a jaunty angle and picked up his cane. “Before you go, I have a question,” Cameo said. “What is it, dear?” Doc asked. “I picked up one of Gemma’s true crime novels and started reading about a guy who was drugged with something that had a sickeningly sweet smell. I didn’t get a chance to finish the story and I’ve been

wondering about it ever since. What do you think that could have been?” She gave Doc her best wideeyed, innocent look. “My guess is diethyl ether, a first cousin of chloroform. It was used for anesthesia years ago, but has been replaced by safer, more effective drugs, at least in the developed world. It’s highly flammable and has a strong odor that’s been described as pungent, sweet, and fruity.” Cameo hugged each of the old gentlemen. “Thanks, Doc. And you too, Duffy.” “What for?” Duffy asked. “For always being there for me.” “No need for thanks. You girls are like daughters to us.” Duffy cleared his throat in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise the emotion in his voice. “Let me get you some fresh bread for supper, then. Mama baked sourdough loaves this morning.” “That I’ll take. My Emma loves sourdough.” He followed Cameo inside. “Coming, Doc?” “I’ll wait out here.” As soon as Cameo and Duffy disappeared into the bakery, the doctor turned to Call. “Keep an eye on that girl,” he said. “I have a feeling there’s trouble brewing and she’s right in the middle of it.” ***

Diane exited her pickup and crossed the parking lot, limping badly. Golden followed close behind. The ranger looked smaller and more vulnerable in her civilian clothes. She had a remarkable face, Call thought, with Asian eyes and the strong bone structure he associated with Native Americans. A thick, black braid fell almost to her waist. Without thinking, he grabbed a pencil and began to draw on the back of the poster he’d picked up in Willow Creek. “Evening. Sorry I’m late.” The lines between Diane’s eyes deepened as she mounted the stairs with her right leg held stiffly. Although she didn’t make a sound, she was obviously in pain. Cameo rushed to help her, but Diane waved her away. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just overdue for a pain pill.” She settled into a chair on the bakery’s terrace. “I’ll get you something to drink. Don’t say anything until I get back,” Cameo called over her shoulder. Diane rested her head against the metal chair back and closed her eyes while the big taffy-colored dog curled up at her feet. Mama Gia and Gemma had departed at four, along with Doc and Duffy. A light breeze blew across the terrace, carrying the smell of pine and rainwashed earth. Call continued sketching. “I hope lemonade is okay,” Cameo said. She set a round tray holding three glasses on the café table. Diane opened her eyes. “Looks great.” She took a pill from her breast pocket and downed it with a

swallow of lemonade. “I guess you’ve heard about the fatality.” Call nodded. “I passed through Willow Creek this afternoon,” he said. “There are warning posters everywhere.” “I discovered the body yesterday morning, or what was left of it. The bear had been feeding on it. The victim has been positively identified as Lech Nowak.” “That explains why the bear was still hanging around,” Cameo said. Diane nodded. “He was protecting his cache. You were right about something else too. That wasn’t a black bear. It was a grizzly.” “But, how is that possible? There haven’t been any grizzlies around here for over a hundred years,” Cameo said. A note of bitterness overlaid Diane’s tone. “That’s what my supervisor wanted to know. And the head ranger from the Willow Creek Ranger District. Unfortunately, the rain washed away all the tracks. But I’m telling you, I’ve seen black bear tracks and I’ve seen grizzly. Those tracks were made by a grizzly.” “I believe you,” Cameo said. “It’s just so strange.” “That’s not all. I haven’t told anyone else about this, and I considered not telling you. But I figured you might be able to make some sense of it since you’ve been involved in this cloak and dagger business a lot longer than I have.” Call stopped sketching. “What is it?”

“I wasn’t the first one on the scene. There were footprints around the perimeter. Men’s footprints. They’d brushed most of the area, but one of them stepped off the trail into some soft dirt. The impression was clear. He had really big feet and wore Vibram soled hiking boots.” Call had pulled a reporter’s notebook out of a pocket in his cargo pants and was taking notes. “What else do you remember?” Diane sipped her lemonade, seeming to marshal her reserves of strength. “I’m no forensics expert, but as far I could tell the body hadn’t been moved since the bear dragged it there on Friday night. If you remember, it rained hard on Saturday night, which would have obscured the bear’s tracks and the drag marks.” “That was the night Bob got abducted by aliens. It was a gully washer. Literally,” he added, remembering Bob’s brush with death when the trail collapsed under him. “You saw the bear on Monday afternoon when it returned to feed on its kill,” Diane continued. “That would account for the fresh tracks I found Tuesday morning. The really weird thing is, I also found fresh drag marks. Right beside that clown-sized footprint.” “Maybe somebody killed the bear,” Cameo said. “Yeah, I guess that would be the most logical explanation. But why would they keep it a secret? Every ranger in two districts is hunting that bear right now, with reinforcements on the way. You’d think the

good old boys who killed it would want to claim credit.” “Unless they wanted to create a diversion.” Call pulled a laminated Six Rivers National Forest map from another pocket in his pants, a souvenir of his ten mile hike. He spread the map on the table. “I’ve been doing some figuring. The attack happened about here, right?” He pointed to the place on Lumberbeast Road where he and Cameo had seen the bear. Diane nodded. “That’s where I found the body.” Call wrote, Bear Attack and highlighted the area with a yellow marker. Next, he labeled and highlighted Mad Jack’s camp, and the approximate location where he had last seen Bob, right before his friend had ridden a mudslide down the canyon. Finally, he made an X on the location where the paramedics had found Bob. He connected all the Xs with a yellow line. Cameo cocked her head to one side. “It looks like a kite with a long tail.” “Exactly. The tail leads away from all the activity up here,” he said, indicating the triangle of Xs in the vicinity of Mad Jack’s. “Everybody’s running around in a panic at the end of the tail. Meanwhile, forty-odd miles north, Gundar has time to wrap up his business and tie it with a bow.” He put the pen down with a flourish. “Uh, what is Gundar’s business?” Diane asked. “We haven’t figured that out yet,” he said. “I have a plan for flushing him out into the open, but I’ll need your help. Both of you. Are you in?”

“Why not? My supervisors already think I’m looney tunes. I might as well earn my rep,” Diane said. Golden seemed to sense a change in her owner’s mood. She sat up and rested a paw on Diane’s leg. The good leg, Call noticed. “I’m game,” Cameo said. He outlined his plan, and they agreed to meet at Big Foot Pizza and Pasta in Willow Creek the following evening to compare notes. Over his objection, Diane and Cameo dubbed the plan “Operation Looney Tunes.” Later, when Diane stood to go, she frowned and reached into her pocket. “I almost forgot. I found this on Lumberbeast Road, close to where the bear dragged Lech into the forest.” She held out a small, silver whistle. *** Call and Cameo sat up late that night, reviewing what they’d learned so far. After she went to bed, he finished several sketches depicting the strange occurrences surrounding Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. He made the caricatures eye-catching by filling them in with brightly colored pencils. It had been Cameo’s idea to model the cartoons after the popular Where’s Waldo series of children’s books. She thought it would create interest, while

linking Gundar to each of the events. What was he going to do? she asked. Sue them? Not likely, Call thought. Although Gundar played the role of a polished front man, he had no desire to call attention to his operation. In fact, if Call’s theory was right, the bear attack had been an attempt to divert attention, while setting an example for all who might consider betraying the camp commander. Call shuddered. Although he had no love for Lech, that wasn’t a death he’d wish on anyone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Wow! These are cool!” Jeremy examined the finished cartoons on the kitchen table. “That’s Gundar, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to one of the sketches. Cameo had just finished getting dressed for the day and for once, Jeremy had beaten her to the breakfast table. Probably because he was dying to see the sketches Call told him about last night at dinner. She’d tossed and turned half the night, wondering about the clown-size footprint Diane had described. She considered talking to Call about her adventure in the Lumberbeast parking lot but decided against it. Call was already overprotective. Why give him another reason to worry? Anyway, she reasoned, Darrell wasn’t the only guy in the world with big feet. She walked over for a closer look at the sketch. “It sure is,” she said. The cartoon showed a miniature Gundar standing in the open door of a dark green helicopter, holding a jug labeled “Chloroform.” In the foreground, several ghostly figures in camouflage gear and green face

paint floated around a prone camper. One of the figures held a rag over the terrified camper’s nose and mouth. The caption read, Alien Abduction at Mad Jack’s? She and Jeremy moved down the long, wooden table, looking at each of the cartoons. Another showed a group of muscular bullies wearing red camp T-shirts bearing the logos, Kill, Maim, Destroy, and Intimidate. They were chasing another group wearing blue T-shirts that read, Team Building, Problem Solving, Self-Confidence, and Motivating Others. The second group of campers crouched behind boulders or fled willy-nilly through the forest as the bullies pelted them with paint balls. Gundar watched through binoculars from a hunter’s blind positioned high in a tree. The caption read, A New Philosophy at Mad Jack’s. Perhaps the most outrageous, and libelous, cartoon depicted Gundar as a puppeteer. His small but recognizable caricature perched on a platform in the upper right hand corner of the picture. He held the strings attached to a huge bear. Below him, on Lumberbeast Road, Lech blew frantically on a small, silver whistle as the bear advanced. The caption read, Crime: Unknown, Sentence: Death by Bear. If that didn’t make Gundar furious, nothing would. She hoped Call was right about the cartoons provoking Gundar into doing something stupid. She also hoped his scheme didn’t blow up in their faces. She shoved the cartoons out of the way and began setting the table.

Jeremy looked confused. “How did Gundar make the bear kill that guy?” She measured her words as she set out milk, berries, and cereal. “We don’t know for sure, but some of the circumstances surrounding the death are very suspicious. Call and I think Gundar may be involved. That’s why Call drew the cartoons. He hopes they’ll make Gundar nervous enough so he’ll make a mistake and get caught.” “Is that what Call meant when he said the pen is mightier than the sword?” Jeremy asked. Aha, a teaching moment. “Yeah, it’s like psychological warfare. Did you know that our brains are more powerful than any weapon?” “I guess,” Jeremy said. “Can I tell my friends about the cartoons?” “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Like we said last night, some people might like the cartoons, but other people won’t. It’ll be better if you’re not involved, at least for now.” “Okay.” He sounded reluctant. She hesitated, not sure how much she should say. “Germ, I want you to be extra careful. When you get off the bus today, go straight to the bakery. With all this going on, I’d rather you didn’t skateboard around the neighborhood.” “Aw, Mom,” he grumbled. “No ‘aw Mom.’ Call and I will pick you up at Mama Gia’s around five o’clock. Finish your homework and eat a good snack because dinner will be late. We have a special surprise for you.”

*** They used the bakery’s color copier to print two hundred cartoons and posted them on every bulletin board in Willow Creek, Hoopa, and Nugget. Operation Looney Tunes was officially underway. Their first stop of the day had been Mad Jack’s. While Cameo made her regular Thursday delivery, Call tacked posters to a dozen trees on the road leading to camp. He wanted to put one on the bulletin board in the dining room, but she vetoed that idea. “What’s next?” she asked. “Now we sit back and wait for the fireworks.” He propped his feet on a box of produce on the farm’s front porch. “You can sit and wait. I have work to do.” He caught her hand as she walked by. “Are you sure I can’t distract you?” He offered a seductive smile. She removed her hand. “You’ve distracted me all morning. I need to catch up my chores.” “Yeah? What’s more important than making love?” he asked. He thought he saw her waver and considered pressing his advantage, but she scooted out of reach. “Unfortunately, I have to pay bills, order supplies, and plant seeds in the greenhouse. So I guess I’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Friday night,” he said. She paused at the door. “What about it?” “It’s date night. You know, soft lights, cold beer, hot monkey love.” He wiggled his eyebrows. She giggled. “All right, Tarzan. I’ll ask BJ if Jeremy can stay with her Friday night.” “You won’t regret it,” he called as she walked into the house. As soon as the door closed, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in the Mole’s number. *** Diane stopped the National Forest Service pickup where the road crossed Reynolds Creek. Golden whined softly in the seat beside her. “You want out, girl? I guess it’s time we stretched our legs.” She opened the driver door and climbed carefully down from the truck, motioning the dog to follow. Golden immediately bounded into the creek to splash in the shallows, probably trying to scare up a fish. Diane’s leg hurt when she sat too long, and it hurt when she started to walk. At least she was able to walk, she thought. She feared she’d done permanent damage after three long hikes on Tuesday: One when she discovered Lech’s body, the second to lead her supervisor and the head ranger from Willow Creek District to the remains, and the third with the coroner.

Most of the rangers were still searching for the rogue bear, which gave her an opportunity to patrol the Nugget District. And, the perfect excuse for carrying out her assignment. She pulled a pair of battered binoculars and Call’s Six Rivers National Forest map from the truck’s door. Raising the binoculars, she scanned the surrounding countryside. Then she looked again at the three points of the triangle Call had drawn on his map. So far, no sign of activity. She had a feeling she was on the right track though. Forest Service Road 13N18 cut through dense stands of conifers a couple of miles east of the clearing where rescuers found Bob MacBeth. If Call’s theory held up, Bob’s alien abductors had dropped him off en route to their real destination. They all agreed the alien aircraft had to be a helicopter. Nothing else could have gotten into the canyon where Call’s friend had fallen. That is, if you ruled out UFOs, and neither she nor Cameo was that crazy. As for Call, well, the jury was still out. The man did love a good conspiracy theory. She picked up a stick to throw for Golden and, for the first time, became aware of the depth of the grooves on either side of the road. Unusual for a little-traveled forest service artery. She doubted the rangers came this way more than once or twice a year. The route she’d taken was difficult, even for a four-wheel drive pickup, and far from the tourist centers.

She squatted to take a closer look. The ruts had been made by a heavily loaded vehicle, and from the looks of them, they were fairly recent. Excitement built inside her. She was definitely onto something. She tossed the stick a few more times for Golden, then got back in the truck and continued, eager to see what lay ahead. Thirty minutes, two creek crossings and ten bonejarring miles later, she came to a secondary road. Someone had made a lame attempt to disguise it by pulling dead bushes across the entrance. She stopped the truck and peered through the trees. Yep. It was definitely a road, and a wellmaintained one at that. “What do you think, girl?” she asked Golden. “Should we go on?” The big dog stood up on the seat, wiggling and wagging with enthusiasm. Diane laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.” She dug in her lunch box for the plastic container she’d packed with a sandwich earlier that morning. Then she and Golden got out of the pickup and shared a midday snack. While she ate, Diane pondered the wisdom of continuing. If Gundar was hiding some kind of smuggling operation in the woods, he undoubtedly had guards posted. She felt pretty sure they wouldn’t be happy to see a ranger in Forest Service uniform. When they finished eating, she filled the sandwich container with water for Golden but the dog was too excited to drink. She dumped the water

on a sapling, and then stopped, staring at the empty container. It just might work. She took a knife from her utility belt, and began poking holes in the lid. She half-filled the container with dirt, leaves and pine needles. Satisfied, she covered the makeshift specimen holder with its lid. Setting it on the ground, she began pulling dry, scratchy bushes away from the entrance to the road. They’d only walk until she started to feel tired, she promised herself. And if anyone stopped them, she was ready with an alibi. *** Cameo lovingly tucked a squash seed into a terra cotta container filled with soil. She loved the peacefulness of working in the greenhouse, planting the tiny seeds, watering and caring for them, then watching them grow into sturdy seedlings ready to be transplanted. This was one of her favorite parts of life on the farm. She could tell Call felt energized and excited by their morning’s work, but she couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. What had seemed like an adventure was becoming more dangerous with each passing day.

Hoping Gundar wouldn’t realize she and Call were responsible for the posters was probably foolish. Just the same, she’d felt it was unnecessarily reckless to post a cartoon on the camp bulletin board. Like painting a big, red bull’s eye on their backs, and by association, on the backs of her friends and family. That’s what worried her most. She could never forgive herself if her actions caused harm to her loved ones. Although she didn’t approve of senseless violence, she knew, deep in her heart, that she wouldn’t hesitate to protect her family by any means necessary. *** “Yo, Sanchez. I was just thinking about calling you.” Call leaned back in the glider on the farm’s front porch. Although his posture might have appeared relaxed, his pulse raced. “Yeah? Whatcha got?” “I hit the mother lode, man. That dude you were asking me about, Lech Nowak? He has a record in Canada longer than my Willie Wonka. Here, let me read it to you,” Mole said. Call heard a dull clunk, followed by shuffling. He imagined important information being retrieved from under the pile of old newspapers and debris that personalized Mole’s cubicle.

“Here it is. Assault and battery, two counts, domestic violence, two counts, assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest, and unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. My source said your boy has a bad temper and a habit of taking out his aggressions on women.” Call clenched the cell phone tighter as his stomach did a flip-flop. The thought of Cameo spending an evening in Lech’s company made him want to crush something, preferably Lech’s head, although the bear had already taken care of that. “And that’s not all.” Mole interrupted Call’s thoughts. “My source said he has good information that Lech’s cousin was being investigated in connection with a smuggling operation. Guess what he was suspected of selling?” Mole clearly enjoyed his role as informant. “I give up,” Call said, struggling to curb his impatience. “Bear parts.” News reports and random bits of information swirled in Call’s head. He’d heard there was a huge black market for bear gall bladders, used in traditional Asian medicine. A single gall bladder could bring as much as ten thousand dollars. The poachers who murdered the animals also sold their paws. For soup, if he remembered correctly. As a journalist, Call had been exposed to greed in many forms. He considered himself unshockable. Even so, he couldn’t control the wave of revulsion that washed over him.

If Lech was in business with his cousin, he may have been freelancing in the bear parts business, using Gundar’s helicopters for transportation. Which explained why Gundar had him killed. As for the means of death, well, that was just pure evil genius. “There is such a thing as karmic justice,” Call said. “Right on, man.” “What else did you find out?” “My friend said no one’s seen or heard from the cousin, Yuri Nowak, for a couple of weeks,” Mole said. “Maybe he caught a blast of karmic justice too.” Call thought that over. Although he felt nothing but disgust for the cousins, he couldn’t deny a sense of uneasiness regarding Gundar’s methods for dealing with those who crossed him. “How about Gundar Romanov?” he asked. “Not even a blip on the radar,” Mole said. “As far as Canadian law enforcement is concerned, he doesn’t exist.” “Thanks, Mole. You’ve been a great help.” “No problemo. Hey, howzabout I mosey up there on Saturday? I’d like to meet that Attila dude.” Shit. Call had forgotten about his promise to introduce Mole to Mad Jack’s grandson. Might as well get it over with. He’d take Mole to Willow Creek and treat him to a nice lunch and a little vino before he broke the news about Attila. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll email you directions to the farm. And bring your camera.”

