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grin again. “Pretty delicate for a hurricane, aren’t you?” he asked and it wasn’t just teasing, it was flirting. Real flirting, not just banter. It had been a long time, but not so long that I completely missed it.
    I smiled. I couldn’t help it; the expression took over my face so quickly I was unprepared. Then I touched the scar beside my eye and let the smile fall off my face before I said, “Believe me, Mr. Solomon, delicate is not one of my stronger qualities.”
    Who knows what thoughts that put into his head, but he was smiling like he had just caught me naked and liked what he saw, before hefting the painting kit into the bed of his truck. Something happened then and Solomon fell against the truck, coughing deeply. When he turned back around there was fresh blood spattered his lips and on the back of his hand. None of it killed the gleam in his eyes.
    As he let Lawrence take him to the back of the ambulance I heard Solomon say, “I think she likes me, don’t you?” Lawrence laughed and muttered something I couldn’t hear, but Solomon laughed until he was coughing again. I went through the fence to see what was in the trees, but I’ll admit I was smiling.
    It was an amazing view, but not what I had expected. From what I had seen of the guy’s paintings, Solomon painted landscapes that were more natural than nature. He was famous for capturing scenes of light and shadow crafted by sun and mountains. Like Ansel Adams in color. I had never seen one that had man-made features in it. The view from the tree-lined bluff showed the lake with part of the town of Forsyth and the serpentine asphalt wending through canyons of cut-away stone. In the faces of the rock cuts were still the precise vertical lines put there by steam drills two generations ago. Over everything were dancing shades of green, billions upon billions of leaves topping a million trees.
    Somehow I didn’t think the biker was possessive of his favorite view. Still, the only thing that seemed even remotely odd about the scene to me was a single wisp of white smoke curling up from the trees below.
    Backtracking the trail, I stopped to pick up a rolled-up, half-empty tube of paint from the field grass. Cobalt green. When I looked up I saw the light bar on the ambulance flash. It whooped once and U-turned into the road going the way it had come. The driver kept the light bar spinning. Solomon was being taken to the hospital.
    Damn it.
    I was kicking myself for being caught up in the man’s charm. He must have been hurt more than he seemed and I should have made sure he stayed down until help got there. For a moment I stood in the middle of the empty field. Inside my gut there was a weird twinge, like a small slip in a tight knot.
    How bad was he? And how much was my fault?
    It was just for a moment, though. You can’t last long as any kind of cop dwelling on the things that you have no control over and anything past is completely out of your control. I could best help Mr. Solomon by catching the guy who gave him the beating. And just maybe finding out the truth behind it.
    Once my feet started moving again a deputy’s car pulled up with his lights on. I let him call a tow truck for Solomon’s vehicle and wait for it.
    I got back on the road to my original destination, wishing the drive was longer. My head needed a little clearing.

Chapter 3
    B ecause the day was already wearing thin, I kept my mind in one place and focused on the road in front of me. I wanted to watch the steady whip of the yellow line as it passed under the SUV and think of other things. There was work to do and my thoughts were needed there. Besides, there was something else....
    I touched at the scar and, despite my resolve, wondered about the man. Nelson Solomon was different from anyone I had met in a long time. Different was good. But thinking about him made me feel guilty, both because I thought I should have been