He’d meant nothing to her, made no real impression. They’d had only a few conversations when he’d come to volunteer or see Carolyn.

“I remember him asking me about my ancestry, the Lakota Sioux bloodline. It’s the sort of thing people I don’t know ask fairly regularly. We use it in my bio because it sparks interest, and it shows that my family’s lived here, in the hills, for generations. But he wanted more specifics, and told me he was Sioux, descended from Crazy Horse.”

She lifted her hands. “You get that, too. Some people want to claim the heritage, and since they do, why not go for the gold, so to speak? I didn’t pay that much attention, because the Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull claim is usually an eye-roller for me.”

“So you dismissed that, and him.”

“I was probably polite. I don’t make a habit of insulting people, especially volunteers or potential donors. But I didn’t offer to buy him a beer and talk about our ancestors.”

“You dismissed him,” Coop repeated. “Politely.”

She blew out an annoyed breath. “Probably. I just don’t remember that well. He was ordinary, mildly irritating but only because he seemed more interested in asking me about that sort of thing than about the refuge. Coop, I have dozens of conversations any given week with people I don’t know and don’t remember well.”

“Most of them don’t kill people. Try harder.”

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, thinking, thinking, trying to put herself back to that summer, that brief period. Hot, she thought. It was hot that summer, and insects-the parasites and diseases they could carry-were something they battled constantly.

Cleaning, disinfecting. They’d had an injured marmot. Or was that the summer before?

The smells. Sweat, dung, sunscreen.

Lots of tourists. The summer was prime for that.

She got a vague picture of standing in an enclosure, giving it a second rinsing after cleaning and disinfecting. Explaining to him? Yes, explaining to him about the procedures and protocols for providing safe, clean, healthy environments for the animals.

“The cougar’s enclosure,” she murmured. “I’d cleaned their toys. The blue ball Baby especially liked, the orange pylon, the red ball. All cleaned and stacked while I rinsed, and I explained all the steps to the daily cleanings. And…”

She struggled, but still couldn’t really see him. Just another guy in boots, cowboy hat, jeans. But…

“At some point he asked if I thought I was reclaiming sacred land for my people and their spirit guides-the animals. I was busy. I’m not sure exactly what I said. Probably that I was more interested in protecting the actual animals, and educating people, than spirit guides.”

Coop nodded. “So you dismissed him again.”

“Damn it.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Now I sound like a bitch. I wasn’t bitchy about it. He was helping out. I wouldn’t have been bitchy. And what I said isn’t even entirely true. The cougar’s mine. Spirit guide or talisman, or whatever you choose to call it. But it’s private, it’s personal. I don’t trade off it.”

“Do you remember anything else? What he said, or did? How he reacted?”

“We were busy. Chichi was sick-the leopard we lost that fall. She was old and sick, and I was distracted. I don’t know, honestly, whether it’s hindsight or I’m projecting now that I know all this, but I didn’t particularly like him. He’d just sort of pop up out of nowhere. Just be there. He spent a lot of time around the enclosures, watching the animals, and me.”

“You? Specifically?”

“It feels like that now. But people do-it’s my place. I’m in charge and the refuge carries my name. Except… Baby didn’t like him. I’d forgotten that. Baby likes attention, but he wouldn’t come to the fence when this guy was around. He wouldn’t purr. In fact, a couple of times he charged the enclosure fence when Ethan was around. And that’s not Baby’s normal behavior. He’s not aggressive, and he likes people.”

“But he didn’t like this one.”

“I guess not. Otherwise, Ethan wasn’t here that much or that long, and we didn’t interact much. He didn’t wear a bear-tooth necklace or anything like that. I would’ve noticed, and remembered.”

“It would’ve stood out in a place like this. Animal refuge. You’d have noted it, commented.” Coop studied her face. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“You’re right about that. Coop, do you seriously think this man has killed all these people? That he’s the one who killed Melinda Barrett?”

“No proof. All of this is circumstantial. It’s speculation.”

“That’s not what I asked. Is it what you really think?”

“Yeah. Why aren’t you afraid?”

“I am.” The shudder caught her unexpectedly as if to prove it. “But being afraid doesn’t help. I need to talk to my parents. They need to know.”

“My grandfather’s taking care of that. I thought they’d be here.”

“I asked them to stay home tonight. I used guilt,” she added with a tight smile. “You’re worried about me? How about me being worried about you? I’ll worry if you don’t get a decent night’s sleep, and so on. My father put in six hours on the search today. My mother rode fence, they brought Jerry Tobias in to ride with her, and he hasn’t ridden fence in five years. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything. If they were here, they’d be tired, but I’d know they were okay.”

“Call them. You’ll feel better.”

She nodded. “If you’re right, he’s been killing since he was basically a boy. I can’t understand what drives someone to that, to make death his life’s work.”

Coop sat back, scanning her face. “That’s exactly what it is. His life’s work. You may not understand what makes him, but you understand that. I got some background. He spent some time in the system as a kid. Bounced from his parents to foster homes and back again. His father did some time, small time. Knocked him and his mother around off and on. She never pressed charges. They moved around a lot. Then he’s off the grid for a while. It looks like they did itinerant work, around here, in Wyoming, Montana. His old man got busted for poaching right here in the national forest.”