“Holly, those men broke into Nathan’s home in the middle of the night with the intent to kill or capture both of you. It was them or you. What you’re feeling? It’s normal. It’s gonna take some time, but you’ll get through this. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s take care of that arm. I’ll bet it hurts.”

She looked for Nathan, but he’d already been wheeled inside.

“He’ll be okay.”

“The gunfight,” she said slowly.

“What about it?”

“I wasn’t afraid. I knew Nathan would protect me.”

“He has that effect. Did you guys use the hiding place in the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got one too. Big enough to hold my entire family. Come on, let’s get your arm stitched up.”

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Alone in the dark. The way Montez liked it. The darkness felt warm, like an embrace from an old friend. He stood up from the sofa and stepped out to the deck. After firing up a Cohiba, he leaned his head back and let the smoke meander out of his mouth. He liked this cabin. Liked its view of Bass Lake and its proximity to Yosemite National Park. Yosemite held a special place in his heart. He liked its waterfalls and towering granite walls. He found the park beautiful and fascinating—maybe he’d purchase property here someday, maybe even this cabin.

Arturo’s surveillance in Bullfrog Bay had yielded positive results. He congratulated himself for having the foresight to leave someone behind to watch the old fool’s houseboat. It had been too risky to clean up the site of Kramer’s interrogation, but worthwhile leaving a set of eyes and ears for any follow-up snoops. And sure enough, an FBI agent and a couple of hard-looking thugs had poked their noses into things. The tail numbers of the helicopter led to a company in San Diego called First Security, Inc. The owners of record were Nathan McBride and Harvey Fontana. Getting home addresses had proven to be a problem. There were no public records on either of them. Nothing. His right-hand man, Arturo, had suggested pursuing the airport angle, specifically the leased hangar where the helicopter was kept at Montgomery Field. Arturo’s insight had been brilliant. A late-night burglary yielded a file containing pay dirt: A credit application, complete with personal information that included a residential address for someone named Nathan McBride.