LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      “You’re the psychiatrist, Doc. You tell me what’s going on in this guy’s pathetic excuse for a brain.”

      Sig Rayburn pushed on his forehead as if to compress his thoughts. Pain, worry, even a hint of fear had clouded his eyes during the two-day drive from San Francisco. The long, hot drive that currently had them blasting along Wyoming’s I25 in his rusty brown Ford.

      Sera searched for another vent. “Murderers usually have agendas, but that’s not a given. I worked with a man once who liked watching people die. He said it gave him a buzz.”

      “Sexual?”

      “Probably, although victim gender didn’t matter. Neither did age or appearance.” She paused, sat back, sighed. “Sig, where are we going?”

      He pushed harder. “Tenth time you’ve asked me that since we left the motel this morning. I’m still not gonna tell you.”

      “Which says to me you don’t know yourself, you think your car’s bugged or you’re weirdly superstitious. You’re too good a cop to drive a bugged car, and you strike me as a man who always has a destination in mind, so I’ll go with superstition and point out that wearing the same ratty T-shirt for three days straight at the safe house still didn’t help the Giants win their series against the Dodgers.”

      “Got ‘em close, though. Final game, eleventh inning. One little error in the outfield and poof, streak done.”

      The clouds rolled through his eyes again. Reaching over, Sera squeezed his arm. “I’m really sorry about your partner’s death.”

      “Not your fault, Doc. You didn’t fire the bullet that took out the back half of his skull. Didn’t slit your friend’s throat either.” He slanted her a speculative look. “You know who did, though. That’s why we’re doing this. You need time, distance and a safe place to unlock what’s hidden inside that pretty head of yours. No offense,” he added gruffly. “I know you have impressive credentials.”

      “None taken, and they’re not as impressive as Andrea’s were.” Setting aside a twinge of guilt, Sera fanned her face with a Wyoming road map. “I’m pretty sure it won’t jinx anything if you tell me our destination.”

      Sig waved at a buzzing fly. “You’re wrong, Doc. Leo carried a lucky rock from Sedona the whole time we worked together. Kept it in his pocket with his loose change. When we found him in that alley, the change was there, but the rock wasn’t. Don’t talk to me about jinxes.”

      “Yes, but …”

      “My nephew gave him that rock. Gave me one, too. Only time I left it behind, I took a bullet in my right calf.”

      “Where’s your rock now?”

      He jerked his head. “Backseat. Jacket pocket.” When she didn’t respond, he cocked a brow. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

      “I don’t analyze every idiosyncrasy, Sig.”

      “Uh-huh.” But the challenge lingered. “You gonna tell me you don’t have a quirk or two?”

      “Oh, I have lots.” She smiled. “But, no, I’m not going to tell you about them.”

      A rusty laugh preceded a gruff, “One thing’s sure, Doc. Leo’s gone, and he shouldn’t be. No one better in the country at spotting or shaking a tail than him. Except …” With a glance at the distant Big Horn Mountains, he lapsed into silence.

      Sera left him to his thoughts. His partner and friend was dead. Who better to understand how he felt than her? Even though …

      She and Andrea hadn’t been friends so much as friendly rivals. They’d known each other since they were five years old, but it was circumstance that had truly defined their relationship. Coincidence had also played its wily hand. From where they’d started—not a pretty picture—to where they’d ended up—as psychiatrists who’d obtained their degrees within months of each other—the outcome read like a small universal anomaly to Sera.

      She closed her eyes and let the memories in. The murderer had left Andrea face up and staring at the shadowed ceiling. Through a swarm of police and medical workers, she’d looked like a broken doll—her skin chalk white, her features frozen in a mask of astonished horror.

      Pain stabbed, swift and sure, and made her open her eyes.

      “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Sig demanded. “Trying to smash down that wall in your brain.”

      She regarded the impressive peaks of the Big Horns. “It’s like I’m in an all-black room and there’s a strobe light flashing at random intervals. I get split-second glimpses of things I don’t understand, then it’s back to black, and I want to scream, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t make sense of them.”

      “Could be you’re trying too hard.”

      She slid him a vaguely humorous look. “Your name’s Rayburn, right, not Freud?”

      “What, you’ve never said that to a patient?”

      “Not any more.”

      Sig went back to pushing on his forehead while Sera contemplated the landscape. The scenery was magnificent, as was the clear, blue sky. July in Wyoming was all about pine forests, spectacular mountain ranges and wide-open vistas that possessed a beauty all their own.

      She felt a tease on the edge of her brain and tipped her head from side to side in an effort to center it. One image, that’s all she needed to extract. Unfortunately, research suggested that forcing a resistant memory tended to be as effective as striking a nail with a feather.

      She watched a pair of hawks glide in a wide arc beneath a cloudless stretch of sky.

      “What’s that look for?” Sig asked.

      “I have a look?”

      “Like you’d rather be riding a cable car.”

      A smile tugged on her lips. “My face isn’t that readable, Detective.”

      “Hell it isn’t. You’re sleek, sophisticated and polished. You probably wear high heels to the grocery store. I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but I have to warn you, where we’re headed, the only place you’ll

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