As everyone rose, she moved to where she could walk out between Guzman and Zappa. “Hey, guys.” Now, how to phrase this? “It sounded like you’re both hunters, and since I have you here, I had a question. I heard the best hunting is at night, but don’t you get lost? I mean, there’s night vision goggles, but still, don’t you get turned around if you’re following a trail?”

Zappa beamed at her as they walked down the stairs. “That’s a righteous question. I lost my way a couple of times getting to my stand.”

“You can get lost on your way to the outhouse,” Guzman stated and held the door for her.

Zappa drew himself up in insult. “Dude.”

At the sight of the rain, they all stepped under the shelter of the overhang.

“There are ways to mark a trail—or…the path to a kill so it’s easy to find the way back,” Guzman said.

A kill. Ew. Personally, she’d rather think of her meat as dropping into the grocery store all prepackaged. “I thought there must be a way, but it seemed like going around and spraying trees with fluorescent paint wasn’t a good thing, especially if you’re hunting on someone else’s land.”

Zappa had the cutest laugh, a heheheheh sound. “You’d be right. But there are ways.”

“There’s chalk—even reflective chalk which will wash away within a day or so.” Guzman pulled at his beard. “I like reflective tacks. Or…if it’s somewhere I prefer to keep hidden, I use a clear reflective trail marking spray. Can’t be seen in the daytime.”

Clear? Now that had possibilities. She smiled at them. “I knew there must be a way. Thank you.” She smiled at them. “I might have to use one to find my picnic table in the dark, huh?”

As they laughed, she waved and dashed to her car.

One trip to the sporting goods store coming up in the morning.

Chapter Fourteen

Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Keep this in mind; it may offer a way to make him your friend. If not, you can kill him without hate—and quickly. ~ Robert A. Heinlein

Bull could hear the hum of the refrigeration units as he gave the counter surfaces the old “white glove” treatment. Not a trace of grease or dirt. Good work, cleaning crew. Might be time to hand out some bonuses.

The sound of gravel crunching and a car engine came from the rear parking lot. The little New Yorker was here.

The anticipation of seeing her made his temperature rise and muscles tense, rather like hearing a call to arms.