“I never leave home without it. See you Saturday morning.” Call wanted to talk Mole into taking a few photos for the piece on Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. His reporter’s gut had been rumbling like an approaching freight train for the past week. Sure as the Mole loved ganja, Gundar was about to make his move.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cameo peeked around the wooden barrier where she’d taken refuge at the Balls Out Paint Ball Range in Willow Creek. The huge protective goggles that covered her face from forehead to chin made her feel like a wimpy version of Darth Vader. So far, her initiation into the subculture of paint ball gamers had been less than impressive. Call ran across a patch of open field, taking an orange splat to the right shoulder. He ducked and rolled into her safe haven. “What’s the matter, babe? They got you pinned down?” “I never realized how bloodthirsty nine-year-olds can be,” she said. A neon pink paint ball whizzed over their heads, shot by a sweet little girl named Jenna. At least Cameo thought that was her name. Jenna turned out to be a crack shot and quite the battlefield tactician as well. “She’s sneaking up on us,” Cameo said, panic creeping into her voice. “Watch this.”

He dropped to the ground and inched on his stomach to the edge of their temporary shelter. Aiming low, he shot a volley of green paint balls from his semiautomatic gun. She peeked cautiously around the barrier. Jenna was hightailing it for the nearest tree, her jeans splattered with neon green from the knee down. “You shoot pretty good for a city boy,” she said. “My Uncle Joey is a cop. He taught all the cousins about shooting stances, how to handle a weapon, and most important, to always treat it with respect. Come on, I’ll give you a few pointers.” She clutched his arm. “They’ll kill us if we go out there.” He slung the paint ball gun over his shoulder and raised his hands above his head. “Not if we surrender. I’ll go first.” She felt a tingle of pride and, yes, sexual excitement as he rounded the barrier, exposing himself to paint ball extermination. For her. He took a couple of hits from overeager competitors. “Cool it. We’re giving up,” he shouted. A minute later he hollered, “Okay, you can come out now.” She slung her gun over her shoulder, raised her hands and followed him to a safe zone outside the gaming area. “Where’s Jeremy?” she asked. “Right over there.” He pointed to two small figures crouched behind a fallen log. Jeremy was wearing a red sweatshirt, blue jeans, and dark blue protective goggles. They watched as he nailed a couple of kids who ran past.

“He handles that gun like a pro,” Call said. “Yeah, something tells me he’s had a little practice.” Call flopped down on a grassy knoll where they could see the players in the gaming area. Cameo sat cross-legged beside him, toying with a blade of grass. “You know, a good friend of mine says the more you deny a kid something, the more he’s going to want it,” Call said. “And does this friend have children?” “Six of them. Boys and girls from early elementary school to high school.” “He’s probably right.” She watched as Jeremy ran from the cover of his log to a wooden barrier, dodging left and right to avoid the barrage of paint balls. Her son was quick and daring, but she noticed that he didn’t take unnecessary chances. Maybe paint ball guns had some redeeming qualities. At least he was outside exercising with his friends instead of playing video games in a darkened bedroom. “I don’t actually hate guns. I mean, I’m sure they have legitimate uses, and just about everyone around here owns one. Except for my dad. He said he had enough of guns and violence to last a lifetime after his service in Vietnam,” she said. “I can understand that,” Call said. “But if you’re going to be around guns, even paint ball guns, you should know how to handle them.” He stood and brushed off his jeans. “C’mon. I’ll give you the

condensed version of Uncle Joey’s class in the care and handling of firearms.” He showed her how to brace the gun against her shoulder in the kneeling position, explained the benefits of advancing on the enemy in the prone position, and demonstrated defensive techniques. “Now, if that little girl ever threatens you again, you can take her out,” he said. Cameo laughed. “I appreciate the lesson, but I don’t think I’m ready for a grudge match against little Jenna.” “Don’t let the pigtails fool you.” Call lowered his voice and glanced furtively around the deserted safe zone. “She’s really a cyborg from the future, sent to destroy the human race.” Lord help her. The man was crazy, impetuous, wildly imaginative, and completely adorable. Operation Looney Tunes perfectly described life with Call Sanchez. She’d given up her good sense when she got involved with him, but didn’t regret it a bit. *** Big Foot Pizza and Pasta was hopping for a Thursday night. Families filled most of the long tables in the room’s middle, with smaller groups seated around the perimeter. Call, Cameo, and Jeremy chose a spot close to the door, where they could watch for Diane.

“It smells heavenly.” Cameo inhaled the mingled scents of basil, oregano, garlic, and baking pizza dough. Call pulled out her chair. “All that shooting makes a person hungry. Right, pal?” He winked at Jeremy. “Yeah!” Jeremy sat next to her, looking happier than she’d seen him in a long time. The sullen, withdrawn pod person she’d been living with for the last six months had been replaced by her bright-eyed, enthusiastic son. “Our team got the flag! Did you see, Mom?” “I did, son. Call and I saw the whole thing. You were great.” “Can we go again?” Jeremy asked. “I don’t know,” Cameo said. “Call rented the equipment. He probably has to return it soon.” “They’re having a special tournament at Willow Creek on Saturday. All my friends are going.” Jeremy looked at the grownups with big, imploring eyes. “The rental’s good through the weekend,” Call said. “Jeremy’s spending the night with his aunt on Friday, isn’t he?” Cameo nodded. “I bet BJ wouldn’t mind driving him to the paint ball course Saturday morning. She could stay and watch or arrange for Jeremy to ride home with one of the other moms.” “Please, Mom. I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

Cameo tousled Jeremy’s hair. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe. I’ll talk to your Aunt BJ.” His freckled face took on a rapturous glow. “Thanks, Mom. Can I have some quarters to play the video games?” Cameo exchanged an amused glance with Call. In kid world, promises were quickly made and even more quickly forgotten. “C’mon, sport. I’ll get you some quarters,” Call said. The two left Cameo with instructions to order The Beast in Me all-meat pizza. When the waitress appeared, she repeated their order and added a Vegetarian Insurrection for herself. She’d been keeping an eye out for Diane, but so far, there was no sign of the ranger. Cameo hoped she hadn’t run into any trouble. She spied Call ambling toward their table. “Where’s Jeremy?” she asked. He slid into the chair. “He found a couple of his buddies in the game room. They’re happy as pigs in tall clover.” Cameo craned her neck in that direction. The tables in front of the arcade were crowded with families. A gaggle of kids hung around the entrance watching or waiting their turn to play. “I don’t like having him too far away. By the way, if BJ can’t stay with him Saturday morning, guess who will be up bright and early to supervise paint ball games?” “How about if we just don’t go to sleep?” Call grinned at her.

A delicious shiver of anticipation ran through her. He’d been teasing her all week. Although she pretended indifference, she’d had recurring fantasies about their night of passion, and what she wanted to do the next time they were alone together. “If you think you can last that long.” She stroked his inner calf with her foot. He gave her one of his intense looks. “Darlin’, I’ll take whatever you want to dish out.” “Should I go out and come back in again?” Diane asked. Neither of them had noticed her approach their table. “No, no. We were just talking about the pizza. Cameo likes vegetarian. I’m a macho meat kind of guy.” Call stood and pulled out Diane’s chair. Her smile was amused, if disbelieving. “Both sound good. I’m starving.” They signaled the waitress. As soon as she departed, Diane spoke in a low tone. “I’m pretty sure I found their base of operations. I marked it on the map you gave me.” She handed the Six Rivers National Forest map to Call. It had been folded into a square that showed the area surrounding Forest Service Road 13N18. She’d highlighted the road and drawn an X northwest of Halverson Creek. “I knew it!” he said. “Gundar’s running a smuggling operation, and probably picking up some recruits among the campers. What did you see?” “I was surprised at how far I was able to walk without interference. I had Golden with me, and believe me, we were not the least bit sneaky. We’d

walked for almost twenty minutes on the secondary road before anyone stopped us,” Diane said. Their conversation was interrupted when the iced tea and salads arrived. The waitress had barely taken two steps in the opposite direction before Cameo leaned forward. “What happened?” she asked. “A big, burly guy carrying a semi-automatic weapon came around a bend about the same time Golden and I did. He looked surprised and nervous. Which made me nervous.” Diane stopped to take a swallow of tea and a big bite of salad. “I told him I was collecting specimens of the poisonous lychee beetle. Nasty little critter. Native to Southeast Asia. When it bites you, the skin around the bite mark turns black and rots. People have been known to lose limbs to its venom.” Diane stabbed another forkful of salad. Cameo and Call stared, open-mouthed. Cameo spoke first. “There aren’t any lychee beetles around here. You made the whole thing up, didn’t you?” Diane grinned. “Yeah, but Bubba wasn’t smart enough to figure that out. Last I saw of him, he was trotting back to the base camp, swatting the air and scratching himself.” After they all stopped laughing, she said, “I think I was almost within sight of the camp. I’m pretty sure I saw the outline of a couple of buildings through the trees.” “You’re pretty sure?” Call asked. “They were camouflaged. The foliage is dense there, but I caught a glimpse of some angles that didn’t look right. I figure they store the stuff at the

base camp and take it out in trucks. The forest service road has some deep ruts that weren’t made by passenger vehicles.” “Whatever they’re smuggling must be heavy, or there’s an awful lot of it,” Call said. “You don’t think it could have been a marijuana farm, do you?” “Definitely not. The guy I ran into wasn’t a local. He had a paramilitary look about him. And the outdoor growing season is just getting started. They wouldn’t be harvesting yet. Those ruts in the road were recent and deep.” Call pulled a pencil from behind his ear and began to scribble notes on his placemat. “So our initial suspicion still holds up. They’re flying contraband in and using the camp as a distribution point.” Cameo spoke up. “I think we should go to the sheriff’s department.” “With what? The vague outline of buildings? A redneck carrying a gun in the woods?” Call asked. She looked at the ranger for support. Diane shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. If I file an official report, my supervisor will want to know what I was doing up there. You made me a believer, but I’m not sure the head ranger is ready to buy into our conspiracy theory.” Cameo turned back to Call. “We could say we did the investigating. Then we’d just repeat what Diane told us.” “When you lie to the police, you’re getting into some pretty shaky territory, babe,” he said.

“You just don’t want to risk losing your story. You’re afraid the police will make the bust and leave you out in the cold.” “The thought had crossed my mind.” Cameo glared at him before attacking her salad. She’d made up her mind. She was going to the police station first thing in the morning whether Call liked it or not. This whole thing had gone too far. Lech was dead, people were being threatened, and she was afraid to let her son out of her sight. Diane broke the uncomfortable silence. “How’s Operation Looney Tunes going?” “Full throttle,” Call said. “We put posters up all over the area. Haven’t you seen them?” “No, I worked late, and barely had time to run home to change.” The pizza arrived and, as if by magic, Jeremy appeared moments later. He sat down and helped himself to a big slice of Beast and a sliver of veggie. “Everybody’s talking about them,” he said around a mouthful of pizza. “The cartoons?” Call asked. Jeremy washed his pizza down with a drink of root beer and wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “Yeah. You were right, Mom. Some people like them and some people don’t.” “What did they say?” Call wanted to know. “One of the high school guys said it was a bunch of BS. Only he didn’t say BS. He said we need men like Gundar to keep us safe from terrorists.” Jeremy took another huge bite of pizza. He caught a look

from his mother and used a napkin to wipe the tomato sauce off his face. “Another guy said Gundar probably was a terrorist. They almost got into a fight. One of the waiters came in and told them to chill or they’d have to leave.” “It sounds like we missed all the excitement,” Diane said. “I’m sorry. Diane, this is my son, Jeremy. Jeremy, Ms. Chan is a ranger with the forest service,” Cameo said. “Cool.” Jeremy gave Diane a shy smile. “What else did you hear?” Diane asked. “Not much. My friends liked the bear cartoon best. Kyle put one up in his room but his mom made him take it down. She said it was girlish.” “Girlish?” Call repeated, clearly offended. “I think you mean ghoulish,” Cameo said. Jeremy didn’t look up from his pizza. “Yeah, maybe that was it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Deputy Leonard Ready checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. Quite a few of the deputies wore buzz cuts or even shaved their heads, but Deputy Ready considered his hair one of his best assets. Not just physically, but in the arena of law enforcement. Civilians tended to be intimidated by his mane of naturally wavy blond hair, which was cut to regulation length and combed straight back from his forehead. A generous application of For Men Only hair spray insured that he always looked like he’d stepped right out of the recruitment brochure for the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Department. He lowered the mirror another half inch to admire his steely gray eyes, perfectly tanned complexion, and sparkling white teeth. Then, there was his chin. Leonard had always hated his chin. It wasn’t completely receding, but you couldn’t call it a strong chin either. He’d briefly considered growing a small, neat goatee but regulations allowed moustaches only. Besides, facial hair was popular with bikers and other

social misfits, the type of people who covered themselves with tattoos, hung out in sleazy bars, and grew marijuana in the woods. Leonard’s lip curled. He definitely didn’t want to be associated with their sort. He’d thought about plastic surgery, but on a deputy’s salary, who could afford it? So he continued to work out six days a week, mostly to keep himself in optimum physical condition, but also to counteract any false impressions that might be conveyed by the not-so-strong chin. The deputies at the main station in Eureka had discovered his weakness. They teased him mercilessly, calling him Barney Fife, and singing “If I Only Had a Chin” to the tune of “If I Only Had a Heart” from the Wizard of Oz. When one of them sang it over the radio, he complained to his supervisor. Although Leonard pointed out the section, article and paragraph of policies that had been violated, he had the strong impression that his supervisor wasn’t impressed. The man had even gone so far as to suggest that Leonard “suck it up.” After that, the teasing had gotten worse. All the deputies started to hum the cursed tune whenever they saw him. Insulting photos were taped to his locker daily, and he received all the worst assignments. When he requested backup, there was never anyone available. Thank goodness, none of his backup requests had turned out to be life or death situations, although he

sure could have used some help with that call to the pig farm. He’d spent all day digging through pig excrement in search of buried contraband and had found nothing. To add to his humiliation, the farmer must have called all his friends and relatives, because by the end of shift a sizeable crowd had gathered. They were all laughing and calling out advice about where to dig next. The hayseeds seemed to think he was funnier than the Blue Collar Comedy Tour. The next morning, a photo of him threatening one of the hicks with a shovel mysteriously appeared on the white board in the briefing room. He received a disciplinary letter in his personnel file and a transfer to the resident officer position in Nugget. It had been a bitter lesson, but a valuable one. He’d learned that you didn’t always get ahead by obeying the rules. Sometimes, you needed to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Although he hadn’t told anyone, Deputy Leonard Ready had ambitions. Someday, he planned to be the sheriff of Humboldt County. Then he’d be the one enforcing the rules, and all those who had mocked him would be sorry. Leonard tilted the mirror back into position, squared his shoulders, and checked the radar gun as an older model station wagon cruised past at two miles over the speed limit. He considered ticketing the driver, but decided it might be greedy to add another notch to his already

impressive statistics by nabbing some poor slob who couldn’t push his ride to five miles over the limit. Besides, it was past time for his mid-morning coffee break, and he’d heard the bakery in Nugget served a pretty decent cup of java. *** “Stop!” Cameo dug her fingers into Call’s arm. “Ouch! You’re bruising me.” Call looked in the direction she indicated. A Humboldt County Sheriff’s Department SUV idled in the parking lot of Mama Gia’s Bakery. He’d hoped to have one last chance to dissuade her en route to the Hoopa Substation. It looked like his luck had just run out. He pulled into the lot but didn’t immediately turn off the engine. “Now remember, just give him the story we agreed on. If you get into dangerous territory, I’ll pull the pencil from behind my ear. Let me take over from there.” Cameo had her hand on the door. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He put his hand on her arm, trying to physically restrain her long enough to finish what he had to say. “If I tap the pencil on the table, that means stop talking now.” “Honestly, Call. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I know that. But I have more experience dealing with law enforcement types than you do. Believe me, you don’t want to get caught in a lie.” With an exasperated sigh, she stepped out into the bright spring sunshine. Call sat for a moment longer, watching as a tall, buff officer emerged from the bakery. The deputy immediately put on reflective sunglasses and scanned the perimeter. His gaze settled on Cameo, who was blazing a trail in his direction. Reluctantly, Call exited the vehicle. He didn’t like what he saw. The guy looked completely by the book, from his shiny black boots to the lightly starched uniform and matinee idol hair. His posture screamed arrogance. Why couldn’t they have drawn a sadder-butwiser slob who’d eaten a few too many donuts and was marking time until retirement? Someone with a little compassion, an understanding of human nature? The deputy let the bakery door bang shut. He watched poker-faced as Cameo closed the distance between them. Not good. Not good at all. Not many men, young or old, could resist Cameo’s charms. Just watching her voluptuously rounded rear was giving him a woody, but the deputy practically stood at attention as she approached. He waited for her to speak. “Good morning, officer,” Cameo said. The deputy gave her a curt nod, then flicked his mirrored gaze in Call’s direction. His hand moved ever-so-slightly toward his holstered duty weapon.

Call hurried to catch up, careful to keep his hands in plain sight. “My name is Cameo Muldoon. My family owns Mama Gia’s Bakery. This is my friend, Call Sanchez.” The officer shook her hand. “Deputy Leonard Ready.” Apparently satisfied that Call wasn’t about to break out a gun and start shooting, the deputy shook hands with him as well. “Can we talk with you for just a few minutes?” Cameo asked. It was hard to tell what was going on behind those glasses, but Call had the distinct impression that Deputy Ready’s eyes traveled down Cameo’s body and back up again. “Sure,” he said, flashing a smile in her direction. Zowie! The deputy must be addicted to tooth whiteners. Call hoped he wouldn’t go snow blind. They chose a table on the bakery’s shaded veranda, and Deputy Ready finally removed his glasses. Probably to give Cameo the full benefit of his stunning good looks, Call thought. On closer inspection, he noticed the deputy’s features weren’t quite perfect. The lawman had a weak chin. “How can I help you?” Deputy Ready asked, turning his full attention on Cameo. Within the space of minutes, Call had been relegated to the status of a fly on the red checked vinyl tablecloth. She took a deep breath. “We have reason to believe Gundar Romanov is running a smuggling operation out of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience.”

