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the thickest brush in the area to get there, and he was surprised at the ease with which they had come and gone through it. The man’s prints were partially obscured by the general trampling, but he had clearly circled Ukiah and Dr. Janet Haze once before the searchers found them, then moved to where he could watch without being spotted. The woman had run down the hill to join the man on the point.
    Ukiah paused to look up at the steep hill and thick brush. She had run straight to him, in the dark, in the rain, without tripping, without calling out for directions. The hair on the back of his neck rose slightly. He ran his hand over it to lay it back down. They might know the park well and prearranged to meet here. They might have had night goggles on. There are lots of ways to explain it.
    He pretended he believed that.
    They both had worn boots, identical except for size. They had turned and run up the hill together, retracing the woman’s path down. He tracked them to the edge of the park. There, in the mud, were deep motorcycle tracks, clear of rain and thus made after he had wakened. He followed the trail of mud down the street until it was a ghost trail, catching it again only as they splashed through puddles, renewing the mud. They had gone toward Homestead, but eventually the tracks gave out.
    Ukiah hunched on the pavement, fingering the last drying remains of the motorcycle prints. Part of him thought about going on blindly, hoping to pick up the trail again. The other part of him had caught the rumble of a Hummer, recognized its motor as Max’s truck. Mom Jo laughingly called it Max’s GI Joe car, but Ukiah noticed that Max pulled it out of storage only when he was trying not to be afraid and upset. Ukiah wasn’t sure how a change in cars helped calm Max, but it did—he became bolder and louder, talking often of how the Marines kicked Iraqi butt. Maybe it made Max feel like he was still part of that larger, fiercer force that he had once stood with.
    Whatever the reason, if Max had the Hummer out and was looking for him, then Ukiah better stay put and be found. The Max in the Hummer was armedand jumpy, and he had a tongue that could scald milk.
    The Hummer leaped suddenly into view. It rushed up and slammed to a stop just short of where Ukiah was crouching in the road. Its squat shape and round headlights reminded Ukiah of a mean-tempered wolverine. The driver’s window slid down, exuding a wealth of information in odor. Max leaned out and regarded him with a strangely unreadable gaze. Somehow this was worse than the cross outburst Ukiah had been expecting.
    â€œGet in,” Max finally said.
    Ukiah went round to the passenger side and climbed in.
    The .45 in Max’s shoulder holster was freshly cleaned. The cigar smoldering in the ashtray was cherry-flavored. There was fresh oil on Max’s shoes from when he stopped to refuel the Hummer. These stenches did nothing to mask the reek of his fear. Ukiah hunched miserably quiet on his side of the truck, afraid to break the silence and yet hating it.
    Max wrenched the Hummer through a tight U-turn and headed across town.
    â€œHow did you find me?” Ukiah finally asked.
    â€œTracer. I was feeling paranoid so I tagged your jeans.” Max tapped his laptop sitting open beside him, its screen scrolling GPI maps matching the streets they were roaring down, still dutifully marking Ukiah’s position.
    Max was silent for a moment, then in more of a statement than a question asked, “There was someone else in the woods, wasn’t there? You went back to check them out.”
    Ukiah nodded. “How did you know?”
    â€œA call from the police got me out of bed about an hour ago. Someone killed the coroner on dutyand snatched the woman’s body from the morgue. Apparently the FBI has gotten involved in this for some reason. They called the hospital to check on your status—and found out you were missing at the