“I cal ed around eight last night.”
“I was out.” And too busy getting nooky to check my voice mail.
“I couldn’t score a dog to save my life. Your chow zeroed in on those bear bones, so I figure he must have a nose for rot. Thought maybe you could bring him along today.”
The protrusion was growing, severely hampering my ability to concentrate.
“Boyd’s not cadaver trained.”
“Better than nothing.”
Larabee had never met Boyd.
“By the way, Sheila Jansen got a match on the Cessna pilot.”
I sat up, raised my knees, and pul ed the quilt to my chin.
“That was quick.”
“Harvey Edward Pearce.”
“Dentals?”
“Plus the snake tattoo. Harvey Pearce is a thirty-eight-year-old white male from Columbia, North Carolina, out near the Outer Banks. Popped right up on the NCIC search.”
“Pearce’s only been dead since Sunday. Why were his identifiers in the system?”
“Seems Harvey’s ex wasn’t real patient about child support. Hubby skipped a payment, the little woman reported him missing.”
“And Harvey missed a few.”
“You’ve got it. Eventual y the locals got wise to the bogus missing person reports, but not before Harvey’s personal stats were wel known to the law.” Ryan tried to draw me back to him. I pointed a finger and scrunched my face into an exaggerated frown, as I would with Boyd.
“Where exactly is Columbia?”
“About half an hour west of Manteo on US 64.”
“Dare County?”
“Tyrrel County. See you in an hour at the farm. Bring the dog.”
Clicking off, I faced the first problem of the day.
I could bolt from the room naked. Or I could take the quilt, leaving Ryan to fend for himself.
I was opting for a bare-ass sprint when Ryan’s arm snaked around my waist. I looked down at him.
His eyes were fixed on my face. Amazing eyes. In the pale gray of dawn they looked almost cobalt.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?” Tentative.
“I respect you with my whole heart and my whole soul, ma’am.” Somber as an evangelical preacher.
“I respect you with my whole heart and my whole soul, ma’am.” Somber as an evangelical preacher.
I drummed my fingers on his chest. “You’re not half bad yourself, cowboy.”
We shared a laugh.
Ryan tipped his head at the phone. “Sheriff rounding up a posse?”
I lowered my voice, CIA style. “If I told you that, I might have to kil you.”
Ryan nodded knowingly.
“Could you and the boys use an extra hand?”
“Seems we could. But they’ve only requested Boyd.”
He feigned disappointment. Then, “Could you put in a word, ma’am?”
I finger-drummed his chest again.
“Have you other talents, gunslinger?”
“This boy can shoot straight as a yard of pump water.”
Where did he get this stuff?
“But are you good at recovery?”
Ryan lifted the quilt.
I took a peek. Oh, yeah.
“I’l see what I can do.”