Lust faded from Leonard Ready’s eyes, quickly replaced by wariness. “What makes you think that?” “We, Call and I, were driving in Six Rivers National Forest yesterday morning. Call is a reporter for the Humboldt County Observer, and he’s working on a story about organic farming. We were looking for a ginseng farm in the forest when we got lost.” “Go on,” Deputy Ready said. “We got out of the truck to stretch our legs and noticed a side road that had been partially hidden by dead bushes.” “Where was this road?” “About ten miles north of Mad Jack’s, on Forest Service Road 13N18.” The deputy took a notepad out of his pocket and jotted down the information. “Go on.” She shifted in her chair. The deputy’s tone and demeanor obviously unnerved her. “We were curious about where the road might lead so we decided to follow it.” “Don’t you know there are marijuana growing operations in the woods? With armed guards?” Deputy Ready asked. “Well, yeah. I grew up around here. I guess I just wasn’t thinking.” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and pasted on a dumb brunette look. “What’s your story?” The deputy shot a hostile glance in Call’s direction. “Just naturally curious, I guess,” Call said. The deputy snorted and turned back to Cameo. “Go on.”

“So, we walked down the road for about twenty minutes. I’m pretty sure I saw the outline of some buildings in the forest. Then a guy carrying a semiautomatic weapon appeared out of nowhere. We told him we got lost looking for a ginseng farm but he didn’t seem to believe us. He only let us go when I told him I live at Bunny Love Farm. I think he’d been told not to mess with the locals,” Cameo said. “And what makes you think this is tied to Gundar Romanov?” Deputy Ready asked. Call pulled the pencil from behind his ear. He’d heard enough. The deputy thought they were a couple of nut jobs, or worse, troublemakers. It was time to cut their losses. “Cameo has a bad feeling about him.” Call rolled his eyes. “You know women and their intuition.” He stood quickly before she could kick him under the table. “I think we’ve taken enough of the deputy’s time.” “Sit down,” Deputy Ready said. Call sat. He began tapping his pencil violently. Cameo glared at him. The deputy pulled a paper from his uniform pocket and unfolded it on the table. It was the cartoon of Gundar and the bear. “I don’t suppose you two know anything about this?” “I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Call said. “How about you, Miss Muldoon?” The deputy softened his tone as he turned to Cameo. Call prayed she wouldn’t fall for the lawman’s solicitous manner. He was a rattlesnake waiting to strike.

Cameo hesitated for less than a second before shaking her head. Deputy Ready folded the paper and put it back into his breast pocket. “That’s good, because I’d hate to have to arrest you for vandalism and defacing public property. I have no doubt that you and Curious George here stumbled onto a pot farm. You’re lucky the guard didn’t kill you both.” He stood and replaced the mirrored sunglasses. “Miss Muldoon, if I were you, I’d find a new boyfriend.” *** “Why didn’t you let me tell him the whole story?” Cameo asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer. Call watched with an enormous sense of relief as the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Deputy pulled onto the highway and turned south toward Willow Creek. “Deputy Ready has an ax to grind,” he said. “How come you didn’t know him, anyway? I thought you knew everyone.” “He’s the new resident officer for Nugget. Keeps to himself, or so I hear. I wish Deputy Boxer was still around.” He tilted back his chair. “Let me guess. Paunchy, good-natured, retired from the position in Nugget.” “That’s right. Everybody called him Deputy Dawg. How’d you know?”

“Just a wild guess. Listen, I’m sorry about that women’s intuition comment. I didn’t want to get in any deeper with Deputy Stick-Up-His-Butt.” “No offense taken,” she replied. “We tried to do the right thing. At least now we know who not to trust.” “Amen to that. I have no desire to be a guest at the Humboldt County Jail.” She leaned forward. “Listen, I have an idea about how we can collect evidence. Maybe something we can take to the sergeant at the Hoopa Substation.” “Oh, no. Not the police again.” He put his head in his hands. “Not all of them are like Deputy Ready. Anyway, if it doesn’t work out, we won’t go. No harm, no foul. C’mon, Curious George. I’ll buy you a lemonade.” She opened the screen door to Mama Gia’s bakery and waited for him to follow. *** Deputy Ready pulled into a turnout a few miles south of Nugget. He took his personal cell phone out of the glove compartment and hit speed dial. In the few weeks he’d been assigned to this godforsaken outpost, he’d made one good friend. A man who understood the importance of vigilance in a world turned upside down by terrorists and the

weaklings who allowed them to survive and thrive. A man who shared his ideals. “Romanov here.” “Hi, Gundar. It’s Leonard. I have some information I think might be of interest to you.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gundar gripped the edge of his desk and lifted, before slamming it into the carpet. The Siberian tiger sculpture toppled, sending a spider web of cracks over the heavy glass surface. Rage pumped through him, rocketing his blood pressure. He surrendered to the rush of adrenaline. Picking up his executive chair as if it were a matchbox, he threw it against the wall. The chair hit with a thunderous crash, followed by a shower of plaster. He stood in the middle of his office with his fists clenched, breathing heavily. Imbeciles. He was surrounded by imbeciles. First, there had been the cartoons. He suspected whoever had drawn them was baiting him, like the men in his country baited bears for sport. He’d ignored the foolish drawings, of course, but the spotlight of public opinion could not have been turned on him at a worse time. Then he’d heard a ridiculous story about flesheating beetles from the guard at the drop site. It would have been laughable if the man hadn’t let a

forest ranger walk within meters of the helicopter pad and warehouses. Now, Deputy Leonard Ready informed him the reporter and Cameo Muldoon claimed to have stumbled onto the very same site. The woman had named him, Gundar, as mastermind of a smuggling operation. If Ready possessed an ounce of intelligence or integrity, he’d have investigated their crazy claim before dismissing it. A short drive up Forest Service Road 13N18 would have convinced him the story wasn’t as incredible as it sounded. Gundar had learned long ago to assess the locals for qualities that might be used to his advantage. Ready’s character flaws had been pathetically obvious: arrogance, a sense of being treated unjustly, and paranoia that verged on psychosis. Gundar had had no trouble persuading the deputy they were kindred spirits, then sweetening the deal with a little cash. Gundar sighed heavily. He picked up the chair and set it behind his ruined desk. Then he righted the snarling Siberian tiger. Made of heavy metal alloy, the sculpture was indestructible. Like him. He sank into the chair and rubbed his temples. He had a pounding headache. The big drop was scheduled for tomorrow night. After that, he’d be a rich man. Richer than the wealthiest men in Bucharest, who drove by in their elegant cars and fur coats, oblivious

to the ragged child who’d watched them with bright, envious eyes. Richer than his whore of a mother could have imagined in her wildest vodka deliriums. Even richer than his former bosses in the Russian Mafia. In truth, he hadn’t decided what to do with all the money. He knew only that nothing would keep him from claiming the prize he’d worked so long and hard to earn. *** “Not bad, huh?” Cameo propped herself on her elbows to enjoy the sunset. They’d polished off a couple of fast food burgers and shared the supersize fries. Call was well into his second beer but he just didn’t look happy. “Great. Except for the pinecone up my ass.” He lifted the corner of the sleeping bag they lounged on and retrieved the offending cone. “What’s the matter, Mr. Grumpy Pants? You gonna let a little pinecone ruin your evening?” Her teasing garnered a smile, but just a small one. “I’m sorry,” Call said. “I guess I imagined a different kind of date.” “The evening is still young.” They’d taken a little-traveled road to the top of a ridge overlooking Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience.

Although far enough away to escape notice, their picnic spot offered a commanding view of the camp and surrounding countryside, including Forest Service Road 13N18. She’d brought along a pair of binoculars, but so far, there hadn’t been much to see. “I mean, what exactly are we looking for?” he asked. “Activity. If our theory is right, Gundar plans to move soon. Maybe even tonight. If we’re wrong, hey, it’s still a beautiful evening.” “So far, none of my schemes have worked out,” he said. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.” She put down the binoculars and turned toward him. “What’s wrong? You seem down tonight.” He set down his beer. “My two weeks at camp were officially over today. I could probably take a few days’ vacation and extend my stay a little longer, but after that, it’s back to Eureka.” Cameo’s chest ached. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about Call’s departure, although she knew it was inevitable. She forced a smile. “Back to the stinking sewer plant scandal.” “And the evil clutches of Liz Lessard.” She cast a questioning glance in his direction. “Never mind. She’s not important. The truth is, I hate the thought of leaving you. And Jeremy. And the rest of your crazy, wonderful family.” “Then don’t go.” The words popped out before she realized it. She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Call pulled her into his arms. “It’s nice to be wanted.” He kissed her slowly, thoroughly. His kisses tasted like beer and ketchup, a combination she’d never imagined could be so delicious. He gently lowered her onto the sleeping bag. The pressure of his hands was a suggestion, like an experienced dancer guiding his partner across the floor. Tonight, she was content to let him take the lead. She watched through half-closed eyes as he began to unbutton the row of tiny heart-shaped buttons that fastened the front of her white eyelet blouse. Although he fumbled a bit, she didn’t offer to help, preferring to watch as the last beams of sunlight illuminated the slight frown of concentration on his boyishly handsome face. He caught her watching him and paused. “That’s an enigmatic smile. Do I dare ask what you’re thinking?” She rolled onto her side and propped herself on an elbow. “I was thinking about the first time we met. When I almost squashed you under a sack of flour.” “That was some dust up,” he said. She giggled. “An en-whitening experience.” “You know, you didn’t have to throw yourself at me. I was smitten from the moment I saw you.” The dark shadow cast over the evening by Call’s imminent departure began to lift, at least for the moment. Teasing and anger seemed to work equally well as distractions. She knew of another.

Tracing her fingers down the front of his checked shirt, she began to release the buttons. “And I thought you were…kinda cute.” His eyes opened wide. “Kinda cute? A puppy’s kinda cute. A garden gnome is kinda cute. Hell, the mole on my butt is kinda cute. Is that the best you can do?” Although he pretended to be incensed, he didn’t back away or resist the downward progress of her fingers until she’d freed the last button. “Well…I thought you were kinda sexy.” “That’s better.” He grinned and stripped off his shirt, followed by his pants. She couldn’t suppress a small gasp of delight as his erection popped out of his jeans. Call looked down with pride. “Mojo likes you.” “Mojo? I can’t believe you named him.” Although her tone was incredulous, she couldn’t help reaching for him. She stroked slowly toward her, feeling the heat throbbing just beneath the surface. He closed his eyes and groaned. With an effort, he stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “I want this to be special.” He stripped off her jeans and panties, then slowly traced his fingers down her body, as if memorizing every curve. She shivered with pleasure as he pressed warm kisses to places she’d never suspected could be erogenous zones. They made love slowly, deliciously. He seemed to sense exactly what she needed. He took his time, kissing her all over, murmuring endearments; words

that might have made her blush if she’d heard them in the living room. But on the hilltop, with their naked bodies pressed together, the words seemed as right as the stars in the evening sky. She absorbed his caresses and his sweet, hot compliments, letting both fill her with delight. Twice, he brought her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue and his fingers. When he finally entered her, she welcomed him as she had no other man. All her fears and reservations melted as they become one, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. And for the first time in her life, she felt truly beautiful. Later, sprawled on the sleeping bag, they watched the stars come out as a light, pine-scented breeze cooled their heated bodies. Cameo had her head on Call’s shoulder and an arm flung across his chest. He kissed her on the forehead. “Still just kinda sexy?” She smiled up at him. “You’re definitely moving up on the sexy scale, but I’m not sure you’ve reached your full potential.” “Arghh. I’m not finished with ye, wench.” She sat up and looked at him. “You know, you’d look great with a beard. Like a real pirate. We could call you Red Beard.” She left the comfort of their small, flannel island to find a place to relieve herself. “How about an eye patch? And a monkey on me shoulder?” Call hollered at her as she retreated into the forest.

“The beard will do,” she called. When she came back, he was still naked, lying on his stomach, looking through the binoculars toward the distant headlights on Highway 96. “You can see a long way up here. How’d you find this place anyway?” She sat beside him, folded her legs under her, and pulled a light blanket around her shoulders. “I used to come here with my boyfriend. The summer after my sophomore year in high school.” Call rolled onto his side. He had that penetrating look. “Was he the boyfriend?” She shrugged. “I guess you could call him that. I thought I was in love with him, once upon a time.” Call nodded. She could tell he was dying to ask the question all of Nugget had been wondering about for the past nine years. Although she wasn’t sure why, she found herself wanting to tell him. “His name was Pendleton Wells Wilson, the third. And I’d like to believe he’s Jeremy’s father, but I’m not really sure.” Call patted the sleeping bag beside him. She lay down with her head on his arm and pulled the blanket over them. They were quiet for a while, watching the lights come on in the distance. Crickets and other nocturnal creatures tuned up for their evening performance. “When I was sixteen, Mama miscarried a baby boy, the son my father always wanted. After that, he and Mama grew apart. She busied herself with work and family. He had an affair.”

A quick glance in his direction revealed an expression filled with sympathy. That gave her the courage to continue. “It was hard on all of us. My father became emotionally and physically distant. I found out what was going on by spying on his poker game. A huge argument broke out, and Dad almost got into a fistfight with Uncle Bud Purdy. Would have, if Tobias hadn’t separated them. Dad kicked everyone out. Said he was through with all of them. By that time, I’d heard enough.” “That must have knocked your father off his pedestal,” Call said. She nodded, and then turned her gaze back to the vista below. “I felt hurt, betrayed and, somehow, unworthy of love. I’d always craved my father’s attention. His affair convinced me he didn’t care about me or anyone else, except maybe his girlfriend and the son he’d lost. “I told Mama what I’d heard but she didn’t want to talk about it. She acted like she thought the problem would go away if she ignored it.” “From what I’ve read, denial is a pretty common reaction to marital infidelity,” Call said. “Tell that to a sixteen year old.” Cameo managed a small, bitter smile. After so many years, the memories still pained her. “My hurt turned to anger and rebellion. I became sexually active and started sneaking out to be with Pen, drinking, and smoking pot. When he went home after a summer at camp, I saw that as another rejection. More proof that I was unlovable.

“After that, I started ditching school, partying, and sleeping around. My grades dropped and I was suspended for having alcohol in my locker. Then I discovered I was pregnant.” “I bet that got your parents’ attention.” “No kidding. We went to a wonderful family therapist, Dr. Nelson, and my parents supported my decision to keep the baby. The sisters were all affected by Dad’s midlife crisis, to one degree or another. Although I acted out, I think maybe Gemma was hurt the worst. She was always the quiet one in our big, noisy Irish-Italian family. Kind of a lost child. She’s been seeing Dr. Nelson again since Dad died a couple of years ago.” Call drew her into an embrace. He kissed her on the forehead. “Teenage years are rough, aren’t they? I don’t think anyone comes through them unscathed.” Cameo snuggled against his warm chest. Soft, red-blond hairs ticked her nose, but she didn’t mind. She took a deep breath and, as she exhaled, felt some of the guilt and shame flow out. “Is it possible that you’ve become overly responsible to make up for your wild youth?” he asked. “It’s possible,” she murmured against his chest. Call chuckled, a warm, friendly sound, and she found herself smiling along with him. “Then maybe it’s time you stopped blaming yourself. Live a little. Let that wild child out to play. I’ve met her, and I think she’s more fun than paint ball, pizza, and pirates.”

“Wow. That’s some fun,” she said. Although she didn’t put her thoughts into words, Cameo knew he was right. Call had resurrected the fun-loving, adventurous child in her. When he left, she felt pretty sure that child would retreat once more into the shadows. *** As night fell, the temperature dropped rapidly. They dressed and bundled up in a couple of old blankets, watching the headlights speed by while chatting about anything and everything. Cameo pulled the binoculars out of their case and focused on the camp below. Momentarily left to his own devices, Call couldn’t shake the bittersweet feeling that had been haunting him all night. He’d enjoyed his time in Nugget more than he could have imagined and wasn’t looking forward to leaving. He’d come and see her, he vowed. Every weekend. He wanted to put a basketball hoop in the driveway for Jeremy, maybe even take him surfing. He and Cameo would have lots more evenings together. He’d make sure of it. But what about when his career took him elsewhere? He certainly didn’t intend to spend the rest of his life writing feature stories.

He shoved the thought aside. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy Cameo’s company. “I knew it!” she said, punching him on the shoulder. “Look down there.” She pointed to a growing cluster of lights in the valley below and handed him the binoculars. Even from this distance, he could see several trucks in the parking lot of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. As he watched, two more drove in. “Do you think this is it?” she asked. “The big shipment Gundar’s been waiting for?” “Could be. Let’s wait and see what they do.” He managed to sound calm despite the adrenaline coursing through his system. Maybe this was the break he’d been waiting for. It made perfect sense when he thought about it. The most recent group of campers, the group he would have graduated with, had gone home today. Mad Jack’s was empty except for Gundar and his goons. What better time to make a big drop? They traded off looking through the binoculars. No more trucks came, and after about half an hour, the seven that had gathered set off in a convoy. Only they didn’t head north on Highway 96. Instead, they chose a road much closer to the couple’s vantage point. Forest Service Road 13N18. “They’re headed for the area where Diane found their base camp,” Cameo whispered. “It sure looks that way.” “Do you think we should call 911?”

