Gage settled back in the driver’s seat. “We met while I was in Guatemala. A family named Castro hired me to find some heirlooms that had disappeared during the colonial period. One of the locals recommended Mateo as a guide. The man knows his way around the natural world like no one I’ve ever seen. Desert. Jungle. Doesn’t matter. It’s like he seamlessly just blends in.”

“Where does he live?”

“Mateo moves around, works wherever he’s needed. We’ve become friends over the years. If I call him, he comes.”

“What exactly does he do for you?”

“He runs the day-to-day operations of the expedition, works with the outfitter, helps him choose a campsite each night, then helps get the camp set up. He’s the most remarkable tracker I’ve ever seen, and he’s got an unbelievable ability to ferret out information from the locals.”

“So basically he takes care of whatever needs to be done.”

“That’s right. Anything that comes up, Mateo handles. You might say he watches my back.” Gage pulled into the parking lot of the big sporting goods store.

“You’ll need a rain slicker and some good above-the-ankle hiking boots,” he said. “Make sure you have a warm jacket, preferably a lightweight puffy style that takes up minimal space. The nights still get cold.”

She nodded. “I live in Denver. I have the jacket I need, and I’ve got a good pair of hiking boots. I do need a slicker, heavy socks, a couple of other things.”

Twenty minutes later, Gage smiled at the armload of purchases Abby hauled up to the counter. He helped her carry the shopping bags out to the car; then they headed for the ranch in the desert foothills near Lost Dutchman State Park.

The ranch was a little over ten miles out of town. Even in March, it was warm, the sky a pure cobalt blue above the arid desert landscape. Thorny mesquite trees and miles of greasewood pushed up through sandy soil. An array of saguaro cactus added interest to what should have been a monotonous vista but instead was strangely compelling.

Eventually, the road narrowed to a two-lane that swelled and dipped over the uneven land as it left civilization behind.

“I’ve only been to the desert once,” Abby said. “When I was in college, I went with some friends to the Grand Canyon. This part of Arizona is lower and drier. But in a different way, it’s beautiful.”

Exactly what Gage had been thinking. “It is. Beautiful but deadly.”

Abby flicked him a glance but made no reply.

Then, in the distance, there it was, rising like a medieval fortress from the flat, seemingly endless desert surrounding it.

“There it is!” Abby pointed excitedly, as if he didn’t notice the forbidding cliffs that rose hundreds of feet into the air, a monolith that captured the eye and refused to let go. “Superstition Mountain.”