“Should we follow him?”

“I had the same thought. We’ll wait like he said, but closer.”

They made their way to the humped top of the ridge, keeping their heads down. Ginny’s heart pounded furiously. Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking so violently she knew she would never be able to fire the pistol she wore on her hip like a gunslinger. Belly down, they stretched out to peer down into the arroyo.

Sun-bleached ruins lifted white walls to the sky. An ancient people had built this structure, most of it having long ago tumbled to the ground, but there were still rock walls tucked beneath the overhang of a huge cliff. Clumps of cottonwood trees shaded a small seep, water trickling over rock.

Evidence of habitation was everywhere. Faded blankets hung over gaping windows, and the smoke of a fire curled up from inside one of the buildings. Two men stood guard, their rifles held at the ready.

Steve crossed the arroyo in long, loose strides, casting a short shadow with the sun overhead. Relentless heat shimmered around him, rose in blurred waves from the parched earth. Ginny held her breath as he drew near the guards.

Clearly they had not expected him to walk in so boldly. They glanced uncertainly at each other. They had the flat, broad faces of mestizos, Mexicans with Indian blood.

There was no sign of the children, or of William Brandon. It was eerily quiet.

Beside her, light glinted off Paco’s drawn pistol, the blue-gray of his .45 a deadly gleam. She drew her weapon as well, rather clumsily, her hand shaking as she propped it atop gritty rock, holding the butt with both hands.

“Is that how he taught you to hold a gun?” Paco asked softly, amusement evident in his tone.

Ginny shook her head. “No. But it’s how I’m holding it today.”

Below, Steve was speaking with the guards, and after a moment, they stepped aside. What on earth had he said to convince them to allow him to enter?

Paco was frowning. “They didn’t take his guns. I don’t like this.”

“Maybe they know he won’t start shooting recklessly with the children nearby.”

“Or maybe—”

A sound behind them made the hair stand up on the back of Ginny’s neck, and she heard the unmistakable click of a cartridge being pumped into a rifle chamber.

Paco swore under his breath as a voice said, “Please be so good as to lay down your weapons, amigos.”

45

The sun had begun to slide downward, a great orange ball of fire blazing a vivid trail of yellow and rose above the rocky walls of the arroyo. It was cooler now, the shadows long and deep, reaching into the ruins.