Three

Barrett McCreary III slid his Serengeti sunglasses over his nose, cutting the glare from the plaza. Too damn bad the glasses couldn’t hide the sight of Big Elk and his rant.

“Barrett.”

Shit. Another idiot holding him up.

Cole Huntsman. For a smart man, an expert on uranium mining, he sure dressed like an illiterate granola. Cole pushed his shaggy pale hair from his forehead. “I found that study on in situ mining in Canada you asked me about.”

“It hasn’t been five minutes since we spoke.”

Cole held up one of those fancy phones that could contact the moon and download an encyclopedia, if anyone knew how to use an encyclopedia anymore. “I e-mailed it to you.”

Even if he looked like a tree-hugger, this guy impressed Barrett. He was smart, efficient, and not one to waste Barrett’s time. “Nice work.”

A woman’s voice sounded from the courthouse steps, startling Barrett with its clarity. Across the courtyard, Nora Abbott stood on the steps, looking remarkably cool for the mess she’d put herself in. Both Barrett and Cole focused on her addressing the hostile crowd. That coppery hair and bright eyes made her cute as a penny, but she had to be smart too, to keep that ski area running through this drought. She should know better than to throw herself in front of that mob.

But that was not his problem. He hurried across the plaza while Cole was distracted. Barrett wanted nothing more than to get home, shed this stupid suit and tie, and get down to business. With the congressional hearings on uranium mining set for next week, there were palms to grease, weight to sling around, and dirt to dig.

He hadn’t been quick enough. Around the corner popped Scott Abbott. Just who he didn’t want to see. And certainly not in public.

“I need to talk to you,” Scott said.

“Not here.”

Crowd clatter rose from the platform.

“Tomorrow, then. On the mountain,” Scott said.

“Six a.m. There shouldn’t be anyone on the trail that early.”

Scott squinted toward the noisy courthouse. His eyes widened when he saw his wife and, without another word to Barrett, he elbowed his way into the crowd.

Barrett didn’t want to wait around for the finale. Big Elk had succeeded in his typical mischief. The brothers and sisters to the moon and sun were storming the steps. Par for Big Elk’s course. He took a last look at the crowd and turned to leave.

Wait.

He spun back toward the steps.

It was her.

How could she be standing there? A train wreck of memory slammed into his gut in an explosion of pain followed by paralysis. His mind spun back forty years. He saw the woman he loved smiling at him, her shining black hair and turquoise necklace catching the sun and tossing it back for everyone’s delight.

Ester.

He sucked in air, fighting for reality. Ester, in her velvet skirt, silver earrings, Concho belt …

But this girl on the steps wore jeans. No turquoise and silver glinted.

And Ester would never set foot in this plaza or anywhere else again.

Slowly it started to make sense. The girl amid the mob advancing on Nora Abbott was his Heather. Not Ester. Heather. He didn’t know the black-haired delinquent she followed, but he would find out. No Native American jerk-off, angry at the world and looking for a handout, was going to get near his Heather. The boy would disappear from her life.

And that damned Scott Abbott needed to disappear too. All in a day’s work for Barrett.

He was a virtual magician when it came to vanishing people.