Banks chuckled. “Before they married, Wolf Patterson used to accuse Sara Brandon of having flying monkeys.”

“Do they live in San Antonio?” Clancey asked as they got out of the SUV.

“They alternate between his Jacobs County ranch and the Wyoming ranch Sara owns jointly with her brother, Gabriel,” he said. “He used to be with the FBI, but most recently, he was a merc.”

“A who?” she asked, dashing for the awning with her little brother and Banks before the rain soaked her jacket.

“A merc. A professional soldier,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “That’s like a sell sword in Game of Thrones, right?”

His eyebrows arched. “You watch it?”

She flushed. “Oh no. I just got the books from the library and read them. One of my coworkers watched it on cable and said it was really, well, explicit. I couldn’t watch a show like that with Tad around,” she added. Plus, she couldn’t afford anything except basic cable. No pay-per-view channels at all, but she wasn’t telling him that.

He pursed his lips. He was a fan of the series as well, but he understood what she was saying. The language and adult situations in the television program were not suitable for a small boy.

“We can’t afford cable anyway, though, so it doesn’t matter,” Tad laughed, while Clancey cringed inside at the blow to her pride. “We watch movies on this old DVD player we have. Granddaddy loved movies. He had almost every Western movie ever made.”

Clancey gave him a look that silenced him abruptly. “We don’t watch much television anyway,” she said.

“She used to practice all the time,” Tad sighed. “Not so much lately.”

“Practice what?” Banks asked as he opened the door for them.

“Guitar,” Tad said. “She plays guitar.”

“Well,” Banks said softly as she passed him.

She didn’t look up. If she had, she’d have seen a whimsical smile on his chiseled mouth.

“This is so good!” Tad said, closing his eyes as he munched on an enchilada.

“Yes, it is.” Banks sipped the strong, cinnamon-flavored coffee the restaurant was famous for.

“I’ve never tasted coffee like this,” Clancey said, sipping it with obvious enjoyment.

“They make it like this in Mexico,” he told her with a smile. “I was on a case there early this year. I had to fly down to Cancun.”

“I’ve read about it,” Clancey told him. “They have books on it with beautiful color prints.” Her expression was dreamy. “It must be a fascinating place, with all the ruins.”

“It is. I made time to walk around Chichen Itza. It’s one of the oldest Mayan ruins. The ball court and the pyramid are still standing after all the centuries, including an observatory.”

She nodded. “They were a brilliant civilization, before they disappeared. Nobody seems to know why they vanished.”