“You still make my knees weak, and I still want your hands on me. But that’s all I’m sure of.”

“That’s a start.”

“I have to get back.”

“You’ve got color in your cheeks, and you don’t look so tired now.”

“Well, yippee. That doesn’t mean I’m not pissed off at the way you got me out here.” She mounted her horse. “I’m pissed off at you in so many ways right now, on so many levels.”

He studied her face as he swung into the saddle. “We never fought all that much the first time around. Too young and horny.”

“No, we didn’t fight so much because you weren’t such an ass**le.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“You’re probably right. You were probably just as much of an ass**le back then.”

“You liked flowers. You always liked it when we’d go hiking or riding and the wildflowers were blooming. I’ll have to get you some flowers.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll make everything just fine.” Her tone was as brittle as juniper in a drought. “I’m not one of your city women who can be bought off with a bunch of fancy roses.”

“You don’t know anything about my city women. Which probably sticks in your craw.”

“Why should it? I’ve had plenty of men… bring me flowers since you.”

“Okay, point for you on that.”

“This isn’t a game, or a joke, or a competition.”

“No.” But she was talking to him, and he considered that a check in the win column. “At this point, I have to believe it’s just destiny. I worked pretty hard on my life without you. And here I am, right back where I started.”

She said nothing while their horses waded through the high grass and back to the trailhead.

He waited until they’d loaded the horses, secured the tailgate. Behind the wheel, he started the engine and glanced at her profile. “I brought some of my things over. I’m going to be staying there, at least until they have Howe in custody. I’m going to bring some other things over tomorrow. I need a drawer, some closet space.”

“You can have a drawer and the closet space. Just don’t assume it means anything but that I’m willing to make it convenient for you, as I’m grateful for your help.”

“And you like the sex.”

“And I like the sex,” she said, very coolly.

“I’ll need to do some work while I’m staying at the cabin. If using the kitchen table doesn’t work for you, I need somewhere else to set up my laptop.”

“You can use the living room.”

“All right.”

“Are you not mentioning how James Tyler was killed because you think I can’t handle it?”

“There were other things I wanted to talk about.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“No, but it’s wearing on you. They’ll have to wait for the autopsy, but from what Willy said, his throat was slit. He was stripped down to his pants and boots-so I figure his killer thought he could use the shirt and jacket, the cap he’d been wearing. His watch, his wallet. He probably destroyed the cell phone, or Tyler lost it along the way. The killer must have had the cord he used on him. He weighed the body down with rocks. Went to some time and trouble to get it in the river, in that spot, secure it. But the rain shifted things enough to bring it up to the point Gull spotted it.”

“He’s probably disposed of other bodies with more luck.”

“Yeah, that would be my take.”

“So if he’s the one who killed Molly Pickens, he wasn’t dead or in prison like you thought, or not in prison for the length of time you thought. He’s just been mixing it up. Leaving some bodies for the animals, bodies that can be found or have been found. Hiding others.”

“That’s the way it looks.”

She nodded slowly, the way he knew she did when she was reasoning something out. “And killers who do this, serial types, who troll and travel, who know how to hide and blend, who have some measure of control, they aren’t always caught.”

“You’ve been reading up.”

“It’s what I do when I need information. They end up with creative names-and maybe a feature film. Zodiac, Green River. Still, they usually need to taunt the police, or use the media. He doesn’t.”

“It’s not about glory or acknowledgment. It’s about the work. It’s personal, and he gets his satisfaction from that. Every kill is proof he’s better than the victim. Better than his father. He’s proving something. I know what that’s like.”

“Did you become a cop to be a hero, Coop?”

His lips curved. “In the beginning? Yeah, probably. I was completely out of place during my short stint in college. Not just trying to find my place, but out of it. The only things I learned about the law were-I didn’t want to be a lawyer, but the law itself was fascinating. So, law enforcement.”

“Fighting crime in the urban canyons.”

“I loved New York. Still do,” he said easily. “And sure, I imagined I’d be hunting down bad guys, protecting the populace. I found out, fast, I’d be standing around a lot, sitting around, knocking on doors and doing paperwork. There’s so much tedium in proportion to moments of absolute terror. I learned to be patient. I learned how to wait, and what it means to protect and serve. Then on 9/11, everything shifted.”

She reached out, laid a hand over his, lightly, briefly. But it was all there in the touch. Comfort, sympathy, understanding. “We were all terrified until we knew you were safe.”

“I wasn’t on the roll that day. By the time I got down there, the second tower was gone. You just did what you had to, what you could.”

“I was in class when we heard a plane had hit one of the towers. Nobody knew, not at first, what was happening. And then… everything stopped. There was nothing else but that.”

He shook his head, because if he let them, the pictures would form in his mind again, of what he’d seen and done, and hadn’t been able to do.

“I knew some of the cops who went in, some of the firefighters. People I’d worked with, or hung out with, played ball with. Gone. After that, I never thought I’d leave the job. It was like a mission then. My people, my city. But when Dory was killed, it switched off for me. Just like somebody cut the wire. I couldn’t do it anymore. Losing that was the worst thing in my life next to losing you.”