“No!” The word came out more sharply than he intended. The stinking sewer plant scandal had taught him a hard lesson about jumping to conclusions. “Let’s see it any of them come back down the road. They may not be hauling the stuff out tonight, which makes Saturday night an excellent bet. That will give us time to decide on a course of action.” “But we’ll have to spend the whole night here.” “You can drive home and come back to get me in the morning.” “Not a chance, Sanchez.” Although Call couldn’t see her, he imagined the obstinate expression on her face. “If I remember correctly, it was my idea to come up here,” she said. “No way am I going to let you solve this case alone. We’re in this together, bucko. Until the end.” He swallowed his amusement. “I guess we did spit and shake on it.” “Darn right.” “Okay, but don’t expect to get much sleep.” He punctuated the statement by running his fingers lightly up her inner thigh. “Is that a threat or a promise?” She leaned over to kiss him lightly on the neck. The challenge in her voice had been replaced by a husky sensuality. “Arrgh. A pirate always keeps both.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

They dragged into the farmhouse soon after daylight on Saturday morning after making love most of the night. At times, Cameo couldn’t tell Call’s body from her own. It had been the most satisfying and sensual experience she’d ever had. Coming home to Bunny Love Farm meant a return to reality and responsibility. She threw her keys on a table near the door and bent to scratch Attila behind the ears. “BJ agreed to take Jeremy to the paint ball range, which gives us the morning free. I vote for breakfast, a shower, and a nap. How about you?” Call took her in his arms. “How about we skip breakfast and head straight for the shower?” She was surprised at the thrill of excitement that shot through her. Even after a night of lovemaking, his touch made her instantly ready for more. She gathered her resolve and slipped out of his embrace. “I think we need sustenance. And a nap. Jeremy will be home at noon. Besides, we have plans to make.” They’d watched the trucks until their lights disappeared into a heavily wooded area north of Mad

Jack’s. She was pretty sure the vehicles hadn’t returned because the lights never reappeared. No one could have navigated that road in the dark. “All right,” Call said. “I promise to keep hands off. For now.” She was headed into the kitchen when the phone rang. “Cameo Muldoon?” The voice sounded strange, almost like it was computer generated. A feeling of dread swept through her. “Yes.” “Listen carefully. I’m a friend. Romanov has your mother.” Her knees buckled. She sat abruptly in a kitchen chair. “Don’t worry, she’s safe.” “Who are you? And where’s my mother?” “I can’t tell you right now. I don’t have long to talk. Tell Sanchez to meet me at the drop site at midnight. And check your mailbox.” He hung up. “He has Mama!” Cameo shouted. She ran out the door with Call at her heels. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get the key into the truck’s ignition. Call jumped in the passenger side as the engine roared to life. “Who was that?” he asked. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I don’t know. He said Romanov has Mama Gia and that I should check the mailbox. He wants you to meet him at the drop site at midnight.” She paused as

the truck bounced over a rut in the farm road. “He said he’s a friend.” At the intersection of Highway 96, she pulled in front of the cluster of mailboxes. She jerked open the one labeled “Muldoon.” Inside, a solitary white envelope waited. She stared at it for a moment as if it were a snake poised to strike. She’d entertained a glimmer of hope during their wild ride to the mailbox that maybe the phone call had been a hoax. Retrieving the envelope with two fingers, she saw her name neatly typed on the front. There was no address or postage, which meant it had been left by someone other than the letter carrier. Should she wait and have the police dust it for fingerprints? No. She couldn’t wait. Not when Mama Gia was in danger. Pulling the pocketknife from her jeans, she slit the envelope and read the message inside.

Giovanna Muldoon is a guest at our establishment. Be a good girl and you can have her back in a couple of days. Interfere, and she dies. Don’t talk to anyone. No police. No forest rangers. No reporters.

It was typed on stationery emblazoned with the Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience logo.

Cameo shut her eyes tight. Her worst fear had come true. Mama Gia was in terrible danger, and it was all her fault. The paper fluttered to the ground. Call put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get her back. She allowed him to lead her to the pickup and help her into the passenger seat. She was vaguely aware that he stooped to pick up the letter she’d dropped. The ride back to the farmhouse was a blur. She sat with her forehead pressed against the window, helpless and overwhelmed. How could she have been so selfish? She’d known her actions could put her family in danger, but she’d persisted. She’d been so sure she was right about Gundar and so determined to prove it. “What are we going to do?” she asked, griefstricken. “First, I’m going to make breakfast and a big pot of coffee. Then we’ll figure out something.” *** When Mole arrived for his weekend visit, Call filled him in on the situation, managing to avoid any reference to the promised meeting with Attila. “Bummer, dude. What are you going to do?” Mole asked.

That seemed to be the question on everyone’s lips. Call wished he had a better answer. After she’d called to check on Jeremy and her sisters, he’d finally convinced Cameo to lie down. They’d decided not to tell anyone about Mama Gia’s abduction, at least until they came up with a plan to rescue her. Jeremy would stay with BJ until Sunday morning. Allegra told her Mama Gia had gone to visit Trevor the night before. Mama called her eldest daughter early that morning to say she wouldn’t be in to work. Trevor wasn’t doing well, and she planned to spend the day with him. A call undoubtedly made at Gundar’s insistence. The way he figured it, Gundar had nabbed Mama at Trevor’s house. She’d been the perfect target of opportunity, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, Cameo had taken the news badly. She felt even more responsible because she hadn’t warned Mama. Like Mama would have listened anyway. If the Muldoon women had one trait in common, it was unwavering, single-minded persistence. Once they made up their minds about something, there was no stopping them. “Earth to Call,” Mole said. Call yanked his thoughts back to the task at hand. What was he going to do? “Hold on, I’m thinking.” He paced back and forth in the kitchen as he considered his options for freeing Mama Gia. So far, the only plans he’d been able to come up with ranged from foolhardy to downright suicidal.

What the hell. He might as well toss something out there and get his friend’s input. The Mole’s ganja saturated brain sometimes produced surprisingly creative solutions. Sounding decisive was the key. If he acted like he knew what he was doing, maybe he could convince Mole. Hell, maybe he could even convince himself. He stopped at the kitchen table. “I think we should go in early, before they’re expecting us. I have a pretty good idea where they’re holding Mama Gia.” He spread the Six Rivers National Forest map to show Mole the drop site. “That looks like some pretty gnarly country. How you gonna get in there?” “Right through here.” He pointed to the spot where Diane told them the secondary road branched out from 13N18. “I figured we’d wait until it gets dark and then sneak in through the forest.” Mole looked up from the map. “We?” Call ignored him as the plan took shape in his head. “We’ll need dark T-shirts, camo pants, and weapons.” He snapped his fingers. “I know where we can get GPS transponders.” “Listen, man. I sympathize with you and all, but I didn’t come up here for a kamikaze mission. I just wanted to meet Attila.” “This is Attila. And who are you?” Cameo stood in the kitchen doorway with the little gray rabbit at her feet. Drat the luck, Call thought. He didn’t know how long Cameo had been there but she couldn’t have

picked a worse moment to make her presence known. Or a more unfortunate entrance line. Mole looked from the rabbit to Call and back again. His forehead puckered in confusion. “I’ll explain later. Right now we have more important matters to discuss. Cameo, this is my friend, Eric Moller, affectionately known as The Mole. He’s a photographer for the Humboldt County Observer.” Cameo looked better after her short rest. The color had returned to her cheeks and she wore the determined expression he’d come to associate with the Muldoon women. She poured a tall glass of water and joined them at the table. “Tell me about your plans.” *** “I’m going in,” Call said. Cameo nodded. She’d suspected as much. Lying in bed, she’d come to the same conclusion. Their only assurance of Mama Gia’s safety had come from a digitally disguised voice on the phone. And the note, which she assumed was written by Gundar. She didn’t trust either. “I’m going with you,” she said. Call looked like he was about to object but clamped his mouth shut. “The worst that could happen is Gundar would take us prisoner along with Mama. He’s a criminal,

but I don’t think he’s stupid. So far, he’s been able to fly below the radar. I can’t see him adding multiple counts of murder to his rap sheet.” She hoped to calm Call’s fears with her brave words, although she wasn’t completely sure she believed them herself. Call paced beside the table. “We’ll go to Mad Jack’s after dark tonight. We can sneak through the forest and extract Mama Gia before they know what hit them.” “Yeah? And what if we, you, get caught?” Mole asked. She answered for him. “I’ll tell Gundar I want a parlay.” “What?” Call stopped pacing. “A parlay. You know, a negotiation. There’s no way we can get a vehicle anywhere near the drop site without arousing suspicion. I’ll let you out on the forest service road and drive right into the camp. He’ll figure it’s another of my crazy stunts. If I can’t talk him into releasing Mama Gia, you can try your rescue plan.” “Absolutely not,” Call said. “I won’t let you go into that den of kidnappers and smugglers alone. It’s out of the question.” Cameo went to the sink and set her glass on the drain board before turning to answer. “It’s my fault Mama Gia was kidnapped.” She held up her hand as Call started to protest. “Whether you agree with me or not, I’m going to the drop site tonight. I could never forgive myself if something happened and I wasn’t there to help Mama.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

At seven forty-five, Diane Chan stopped her truck about a mile from the intersection of the smugglers’ road and Forest Service 13N18. Call took a deep breath and exhaled noisily, releasing some of the tension that had gripped him since the little band of rescuers left Nugget. They’d traveled the last few miles with their headlights off, relying only on the moonlight for guidance. The drive had been painstakingly slow but they’d managed to avoid detection. Diane parked as far off the road as the trees and underbrush allowed. They all piled out of the truck, and Call handed Mole and Diane cell phone-sized GPS devices, keeping a third for himself. “Where’d you get these things?” Diane asked. Call opened his survival backpack. “Jeremy got one for Christmas last year. I borrowed the other two from his friends. They provide radio communication within a radius of five miles, as well as GPS locations. They’re great for keeping track of your buddies while hiking.” He found some dark green, oil-based makeup and smeared it over his face and hands. “Or

sneaking up on a bunch of kidnappers. How do I look?” Mole rolled his eyes. “Like a red-headed reporter covered with green muck.” “That’s an easy fix.” Call pulled a camouflageprinted ball cap out of the backpack and covered his auburn hair. “Now you,” he said, handing Mole the tin of face paint he’d pilfered from Mad Jack’s. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Mole asked. He slipped on a backpack containing his photographic equipment. “Because you’re a rock and a true friend. I won’t forget this.” “Forget it, hell. I just hope we live through it.” Mole rubbed the greasy goo into his face. When Call turned to Diane, she took a giant step back. “I’m not wearing that stuff.” He decided not to make an issue of it. He hoped she’d be far enough removed so she wouldn’t need camouflage. “Everybody have their GPS trackers?” “Check,” Mole said. “Check,” Diane said. “Radios working?” Diane depressed a button on the side of her transceiver. “This is The Terminator.” Call did the same. “Aragorn, here.” “Captain Underpants,” Mole mumbled. “What was that, Mole? I’m not sure I heard you.” Diane’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “How come I have to be Captain Underpants?” Mole whined.

“Each device is named, and the names were chosen by nine-year-olds. Jeremy’s friend, Monte, is the comedian in the group,” Call explained. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll trade with you.” They exchanged devices. “GPS working?” Call asked. Mole and Diane hit a switch and the screens on their transceivers lit, showing each unit’s location identified by its action hero name. “All right. I’m going in first. Aragorn, you follow after about twenty minutes. Be quiet, stay low to the ground, and use as little light as possible. We have lots of moonlight tonight, so be careful. Don’t use the radio, except in case of an emergency.” He handed each of them one of the paint ball guns he’d retrieved from the back of the pickup. “And don’t get trigger happy. They’ll have guns that shoot real bullets.” He turned to Diane. “Terminator, you’re our communication hub. From here, you’ll proceed to the turnout approximately two miles to the south. There should be plenty of cover to hide the truck. “Your job is to keep track of us by GPS. If you receive a mayday call from Aragorn or me, or if either of us disappears from your screen, implement Plan B.” Diane saluted. “Yes sir, Captain Underpants!” Call cut her a glare. “This is serious business, Terminator. Mama Gia is being held hostage by gang of smugglers.”

Diane wilted. “Sorry. I was just trying to reduce the tension a little. I’m sure Mama Gia will be okay. Gundar is a businessman, not a psychotic killer.” “That’s what Cameo said. I hope both of you are right.” He patted Diane awkwardly on the shoulder. “Where is Cameo?” Diane asked. “I can’t believe she let you launch this rescue mission without her.” “She’ll be along later,” Call said and then quickly changed the subject. “Everyone have their watches synchronized?” “Why?” Mole asked. “Because, damn it, they always do it in movies.” “I’ve got seven fifty-seven,” Mole said. “Eight oh two,” Diane said. Call’s watch said eight oh five, but he always kept it set five minutes fast so he’d be on time for appointments. “Close enough.” They bumped fists as a sign of solidarity. Then Call picked up his gun and loped into the woods. *** Cameo returned from visiting with Tobias but stopped short when she caught sight of her pickup. The hood was up, and as she drew closer, she saw that all four tires were flat. “Damn you, Call Sanchez,” she hissed under her breath.

She looked under the hood. The wires to the distributor had been detached. Not yanked out, just unplugged. It took her all of two minutes to reattach them. She climbed into the pickup, inserted the key, and the engine purred to life. Next, she got out and inspected the tires. She didn’t see any slashes or puncture marks. Someone had just let the air out. Some dirty, low-down sneak with red hair and a death wish. She stood for a minute, hands on hips, contemplating her next move. Should she walk back to Tobias’ house and ask for help? Nah. He had enough on his mind. Tobias’s state-of-the-art garage was located below and slightly to the right of the farmhouse. All she had to do was get a little momentum going, then hop in, and steer. Cameo levered the gearshift into neutral, put her shoulder to the door frame, and pushed. The first few feet were the hardest, until she hit the natural decline leading to the river. When the truck sped up, she jumped in, and steered it to the garage. Within twenty minutes, she’d pumped up all four tires with a portable air compressor. She wiped her hands on her jeans. City boys. What they didn’t know about auto mechanics could fill an entire library. She hoped Call was a better commando than a saboteur, because she

intended to have a piece of his hide. Gundar would have to get in line. Call might think she was an emotional female, storming the base camp without a plan, but he was dead wrong. She quickly took back the adjective. Well, wrong anyway. She had a backup plan she hadn’t been able to share with him because it involved a long-kept confidence, one she’d sworn never to reveal. Tobias Greene, her partner, handyman, and trusted friend had a secret life few knew about. An Army Ranger during the cleanup period following the Vietnam War, he’d led teams into Cambodia, Panama, and many other Latin American hot spots under the direction of the National Intelligence Agency. Well into his fifties, Tobias hadn’t been active duty for many years, but his photographic memory and intimate knowledge of the terrain in countries where he’d served made him an invaluable resource. The NIA still called on him for information and the occasional reconnaissance mission. Although he was the gentlest man Cameo had ever known, she recognized the steel beneath the surface. As long as he drew breath, Tobias would never allow anything to happen to her or Mama Gia. When she told him of her plan, he didn’t try to dissuade her. He knew it was futile. Instead, he cut a small slit in the sole of her hiking boot and hid a miniature tracking device inside. A little superglue insured the device would not be detected easily.

Wherever she went, Tobias wouldn’t be far behind. Her last order of business had been to warn Tobias of the presence of the Terminator, Aragorn, and Captain Underpants in the vicinity. His lips had twitched at the corners, and she could have sworn he almost smiled. *** Mama Gia and Trevor Tremaine sat back to back in two rickety wooden chairs, hands tied behind them and feet hobbled in front. The only light came from a dim camp lantern hanging by the door. Mama guessed the long, low building where they were being held served as a temporary barracks for Gundar and his men. Steel cots lined the walls. She counted twelve. Each had been neatly made with clean sheets and green wool blankets. A gallon jug of water stood at the head of each bed. After being forced into a van by three men in ski masks, they’d driven for exactly fifty-two minutes. She knew, because she’d kept track of the time on her watch. Once they’d reached their destination, they’d been locked in the van until morning, when she’d started beating on the walls and yelling. A sullen guard had appeared and taken her to the latrine. She noticed seven trucks parked beside a big,

warehouse-type building. After that, she and Trevor had been moved to the barracks. Their captor hadn’t bothered to tape their mouths or blindfold them, which told Mama Gia two things. First, no one could hear them yell. Second, that Gundar and his gang of criminals were probably going to kill them. She worked with renewed fervor at loosening her bonds. She’d requested so many trips to the latrine that the guard had become sloppy when he retied her hands. He probably thought an older woman couldn’t possibly escape. Hah. He didn’t know the Muldoon women. The knots were beginning to give. Ignoring the pain caused by constant chafing, she continued to struggle until she managed to work one hand free. She stood and untied the rope around her feet, then unbound her other hand. Putting a finger to her lips, she released Trevor. He looked at her with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Poor boy, he’d been under Gundar’s thumb too long. It had robbed him of his spirit. She wished she’d listened to Cameo sooner. Mama Gia straightened her modest, dark polyester dress and smoothed her hair back into its bun. She had no time to think about that now. The situation required action. Thank goodness Gemma watched every crime show on television. “Look for something heavy that can be used as a weapon,” Mama whispered. Travis blinked at her owlishly. “Why?”

She patted his cheek. “We’re going to take out the guard.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Hey, boss. You’ll never guess what we found.” Gundar looked up from his paperwork. He’d given strict instructions not to be disturbed except in case of an emergency. He glanced at his watch. Only two hours until the helicopters started arriving. “It had better be good.” He got up and walked out of the warehouse. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A pickup truck with Bunny Love Farm painted on the side idled on the circular drive surrounding the helipad. One of his men sat behind the wheel of the truck. Another opened the passenger door and stepped out, followed closely by Cameo Muldoon. Gundar cursed softly in Romanian. The man who opened the door tried to grab Cameo’s arm in a belated attempt to appear in control. She shook him off like an annoying insect. “Are you insane?” Gundar asked. “Why are you here?” Cameo lifted her chin so she could look him in the eye. “I came to offer myself as a substitute

hostage. Let Mama Gia go, and I promise you there won’t be any more trouble.” Gundar smiled. He had to admire Cameo’s courage, if not her common sense. The woman barely came to his shoulder, yet she faced him like a tigress. Rarely had a woman sparked his interest like this one. She had strength, intelligence, and an earthy sexuality that made him long to possess her. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of accepting her offer. Of course, it wouldn’t work. Cameo might be willing to offer herself as a hostage, but he doubted that her mother would keep quiet. He certainly wasn’t willing to gamble his whole operation on the Muldoon women’s assurances. “I’m afraid, beautiful lady, that the time for bargaining has passed.” He turned to her red-faced captor. “Take her to the barracks and tie her up with the others. And be gentle. If she is injured in any way, you’ll answer to me.” Gundar had just returned to his accounts when he was again interrupted. The same man burst into the warehouse, but this time he didn’t look amused. The burly guard practically cowered in the doorway, taking care to stay well out of Gundar’s reach. Gundar took a deep breath. A vein throbbed in his temple. He didn’t have time for any more complications. “What is it?” “You better come and see for yourself, boss. You’re not going to like it.” Controlling his actions and his fury, Gundar pushed back his chair. If he allowed himself any

emotion, he’d explode. When he looked at the guard, the man scurried out the door like a frightened cockroach. He strode the short distance to the barracks, where the scene in front told him all he needed to know. The guard assigned to Giovanna Muldoon and Trevor Tremaine sat on the ground, a bloody cloth held to his head. Cameo’s escorts hovered a short distance away, eyeing Gundar warily. Cameo was the only actor in the little tableau who possessed the courage to face him. “Mama Gia and Travis escaped,” she said. Although the statement sounded matter-of-fact, she couldn’t hide her relief and gratitude. “Then it looks like you get your wish, Miss Muldoon. You will please come with me. And do not attempt to repeat your mother’s great escape. I would not like to have to shoot you.” He turned a withering gaze on the three guards. The two still standing snapped to attention. “Go now and don’t come back until you’ve found them. Failure is not an option.” The guards were helping their injured comrade to his feet when Cameo touched Gundar’s arm, her expression imploring. He hesitated for only a second. “Bring them back unharmed. I don’t want any collateral damage.” ***

Call watched the scene through binoculars from his vantage point high in a tree. He didn’t know what kind of tree he’d climbed, but the branches looked sturdy. It wasn’t a bad hiding place, either, he thought. As long as no one shone a flashlight straight up. He’d reached his perch just in time to witness Cameo’s entrance, escorted by a couple of goons. The truck’s headlights helped him make out details that wouldn’t have been visible by the light of the full moon. Damn! How had she gotten to the drop point so quickly? Although he hadn’t really expected to stop her, he’d hoped to gain a little more of a head start. Irritation warred with an unwilling pride. No doubt about it. His gal was resourceful. As he continued to watch, Gundar went back into the warehouse and the guards led Cameo to a smaller building. When they opened the door, another man stumbled out, holding his head. Wow. This was getting more interesting by the second. A few minutes later, the two uninjured goons helped their buddy into the back seat of a Jeep and roared off. Call lowered his glasses. What did it all mean? Who’d nailed the guard and why? And where were Mama Gia and Trevor? Suddenly, a crazy idea occurred to him. Maybe Mama Gia had hit the guard, and she and Trevor escaped.

