JACKSON, WYOMING. OCTOBER 24.
10:45 P.M. MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME.
Layle was on McClelland’s radio, shouting an all-points to the surrounding law-enforcement agencies. Jake was catching McClelland up on the webcam.
A call came back.
“Ranger Klimpton for Deputy Layle.”
Suddenly, despite the cold air, Jake’s cheeks felt as though they were burning.
“Go ahead,” Layle radioed back.
“I had a beat-up white Toyota Tercel come through a speed trap north of Moose around 9:20 p.m.”
“Did you stop him?”
“Wasn’t speeding. Driver was a woman.”
“Thanks.”
“Let’s go.” Layle tossed the cruiser’s keys to McClelland, jumped into the passenger seat, and got back on the horn, updating the other agencies with the car information.
Before he closed the door, he held out a hand, which Jake took and shook.
“Appreciate your help. Discretion would be appreciated.”
“Of course. But, Deputy?”
Layle turned back to Jake.
“What was all that about the chief, when you called me?”
“Another time.” In the dim light from the cruiser’s interior, Jake thought he saw the deputy’s face turn ghost white.
It was downright cold. Jake hustled back to the car and headed back toward the west bank of the Snake. On the way, his phone rang for what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days.
Who is it now? He hoped it was Noelle—hearing her voice had gotten him all sentimental—but she didn’t know he had been with Layle. There was no reason she would call now, or any other time.
Jake flipped the phone over on the dash to see the caller ID. Divya. Goddammit.
He answered, intending to put an end to this once and for all.
“Divya. Enough. What do you want?”
She got right to the point. “I need you to help me find someone. Someone that lives in your area.”
“Why? I’ve got no reason to cooperate with you.”
She sighed. “We went over this.”
“That information won’t hurt me now.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you. But do you really want the Paris story public?”
“Nobody here would listen. They wouldn’t care.”
“I bet Noelle Klimpton would be astonished.”
“Is that what this is about? Jealousy?”
Jake weighed his options.
“What’s the name?”
“Meirong Xiao. I’ll email you a description.”
“Never heard the name. How did she end up in your sights?”
“We think we can use her to discredit the senator.”
“Woman on the side?”
“Exactly.”
“Jesus, Divya! What are you doing?” Jake was fuming.
“Check your email.” Divya hung up.
Jake pulled in to the bed-and-breakfast at 11:10 p.m. The light in the guesthouse’s living room was on, exactly as he left it. J.P.’s truck was still missing. Inside, Chayote was running in his sleep on the rug next to the fire, being chased or chasing in a dog dream.
Jake emptied his pockets onto the side table and sat down. He bent forward with his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath. Restless and annoyed, he went to the fireplace and added another log, which spooked Chayote. He hopped up and ran to the front door, barking the whole way.
“You’re okay. C’mon.”
Jake lay down on the couch and Chayote jumped up with him, settling down by his feet.
“I should’ve gone fishing today, Chayote.” He closed his eyes. Why was Divya so hell-bent on involving him in her political games? He knew now that she had been manipulating him from the start, but to what end? And why him? How the hell had she learned about Paris?
He shifted his legs, numb from Chayote’s weight. The dog grumbled his disapproval, repositioned himself, and got back to snoring. Jake followed soon after.