Slouched in the half-light, bearded, with a sky-blue trucker cap pulled low and his face fixed in a dopey, roamed-out expression, he almost fooled me. But there was no mistaking that gaze, the way it sharpened so slowly I used to think he was half-awake. And there was no mistaking the swift, dexterous way he moved. My chest started ramming so hard it hurt. Before I could step forward, he pushed back from the bar and vanished around the corner, out of sight.

I hadn’t seen Ray Hendricks since the L.A. hospital room where he told me to lie to the police about an attempt on my life. In the months that had passed since, he’d made no contact with me except for one letter, and I’d assumed he had gone back to North Carolina. From time to time, I searched his name online, but if he’d returned to his special agent job busting meth labs in the Appalachian Mountains, the media was not reporting it. What was he doing in Wonder Valley? Seeing him summoned a wave of memories: Ray at my museum’s press conference, handing me my butterfly earring; Ray at the bar, grimly telling me Kim Lord was dead; Ray leaping into a pit of broken glass to rescue me; Ray’s bandaged hand on mine in the hospital room. How many times had I turned those memories over in my mind, wanting to believe they had meant something? And yet here he was now, in the flesh, walking away without the slightest acknowledgment. My recollections seemed oversize and ludicrous.

After several people pushed past me, dazed and motionless, I slipped outside to compose myself. As soon as I passed through the door, a hand grabbed my wrist and tugged me along the rough adobe wall, into the dark. I knew it was Ray before I saw his low cap and beard. But still his appearance shocked me. Sculpted by shadows, his face looked hawk-like, predatory. He also looked—strangely—afraid.

“Janis and Dee can’t make it tonight,” he said quietly, still holding my wrist. “But your room is booked, and I can get you a cab there—”

“Why couldn’t they come?” I said. “Why are you here?”

Ray jerked his head toward the giant projection, which was flickering to black. The screening was about to begin. “I’ll explain later.” He paused. “You don’t know me tonight, though, okay? I’ll find you. Don’t look for me.”

I’d missed Ray’s voice, the mellowing timbre that inflected his words. But I didn’t want him to see that. I wasn’t there for him.

“I won’t.” I pulled at my trapped wrist, and Ray stared at it, as if he didn’t know it was in his grip. His thumb gently stroked my inner arm, then he let go and strode away, adjusting his cap.