He mulled the idea over. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Even from this distance, Gundar’s body language telegraphed frustration. And Call had learned never to underestimate the Muldoon women. The mission had just become much more dangerous. The three goons in the Jeep were combing the area for the escapees. There could be others looking too, which greatly increased all of their chances of being caught. He didn’t like the way Gundar had taken Cameo’s elbow as he led her back to the warehouse. A certain possessiveness in the gesture raised his hackles. Well, he sure wasn’t going to sit in a tree all night leaving Cameo alone with some muscle-bound psychopath. He’d learned a little about rescue missions during his week at Mad Jack’s. The key was to slip in, extract the hostage, and then fade into the forest. First he’d have to get her alone. Call checked his GPS tracking device, careful to shade the illuminated screen with his hands. Aragorn had arrived at his designated location and was holding there. Call thought about calling to warn him about increased activity in the area, but didn’t dare risk it. He hoped the Mole had burrowed in someplace safe. Terminator was also in position on the Forest Service road.

He switched off the screen. As for Mama Gia and Trevor, he couldn’t do anything to help them. Mama had demonstrated amazing strength in the face of adversity. If they got as far as the Forest Service road, maybe Diane would spot them. A slim chance, maybe, but if grit and determination counted for anything, they just might make it. Right now, he needed to focus on rescuing Cameo. *** Mama Gia and Trevor sat in the back of a Ryder truck parked behind the latrine. Mama had considered each of the seven trucks during her many trips to the head. She’d chosen this one because it seemed like a good hiding place and was the easiest to open. She hadn’t counted on it being full of marijuana. They’d actually had to unload several bales of the stuff to make a place to sit. The rectangular bundles were smaller than hay bales, thank goodness. She and Trevor had no trouble tossing a few of them into the forest. Mama settled herself more comfortably on a marijuana bale and pulled her light sweater tightly around her shoulders. The odor had been overpowering when they’d first opened the rear door

but she was getting used to it. “Do you think we can get high from the smell of marijuana?” she asked. Trevor seemed to consider the question. “I’ve never been much of a pothead, but I’m pretty sure you have to burn it. The smoke makes you high.” “That’s good,” Mama Gia said. “We need all our senses.” “What are we going to do now?” Trevor asked. Although Mama had no trouble dealing with the dumb ox who’d guarded them, she knew she was no match for the forest. And neither was Trevor. The chubby, rosy-cheeked young man had grown thin and pale. When all this trouble ended, she promised herself she’d fatten him up with her good Italian cooking. “We wait,” Mama said. “Try to get some sleep. By morning, my family will find us. I’m sure of it.” Although it was pitch black inside the truck, Mama Gia sensed a shift in Trevor’s mood. He seemed to relax. The poor boy was grateful to have someone take charge. “Thanks for everything, Mama Gia,” Trevor whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Trevor. You’ve been very brave.” Sitting in the dark truck, Giovanna Muldoon wondered if her reassuring words would come true. She felt sure her family would be looking for them. But so would Gundar. Who would find them first?

*** Cameo sat quietly beside Gundar’s desk. Although he appeared absorbed in some kind of paperwork, she knew he remained aware of her every movement. The long, half-moon-shaped building they occupied looked like something out of a World War Two movie. The corrugated metal exterior had been painted forest green and tan, then covered with netting. Branches and greenery stuck out of the netting, making the whole thing practically invisible. The interior was strictly utilitarian. No rugs, no decorations, no running water, and no electricity. The only illumination came from the kerosene lantern on Gundar’s desk. She glanced toward the back of the warehouse. A mountainous stack of something, covered by a tarp, occupied most of the floor space. The tarp must conceal whatever they were smuggling. She itched to pull it off and see what lay underneath. Drugs maybe, or guns. Or possibly something more exotic, like reptiles, or human body parts. The last thought made her queasy. Human organs would have to be carefully handled and refrigerated, she reasoned. Nothing about this place looked very high tech. Gundar put down his pencil. “Whatcha got back there?” she asked, indicating the stack with a jerk of her head.

He smiled. “If I tell you, you’ll have to come with me. There are other parties involved who wouldn’t appreciate my leaving such a knowledgeable witness behind.” She ignored his suggestive tone and cut straight to the chase. “What do you plan to do with me?” “I haven’t quite decided yet. Maybe that depends on how you behave.” “Okay. Why don’t you give me the best and worst case scenarios?” He leaned back in his chair, obviously enjoying their exchange. “Worst case, we drug you and leave you in the bunkhouse. When you wake up, you’ll have food and water but you’ll have to walk back to the highway. Unless of course someone is looking for you.” His gaze grew more intense. “No one knows I’m here,” Cameo said, a little too quickly. “I see. Well then, the best case scenario is a ticket out of small town America. Come with me, and I’ll give you a life of wealth and luxury. You can have anything you desire.” Cameo felt her eyes widening. Was the man completely nuts? It wouldn’t be wise to insult Gundar, she reminded herself. Especially in her current circumstances. She took her time about answering, hoping he’d think she was considering his offer. “I have a son. I couldn’t possibly leave him,” she said. “We could send for him.”

She lowered her gaze to hide her contempt. Right. Like Gundar wanted a nine-year-old tagging along on his jet set life. She looked up and forced a smile. “Let me think about it.” He checked his watch. “You have one hour to decide. After that, I must insist on an answer. I’m sorry about the short notice, beautiful lady. I didn’t expect to have such a prize fall into my lap, but now that you are here, I cannot resist the desire to keep you.” He leaned toward her, and for one horrible moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I will be back shortly. Do not attempt to leave the building. There’s a guard outside with gun.” As he opened the door to depart, she caught a glimpse of a muscle-bound guy holding some kind of a rifle. Although she didn’t know much about guns, this one looked especially lethal. Gundar wasn’t fooling around. After wiping the hand he’d kissed against her jeans, she turned her attention to the papers he’d been working on. They appeared to be spreadsheets. Pausing for a moment to listen for activity outside, she picked up the top sheet. It contained names, along with neatly printed columns of figures. Payroll, she guessed. A second sheet was patterned after the first, except much larger figures followed each of the names. Dates above the figures were spaced

approximately one week apart. The boxes under today’s date hadn’t been filled in yet. Cameo pondered the significance of the dates. Of course! They had to be drop dates, and the larger figures underneath represented each man’s share of the profit. Follow the money. She held the paper trail she’d searched Trevor’s office to find. Gundar evidently kept all his records by hand. She had to give him credit for being smart enough not to trust computers. Even after you erased information, a good computer tech could still find it. Or so she’d heard. Replacing the papers exactly as she’d found them, Cameo resumed her seat. A quick check of the desk drawers didn’t reveal anything particularly interesting. She drummed her fingers on the arms of the wooden chair. Mama and Trevor had pulled the leg off a chair just like this one and used it to hit their guard over the head, she thought. But twice? It would never work. She glanced at her watch. Gundar had given her one hour to make up her mind, and she’d already used fifteen minutes. It struck her as odd that her captor would leave such incriminating documents in plain sight. He must have known she’d look at them when he left her alone and unbound. Maybe he didn’t care whether she saw them because he planned to kill her anyway. Maybe the

whole “come away with me” routine had been a ruse to keep her quiet. Well, hell. If she was going to die, she might as well satisfy her curiosity first. She rose and put her ear to the door. No footsteps. No voices. Not even a cricket chirping. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the back of the warehouse and lifted the tarp.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Call circled the perimeter of the drop site, stopping on the side closest to the parked trucks and the latrine. He climbed a tree about a hundred yards deep in the forest and looked through his binoculars. Activity in the area had picked up considerably. Three more Mad Jack’s Jeeps arrived. The men who got out of them stood in small groups, talking quietly. An air of expectancy hung over the scene. He counted nine men, many of whom he recognized from camp. One had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and…crazy eyes. It couldn’t be. He adjusted the binoculars. No mistake. The Mad Prophet of Mad Jack’s had discarded his flowing burlap shift in favor of dark green commando pants and a black T-shirt that accentuated his toned upper body. Man. That just goes to show you, Call thought. Never trust a dude in a dress. While he watched, the three goons who’d gone in search of Mama Gia and Trevor cruised back into the base camp without their quarry.

“Hot damn,” Call whispered. The Three Stooges had given up. He hoped Mama Gia and Trevor had made it to the Forest Service road and hooked up with Diane. Or, that they had hunkered down someplace safe. One or another of the goons occasionally glanced up at the sky. The drop must be happening soon. Once the helicopters arrived, whatever plans Gundar had made would be set in motion. That didn’t give Call much time to launch his pre-emptive strike. He scanned the area one last time. The G-Man himself was still nowhere in sight. Call couldn’t afford to wait any longer. It was now or never. He climbed down from the tree. At the bottom, he opened his backpack and took out an old boom box he’d found in the closet of his bedroom at the farmhouse. It had probably belonged to Allegra or BJ. The kids nowadays all had iPods and BlackBerrys and cell phones that did everything but pack their lunches. But these old dinosaurs still had uses. As he placed the boom box in the fork of the tree, he remembered blasting beachgoers out of the sand with tunes from a boom box just like this one. Little did he know then that a blast from the past would someday help him rescue the woman he loved. Call froze. The woman he loved. He’d fallen in love with Cameo. The thought scared him worse than any horror movie he’d ever seen. Worse than a hundred cloned Gundars and an army of cyborg thugs. Worse, even, than the

nightmare he’d had about being chased by a velociraptor with Liz Lessard’s head. Okay, so he might be the tiniest bit commitmentphobic. And he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. He’d rescue Cameo, then think about the L Word. “This one’s for you, Jeremy,” he said as he popped in the soundtrack to The Return of the King, the third in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. He slipped on his backpack and picked up the paint ball gun. Then he cranked the boom box to full volume and ran like hell. *** Cocaine. Hundreds of bricks of cocaine. It must be worth a fortune. Cameo dropped the tarp and jumped back like something had bitten her. A symphony orchestra shattered the silence. Jiminey Christmas. What now? She ran to the window in the warehouse’s plywood front and peeked out. About a dozen goons thundered past in the direction of the music. Unfortunately, her guard remained at his post. Damn. This might be her best chance to escape. She looked around frantically. The rear door had been padlocked from the inside. She’d already checked that. She couldn’t get through the window without alerting the guard.

The only way out was through the front door, and she’d have to move fast. She experimentally hefted the wooden chair. No sweat. She’d picked up a lot heavier loads of produce. She just had to lure the guard close enough so she could hit him with it. She cracked the front door in time to see him take a direct hit to the chest with a barrage of lime green paint balls. Call’s signature color. Holding the wooden chair like a shield, she flung open the door, ready to do battle. The guard had been knocked back against the warehouse. Bam! Call hit him right between the eyes with another volley of paint balls. Not very sporting, but under the circumstances, completely understandable. The goon oozed down the front of the warehouse like a giant slug. Cameo dropped the chair and grabbed the guard’s gun. Call dashed toward her, eyes alight with excitement in his moss green face. “Did you see that shot? I nailed him from thirty feet!” He took her arm and they sprinted toward the tree line. She ran faster than she ever had in her life. If they escaped, she’d be able to alert the authorities and assemble a search party for Mama Gia and Trevor. When they were found, alive and well, this nightmare would be over. And she’d never ever, ever, do anything to jeopardize her family’s safety again. They were within inches of the forest when a shot rang out. The bullet whizzed over their heads and

struck a tree. “Stop or the next one will be lower.” The heavily accented English was unmistakable. Cameo skidded to a stop. The elation she’d experienced whooshed out of her, leaving her deflated as a day-old balloon. They’d been so close to freedom. She glanced at Call, hoping he wouldn’t try anything heroic. He slid his hand into the pocket of his camo pants. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Gundar snapped. Call slowly removed his hand. “Now turn around and set your weapons on the ground. Carefully.” She’d had forgotten she was carrying the guard’s weapon. She did as Gundar instructed. Call set his paint ball gun on the ground next to him. “The backpack too.” He dropped the backpack. Gundar marched them back to the drop site. The goons had gathered around the entrance to the warehouse, waiting for instructions. Cameo tried not to feel intimidated, but close up, they looked bigger, meaner, and more numerous. The guard Call nailed with green paint balls snarled as they walked past. She felt sure Gundar’s presence was all that kept him from lunging for their throats. When they entered the warehouse, her heart sank. Mama Gia and Trevor sat in the chairs she and Gundar had recently vacated. Two armed guards stood behind them.

She ran to her mother and hugged her. “Mama! I’m so glad you’re safe.” Mama Gia clutched her, smoothed the hair back from her forehead, and kissed both her cheeks. “Cara mia, I was so worried about you. I heard the gun go off, and thought maybe this, this foreigner had… I cannot say it.” Mama crossed herself. “Thank God you’re both safe.” The guard stepped forward. He grabbed Call roughly by the shoulder and turned him around. “Put your hands against the wall and spread your legs,” he said. Gundar leaned against the door, watching as his flunky patted Call down. The man handed him the small, cell phone-sized device he found in Call’s pocket. “A GPS tracker,” Gundar said, pushing the on button. “But all the information has been erased. I wonder how many more there are in the forest.” His cold, blue-eyed gaze rested on Cameo. “The search team I sent to look for your mother couldn’t have found a lump of charcoal in the snow. An old Romanian saying.” He smiled, but the gesture did nothing to warm his icy demeanor. “I found them hiding in a truck, not more than three hundred feet from here.” “I’m afraid it was my fault,” Mama Gia said. “It smelled so strong, with all the marijuana, that I left the door open just a little.” Gundar’s eyes never left Cameo’s face. “I must apologize, Ms. Muldoon. I shouldn’t have left you

alone so long. Perhaps you wouldn’t have been tempted to depart so hastily. And now, I’m afraid I must leave you again.” He bowed slightly to Mama Gia and Cameo. “Tie them up, securely,” he told the guards. “If there are any more escapes, I’ll make sure you are the first ones shot.” *** Diane shook her GPS tracker. She turned it off and back on again. Nothing. Captain Underpants had disappeared from the screen. She thought for a moment about what she should do. She’d seen Cameo drive past in her red pickup. A little later, three jeeps with Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience on their sides followed. Since then she’d had nothing to do but swat bugs and watch the tiny blips representing Aragorn and Captain Underpants on the tracker. Aragorn had been in the same place for quite a while now. She decided to take a chance on calling him. She pressed the button on the side of the transceiver. “Terminator to Aragorn. Come in, Aragorn,” she said softly. The response came almost immediately. “Aragorn here.” “Are you okay?” Diane asked.

“Fine. There were a couple of guys thrashing around in the forest about a half hour ago but I laid low and they didn’t see me. I’m worried about Captain Underpants though. I lost his signal.” “Me too,” she said. “Do you think we should go through with it? Plan B, I mean.” “I don’t think we have any choice.” She hesitated. They were putting a lot of lives in danger. Still, if one of her hotshot crew were in trouble, wouldn’t she want to know about it? And wouldn’t she be willing to risk her life to save him? “Roger, Aragorn. I’ll make the call.” *** After Gundar’s threat, their guards hovered close. Cameo leaned against Mama Gia’s chair. Call sat on the floor between Mama and Trevor. All had been bound, hand and foot, and with the guards lingering, they had to be careful what they said. Call turned to Trevor. “Listen, Trevor. I’m sorry about that meeting in your office. I know my tactics were a little rough. I was hoping to let Gundar know I was on to him. Maybe shake him up enough so he’d make a mistake.” “He had the office bugged,” Trevor said. “He heard every word.” “It must’ve been hard on you, man. Being a virtual prisoner for months.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” Trevor said. “Only one thing kept me going.” “Your faith?” Mama Gia asked. Trevor glanced toward the guards. “Something like that.” “You look like the Jolly Green Bean,” Cameo told Call. He pretended to be offended. “I beg your pardon. I’ll have you know this is the latest in counterinsurgency cosmetics, guaranteed to make you invisible in the forest without clogging your pores.” They laughed, a little shrilly, and then lapsed into silence. Cameo glanced at the guards, who seemed occupied with staring out the window. “When we get out of here, I think I’ll plant that section down by the river in winter squash. Tobias had it in a cover crop last fall. What do you think, Mama?” “Pumpkins would be nice. We could bake pies to sell during the holidays,” Mama said. “Tobias loves your pumpkin pies.” “He does?” Mama said. “I didn’t think he was very fond of sweets.” “Oh, yes. I was just talking to him this morning. He takes such good care of the farm, just like he’s always taken care of us. I’m sure he’s thinking about us right now.” She held Mama’s gaze, hoping to convey with her eyes what she didn’t dare say. “I’m sure he is,” Mama said.

