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in the Rangers along this border.
    She'd first met Ethan Templeton on a night like this, when she'd pulled his black pickup over for speeding. He'd been handsome as a dream of sin, too, and just as irresistible.
    Humming between her teeth, Steve automatically lined up for another tight turn. Half an hour ago, she might have tried to cut the corner a bit or push the speed limit in hopes of making one of her rare dinner invitations. But fifteen years as a cop, including all those as a state trooper, had taught her both the benefits of driving well—and the penalties of driving recklessly.
    She still hated to have missed it. She'd have enjoyed drinking margaritas and watching Fred drive off to a lifetime of guarding Chihuahuas for the bottle blonde he'd married. Yappy little dogs, just like their mistress, that gave him no chance of ever having his own child.
    Served him right, the bastard. Steve had dreamed of being a twenty-first century Donna Reed, thought his big family and steady job qualified him as a great husband. Shit, she'd even been willing to talk to counselors about their endless arguments when she wasn't around to do the things he demanded, like smile at prospective clients. But she wasn't about to put up with a third party in their marriage, least of all somebody like that bitch.
    Her foot sank a little harder onto the accelerator.
    An instant later, she emerged into a broad plain, its thousands of cacti shimmering in the moonlight like rifles at an assassins' convention. Another range of mountains offered their dark canyons and promontories a few miles ahead.
    A few well-established ranchers and large corporations like the Santiago Trust still held sway here, those who'd long since adapted their breeds and ranching techniques to the mix of barren rocks, hidden water, and harsh desert. Very hardy, ancient breeds of cattle and goats made a good living here.
    The radio scanner clicked into life.
    "Two-eleven, would it be clear for a forty-three?"
    Steve's mouth quirked at this sign of normalcy. Clark Duncan was going off duty for dinner in Gilbert's Crossing, probably down at Uncle Junior's Diner. Thursday night was their fried pie night.
    Wonder if she'd make it in time to have any?
    She was a Texas Ranger with a star in a wheel on her badge and three counties to look after. Regulations said she should obey all the traffic laws. But she could have toasted Fred's new leg-shackles with fried pies, almost as well as with margaritas.
    Still, there was the speed limit.
    The black truck growled its disdain, sending the speedometer creeping up.
    "Yeah, you understand, don't you, big guy?" She laughed at herself but patted the wheel anyway. "Well, I spend more time with you than anybody else."
    She throttled back, easing down to the speed limit, automatically watching for any sweeping beams of light signaling other vehicles. Maybe a rancher, or somebody from town taking the old road down to the border. Or a couple of scientists, taking a break from studying the local fossils, those older lizards this road had been named for. Not that she'd seen any so far, or expected to.
    "Two-eleven, stand by to copy."
    Imelda was calling Duncan back from Uncle Junior's?
    "Two-eleven, copy a signal sixty-three, five-nineteen Sunflower Street…"
    Somebody wanted backup at Nikki Castillo's house? Odd, very odd. Nikki was a sweet lady, whose biggest concerns seemed to be her two children, three cats, chocolate—and not talking about where she'd gotten that new Mustang from.
    Scenes flickered behind Steve's eyes, the way they often did on a case: Nikki screaming, her kids running out the door in terror.
    Cold whispered over Steve's skin, lighter than any breeze her state-procured vehicle could conjure up.
    Her county, her town, her people. The speedometer's needle slid a little more to the right. She pushed a recalcitrant lock of hair off her forehead, clearing her vision.
    "Shots fired, shots fired!" Clark Duncan's deep voice burst into