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when I ran. Mac loped along beside me, never straying far from the trail. Even the errant scent of game didn’t keep him long from my side, and I felt safer running with him.
    I slowed to a fast walk as I neared my house, thinking about my developing stories. Yanaha was an important key, but I needed to review that crash report, find the dozer driver’s widow, and get in front of Gage Notah. I had to get Gage to talk to me. Plus Alison Garcia over at NAU was a renown southwest anthropologist—she’d know something about the black market. She provided provenance for the NAU museum and the Heard Museum down in Phoenix. She had to know something of the dark side of collecting.
    Images of Trace Yazzie formed a slide show in my head and I quit totting up the work I needed to do and enjoyed the mind show. Sexy grin, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, and oh, my God, those hands. Hands that could heat up a woman’s body. I shivered as I thought about his hands roaming my body. Sliding over my breasts, grazing my nipples . . . Oh, hell! Stop with the fantasies!
    I leaned on the little fence surrounding my casita to catch my breath. Mac bounded over and nudged my hand for a pet . “We’re a good team, boy.” The evening gloom gathered in the pines in the woods around my house. Nothing. Not one thing was out there.
    The sight of my snug adobe home always pleased me. Inside, the living space had viga-beamed ceilings, and the rounded adobe fireplace cast a golden glow on a cool night. When I arrived in Flag, Louis had sent me to Eric, claiming he could find me the perfect house. He had. Better yet, it was walking distance from Louis and Eric’s home.
    I shrugged out of my running clothes, dropped them in the washer, and padded naked to my bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the water heat to steaming, so it could knead my shoulders.
    I towel dried my hair and pulled it in a low ponytail, dismissed the idea of wearing makeup, and put on my favorite pair of soft old jeans and an oversize white shirt. A Phoenix Suns baseball cap completed my look. Mac got a rawhide bone to work on in my absence, and I walked up the street to Louis and Eric’s broad front porch and knocked.
    Eric opened the screen door. “Any reason you’ve brought that dead house plant to happy hour?” He stepped back for me to enter.
    â€œA hostess gift.” I shoved the plant in his hands. “You can make it bloom.”
    â€œIvies don’t bloom.” Eric kissed my cheek. “But I’ll nurse it back to health. The usual for you?”
    â€œYes, please.” We walked into their cozy keeping room. “You have been busy.” I motioned at the spread of food on the coffee table. Stumpy stalked over to me with his nubbin of a tail held straight up. I reached out to stroke his head and he wailed a protest and marched off.
    â€œDon’t mind the cat. In fact, ignore the cat. Damn thing only loves Eric. We have all this food because Eric cooks when he’s nervous,” Louis teased.
    â€œWhat’s the problem?”
    â€œI’m working with the house hunter from hell, but a nice commission waits if I just get her to buy any of the millions of houses I’ve taken her to.”
    â€œTry that hot artichoke dip before it gets cold.” Louis scooped a big bite and popped it in his mouth.
    â€œHere’s your fave, one orange vodka martini,” Eric said.
    Louis scooted closer to me on the couch. “Give me the scoop. What did you learn at the trading post?”
    â€œFrank Aguirre had friends who worked in the mine. They died from lung disease and cancer. We’ll use his info in the environmental story.”
    â€œYou sold Marty yet?” Eric asked.
    â€œMarty’s willing to give us some time to develop the environmental angle.”
    Louis passed the bacon-wrapped fried cheese to Eric. “I don’t see the story as any problem. Story’s