There was no hurry. Eddy wasn’t going anywhere for a while, and those five dead men would keep. After a long, hot shower, before drifting off to sleep, Amé had said they’d start getting the forensic returns soon. Maybe sooner than expected, since one of the DPS techs who’d come out to the canyon was the same one who’d taught a class at that training in Austin. His name had been Ron, Don, something like that, and he’d clearly remembered Amé. That didn’t surprise Danny, since she was pretty damn memorable, after all.

Before getting called back to town to deal with that clusterfuck at Mancha’s, Danny had been at the trailer long enough to watch Ron or Don follow Amé all around. Danny had recognized that look, the way he watched her. The way he asked questions he knew the answers to just to hear her talk. Danny knew all about that, too.

Been there, done that. He just hoped that with all his fumbling around, Ron or Don actually got some real work done, more than what he’d discovered with the radios, though Danny had to give him credit for that. The issue with the radios was going to be a long conversation with Eddy and his court-appointed lawyer, Santino Paez. A very long conversation.

Danny wondered if Ron or Don found the time to ask her out when they were pulling the bodies out of the river.

Danny put the cool beer against his forehead, caught a glance of his shirtless torso in the small apartment’s even smaller window. They weren’t visible in the ghostly image reflected in the glass, but the wounds he’d received out at the Murfee Lights were still there: pale crosses on his skin. Wounds he got the night Ben Harper had died, and he and Amé had carried his body out of the desert.

In the moments before he was killed, Ben had given Amé his old Saint Michael pendant—Michael was the patron saint of cops—and she still wore it, every day. He never saw her without it. Danny had his scars from that night, and she had that necklace.