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the center. “It’s just common sense. You shouldn’t be out this far alone. Even an amateur hiker knows not to venture out by himself into the wilderness.”
    I held up my hand. “That’s enough.”
    He stepped toward me and tipped my hat brim back. “You have a bad bump there on your forehead.”
    â€œYeah, the stirrup.”
    He chuckled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t even want to know.”
    Roy strode toward us, pumping his arms. “Jamaica, how long since you fed Mountain?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t take any jerky last night, so . . . yesterday morning.”
    â€œWell, I had a big old deer sausage one of the guys gave me and a breakfast burrito I had picked up on the way to work, and that wolf got in the ATV and ate every bite. The whole sausage. Enough for four or five meals. And the burrito, too.”
    Mountain slunk up beside me, noting the tone of Roy’s voice.
    â€œI’m sorry, Boss. I should have kept him with me.”
    â€œDamn right you should have. That was enough sausage for a big party! I was looking forward to having some of that.”
    â€œI’ll buy you some sausage when we get back to town.”
    Roy huffed out a breath and waved me off. He started to go back to the ATV, but turned and looked at me. “Whatever happened to that cell phone I issued you?”
    â€œI’ve got it.”
    He nodded his head, then gave a little snort. “Ever turned it on?”
    â€œYeah . . . I, yeah.”
    â€œWhat’s that number again?” He cocked his head slightly.
    â€œThe cell phone? I . . . I don’t know it.”
    â€œYou turn it on and use it. Today.”
    â€œIt won’t work out here, Boss. There’s no cell phone coverage half of the places I go.”
    â€œSo turn it on and use it the other half. I’d just like to be able to keep track of you at least some of the time.”
    â€œActually, half’s probably an exaggeration. I bet I don’t have cell phone coverage more than ten percent of the time when I’m on the job.”
    Roy reached a hand up and toggled his cowboy hat slightly to reposition it on his head. “Use the cell phone. That’s an order.” As he walked away, he muttered, “Damn, it’s cold out here! I didn’t get any breakfast. I’m hungry.”

4
    The Silver Bullet
    Diane Langstrom and I had worked together on several cases, from cattle mutilation to murder, and we’d become friends over the course of our last investigation. She was an avid practitioner of martial arts, a crack shot, and as good a person to have at your back as anyone could want.
    We watched as Kerry rode away on Rooster, headed back to Taos, with Roy idling the ATV behind him.
    â€œThis guy that’s coming from the hate crimes unit,” Diane said, “they call him the Silver Bullet.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    â€œHis name is Sterling—Agent Sterling. He’s a legend in the bureau. I’ve been dying to work with him. I’ve heard stories about him ever since I trained at Quantico.”
    â€œWhat kind of stories?”
    â€œThere are droves. He’s nailed serial killers, kidnappers, even solved cases that had gone completely cold. He’s incredibly fast and highly intuitive. He starts where all the leads have played out for others, and he goes from there. He just thinks differently, thinks of things no one else would. They call him in when they’re all out of options.”
    â€œSo he only does hate crimes?”
    â€œNo, he’s done everything. But right now, he’s head of the hate crimes unit in this region, and that’s a lucky thing for me.”
    I thought of the woman on the stone floor in the chapel. It was hard to think about luck in a situation like this. But I also knew that Diane’s detachment from the horror of this crime was a vital element for her survival and success in her work.