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    Chapter One
     
    The hot August wind blew the tumbleweed across the two-lane highway. Laurie Bevin eased off the gas to avoid the rootless bush, though even that small movement increased the pressure in her bladder. There had to be a rest stop. The barren Nevada countryside didn’t have a decent bush to hide behind to do her business.
    What had possessed her to take this road? The interstate would have gotten her from Salt Lake to LA faster than this podunk highway through the heart of basin and range country.
    But that was the problem. She didn’t want to go faster. Moving faster meant pulling up at her parents’ door, a failure at the ripe old age of twenty-four.
    There!  Black pipes rose from two squat non-descript buildings that blended in with the rest of the brown landscape.  Only the gray thunderclouds to the east provided relief from the unrelenting drabness.
    She drove her ancient Celica onto the dirt parking lot and pulled to a stop. As she got out of the car she noticed a bright red plastic ice chest positioned exactly between the two buildings.
    Odd.
    Holding her nose, she ran into the brick outhouse, using every ounce of willpower to keep from peeing in her pants. She sighed with relief when she finished and stood to zip up her jeans.
    Something rustled behind the building.
    Probably some form of rodent. Time to get out of here.
    She glanced around the small space. Not even a hand sanitizer.
    Turning the doorknob with distaste, she tried not to think of who or what lingered on its cool metal surface. She scurried back to her car, giving the ice chest another glance. 
    She’d be better off not knowing what was in it.
    The disinfectant wipes left her hands with a medicinal smell, but it was a vast improvement over lingering germs. Laurie gave another glance at the ice chest.
    No good could come from opening it, but if she didn’t, her unfulfilled curiosity would haunt her for the rest of the trip. She pulled out another wipe to protect her fingers, walked slowly back to the chest and circled it as if it was a snake. Finally, she lunged toward it and yanked it open.
    Books. Dozens of Louis L’Amour books.
    She had one more motel night before she made it home. May as well take one.
    Cautiously moving the top few aside to consider her options, her wipe-wrapped fingers touched metal. She whipped her hand back, dropped the lid and stood, the white square fluttering to the ground, stark against the gritty concrete.
    What the hell?
    She should get back in her car and head south.
    Should.
    She picked up the wipe, lifted the lid again and moved the rest of the books aside. A Bowie knife. From the looks of it, an antique full of rust spots. Gingerly, she removed it from the ice chest to look closer.
    Those weren’t rust spots.
    Blood.
    Gravel crunched on the side of the building.
    “A little lady like you shouldn’t be holding such a big knife.” The voice was bland.
    Pasty hands unwrapped her fingers from the knife and took it from her.
    Laurie took a step backward.
    A middle-aged man stood in front of her, the cowboy hat on his head matching the rest of the outfit: faded Western-style snap shirt, dirty jeans and scruffy cowboy boots, but the outfit didn’t suit his pale skin and middle-aged flab. His smile chilled her spine in spite of the hundred degree temperature.
    “My name is Eli--Eli Crenshaw,” he said, holding out the hand without the knife.
    She took another step back. “Uh...that’s nice.”
    Eli moved back to the building and she let out a breath.
    “Uh...bye.” She turned and walked toward her car. When she tried to unlock the door, her hands fumbled with the keys. She looked over her shoulder.
    Eli walked toward her, the smile gone from his face.
    Unlock...quick.  Her breath came fast. She glanced down the road.
    Empty, like the rest of Nevada.
    “Where are you rushing off to?” He was beside her.
    How did he move so fast and quietly?
    She kept her shaking hands