Cameo sighed. Mama seemed to think she was offering weak consolation with nothing to back it up. She twisted so Call could read her wristwatch. “What time is it?” she asked. “Ten o’clock. Why?” “I just wondered.” She didn’t want to clue the guards that she knew what was about to happen. The hour Gundar gave her to make up her mind had run out. The helicopters should start arriving any minute now. Judging from the mountain of cocaine she’d uncovered in the warehouse, more than one helicopter would fly in. Several would be her guess. Marijuana loaded into trucks. Cocaine stacked in the warehouse. They must be flying marijuana in and cocaine out. As if they didn’t have enough marijuana in Humboldt County already, she thought. But this stuff obviously wasn’t intended for the local market. One of the guards approached. “The boss said I should give you water.” He held a water bottle to Cameo’s lips while she drank. “You want some?” he asked Mama Gia. “Yes, please.” When Mama Gia finished drinking, he poured the rest of the water on the floor. “Hey, what about us?” Trevor asked. “You can go screw yourself,” the guard replied.

Chapter Thirty

Gundar scanned the sky, straining his ears for the sound of an approaching helicopter. He looked at his watch. They were fifteen minutes late. This had been a night of screw-ups. He had half the population of Nugget tied up in his warehouse. The other half was probably in the forest tracking them on GPS. An old woman had knocked out one of his handpicked mercenaries, and another had been neutralized by a paint ball gun. This was all the reporter’s fault. Sanchez had stirred up the population, turned them against him. Gundar wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard was responsible for those cartoons. And if Sanchez hadn’t shown up, Cameo might have accepted his offer. It was too late for that now. She was just a woman, replaceable by any number of other women. He weighed his options. The whole operation had gone sour. It felt jinxed. He had a plastic barrel filled with cash buried where only he could find it. Maybe it was time to cut his losses. During his years in the Russian Mafia, he’d seen many men destroyed by greed. They’d stayed too

long, taken too many risks. All to fill their pockets with rubles. He’d survived by listening to his instincts and never forgetting the lessons he learned on the streets of Bucharest. “I’m going to the head,” he announced to the men in front of his office. Taking only his rifle and the clothes on his back, Gundar went by past the warehouse that held cocaine worth eight million dollars. Past the trucks loaded with thousands of pounds of marijuana. He walked through the small meadow in back of the buildings, then melted into the forest.

Chapter Thirty-One

Cameo scrutinized the guards. One of them reminded her of a fat, bald bulldog. The other could have been handsome, except for his eyes. They were flat, devoid of any emotion. The pair hunkered by the window. She only caught snippets of their conversation, but heard enough to know that they’d been forbidden to leave their prisoners. They obviously had a healthy respect for Gundar’s orders. She glanced at her fellow hostages. Mama had her eyes closed, probably in prayer. Trevor was pale and sweaty. And Call’s face held the intense look that usually spelled trouble. Well, hell. If no one else was going to speak up, she would. “What’s going on out there?” she asked. The bulldog jumped. He whipped his shiny dome around to glare at her. “That’s just what we were wondering, sister.” Her inquiry seemed to spur them into action. The bulldog pulled a coin from his pocket. He flipped it. The other man called tails and won. With a muttered curse, Bulldog stalked out the door.

The guard with dead eyes turned his back to them, watching the scene in front of the warehouse. Call scooted a little closer and mouthed the words “pocket knife.” Of course! With all the excitement over Mama and Trevor’s escape, no one had remembered to search her. The red Leatherman Squirt had been a gift from her father on her tenth birthday, and she never went anywhere without it. Unfortunately, it was in her right pocket and Call sat to her left. Before she could communicate that piece of information, Bulldog burst into the room. “He’s gone!” he shouted. “Who’s gone?” Dead Eyes asked. “Romanov. He split. No one’s seen him for over an hour. They searched everywhere.” Dead Eyes jerked his head in the hostages’ direction. “What do you want to do with them?” Cameo bet the guards would choose the easiest route, which meant getting rid of their troublesome hostages. Unless she gave them a good reason not to. She thought fast. “Gundar’s coming back for me.” The two turned to stare at her, doubt etched in their features. “What makes you think that?” the bulldog growled. She sat a little straighter, trying to look haughty and sure of herself. “He told me he had some business to take care of, but he’d be back. I’m going with him.” She sensed rather than saw the expressions of shock and disbelief on Mama and Trevor’s faces. She

didn’t dare break eye contact with the guard. “If you hurt me or any of my friends, Gundar will kill you.” Bulldog grunted. “Take them outside. We’ll decide what to do with them later.” The guards jerked her to her feet and hustled her out the door. Behind them, she heard Call, Mama, and Trevor receive the same treatment. Outside, the guards shoved them roughly to the ground in front of the warehouse. Bulldog leaned over. Grabbing the front of Cameo’s shirt in his fist, he lifted her so they were nose to nose. He smelled like sweat and drugfueled paranoia. She held her breath and tried not to gag. “If any of you causes problems, I’m putting a bullet in the green man. I don’t think the boss will miss him.” He placed his boot on Call’s shoulder and shoved him into the dirt. Cameo narrowed her eyes at the guard as he stalked away. Just wait. Someday karma will drop a load of bricks on your bald head. And I plan to be driving the forklift. “Are you okay?” she asked Call. “The knife,” he said through gritted teeth as he struggled to an upright position. “I don’t know. You heard what he said.” She had no doubt Bulldog would make good on his threat. Human life obviously meant nothing to him. “It’s our only chance.” “No, it’s not. I’m sure there are people looking for us right now.” She couldn’t blow Tobias’s cover by

telling Call exactly who was looking for them, but the former Army Ranger was out there somewhere. “I don’t think we can afford to wait for them,” Call said. She glanced at the goons. Call could be right. Their mood was getting uglier by the minute. The troops had begun arguing among themselves. As she watched, a shoving match broke out. One man stood apart from the rest. In the moonlight, she saw that he was slim but athletically built. A ponytail fell to the middle of his back. Call had worked his way over to her and was fumbling with her left pocket. The wrong one. She elbowed him, stalling for time. “Who’s that?” He stopped fumbling long enough to look in the direction she pointed with her chin. “The Mad Prophet. He usually wears a burlap sack. Talks to himself a lot.” “Stop it!” she whispered. “It’s not even in there.” Mama maneuvered so her back was to Cameo’s right side and deftly removed the knife from her daughter’s pocket. “Mama! Didn’t you hear the guard?” “God helps those who help themselves.” Mama dropped the knife into Call’s outstretched hands. Call sawed frantically at his bonds. Just a little more time, God. If you get us out of this, I swear I’ll never lie or even stretch the truth again. I’ll give up cursing, I’ll call my mom more often, and I’ll tell Cameo I love her. “Uh-oh.” Trevor said.

Call looked up, his body slick with the effort of sawing and praying. “Uh-oh” wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Quaid had challenged the Mad Prophet. The two were squaring off. “Hurry!” Mama said. “Maybe they’ve forgotten all about us.” Trevor’s voice sounded shaky but hopeful. Quaid threw the first punch. The Mad Prophet ducked out of the way. “Who should we root for?” Cameo asked. “Definitely the Mad Prophet. He’s crazy but Quaid is meaner than a Balrog on steroids,” Call said. “A what?” Mama asked. “An evil humanoid creature from the Middle Earth, with the ability to shroud itself in fire and darkness,” Trevor answered. Mama nodded. “Right. Lord of the Rings. Jeremy’s seen it a hundred times.” Finally. Call jerked his hands apart and motioned for Mama Gia to turn around so he could cut her free. “Sit behind me,” she said. “I don’t want to miss the fight.” Quaid had the Mad Prophet in a hold, and was using his knees, elbows and feet to inflict maximum damage. “Oooh! That’s gotta hurt,” Trevor said. “He’s a clinch fighter,” said Mama Gia. “A dirty boxer. The prophet needs to put some distance between them so he can take the other man down.”

Despite his haste, Call couldn’t help asking, “How do you know all this?” “Gemma and I watch Ultimate Fighting Championships on pay per view.” “I hope you don’t let Jeremy watch,” Cameo said. Mama didn’t respond. Call smiled grimly as he returned to his work. He hoped Mama Gia had learned a few mixed martial arts techniques. Dirty boxing sounded good. Anything that might help even the odds. He cut through the last strand of rope. “Finished. You should be able to pull your feet free. Let me know if you need help.” He hurried to Cameo. A roar went up from the goons as the Mad Prophet did just as Mama suggested. Call looked up to see the taller but lighter Prophet grappling with Quaid on the ground. Sweat dripped from Call’s forehead. He needed to cut them all loose before the fight ended. Quaid and the Prophet had created the perfect diversion. This might be their only chance to escape. He freed Cameo, who pulled her hands apart and rubbed her wrists before tackling the rope around her ankles. A quick glance at Mama Gia told Call she was making good progress with her ankle restraints. “You’re next,” he said, crawling toward Trevor. After he’d settled behind the younger Tremaine, Call glanced briefly at the action. The two fighters were still rolling on the ground, struggling for a dominant position. “Pound him!” Mama Gia shouted.

“Shh!” hissed the other three. The goons were too focused on the blood sport to hear her. The Mad Prophet had Quaid down and was repeatedly punching him. Call sawed faster. Once freed, Trevor yanked off his tennis shoes so he could get the rope over his feet. He was putting his shoes back on when Mama gasped. “Oh, no!” Call looked up. The guard he’d blasted with lime green paint balls stood over the Mad Prophet, brandishing a big stick. It looked suspiciously like the leg off a wooden chair. The Prophet didn’t stir. “Shit,” Call said. They were too late. “What do we do now?” whispered Trevor. Call quickly revised his plans. If the fight had lasted a little longer, they could have made it to the forest. The guards probably wouldn’t have bothered coming after them. At least, that’s what he’d been banking on. Now they were at Quaid’s mercy. He had to get Mama and Cameo someplace safe, and quickly. “Start crawling toward the warehouse. I’ll lead the way,” Call said. “Good plan,” Mama whispered. “We can push Gundar’s desk in front of the door. I noticed that it opens in.” “They left the guard’s rifle and the paint ball gun inside,” Cameo whispered. God, he loved the Muldoon women. Call crept toward the warehouse, followed by Mama and Cameo. Trevor brought up the rear. They

didn’t dare stand. Any movement might attract the goons’ attention. The troops circled Quaid, no doubt paying homage to the alpha male and their new leader. What a bunch of dimwits, Call thought. If that’s what steroids did for you, he’d rather be lean, mean and smart, retaining the ability to think on his feet. Or, on his hands and knees. He reached the door. He pushed it open and motioned for Mama to enter. Cameo and Trevor followed. They were all inside but they couldn’t celebrate yet. The two men shoved the heavy desk in front of the door. Call looked around for something to stack on top of it. “Back here.” Cameo said. She stood beside a covered mound in the far reaches of the warehouse. She tugged off the tarp concealing it. “Holy shit,” Call said. “There’s enough cocaine under there to light up L.A.” “Everybody grab some,” she said. Cameo, Call, and Mama scurried back and forth with bricks of cocaine. Trevor picked up Gundar’s rifle and positioned himself to the right of the window, where he could keep an eye on the goons. “I hope you know how to use that thing,” Call said as he ran past with his third load of blow. “You don’t grow up in the Tremaine household without learning how to shoot,” Trevor drawled. Call stopped in midstride. The pale, sweaty, fearful Trevor had disappeared. In his place stood a

steely-eyed desperado, John Wayne in tennis shoes. He handled the weapon with the skill and dexterity of a professional. Amazing what happened when you handed a guy an AK-47. They’d piled cocaine almost to the top of the door when Trevor gave them a heads up. “They’re coming this way,” he said. Quaid led the pack, followed by the man splattered with green paint and the guard Mama Gia had whacked. They looked pissed. “Everybody get down,” Trevor told them. Mama and Cameo hit the floor. Call picked up the paint ball gun and joined Trevor at the window. “Come any closer and we’ll shoot,” Trevor shouted. “Yeah? With what?” Quaid sneered. He evidently hadn’t heard about the assault rifle Cameo had acquired. Trevor broke the windowpane with the barrel of his AK-47 and shot a few rounds over their heads. The goons scattered. “You’re first, Quaid,” Trevor shouted after them. “Good choice,” Call said. “I never liked him.” Cameo joined them at the window. They watched as the goons regrouped a short distance away. “Do you think we can hold them off?” she asked. Until when? Call wondered. Plan B was a long shot, and a risky one at that. It could take hours to implement.

Cameo seemed to read the doubt in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure help is on the way.” Call put his arm around her waist and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you keep Mama Gia company? I’ll let you know if anything happens.” Cameo started to get that mulish expression but a glance at Mama, sitting alone at Gundar’s desk, seemed to persuade her. “I wish we had another paint ball gun,” she said. “I’d love to pulverize the bastard who threatened to kill you.” What a gal. Call watched as she took the older woman’s hand in both of hers. Mama Gia had her eyes closed but opened them when Cameo sat beside her. The look she gave her daughter radiated tenderness, and something else. Determination? As Call turned back to the window, he tried to tamp down a mounting wave of panic. They were right back where they started, though minus the guards and restraints. They had one weapon, not counting the paint ball gun, but any help that might be coming was probably hours away. The odds were not looking good.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Come out or we’ll burn you out!” Quaid shouted. The goons had formed a torch-wielding mob just beyond range of Trevor’s AK-47. Cameo counted torches. Only six. That meant the other six goons had taken positions around the building, waiting for Quaid’s orders. Make that five. She looked toward the spot where the Prophet had been defeated but couldn’t see a body. He’d probably crawled off somewhere to keep Quaid from finishing him. “Tell them if they torch the building, they’ll lose millions of dollars in cocaine,” she told Trevor. “They already know that,” he replied in a low voice. “If we go outside, they’ll shoot us. If we stay inside, they’ll find a way to force us out, although not with fire. That would draw too much attention and burn up their profits. I’ve spent two months with these guys. I know how they think.” Cameo’s mind raced. They needed time. Time to hatch an escape plan. Time for Tobias to act. She had

no doubt he was watching, waiting for the right opportunity. “What motivates them?” she asked. “Self-preservation and greed. Not necessarily in that order.” Trevor kept his eyes and weapon trained on the goons. “That’s it!” Cameo said. “We’ll offer them what they want most. Cash and a ticket out of here.” “How are you going to accomplish that?” “Tell them we’ll give them the cocaine in exchange for our freedom. They can load it in the back of my pickup and cover it with a tarp. Everyone will assume they’re hauling produce. I saw Gundar put my keys in his desk drawer.” “But we have no guarantees,” Call said. “How are you going to make sure they keep their end of the bargain?” “I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Cameo said. “But I’m working on it.” “You’re starting to sound like me.” The pride in Call’s voice was unmistakable. Cameo rolled her eyes. “Heaven help us.” *** Trevor had been right about the goons. When it became obvious the helicopters weren’t coming, they hadn’t been able to resist the chance to have their marijuana and cocaine too.

After helping him unload the desk, Cameo didn’t protest when Call insisted on playing drug mule. Under Trevor’s watchful eye, he carried load after load of cocaine through the door and stacked it in front of the warehouse. They’d agreed to deliver the truck keys with the last load. With the men occupied, Cameo was free to explore the periphery of the warehouse. “What are you doing?” Mama asked. Cameo jumped. She’d been so intent on listening for movement outside, she hadn’t been aware of Mama’s presence behind her. “Trying to figure out where the goons are. There were only six in front. I think the other five might be posted around the building.” “Good thinking,” Mama said. “I know how we can find them.” “How?” “We’ll open the back door and toss something out. If someone shoots, or comes over to investigate, we’ll know where they are.” “The door’s padlocked,” Cameo said. Mama smiled and reached into the bosom of her dress. She withdrew a small ring of keys. Cameo’s eyes widened. “Where did you find those?” “I went through Gundar’s desk while you were at the window with Call.” “But I checked the drawers when he left me alone in the office.” “These were taped underneath.”

Cameo hesitated. “I don’t know. What if they’re watching the door and they overpower us? Or shoot us.” “They plan to kill us anyway,” Mama said. “As soon as Call finishes unloading the cocaine. Maybe they’ll get impatient and do it sooner, unless we outsmart them.” Cameo looked at Mama with a surge of affection. Sometimes she forgot her plump, loving Italian mother had the tactical ability of a four star general. Mama hadn’t raised five daughters and run a successful business for nothing. “Okay.” She managed to grab the paint ball gun without Call or Trevor noticing. Mama quickly found the right key and removed the padlock, leaving the deadbolt in place. “When I count to three, open the door and toss out one of those bricks. I’ll cover you,” Cameo said. She assumed the prone position Call had taught her at the Balls Out Paint Ball Range and took a deep breath. “Ready?” Mama unlocked the door with a soft click and nodded. “One…two…three!” Mama twisted the door handle, shoved a cocaine brick through the opening, then slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. She hit the floor in case someone started shooting. Nothing. No sound, no movement, no gunshot. But during the brief instant, the door stood open, Cameo thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar

figure running through the forest. It wasn’t much more than a shadow, but she could have sworn she recognized Tobias. *** “Someone’s coming!” Trevor shouted. Call dropped his load and ran to the window, followed closely by Cameo and Mama Gia. A double strand of headlights broke through the dense foliage surrounding the camp. Two by two they wound slowly into the compound. A distant glow heralded the approach of many more vehicles. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. The goons edged closer. They’d shouldered their weapons when they spotted the headlights. The lead vehicle stopped and the driver got out slowly, careful to keep her hands in view. The mercenaries seemed stunned. They glanced uneasily toward Quaid. The driver didn’t give them time to regroup. “My name is Allegra Muldoon,” she called out in a loud, clear voice. “We’ve come for our family and friends. That’s all we want. Let them go and there won’t be any trouble.” Quaid sneered. He wasn’t about to back down in front of his men. Especially to a female. “And what if we don’t, Red?” Allegra drew herself up to her full six feet. With her flaming hair billowing in the evening breeze, she

looked like a warrior goddess. “Then you’ll get a taste of Nugget justice.” In the quiet darkness surrounding the drop site, Call heard the sound of rifle bolts being slammed home. Dozens of rifles, maybe even hundreds. The hostages held their breath. For a long moment, Quaid locked gazes with Allegra. Suddenly, his posture relaxed. “Take ’em,” he said. “We never meant to hurt them anyway.” He motioned for the goons to put down their weapons. It was the ten mile march all over again, Call thought. You only needed the right incentive to back down a bully. In this case, it was a posse of Humboldt County citizens eager to exercise their Second Amendment right to ventilate Quaid’s mangy hide. “Mama? Cameo?” Allegra’s voice quivered the tiniest bit. “Right here,” Mama said. She and Cameo burst out of the warehouse and into Allegra’s arms. Trevor remained at the window, rifle trained on the mercenaries. He obviously didn’t trust Gundar’s men to keep their word. Call hoped the armed men in the forest were equally suspicious. He lingered in the doorway of the warehouse, watching the reunion of the Muldoon women, profoundly grateful that Plan B had worked. He’d have to find some way to thank Aragorn and Terminator for saving their lives. The rhythmic whap-whap-whap of helicopter blades filled the air. Judging from the sound, more than one bird was approaching.

