Liv took a deep breath. She said, “Speaking of Joe, there’s some bad news.”

Nate looked over, concerned.

“His daughter April was found beaten and left for dead outside of Saddlestring,” Liv said.

Nate sat up immediately. His first thought was to remove the Governor out of the console and strap it on, agreement or no agreement.

“They caught the guy who did it,” Liv said.

“Who was he?”

“Some local weirdo,” she said. “From what I read about it, the case is pretty much open-and-shut.”

Nate said, “I can only imagine what Joe and Marybeth are going through. They dote on their daughters. I never knew April that well, but Sheridan is my falconry apprentice.”

Liv told him the few facts of the case she’d read in that morning’s Casper Star-Tribune.

Nate said, “I’d like five minutes in a room with that guy. I’d guess Joe would say the same thing.”

“Except Joe’s on the right side of the law,” Liv said.

“He is. Man, I’d like to be able to see him and Marybeth,” Nate said. “I’d like to tell them I’m thinking about them.”

“We’ll be in the general area,” Liv said, nodding toward the Bighorn Mountains that had risen on the horizon to the west. “I know you’re not supposed to make contact with him. But what if he makes it with you? Like if some little bird let him know you’re working on the HF Bar Ranch for a few days?”

Nate smiled. “And who would that little bird be?”

“Gee, I have no idea,” she said with a wink.

—

IT WAS AN HOUR before dusk when Nate and Liv drove the van under the ancient pole archway decorated with whitened antlers and a hanging wrought iron sign that indicated they’d arrived at the historic HF Bar Ranch in the Bighorn Mountains. Gates made of weathered pine poles had been swung open, and the chain that had locked them together hung from the top rail of the left-side gate.

The van left the pavement and climbed through dark pine forests and open alpine meadows bursting with wildflowers on a gravel corduroy road. Rain had swept through the foothills in the previous hour, freshening the air and darkening the roadbed. Moisture glistened on the tips of pine needles like tears.

From the looks of the sky to the north, another thunderhead was on its way.

For the first time since he’d walked out of the Federal Building the day before, Nate began to feel good. Whether it was the smell of the pine-rich mountain air or simply being in Liv’s company, he felt his equilibrium start to level out.

The ranch road wound through groves of pine and aspen. Deep in the shadows of the trees, there were still crusty log-shaped snowdrifts from the winter. Mule deer grazed on spring grass that had grown from the benefit of sunlight shafts through the canopy. At least one set of tire tracks glistened in the muddy road on the way to the ranch. No doubt the tracks had been made by whoever had unlocked the gate for them, Nate thought.

The trees opened onto a sprawling ranch headquarters: a main lodge, wings of guest cabins, a network of roads and trails that spun off from the center like spokes on a wagon wheel. Liv parked in front of the lodge near a sign that said LOBBY.

There were no cars, trucks, or ranch vehicles to be seen, and the lower-floor windows of the lodge building were covered by weathered plywood.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here,” Liv said, leaning forward so she could see the top-floor windows of the lodge. “Why would they board it up like that?”

“Snow,” Nate said. “It gets deep up here. It doesn’t look like anyone has been here to open it up yet. So who are we meeting?”

“I guess he’s the caretaker,” Liv said. “John Wells. I didn’t get a lot of detail from him.”

“Where’s this horse barn?” Nate asked, looking around. It made sense that the barn wouldn’t be too far away from the lodge and cabins, since guests needed easy access to it for daily trail rides.

“Is that it?” Liv asked, pointing out her driver’s-side window.

A weathered roof peeked over the tops of the trees to the west. Nate noted that the tire tracks they’d followed went in that direction.

“I think so,” he said.

Liv backed up and took the road.

The massive old log horse barn was actually closer than it had seemed—less than a hundred yards from the lodge, but the timber was too thick in between for them to have seen the structure in full from the ranch yard. The barn was dark and weathered and the rain had temporarily stained the logs a deep brown. Hitching posts that looked a hundred years old stretched across the front of the building. A huge sliding barn door was partially open.

On the left side of the structure was a rusting GMC Suburban with Twelve Sleep County plates.

“There’s his car,” Nate said.

“There’s someone in it,” Liv said as they got closer to the Suburban. “It looks like a woman. Probably his wife.”

Liv parked on the right side of the barn and waved toward the woman in the SUV. The woman, who looked stout and immobile, waved back.

“So do we get the birds out?” Liv asked Nate.

“Not yet,” he said. “First I need to scout out the place. I need to see how many problem birds there are inside and where they’re nesting. I probably won’t put the falcons up tonight as it is. I don’t want them flying around in the dark in unfamiliar terrain. I’d rather release them in the morning when we know what we’ve got here.”

“You’re the falconer,” she said cheerfully. “I’m the businessperson. While you’re looking things over inside, I’ll go talk to our client over there and ask her to sign a contract. We agreed to seven hundred and fifty dollars per day with a maximum of three days, unless there are still starlings around. If that’s the case, they’ll only pay us two hundred and fifty dollars for two more days until all the problem birds are gone. If it goes beyond five days, it’s gratis.”

“Oh, they’ll be gone,” Nate said with a cruel smile.

He turned in his seat and found a long Maglite flashlight to take into the barn with him.

“Meet you back here in a minute,” he said to Liv.

—

LIV SHOULDERED on a light rain jacket, looped her violet scarf around her neck, and, grabbing her clipboard, approached the old Suburban. The bulky woman in the passenger seat watched her with hooded eyes. She looked like a tough old ranch wife, Liv thought.

The woman rolled down her rain-beaded window and arched her eyebrows as if to say, What?

“Hello. I’m Liv from Yarak, Inc. Are you Mrs. Wells? The one who sent me the email that you needed some falconry services done?”

The woman nodded. She seemed placid and stoic. There was no smile. Her eyes seemed intelligent, though.

“I didn’t realize there would be two of you,” the woman said.

“We cover our own expenses and accommodations and such,” Liv told her. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

The woman tipped her head back slightly in a way that indicated Liv’s answer hadn’t addressed her statement. She said, “My husband is in the barn. That’s where the birds are.”

Liv looked over her shoulder to see Nate pause at the open barn door, test the flashlight, and walk inside.

“Well,” Liv said. “Do you want to look over the agreement before you sign it?”

“We always do that,” the woman said. “But this is my husband’s deal. He’s the one with the key to the gate. He watches over the place in the winter when the owners are away. I’m just along for the ride.”

Liv said, “So should I go inside and find him?”

“In a minute,” the woman said. “Let’s let your guy talk with him first. Let them get their business out of the way.”

Liv was slightly puzzled. The woman wore a plastic rain bonnet to cover her hair and an old dark green coat. Liv knew style, and guessed the coat may have been fashionable in the mid-sixties.

Liv said uncomfortably, “Well, we’ll have to get these contracts signed before any work can be done.”