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covered his wound, his skin felt damp, and he hoped it was only sweat, not blood oozing from the stitches. The pain had subsided to a dull throb. Though tempted to take another painkiller, he kept the amber vial in his pocket. He needed to be alert.
    His job as a bodyguard was mainly reactive. He saw a threat and took action to stop it. His preparation consisted of briefings on possible enemies and memorizing dozens of photographs so he could scan a crowd and pick out those individuals who might pose a risk. His powers of observation were pretty good; he could tell the difference between a man reaching for a gun and a casual gesture.
    When it came to his work, he was confident. In any situation—from a black-tie diplomatic reception to a skislope in Aspen—he could assess the possible points of attack and take steps to avoid them. He and the men who worked for him at his Denver headquarters were expert marksmen, capable with a handgun or a sniper rifle. They were skilled drivers, knew hand-to-hand combat maneuvers and crowd control techniques.
    But Jesse wasn’t a detective. He left the crime solving to others…until now. This situation would tax a different section of his brain.
    Burke had brought him to the Carlisle ranch house to look at mug shots. Hopefully, Jesse could identify the men who had shot him and grabbed Nicole. As for the dead man on Fiona’s property, he couldn’t tell if he’d seen that person before. Half of his face had been gnawed off by indigenous scavengers, like coyotes and mountain lions.
    Fiona fidgeted behind the chair at the head of the table, too agitated to sit. She’d asked to come along, preferring not to be at her house while it was being processed by the Delta County Sheriff’s Department. Her voice was low and worried. “What if Abby had found the body? What if she’d run down the hill, playing a game with her imaginary pony, and stumbled over a dead man?”
    â€œIt didn’t happen that way,” he said.
    â€œYou’re right. No need to borrow trouble when I’ve got plenty of my own problems.” She rested her palms on the tabletop leaned toward him, staring intently. “How are you doing?”
    What the hell was she up to? “Is there a reason you’re right up in my face?”
    â€œI’m checking your eyeballs for dilation.”
    â€œDon’t.” He wasn’t her patient. “I’m fine.”
    Looking down, he glided his fingers on the surface of the table. Someone had recently dusted and cleaned. Underlying the lemony scent of furniture polish was another fragrance. Coffee! Though he hadn’t eaten solid food in three days, he wasn’t really hungry. But he deeply craved a rich dose of caffeine.
    A tall, slim woman with black hair charged into the room. She held out her hand to him. “I’m Carolyn Carlisle.”
    â€œI know.” He shook her hand, remembering that she was the first person who had gotten to him after he was shot. “You tried to stop my bleeding. Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re the one who deserves thanks,” she said. “You risked your life to help my family. You’re a hero, Jesse. If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask.”
    â€œA cup of coffee,” he said. “Black.”
    â€œI’ll get it,” Fiona said. She darted toward the kitchen.
    Burke strode into the dining room and placed a laptop computer on the table. Though he only briefly glanced toward Carolyn, Jesse recognized the look of love in his eyes.
    â€œJust a few hours ago,” Burke said, “this dining room was command central for the kidnapping. There were banks of computers and dozens of agents.”
    â€œWhy was the search called off?” Jesse asked.
    â€œWe had accomplished our secondary objective,” Agent Burke explained. “The survivalist group, known as the Sons of Freedom or SOF, rented the Circle M. Computer forensics