All eyes turned to the sky, and all hell broke loose. Shots rang out. Quaid fell face forward into the dirt. The goons scrambled for their weapons. Searchlights from the lead helicopter sliced through the chaotic scene on the ground. “Hold your fire!” Allegra yelled. Call doubted anyone heard her over the noise of the choppers. Acting on instinct, he ran toward the women. *** “FBI. Drop your weapons.” It sounded like the voice of God and Cameo was never so happy to be a believer. She huddled behind the battered utility van Allegra had bought at auction, watching as a helicopter set down in the middle of the circular drive. Although the temperature was mild for early May, she couldn’t stop shivering. Call tightened his arm around her. Mama Gia and Allegra crouched beside them, using the van as protection from the churning wind created by the chopper. The first man out of the helicopter wore a yellow windbreaker with “FBI” printed in bold black letters across the back. He ran straight to the warehouse with his weapon drawn. Trevor came out with his hands over his head. The agent patted Trevor down, and

then both of them took cover in the warehouse while a team of yellow-jacketed agents cleared the buildings. Another team in army green jumpsuits handcuffed the remaining goons, though a couple of Gundar’s men had run into the forest when they realized the helicopter was delivering FBI agents instead of marijuana. Soon the area was swarming with officers. Where had all these law enforcement guys come from? Only one chopper had landed. She turned to yell the question in Call’s ear and caught sight of an amazing spectacle. Dozens of men in green fatigues rappelled from helicopters onto the beds of pickups and the tops of SUVs. They ordered the occupants out of their vehicles and marched them at gunpoint to an area in front of the warehouse. Allegra stood up and hollered, “Hey, they’re with me!” A couple of the paramilitary guys came over, shoved them against the van and patted them down for weapons. All except Mama Gia. When she gave them The Look the cops just glanced at each other and shrugged. Smart move, thought Cameo. The men marched them toward a gaggle of Nugget residents. She recognized several of her old friends from high school, some bakery regulars, the counter people from both gas station/mini-marts, and assorted folks she’d known since she was a kid.

Beside them was a small mountain of weapons, which the cops had confiscated and unloaded. Mole lurked around the edges of the group, discreetly snapping photos. Diane Chan stood a little apart with her arms folded. Cameo caught her eye briefly and mouthed “thank you.” The ranger nodded. As they drew closer, Cameo spotted Doc Henshaw and Duffy, bless their scruffy old hearts. Her own heart swelled at the love and courage displayed by her neighbors. When the chips were down, you could count on folks in a small town. One of their escorts went inside the warehouse. Trevor and the first agent followed him out. Something about the agent nagged at her. She’d met him under different circumstances, but how? That wasn’t possible. She didn’t know any FBI agents. Or did she?

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Bob MacBeth,” Call said. “Sanchez, I don’t know whether to hug you or throw you in jail for obstructing justice.” The twinkle in Bob’s eye belied his words. He clapped Call on the shoulder. Call couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re with the FBI?” “That’s right, son. I’m the director of the Tacoma Field Office. Every once in a while they actually let me get out in the field.” He turned to the women. “Evening, Cameo. This lovely lady must be your mother.” “My mother, Giovanna Muldoon, and my sister, Allegra,” Cameo said. Bob turned to Mama Gia. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, Mrs. Muldoon. Are you hurt in any way? Do you need a paramedic?” His manner conveyed compassion as well as professional assessment. “No, no. I’m peachy, now that everyone is safe. And please, call me Mama Gia.”

Bob smiled. “Thank you, Mama Gia. I consider that an honor.” The whole situation seemed surreal. Call struggled to get a handle on it. “So, you’re not a potato buyer from Idaho?” “No, but I did grow up on a potato farm. The secret to being a good liar is to stick as close as possible to the truth.” He winked at Call. “But you probably already know that.” A tall, dark-haired female agent joined them. “I hate to break up the party, but we need to wrap this operation. We have two subjects missing, five stiffs behind the warehouse, and an agent who needs medical attention.” “I’ll be right there, Agent Kovac.” “Meredith?” said Call after the woman walked away. “Yep,” Bob answered. “Not your wife.” “My wife’s home with our six kids,” Bob said with a grin. “I’ll explain everything later.” He turned toward Allegra. “My guess is, you organized this tailgate party.” Allegra nodded, her expression wary. “I’m not planning to arrest folks. I just want to make sure everyone’s safe. When my men start hunting the bad guys I don’t want them to shoot one of your friends by mistake. So if you wouldn’t mind getting on the bullhorn and telling the strays to rejoin the fold, I think we can avoid any accidents.” “No problem,” she said.

“Call, I’m going to ask you to hold off on writing your story until we have a chance to talk. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Call nodded. “You have my word.” “Good. Why don’t we all meet at ten o’clock at Mama Gia’s Bakery? I hear they serve the best carrot cake in Humboldt County.” Mama Gia beamed at him. “I’ll bake some fresh for you.” “Are you okay?” Call asked Cameo in a low tone. “You seem awfully quiet.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Fine,” she said. “I guess it’s just the letdown after all the excitement.” Five stiffs behind the warehouse. The phrase played over and over in her mind. Maybe it hadn’t been the hand of God at work here. More likely, retribution had been delivered by Tobias Greene. By the time the investigators interviewed everyone, impounded the evidence, and assured the Nugget citizenry they would be reunited with their weapons, it was almost daylight. Bob asked one of the helicopter pilots to fly Mama Gia home, saying she’d been through more than enough. Call and Cameo caught a ride with Allegra. ***

It seemed like only minutes from the time they closed their eyes until they were awakened by pounding on the door. Cameo looked at the clock. Nine a.m. They were supposed to meet Bob at the bakery in just over an hour. “It must be Jeremy and BJ,” she said. “Quick, go in your room and mess up the bed.” Call rolled over and kissed her without opening his eyes, then crawled out of bed and stumbled down the hallway. “Coming,” she hollered, throwing on her nightgown and robe. They’d made slow, delicious love when they’d gotten home that morning, exhausted but unable to keep their hands off each other. There was nothing like the threat of imminent death to make sex sweeter and more poignant, she thought. Not that she wanted to repeat the experience. Every time she’d made love with Call had been special. No matter what the mood, their bodies melded in its perfect expression. Passion, gratitude, teasing, even fear or despair. They’d found consolation in lovemaking, as well as fun and excitement. Together, they created an intricate blend of colors and textures, light and dark, fierce and gentle, playful and sensuous. If only she could make a quilt so beautiful. She suspected her relationship with Call would forever remain a bright and shining ideal. Some things were impossible to translate into the tangible.

*** Call walked into the farmhouse kitchen in time to catch Cameo’s explanation for the locked door. “There were a couple of bad guys on the loose last night,” she said. “We figured it was better to be safe than sorry.” “They caught them,” Jeremy said. “Aunt BJ and I saw it on television. They said you and Call were there, and they interviewed an FBI agent.” Call stood at the counter, spooning caffeine into the automatic coffee maker. His eyes felt drier than the Mojave Desert. “What did he say, sport?” Jeremy looked thrilled to be the bearer of important news. “A bunch of reporters were sticking microphones and cameras in his face. He said they arrested six drug smugglers but one got away. Then he said he couldn’t tell them any more right now because it was an ongoing investigation, but they’d be able to read the complete story in the Humboldt County Observer. That’s the paper you work for, isn’t it, Call?” “Yes!” Call pumped the air with his fist. This was it. The break he’d been waiting for. No more features desk. No more Liz Lessard. He had leverage. He glanced at Cameo, eager to share his excitement. She appeared to be studying her hands. An awkward silence followed. BJ stepped into the void. “That’s wonderful, Call. Congratulations!” Although her tone conveyed

warmth and sincerity, she slid a concerned glance toward her sister. Cameo managed to smile. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “I know it’s what you’ve always wanted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed. We’re due at the bakery in half an hour.” “I’ll come with you.” BJ followed Cameo out of the room. “Okay, see you in a few minutes,” Call hollered in the direction of the bedroom. He glanced down to see a perplexed expression on Jeremy’s face. He could definitely relate. “Looks like we’re on our own for breakfast, sport.” After rummaging for bowls, spoons and cereal, he retrieved milk from the refrigerator, and sat opposite Jeremy. The kid was still frowning. “How come Mom didn’t act happy?” Jeremy asked, pouring a heaping bowl of fruity loops. Call thought for a long moment before answering. “Females are mysterious creatures,” he said. “You’re telling me. I have a whole family full of them.” *** They arrived to find the parking lot of Mama Gia’s Bakery jammed with news vans topped by satellite dishes. Print reporters jostled with television

and radio crews for the best position. When they saw Call’s BMW approaching, they raced toward them. “Now I know how movie stars feel,” BJ said. “I’ll pull up to the door,” Call said. “When we stop, make a run for it. No matter what questions they ask, the answer is ‘No comment.’” Cameo looked around at the crush of reporters. If this was the price of fame, Brangelina could have it. “Stay close to me, Jeremy.” “Okay, ready?” Call asked. “Ready,” BJ said. “Ready,” Cameo and Jeremy echoed. They opened the car doors simultaneously, Cameo scooting across the back seat so she could exit behind Jeremy. As they shoved through the crowd of reporters, Cameo was reminded of a wildlife documentary she’d seen in which hyenas circled a group of migrating wildebeest, waiting for one to fall behind. Thank goodness, Mama Gia was waiting for them. “They are animals, these reporters,” she said as she locked the door. “I’m sure you would never behave like that.” She gave Call a hug and pat on the cheek. “No, ma’am,” he replied, blue eyes wide with innocence. Cameo could barely keep from snorting. Yeah, right. Unless he thought it might give him a leg up in his career. Stop it. You knew what you were signing on for since day one. It’s not Call’s fault you fell in love with him.

Bob MacBeth greeted them warmly. “Good to see you,” he said, shaking hands all around. He bent slightly. “You must be Jeremy. Call told me all about you. I bet you’re proud of your mom and grandma.” “Well, yeah, but I don’t really know what happened. I stayed at my Aunt BJ’s last night.” His expression said he wasn’t happy about missing all the excitement. Bob chuckled. “You’ll hear the whole story this morning. At least, I hope we can put all the pieces together.” He looked at Call and Cameo. “I invited Diane Chan, Eric Moeller, and Allegra to join us this morning. If you don’t mind, I’m going to tape record your statements. “Call, I’ll give you an exclusive on one condition. You can’t reveal any information that might compromise our investigation. That means I’ll have to read your piece prior to publication.” Call hesitated. If the first rule of journalism was “Never Assume,” the second had to be “Never allow a subject to read your story in advance.” But, hey, Bob was the guy who’d kept him alive with Snickers and salmon jerky, who had his back at Mad Jack’s, and who he knew to be a fair and honest man. Given the choice between bending a few rules for Bob MacBeth or being Liz Lessard’s boy toy, well, it was no contest. “No problem. I trust your judgment.” ***

Allegra, Mole, and Diane arrived a few minutes later. They pulled a couple of tables together and waited while Bob excused himself to take a phone call. The atmosphere in the room seemed tense. Cameo realized most of those present didn’t know what to expect. When Bob returned, he calmed their fears with his honest, homespun manner. “I’m going to ask each of you to state your name for the tape and tell me what happened in your own words. We’ll keep it informal. This is really just for my information. “However, you may be interviewed again by one of the law enforcement agencies that participated in our joint task force. You may be deposed by attorneys for the prosecution or defense. And you very likely will be called to testify should the case go to trial.” Bob’s Idaho twang had become thick enough to spread on a biscuit. “Does everyone understand?” After nods all around, Bob settled into a chair with a steno pad balanced on one knee. “Great. Let’s get started.” “Wait, wait.” Mama jumped up. “I made fresh carrot cake and coffee. It will only take a minute.” “I was hoping you’d offer,” Bob said. After everyone at the table had been served, Mama dispatched Call outside with an industrial size pot of coffee and a platter of cake so big he staggered under its weight. “Something to calm the beasts,” she said.

As each person told his or her story, Jeremy listened with rapt attention. He especially liked the part where Call blasted the guard with paint balls. When Cameo related how she’d covered Mama Gia when Mama opened the back door of the warehouse, he looked at her with shining eyes. “Mom. That’s awesome.” Bob took special interest too. “Did you see anything outside?” he asked. Cameo hesitated. “I thought I saw a shadow moving through the forest. I couldn’t be sure though. The door was only open for a second.” “That’s right,” Mama Gia said. “We didn’t want to let the perps inside. We just wanted to know where they were.” “Excuse me. What did you call them?” Bob asked. Cameo and BJ exchanged an amused glance. “Perps. I heard it on television. It means bad guys,” Mama said. “I see.” Bob nodded gravely. “You didn’t get a look at any of them, did you?” “No,” Mama said. “I shut the door again fast.” “The reason I ask is, we found five bodies in back of the warehouse.” Although Bob’s tone was mild, his eyes were watchful. A long moment passed before anyone spoke. “This is off the record, Call,” Bob said. Then he addressed the group. “The dead men were mercenaries, hired by Gundar Romanov. My undercover agent didn’t kill them, which means they

were garroted by their comrades or an unknown third party.” He turned a penetrating glance on Cameo. “Garroted?” She couldn’t keep a quaver out of her voice. “Strangled with a wire. Whoever did it came up behind them, one by one. It’s an old Special Forces trick.” She tried to meet his gaze but had to look away. Damn it. Why should she feel guilty? Tobias had only done what was necessary to save their lives. “My money’s on the mercenaries,” Bob continued. “They had a motive—a bigger share of the drug profits—and at least one of them must have had the opportunity. We just have to find out who.” “You mentioned an undercover agent in camp?” Call wanted to know. “Right. I guess it’s time to tell my part of the story.” Bob washed down the last bite of carrot cake and patted his belly. “Romanov and his men were smuggling marijuana out of Canada and loading cocaine into the helicopters for the return trip. We’re looking into a possible link between Romanov’s operation and the Russian Mafia. “To answer your question, Call, you and I weren’t the only spies in camp. You remember that crazy fella who wore a potato sack and talked to himself?” “Good God,” Call said. “Don’t tell me it was the Mad Prophet?” “One of our best undercover agents,” Bob said. “When Quaid went for his gun, my man shot him,

and so did young Tremaine. But the kill shot came from behind. Another unsolved mystery.” “Do you know who called me the morning after Mama Gia was kidnapped?” Cameo asked. “That was my agent. I wanted you to know the situation was under control. We had a plan to get the hostages to safety. I won’t go into the details, except to say we hadn’t counted on your mother’s resourcefulness.” He smiled at Mama Gia. “Don’t forget Trevor,” Mama said. “He was very brave.” Bob nodded. “And he has a remarkable memory for details. Trevor has been able to fill a lot of the holes in our case. I suspect helping put some of the bad guys away will give him a great deal of satisfaction. I just wish we’d caught Romanov.” “What hold did Gundar have on him?” Call had been scribbling notes the whole time. “Romanov sent one of his operatives to join the Tremaines’ cruise, and then showed Trevor pictures of his parents in the man’s company. He threatened to have Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine killed if Trevor didn’t cooperate.” “The brute!” Mama’s dark eyes flashed with indignation. “What about the bear attack?” Diane asked. “That’s another interesting twist,” Bob said. “Trevor overheard two of his guards talking about Lech Nowak’s murder. It seems Lech was smuggling bear gall bladders out of Canada to be sold on the Asian black market. Lech and his cousin struck a deal

with one of the pilots to smuggle them aboard Romanov’s helicopters. “When Romanov found out, he was furious. He arranged to have a grizzly shipped down from Canada. Evidently, it was a very hungry grizzly because it ate a pretty good chunk of Lech. That’s one for the books,” Bob said, shaking his head. “Murder by bear.” “I found Lech’s body, but no one believed he’d been killed by a grizzly,” Diane said. “They’ll believe it now,” he said. “But I saved the strangest part of this tale for last. According to Trevor, Romanov hired the same two guys who captured the bear to haul it back to Canada and turn it loose in the area where they found it.” “I wonder if the two guys were named Duane and Darrell,” Allegra said. “It seems awfully suspicious for them to show up that night and not be seen or heard from since.” Bob thumbed through his notes. “The men who accompanied Lech to the Lumberbeast. It might be hard to track them without last names but we’re sure going to try. You’ve given us excellent descriptions.” “Can I write about all this?” Call asked. “Probably,” Bob said. “As long as you’re careful not to mention my agent. I put the word out he was among the dead. I hope this scoop will help your editor forget about any problems at the newspaper.” He winked.

