Date: October 24, 1951

  The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Bayshore Grocery and Spirits parking lot as Mickey settled into the driver’s seat of the Super Deluxe.

  She set the six-pack of Schlitz on the passenger seat and rubbed her temples. Her brain felt like someone had wrung it out and nailed it to the wall. Why was the deputy tampering with reports? Intimidating witnesses?

  The obvious answer: Someone ordered him to.

  The Burnams had seen, or in this case heard, something important.

  She sighed, picking up the case folder, already worn thin from constant handling. Each disappearance had occurred weeks apart, with too many similarities to be coincidence.

  All three women had gone missing within a few miles of each other, near East Palo Alto’s pseudo red-light district—Whiskey Gulch.

  With its raucous dance halls, cheap saloons, and countless liquor stores, it was the go-to spot for Palo Alto’s vice-seekers. A perfect hunting ground.

  Investigators discovered little evidence at any of the scenes, but there were signs of abrupt departure—a shoe left behind at one, an engraved lighter at another, a spilled bag of groceries at the last.

  Were these women targeted specifically? Or was it simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  Mickey glanced at the parking lot, trying to imagine the night of Rose Buffet’s abduction. If it was as foggy as the Burnams claimed, the two dim security lights wouldn’t have done much to pierce the gloom.

  What are the chances of a random predator seeing Rose through the murk and impulsively deciding to snatch her?

  Slim.

  No. Someone had targeted Rose. But why? Was it as simple as being a woman who lived alone? Or was there more to it?

  While all three women had been alone when taken, the other two had lived with roommates or family.

  So what was the connection? Was there one?

  A shiver crept down her spine as another thought forced its way into her already crowded mind. The first two women had vanished within weeks of each other. But Rose had been gone over six.

  Was she too late? Had the quarry already moved on?

  She was about to reopen the folder when movement across the street caught her eye.

  The store sat near University Avenue, a busy thoroughfare cutting through Whiskey Gulch. Evening traffic crawled past, but it wasn’t the cars that caught her attention.

  A large dog sat across the road, silhouetted by the setting sun, positioned so she had to squint to make out any detail.

  Mickey blinked.

  It wasn’t a dog. It was a coyote.

  She’d hunted enough of them with her uncles back on the reservation to recognize the classic mix of tan, gray, and black fur. But this one was different. For one, it was huge, and despite the distance, she could see its striking greenish-gold eyes.

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  And it was staring right at her.

  The creature sat perfectly still, its gaze unnervingly intelligent.

  Then it tilted its head curiously, and its body began to shimmer with silver light. The glow intensified, dazzling her until she had to blink.

  When she opened her eyes—

  The animal was gone.

  She scanned the street, but the coyote was nowhere to be seen, as if it had never been there at all.

  The shifting car cut short her search as Bullet said, “Heya, boss.”

  “Did you see that?” she asked.

  “Uh… maybe? Which ‘that’ are you talkin’ about?”

  “The coyote.”

  “Coyote?”

  “Yeah, the coyote. Across the road.”

  “Uh,” he said, confused. “Is this another one of those weird metaphors? Like the one about the chicken?”

  Mickey rubbed the spot between her eyes. “Never mind.”

  “You got it, boss,” he chirped. “What’s new?”

  “Sounds like our bad guys were riding motorcycles.”

  “Oh good! I’ve already seen a bunch of those. There’s a thousand in this county alone.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s better than hundreds of thousands,” she muttered, tapping the steering wheel with the folder. “Damn it. Grady was right. This whole thing stinks.”

  “It ain’t me this time,” Bullet said defensively. “I learned my lesson after the last time you made such a fuss about…”

  “No,” she cut in. “Not you. The case. Something’s going on here.”

  “Oh yeah, sure, of course… Uh, whaddaya mean?”

  Mickey rolled her eyes.

  “For one, the bounty’s set at a measly hundred and fifty bucks. That’s laughably low for a case like this. It wouldn’t attract even middle-tier hunters, let alone anyone worth a damn. You know what that means?”

  “That you’re not worth a damn?”

  “What? No! It means, Bullet, that either the county’s broke—which five minutes of driving through town will show it clearly is not—or they don’t want any hunters worth their salt on this contract.”

  “Ah,” Bullet said. “But you are worth the salt.”

  Mickey smiled. “Damn right. That’s why I took the case.”

  “Because you’re the saltiest!”

  Mickey sighed again.

  “Hey boss?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If this case pays so little, why’d you take it?”

  Mickey shrugged. She’d been asking herself the same thing. With Julian and the Lament pressuring her about late payments, she lacked time for low-reward cases. She was two months overdue.

  “It was supposed to be quick.”

  “But it hasn’t been.”

  “No.”

  “Which is bad.”

  “Yep.”

  “But you’ve got a lead now. And that’s good.”

  Mickey nodded. “Right.” She glanced at the empty back seat. “Speaking of leads, our young deputy Pomponio’s been strong-arming people to keep quiet. How’ve you been following him this whole time and not noticed?”

  “Sorry, boss, but I haven’t seen him do anything to anyone’s arms.”

  Mickey fought the urge to throw something into the back.

  “No, I mean he threatened the Burnams to keep them from answering questions.”

  “Oh… well, I told you he stopped here the other day.”

  Mickey arched a brow. “You did?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, defensive. “I told you he got groceries! How was I supposed to know he was arm-stronging people while he was at it?”

  Mickey rubbed her face. Bullet was great at what he did, but he was still young, and nuance wasn’t his area of expertise.

  “You’re right, Bullet. That is my fault,” she said. “Though now that we know, I’d bet if we checked every place I’ve been, we’d find similar stories.”

  “Hey… you think? But then how’d you find out about it?”

  Mickey nodded, patting the forged FBI credentials in her pocket.

  “FBI trumps local cop,” she said, stifling a yawn. “So, what else was the young deputy up to—other than making my life more difficult than it had to be?”

  “Oh you know, not much. Regular cop stuff,” Bullet reported. “Wrote some tickets, talked to people, ate something, stopped at his sex roost, pretty normal. Can we get something to eat?”

  Mickey, halfway through opening the case file, froze.

  “Sex roost?”

  “Yeah, you know, that place for all the sex.”

  “Bullet, I—” She paused as realization dawned. “You mean a love nest?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it! Though, from what I’ve seen, there ain’t all that much love goin’ on in those places.”

  Mickey closed her eyes for a beat, then reopened them with forced calm. “You were saying, Bullet?”

  “Oh, right. He’d been in there a while, and I was getting hungry, so…”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  “Wait. He’s still there?”

  “How should I know? I’m here with you. Can we get something to eat now?”

  “Bullet, focus. Can you show me where this ‘love nest’ is?”

  “…The what?”

  Mickey tried counting to ten. She made it to four.

  “The sex roost,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh! Sure thing!”

  She sighed and started the car.

  “Okay. Show me.”

  “Hey, boss?”

  “Yes, Bullet?”

  “…Can we get something to eat first?”