“Do you want to swing by the office to pick up your car?” Larabee asked.

“Take me home.”

That was the extent of the conversation.

An hour later Larabee deposited me beside my patio.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Of course. I have no life.

I got out and slammed the door.

The kitchen was dark.

Lights in the study?

I tiptoed to the side of the annex and peeked around the corner.

Dark.

Upstairs?

Ditto.

“Good,” I mumbled, feeling stupid. “I hope he’s not here.”

I let myself into the kitchen.

“Hel o?”

Not a sound.

“Bird?”

No cat.

Dumping my pack on the floor, I unlaced and pul ed off my boots, then opened the door and set them outside.

“Birdie?”

Nope.

I walked to the study and flipped the wal switch.

And felt my mouth open in dismay.

I was filthy, exhausted, and light-years past niceness.

“What the hel areyoudoing here?”

7

RYAN OPENED ONE VERY BLUE EYE.

“Is that al you ever say to me?”

“I’m talking to him.”

I pointed a sooty finger at Boyd.

The dog was flopped at one end of the couch, paws dangling over the edge. Ryan lay propped at the other end, legs extended, ankles crossed on top of the chow.

Neither wore shoes.

On hearing my voice Boyd sat bolt upright.

I moved the finger.

Boyd slunk to the floor. Ryan’s size-twelves dropped to the cushion.

“Furniture infraction?” Both blue eyes were open now.

“I take it you found the key?”

“No problemo.”

“How did chowbreath get here, and why did he permit you to just waltz in?”

Boyd and Ryan looked at each other.

“I’ve been cal ing him Hooch. Saw it in a movie. Thought it fit him.”

Boyd’s ears shot up.

“Who letHoochin, and why did Hooch let you in?”

“Hooch remembers me from the TransSouth disaster up inBrysonCity .”

I’d forgotten. When his partner was kil ed transporting a prisoner fromGeorgia toMontreal , Ryan had been invited to help the NTSB with the crash investigation. He and Boyd had met at that time, in theCarolina mountains.

“How didHoochget in here?”

“Your daughter brought him.”

Boyd wedged his snout under Ryan’s hand.

“Nice kid.”

Nice ambush, I thought, fighting back a smile. Katy figured a guest couldn’t refuse the dog.

“Nice dog.”

Ryan scratched Boyd behind the ears, swiveled his feet to the floor, and gave me a once-over. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Nice look.”

My clothes were filthy, my nails caked with mud and soot. My hair was sweaty-wet and matted, my cheeks fiery from a zil ion insect bites. I smel ed of corn, airplane fuel, and charred flesh.

How would my sister Harry describe me? Rode hard and put away wet.

But I was not in the mood for a fashion critique.