BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:25 P.M.

Score watched the deputy park at the end of a row of rickety cottages whose doors opened onto the dried, rocky area surrounding an equally dry swimming pool. The pale, curving body of the pool was pocked by dark holes where tiles had fallen out. The dying light gave the cement a creamy glow.

“Alert the ops in the barn,” Score called over his shoulder.

A voice from another room called, “Yo.”

Score watched the deputy go to the Escalade and circle his finger, silently telling the Breck woman to lower her window. Her words carried clearly from the bug to the headset he wore.

“I don’t like this, Mary,” Jill said. “It looks deserted. And the deputy wants me to roll down the window.”

“Your call.”

“I wish.”

Score grinned. He knew it was his call all the way.

The deputy was a middle-aged man with buzz-cut hair beneath his uniform hat. He hitched his utility belt up over his belly, leaned in, and spoke through the partially open window.

“The man you wanted to meet is in the fourth cottage down the row,” the deputy said, pointing.

“Who’s with him?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I was told to bring you here. I’ve done it. That’s all I know.”

“That’s right, you dumb putz,” Score said in a low voice. “Now go back and sit in your car until we call and tell you to arrest Ms. Breck on extortion charges.”

The deputy got in his car, made a U-turn, and sped back down the gravel road to the highway.

“What the hell?” Score said. “Dumb as a brick. Can’t remember even simple orders.” He hissed through his teeth. When the time came, he could get the deputy back here quick.

Through the partly open window, a surge of wind shifted dust into the Escalade.

“C’mon, babe,” Score said in a low voice, pulling a black ski mask over his face. “Come and get it.”