relieved to see that five of his horses had survived. They gathered nervously near the one that had been killed. Sickened, he shifted his gaze toward the countless bullet holes in his car, its windows starred, some of them shattered. Thinking of Angelo's body inside it, he felt his fury intensify.
Immediately, the horses bolted as a highway patrol car, dark chassis, white roof, flashers on, emerged from the lane. Even at a distance, Cavanaugh detected the shock on the face of the uniformed driver when he saw the damage.
Then a forest-service fire truck emerged, and its occupants looked stunned, also.
They managed to move the van that was blocking the lane , Cavanaugh thought. A further idea struck him: Or maybe some of the gunmen drove it away.
With Jamie watching the trees behind them, he led William and Mrs. Patterson around the southern curve of the forest and only then stepped into the lane, the trees still shielding them from a sniper.
At almost the same time, a highway patrol car came around a curve, the driver slamming on his breaks at the sight of them.
“Set down your weapons,” Jamie warned William and Mrs. Patterson as she and Cavanaugh put down their own.
“Let him see your hands are empty,” Cavanaugh emphasized.
The state trooper, a captain, had his fingers on his holstered pistol as he got out of the car, but then he gave Cavanaugh a closer look. “Aaron?”
Cavanaugh had used his legal name when he'd bought his property. If an enemy who knew him only as Cavanaugh had hoped to track him down by searching through land records, the effort would have been useless.
“Nice to see you, Garth.”
The trooper looked surprised. “My God, with all that soot and dirt on you, I didn't recognize you.”
“We had a little trouble.”
“So I hear. On the radio, the first officer to get here told me your place looks like a war zone.”
Garth had a solid build from weight lifting. He was tall, with strong cheekbones and a dark mustache. He spent so much time outdoors that his face had the grain of weathered wood, his tan emphasized by the green of his uniform and trooper's hat. Like any expert police officer, his eyes were constantly alert, even off duty when he, Cavanaugh, and Jamie sometimes ate dinner together in Jackson.
Those eyes were very alert now. “Jamie, is that blood on your shoulder?”
“Yes, but it isn't mine.”
Cavanaugh thought angrily of the blood spatters inside the Taurus after Angelo was shot.
“Lillian . . .” Garth frowned at Mrs. Patterson. “You're wavering. Come over to the car and sit down.”
With an unsteady hand, she pushed gray hair from her face. Dirt streaked her apron. “Thanks, Garth. It's been a long afternoon.”
“You'll find four dead men in the western edge of the meadow,” Cavanaugh said.
“Dead? How?”
“Shot.”
“Who pulled the trigger?”
At this point, Cavanaugh would normally have requested a lawyer to make sure that he didn't say something that became misinterpreted. But he had one of the best attorneys in the country standing next to him.
“ I did,” Cavanaugh said. “You'll find a fifth body in my car, or what's left of my car. One of the other guys pulled that trigger.”
3
Mrs. Patterson's late husband, Ben, had been a Wyoming state trooper who died in a shootout with a gang trying to hijack a truck filled with pharmaceuticals. Known as Lillian to every officer assigned to Teton County, she was interviewed first, then escorted back to the waiting room at the highway-patrol barracks ten miles south of Jackson.
“I phoned your son-in-law to let him know you can leave now,” Garth said. “He'll soon be here to drive you to your daughter's place. Your family's eager to see you.”
“I'll wait with you in the front hallway,” Jamie told her.
William was the next person taken to the interview room. Twenty minutes later, he came back, the satisfied look on his face indicating that, while he might not know anything about
Immediately, the horses bolted as a highway patrol car, dark chassis, white roof, flashers on, emerged from the lane. Even at a distance, Cavanaugh detected the shock on the face of the uniformed driver when he saw the damage.
Then a forest-service fire truck emerged, and its occupants looked stunned, also.
They managed to move the van that was blocking the lane , Cavanaugh thought. A further idea struck him: Or maybe some of the gunmen drove it away.
With Jamie watching the trees behind them, he led William and Mrs. Patterson around the southern curve of the forest and only then stepped into the lane, the trees still shielding them from a sniper.
At almost the same time, a highway patrol car came around a curve, the driver slamming on his breaks at the sight of them.
“Set down your weapons,” Jamie warned William and Mrs. Patterson as she and Cavanaugh put down their own.
“Let him see your hands are empty,” Cavanaugh emphasized.
The state trooper, a captain, had his fingers on his holstered pistol as he got out of the car, but then he gave Cavanaugh a closer look. “Aaron?”
Cavanaugh had used his legal name when he'd bought his property. If an enemy who knew him only as Cavanaugh had hoped to track him down by searching through land records, the effort would have been useless.
“Nice to see you, Garth.”
The trooper looked surprised. “My God, with all that soot and dirt on you, I didn't recognize you.”
“We had a little trouble.”
“So I hear. On the radio, the first officer to get here told me your place looks like a war zone.”
Garth had a solid build from weight lifting. He was tall, with strong cheekbones and a dark mustache. He spent so much time outdoors that his face had the grain of weathered wood, his tan emphasized by the green of his uniform and trooper's hat. Like any expert police officer, his eyes were constantly alert, even off duty when he, Cavanaugh, and Jamie sometimes ate dinner together in Jackson.
Those eyes were very alert now. “Jamie, is that blood on your shoulder?”
“Yes, but it isn't mine.”
Cavanaugh thought angrily of the blood spatters inside the Taurus after Angelo was shot.
“Lillian . . .” Garth frowned at Mrs. Patterson. “You're wavering. Come over to the car and sit down.”
With an unsteady hand, she pushed gray hair from her face. Dirt streaked her apron. “Thanks, Garth. It's been a long afternoon.”
“You'll find four dead men in the western edge of the meadow,” Cavanaugh said.
“Dead? How?”
“Shot.”
“Who pulled the trigger?”
At this point, Cavanaugh would normally have requested a lawyer to make sure that he didn't say something that became misinterpreted. But he had one of the best attorneys in the country standing next to him.
“ I did,” Cavanaugh said. “You'll find a fifth body in my car, or what's left of my car. One of the other guys pulled that trigger.”
3
Mrs. Patterson's late husband, Ben, had been a Wyoming state trooper who died in a shootout with a gang trying to hijack a truck filled with pharmaceuticals. Known as Lillian to every officer assigned to Teton County, she was interviewed first, then escorted back to the waiting room at the highway-patrol barracks ten miles south of Jackson.
“I phoned your son-in-law to let him know you can leave now,” Garth said. “He'll soon be here to drive you to your daughter's place. Your family's eager to see you.”
“I'll wait with you in the front hallway,” Jamie told her.
William was the next person taken to the interview room. Twenty minutes later, he came back, the satisfied look on his face indicating that, while he might not know anything about
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