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dollar, and Stone would bleed these people for every cent he could get.
    Flynn ignored Pike’s question about the girl and turned toward the church.
    “Let’s go inside. You can meet her father and I’ll explain what’s going on. If you decide you want to do this, we’ll meet the girl.”
    Pike followed him, thinking, it’s already been decided.
     
     
    The church smelled of sage and urine. Beer cans and magazines dotted the concrete floor, filthy from the sand blown through the broken walls, and faded by time. Pike guessed the urine smell was left by animals. The man with the lank hair was standing beside a lean man with the intelligent eyes of a businessman and a mouth cut into a permanent frown. A cordovan briefcase sat on the ground by the door. Pike wondered which owned the briefcase and which was the girl’s father. He positioned himself away from the windows.
    Bud nodded toward the man with the lank hair.
    “Joe, this is Conner Barkley. Mr. Barkley, Joe Pike.”
    Barkley squeezed out an uncomfortable smile.
    “Hello.”
    Barkley was wearing a silk short-sleeved shirt that showed his belt bulge. The frowning man was tieless in an expensive charcoal sport coat. Pike was wearing a sleeveless grey sweatshirt, jeans, and New Balance running shoes.
    The frowning man took folded papers and a pen from his coat.
    “Mr. Pike, I’m Gordon Kline, Mr. Barkley’s attorney and an officer in his corporation. This is a confidentiality agreement, specifying that you may not repeat, relate, or in any way disclose anything about the Barkleys said today or while you are in the Barkleys’ employ. You’ll have to sign this.”
    Kline held out the papers and pen, but Pike made no move to take them.
    Bud said, “Gordon, why don’t we push on without that, considering.”
    “He has to sign. Everyone has to sign.”
    Pike watched Conner Barkley staring at the blocky red arrows inked across his deltoids. Pike was used to people staring. The arrows had been scribed into his arms before his first combat tour. They pointed forward. People stared at the tats and Pike’s faded sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and saw what they wanted to see. Pike was good with that.
    When Barkley looked up from the tats, his eyes were worried.
    “This is the man you want to hire?”
    “He’s the best in the business, Mr. Barkley. He’ll keep Larkin alive.”
    Kline pushed out the papers.
    “If you’ll just sign here, please.”
    Pike said, “No.”
    Barkley’s eyebrows bunched like nervous caterpillars.
    “I think we’re all right here, Gordon. I think we can press on. Don’t you, Bud?”
    Kline’s frown deepened, but he put away the papers, and Bud continued.
    “Okay, here’s what we have: Mr. Barkley’s daughter is a federal witness. She’s set to offer testimony before the federal grand jury in two weeks. There have been three attempts on her life in the past ten days. That’s three deals for the black ace in a week and a half, and all three were close. I have no choice but to think outside the box.”
    “Me.”
    Pike shifted just enough to see the limo. The desert had filled with red light from the settling sun. He felt the temperature dropping. At night up here, the air would be sharp and clean.
    “Why isn’t she in a protection program?”
    Barkley spoke up, pushing the hair from his eyes.
    “She was. They almost got her killed.”
    Gordon Kline crossed his arms as if the entire United States government was a waste of taxpayer money.
    “Incompetents.”
    Bud said, “Larkin was in a traffic accident eleven days ago—three A. M. , she T-boned a Mercedes—”
    Barkley interrupted again.
    “You don’t expect to run into these kinds of people driving your car—”
    Gordon Kline said, “Conner—”
    “Look where we are—up here in these ruins running for our lives. A traffic accident—”
    Barkley pushed his hair from his face again, and this time Pike saw his hand tremble. Bud went on about the