Page 72 of What Doesn't Kill Her

“Yeah. A good thing.” Max allowed all his cynicism to leak into his voice. “Let’s call the national park rangers and put them on the case. This is a crime scene!”

“Great idea. Which of us do you think they’ll arrest first?”

Max remembered his encounter with the rangers, and his unease must have shown, for Zone said, “Exactly. They don’t love me, either, and I have no desire to spend a month in custody trying to explain how some murdering sons-a-bitches climbed up my mountain and shot up the place and got offed by Kellen Adams, who is going to spend more than a month in custody, and God only knows what truthful thing your daughter would say that would send us all to prison.”

“Never mind. We’ll, um, handle it somehow.” Max had never in his life been afraid of the officials and their calls, but he was afraid now.

“I handle everything alone. Learned that the hard way.” Zone didn’t look satisfied at Max’s capitulation; he looked angry. “I can get right to work on figuring out whether that head is the real thing or a great forgery.”

“You should do that.”

“You can go sleep in the recliner. It’s lumpy, but comfortable if you’re tired enough.”

“I’ll do that.”

Zone started to walk toward the double doors that led to his workshop. Halfway there, he stopped, turned and looked at Max. “You think something stinks about this whole operation.”

Max hadn’t moved. “Don’t you?”

Zone asked the question that was haunting Max. “Why did they leave that potentially priceless piece of history sitting on a rock for you to pick up?”

“Exactly. Why?”

28

A punch to the ribs made Kellen grunt and wake. Her first thought was notan attack!Her first thought wasRae.

How times had changed.

She opened her eyes and found Rae asleep on the bed with her, one foot extended in kick position, the other twitching as if she was winding up for a kidney shot.

Everything was well. They were both alive.

Gently, she turned Rae so she faced into the room and looked across at Max and Zone. They stood in the kitchen and talked, their low voices a rumble as they leaned over a...a what? Something electronic. Kellen listened to them, picked out a few words, enough to rouse her interest and explain what they were doing—and seeing.

Raising herself on one elbow, she stroked Rae’s head, swaddled her little girl in a blanket, pulled on the terry cloth robe that was at the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Both men stopped talking and watched her, maybe because they were concerned about her ability to stand. Maybe because they didn’t want the little woman to hear what they were saying.

Too late for that. She shut the door behind her and used the facilities; her aunt and uncle’s old camp trailer had a larger bathroom. She glanced in the mirror. She looked like hell.

Oh, well.

She came out and strolled over to the tiny old slump-shouldered white refrigerator. She looked inside. A slightly shriveled green apple sat on the top rack. She plucked it free, shut the door and bit into the apple.

Zone slammed his palms on the table. “Damn it! I figured that was disgusting enough I’d be the only one to eat it.”

“Ever been to Afghanistan?”

“Yes.”

“So have I.”

He stared at her through those thick black glasses.

She stared at him.

He said, “Okay, then.”

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