Call looked surprised, but only for a moment. “Of course. You checked up on me. I appreciate the exclusive, pal. This is the story of a lifetime.” Bob shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. You gave up your undercover identity to save me. By the way, I hear you’ve adopted another one, Captain Underpants.” Everyone laughed but Mole. Something in the exchange seemed to jog his memory. “Dude,” he said, slapping his forehead with an open palm. “I forgot to tell you. Murphy followed up on your stinking sewer plant story. The mayor, two city councilmen, and a whole shitload of inspectors and contractors got indicted. The coast is clear, man. You can come home.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Call had just finished stuffing his belongings into a worn duffel bag when Cameo slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind her. His welcoming smile faded when he caught sight of her expression. “I guess this is good-by,” she said. Her eyes looked red and puffy. A single, fat teardrop rolled down her face. She swiped at it angrily. He quickly closed the distance between them, taking her in his arms. “Not goodbye. As my Hispanic relatives say, hasta la vista. Until we meet again. I hope that will be next weekend.” He cradled her sweet face in his hands, bending to kiss her damp cheeks. She pulled away. “No. Not next weekend. Or the weekend after that.” With an effort, she lifted her eyes to his. “We knew from the beginning that this couldn’t last. I prefer to end it now. I think it’s best for all concerned.” He felt like he’d been hit with a two by four. “How can you say that? I love you.” As soon as the

words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. They sounded like a cheap attempt to hang onto her. She shook her head sadly. “Maybe you do, but not as much as you love your career. You’ll be moving on soon. This story pretty much assures you of an offer from a bigger paper. Someday we’ll all say we knew you when.” She backed toward the door. “Be sure to say goodbye to Jeremy. I have chores to do.” And she was gone. *** The sun had just cleared the horizon when Cameo knocked on the door to Tobias’s neat white clapboard cabin on Monday morning. She hadn’t seen him since the raid Saturday night, which wasn’t all that unusual. Tobias’s comings and goings had always been shrouded in mystery. He managed the farm beautifully and let her know if he’d be gone for more than a few days. Other than that, what he did with his time was his business. Nugget rules. She knocked again. “Tobias?” she called softly. She’d turned to walk away when she heard the door open behind her. “Morning, Cameo.” Tobias was dressed in blue jeans and a clean white T-shirt but his normally alert blue eyes betrayed signs of

fatigue. He ran a hand through short, sandy blond hair. “Guess I slept in,” he said with a bashful smile. Cameo’s heart filled with affection. She’d known Tobias Greene practically her whole life but rarely heard him speak more than a handful of words. Surely this sweet, shy, hard-working man wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. “Sorry to stop by so early,” she said. “I wonder if we could talk for a minute?” Tobias opened the door without hesitation. “Sure. Come on in.” He cleared a few papers from the small, round table in his combination kitchen/dining room. As usual, the place looked immaculate. A cup, bowl, and spoon rested on a clean dishtowel on the counter. The kitchen window offered a lovely view of the Klamath River. “I’ll make coffee,” he said. She sat and watched the fast-flowing river sparkle in the morning sun. No need to make small talk. Polite conversation wasn’t necessary with Tobias. Too much had happened recently. Her emotions were a jumble. Relief and gratitude for their safety warred with despair over Call’s departure. It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other. In times of crisis, she’d watched Mama take care of the family, farm, and business. Mama believed hard work could solve almost any problem. Consciously or unconsciously, Cameo had learned that lesson, as had her sisters.

Tobias slid a cup of coffee in front of her, then sat down in the chair opposite. He took a sip of the hot brew and waited for her to speak. “It’s about Saturday night,” she said. “I saw you running through the forest behind the warehouse.” Tobias nodded. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I asked for your help and I know you wouldn’t…hurt anyone. Not unless you had to.” Tobias regarded her steadily, his expression mild as always. She noticed the furrows around his eyes were getting deeper, his rumpled hair a little thinner. “I have to know,” she blurted out. “Did you kill those men?” The seconds ticked away on a bright kitchen clock in the shape of a rooster. Seconds during which Cameo hated herself for doubting Tobias and dreaded his answer. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?” he asked. “Yes.” “The men were dead when I got there.” Relief began to trickle through her, but she needed to know more. “Who killed them?” “I don’t know.” So Tobias didn’t have all the answers she sought. Still, she was determined to unravel as much of the mystery as possible. “Where were you?” she asked. “Watching the men in front. They presented the greatest threat to the hostages. Tremaine couldn’t handle all of them. When the helicopters came in and

the leader raised his weapon, I killed him. It was necessary.” Cameo nodded. This was what she’d expected. Tobias had acted only when their lives were in danger. “Were you watching us all the time?” she asked softly. “Every minute.” Tobias’s gentle blue eyes grew steely. Other than that, his expression betrayed no hint of emotion. “Did you see us try to escape?” “Which time?” A look of amusement flitted across Tobias’s face. Just as quickly, it was gone. “When Call blasted the guard with paint balls and we ran toward the forest. I thought Gundar was going to shoot us.” Tobias shook his head. “He didn’t want to kill you, just contain you. I thought about taking him out, but killing breeds more killing. Romanov was the most predictable player. With him dead, I didn’t know how his men would react.” A chill passed through her at Tobias’s words. What would have happened to Mama Gia and Trevor if Gundar had been “taken out?” She didn’t even want to think about it. “Why do you say Romanov was predictable?” “He was the commander, the man who planned and executed the mission. He has discipline, intelligence, and highly developed survival skills.” Tobias almost sounded like he admired the bastard. “How do you know so much about him?” she asked.

“I spent the past twenty-four hours tracking him.” “But you didn’t catch him,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “No.” She sensed Tobias was running out of words, but felt compelled to ask one more question. “Do you have any idea who might have killed those five men?” The aging warrior, her friend and partner, looked thoughtful. “Judging from the footprints leading away from the scene, I’d say it was a single assassin, weighing upwards of one hundred eighty pounds, who favors his left leg and has really big feet.” *** Call sat in his favorite position, chair tilted back, feet propped on his desk. It was a muggy morning and the air conditioning in the newsroom had broken down, again. He fanned himself with the Sunday edition of the Humboldt County Observer. The front page featured the third and final article in his series about the drug ring operating out of Mad Jack’s Wilderness Experience. He’d received practically unlimited access to law enforcement personnel, obtaining colorful and/or pithy quotes from them and the Nuggetites involved in the rescue. His stories touched on the broad scope

of the drug smuggling problem internationally, along with its effect on local communities. Hell, the paper had even run his cartoons, along with Mole’s photos of the raid. The series would surely win first place in regional, maybe even national journalism contests. Or so everyone said. A steady stream of coworkers stopped by to congratulate him on the stories. As though he had a damn golden aura around him, everyone seemed to want to get close. This morning, the San Francisco Chronicle had called with a job offer, the break he’d been dreaming about since he graduated from J School at San Francisco State University. His ticket to the big leagues. So why wasn’t he doing cartwheels in the middle of the newsroom? Mole strolled into view. “Hey, Mole!” Call yelled. “Want to get some breakfast?” Mole grinned, his previous mission forgotten. “You buying?” “You bet.” At a coffee shop around the corner from the paper, Call told Mole about his job offer. The Mole tried to whistle with a mouthful of scrambled eggs and wound up blowing most of them onto the table. “Dude. That’s amazing. Can I come too?” “The thing is, I can’t get excited about it.” Call pushed his half-eaten breakfast aside and toyed with

the straw in an extra creamy dulce de leche Frappuccino with a double shot of espresso. He’d lost his appetite even before Mole sprayed the area with half-masticated eggs. “The truth is, I can’t get excited about anything.” Mole put down his fork and studied his friend with thoughtful, red-rimmed eyes. “I knew you had it bad. Guess I just didn’t know how bad.” “Had what?” “Come on, man. Don’t play innocent with me. We both know what’s wrong with you. You’ve been bitten by the love bug.” “She told me to get lost. Vamoose. Get outta town. She doesn’t want to see me anymore.” Call slumped over the table in abject misery. He’d been operating on adrenaline and Frappuccinos for the last three weeks. Now, with his deadlines met and the series complete, he felt like one big, raw nerve. The Mole looked surprised. “Cameo said that?” “In so many words.” “Love is a rare and beautiful thing. Don’t let it slip away, man. Do whatever it takes to hang onto it.” Mole’s head bobbed up and down earnestly as he spoke, reminding Call of a Rastafarian bobble head doll. “Since when did you become the love guru?” he asked. Mole ignored the sarcasm. “I wasn’t always the happy-go-lucky dude you see today. Once I was young, serious, and in love. I wanted to have everything lined up, a degree, a house, a job. The

whole white picket fence thing.” He paused to take a fortifying slurp of cherry Coke. “My sweetie got tired of waiting. She met a long-haired dude with a rainbow van, and they drove off into the sunset. Since then, I’ve been with Mary Jane.” Mole’s sad tale temporarily shocked Call out of his self-pity. “You’re too young to give up on love.” “My point exactly,” Mole said.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cameo’s watch said ten o’clock when she finally parked in front of the farmhouse. She’d fidgeted all during Sunday dinner, eager to get home to plan a well-deserved vacation. Now that she’d arrived, she felt reluctant to go inside. Without Jeremy, who was away at a surf camp, the house looked dark and empty, so different from the home she’d grown up in. She turned off the engine but remained in the truck, watching the moon rise over the Klamath River. Her thoughts drifted to the months leading up to Jeremy’s birth. Even though she’d been seventeen and unmarried, her parents had supported her decision to keep the baby. The day her son came into the world was the happiest of her life. Jeremy had given her purpose, direction. A reason to work hard and be the best person she could. Now he was growing up much too fast. She supposed she’d better get used to living alone, she thought as she opened the door to the pickup. In nine years, Jeremy would graduate from high school and go away to college.

There I go, wallowing in self-pity again. She slammed the truck door and marched toward the house. When she got inside, she’d turn on the computer and start planning her vacation. She’d earned it, she deserved it, and, by golly, she was going to enjoy it. She’d forgotten to turn on the porch light and just about tripped over a newspaper placed squarely in front of the door. Strange. No one delivered newspapers out here. She stooped to pick it up before fitting her key into the lock. The flip of a switch revealed a special edition of the Humboldt County Observer. The headline proclaimed in bold, black letters, Call Loves Cameo. Underneath, the subhead read, Reporter Returns to Nugget in Search of True Love. Rows of text marched across the page but it might have hieroglyphics for all the sense it made to her. “Call?” She searched the shadows around the farmhouse for a familiar form. “Right here.” Call emerged from the vegetable garden and mounted the steps to the front porch. Stunned, she couldn’t grasp why he’d suddenly reappeared in her life. “I don’t understand.” He approached the pool of light surrounding the door, his grin a bit crooked. The brash young reporter had been replaced by a man who appeared a few shades more vulnerable. “It’s all there, in black and white,” he said. He stopped a short distance away, evidently unsure of his reception.

She longed to rush into his arms but knew it would be a mistake. After six weeks apart, they needed to talk. She opened the door and motioned him inside. “Why don’t you tell me?” *** Call sat at the kitchen table, watching as Cameo made tea. The familiar ritual calmed him and gave him a chance to think about what he wanted to say. Not that he hadn’t rehearsed his speech a hundred times in the weeks prior to his return. But words could never fully express his feelings for her. Which was pretty amazing in itself. He’d never been short on bullshit. Cameo joined him at the table with two cups of hot chamomile tea. He would have preferred something a little stronger. Liquid courage, his college buddies called it. He took a sip. “I guess you read my series,” he said. “I did, and it was excellent. You should be very proud.” He nodded, eager to get to the real reason for his visit. “I got a job offer from the San Francisco Chronicle.” He watched her expression closely. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” Was she happy? She didn’t smile. Maybe that was a good sign. At least she wasn’t thrilled to be rid of him. “I turned it down.”

She set her cup in the saucer with a loud click. “But why? It’s what you’ve always wanted.” “Not anymore. I realized there are more important things than being a hotshot investigative reporter. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I have the disposition for it. I like the excitement of a big story a lot better than the daily grind.” “Is that how you feel about relationships too?” Uh-oh. Major tactical error. “No. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I love you, Cameo. I want to live in Nugget so we can give our relationship a chance.” She looked incredulous. “How will you support yourself?” “I’ll be a stringer for the Humboldt County Observer, covering stories in rural parts of the county. I still want to do that series on organic farming. And if I need to make a few extra bucks, I figure I can always substitute teach at Hoopa High. I know the culinary arts instructor there.” She shook her head sadly. “What about that nerdy little kid who wrote a neighborhood newspaper and delivered it door to door? I can’t believe you’ll be happy giving up your dream.” “That’s the best part. I don’t have to. I have a dynamite idea for a series of editorial cartoons. I can be as outrageous as I like, and I don’t have to worry about fact-checking.” Call forgot his nervousness as he described the project. “I’ll draw animal caricatures of local and national figures involved in some type of shenanigans. I even thought of a name for it.”

Cameo leaned forward, her eyes shining. “What is it?” “The Call of the Wild.” It felt so good to share his idea with Cameo. She looked as excited as he felt. “You’re such a talented artist, and with your off-beat sense of humor and political savvy, I’m sure it will be a success.” “The managing editor at the Chron seemed interested, and I have Rand Murphy’s word that he’ll run a few of my cartoons in the Observer. It’s a start. Someday, I hope to be picked up by one of the big national syndicates.” She leaned back in her chair, her face relaxing into a grin. “Wow.” “But I’m not here to sell my cartoons.” She tilted her head to one side. “Oh? Then what are you selling?” “I’m not selling anything. I’m offering my heart, my soul, and my freedom.” Although his tone was light, Call’s expression conveyed absolute sincerity. His blue eyes looked suspiciously moist. She remained silent for a few moments. Maybe she was being ornery, but after six weeks of waiting and wondering, she thought a little suspense might do Call Sanchez good. “Are you going to leave me sitting here naked? Or do I get an answer?” Cameo melted. He was so darn cute, she’d never been able to resist him. And of course, he counted on that.

She rose and walked slowly toward him, adding a little extra sway to her hips. Settling into his lap, she twined her arms around his neck. Then she gave him a long, slow, sizzling kiss. “Is that the answer you were looking for?” He looked at her through passion-glazed eyes. “Yeah. I mean, no. I want more than your wonderful…beautiful…sexy body.” He kissed her throat between adjectives, sending shivers of delight skimming across her nerve endings. She retreated from his distracting mouth to say, “I’ll take your heart and soul. As for your freedom, well, I think we’d better wait and see.” “Nugget rules?” he asked. “You got it.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You know, I have a sudden craving for a Twinkie.” In one swift motion, Call pushed back his chair and stood, lifting her in his arms. “Honey,” he said. “I’m your man.” *** At ten o’clock the next morning, they were speeding down Highway 101 en route to Call’s parents’ home in Costa Mesa. A sea breeze blew through the BMW’s sunroof, and a Beach Boys tune blasted from the CD player. Call slowed as a California Highway Patrol car passed them going the opposite direction. The cruiser

reminded Cameo of a question that had been nagging her since the big drug bust. She turned down the volume on the CD player. “I wonder what happened to Officer Leonard Ready,” she said. “I haven’t seen him for weeks.” “He’s probably too embarrassed to show his face,” Call said. “What do you mean?” He tossed her a surprised glance. “Didn’t you hear? The night of the raid, Officer Ready was in Willow Creek staking out Big Foot Pizza. He said he got an anonymous tip that a group of pot farmers was meeting there to form a cartel.” “That’s insane. The outside growers are too secretive to meet in public and too independent to form any kind of organization.” “I know that and you know that, but evidently, Officer Ready didn’t. He spent the entire evening chugging root beer and watching people through his mirrored lenses. I hear he hassled quite a few folks too, interrupting their dinners, demanding IDs, that sort of thing. I’m sure the sergeant at the Hoopa Substation got an earful on Monday morning.” She threw back her head and laughed. “No wonder he hasn’t been in Mama Gia’s Bakery. Serves him right for being an officious toad. I wonder who called him.” Call grinned at her. “You dog! How did you get his number?”

“I happen to know a few deputies in Eureka. They were only too happy to help. Deputy Ready has a rare gift for making enemies wherever he goes.” Something else had been bothering her. She broached the subject cautiously. “How about the giant footprint Diane found by Lech’s body? You didn’t mention it in your articles.” “That’s still a mystery. As is the fate of Lech’s cousin and partner in the bear parts business, Yuri Nowak. He seems to have vanished into the Canadian wilderness,” Call said. Cameo was quiet, reflecting on the information she’d received from Tobias Greene about really big footprints behind the storehouse the night of the drug raid. She hadn’t shared it with anyone out of respect for Tobias’s privacy. Besides, Bob MacBeth had dozens of trained agents combing the area for the two escaped goons. If there were footprints leading away from the crime scene, she felt pretty confident he knew about them. Could there be a connection between those big footprints and the one found by Lech’s remains? She’d puzzled over the question endlessly but hadn’t come up with an answer. Allegra thought Darrell and Duane were responsible for Lech’s death and had said as much to Bob MacBeth. And of course, Diane had told Bob about the big footprint she found by Lech’s body. As for the giant footprints leading away from the storehouse, Tobias said the killer had acted alone. She

couldn’t imagine Darrell taking a breath without his brother. She briefly considered telling Call the whole story but decided against it. She wouldn’t betray Tobias’ confidence to repeat what he’d told her to anyone, even Call. At least for now, the mystery of the giant footprints would be added to the legends and tall tales of Big Foot Country. “So either Gundar had Yuri killed or Yuri decided to lay low until things cooled off,” she said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “I’d put my money on Gundar. The Romanian has his own warped set of justice, and I have a gut feeling he wouldn’t allow the cousins to profit from their butchery.” She nodded. “For all his faults, Gundar seemed to have an affinity for animals. And he didn’t let anyone harm us. He could have killed us all, you know. It probably would have made his life a whole lot easier.” “Yeah, when they catch the bastard and put him in a maximum security federal prison, he’ll probably start an animal rights group behind bars.” Call sounded annoyed and maybe just the tiniest bit jealous. As time passed, it became less and less likely that Gundar would ever be captured, and they both knew it. But there was no point in reminding her prickly companion of the fact.

“There’s some good in the worst of us and some bad in the best of us,” she said. Call snorted but refrained from commenting. She was silent for a few minutes, trusting the Beach Boys, mellow spring sunshine, and tangy ocean air to soothe Call’s ruffled feathers. “I’m excited about meeting your family. I hope they like me,” she said. “Sweetheart, they’re going to be crazy about you. I’m sure they’ll think you’re much too good for me.” “What do you think?” “I think I love you.” He leaned toward her, and they exchanged a quick kiss. Cameo settled back into the plush leather seat. On her right, the blue Pacific sparkled in the sunlight. On her left, Call’s auburn hair gleamed like a light in the forest. Twelve hours ago, she’d been resigned to a lonely old age. Today she was headed for the sun and surf of Orange County with a devilishly handsome editorial cartoonist. A man who challenged, provoked, and satisfied her in ways no one else had ever approached. A man who made her laugh. Contentment curled inside her like a farm bunny in front of the potbellied stove. Life didn’t get much better than this. ~ End ~

~ About the Author ~ Sylvia Madsen grew up in Needles, CA (pop. 6,000) and has never lost her affection for small towns. She received a BA in journalism from San Francisco State University, and more recently, an MA in Teaching English as Second Language from Northern Arizona University. Persistence and good juju have enabled her to work at the two things she loves best--teaching and writing. She is currently employed at the University of Oregon. Go Ducks!