“And shrivel up again the moment they’ve managed to rake in as much federal funding as they can,” she said, nodding.

“There’s a homeless problem but then there’s a homeless problem everywhere you look, in Alaska and Outside.”

“And a drug trade, mostly homegrown meth, that is increasing by leaps and bounds. Barton’s not wrong about that. Sometimes I think Walter White didn’t die after all; he just moved north.” She saw his blank expression and sighed. “Right, no streaming in Newenham. Well, Sergeant Campbell, my recommendation to you is that you spend the next few weeks driving around your new command.” She hesitated and he tried to look mild and uninquiring because it was always after those kinds of pauses that the authority figures gave you the good stuff. “I would especially recommend that you familiarize yourself with just where the boundaries of city and state meet.” She met his eyes steadily. “The local police chief can be touchy about jurisdiction.”

“Can he,” Liam said thoughtfully, and in an excess of diplomacy decided not to mention the mediocre burgers and even more lukewarm reception he’d received at lunch.

She tossed her empty cup in the trash can, where it banked off the rim and fell neatly inside. “You find a place to live yet?”

“My wife and I bought a house up on the bluff. Used to belong to Jeff Ninkasi.”

She nodded. “Good people, Jeff, and he brews good beer. Nice house, too.” She sat back. “Well, thanks for coming in, Sergeant, I appreciate the courtesy.”

“Ms. Petroff informed me that I probably didn’t want to meet you for the first time in court.”

“Sally Petroff? She’s working for you?”

“Colonel Barton hired her and had her in place before I got here.”

“She good people, too, and she’s local, which should help.”

“What I thought.” He stood up, holding his trooper ball cap by the bill. “I asked her if either of her parents had been in the military.”

The judge laughed.

Liam pulled into the driveway of the house on the edge of the Blewestown bluff already with a sense of homecoming. And then he walked in the front door and saw Jo. “Oh,” he said.

“How was your day, dear?” she said, so sweetly that one could barely feel the acid drip-drip-dropping onto the skin. “Have a good time driving around in that penis extender of yours?”

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the Jeep Cherokee Chief looming over the driveway. “You should talk.”

Wy’s laugh was husky and delicious as always, and for just a moment he was content just to look at her, smiling up at him from the couch, her bronze mane coming loose from its thick braid to form little curls around her face, her brown eyes warm and inviting, her cheeks a little flushed from the half-empty glass of red wine in her hand. If every day of his life ended with him walking in the door and seeing her like this he would die a happy man.