Ohana was a murderer. He had killed again. And she was reacting slow. If she didn’t hurry up, if she didn’t go after the guy, Perez might come for her. Might strike down the deal. Might, on the other hand, simply let Deputy Director Ogden have his way. And there was no doubt that Ogden’s solution would end up with Cora behind bars.

  It would amuse Ohana, she didn’t doubt, to think that he had managed to escape the law, while the FBI agent who had put him behind bars ended up in the clink.

  The door suddenly swung open. There was a whoosh of air. Cora glimpsed a pretty young woman slowly getting dressed. The woman didn’t seem to care that the door was open.

  There was an impressive butterfly tattoo on the woman’s lower back. Impressive, not so much in the artistry, but in the indifference that any eyes might spot it.

  The woman was trim, athletic, and had an attractive form. Immediately, Cora resented herself for noticing. She wasn’t in competition with this woman. She wasn’t interested in Johnny. She couldn’t allow her mind to wander, to continue to think in these terms.

  Instead, she turned to Johnny, watching him as he slipped out of the hotel room door. He didn’t shut the door, but allowed it to remain open, occasionally casting glances back through, and watching the show of the beautiful woman still getting dressed.

  “Think we can go now?” Cora demanded.

  He gave her a quick look, shrugged, and then fell into step.

  The further they moved away from the hotel room, the easier it was to refocus.

  “You good?” Johnny said, smirking at her.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You look flushed.”

  “Caffeine,” she shot back. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Johnny’s smirk turned into a wide grin. “Neither did I,” he said, somewhat predictably.

  “I guess I set you up for that one.”

  “I want you to know, Cora, I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

  “Well, I don’t believe you. But also, you give yourself too much credit. I didn’t sleep because of some information I got.”

  “Information about what?”

  They moved past an ice machine and another vending machine. They emerged out of the exit door, moving around to the parking lot.

  Sunlight spanned the horizon now, and with it, though it was still morning and an occasional cool breeze wafted by, there was hints of the desert heat to come.

  Cora said, carefully, “just some stuff from back home. Don’t worry and stay focused. Are you? Focused, I mean.”

  “Yeah. As focused as I can be. You remember you’re paying me for this right?”

  “The same way you paid that woman last night.”

  Johnny didn’t deny it. Cora didn’t press. Though part of her wanted to. And again, she resented herself for taking too much of an interest in his love life. She didn’t care. Why should she?

  “We got something. Sanjay Jones.”

  “Interesting combination of names.”

  “Lives nearby. Was a friend of Ohana’s in prison.”

  “All right, and we got any eyeballs on the place?”

  “No, I didn’t want to risk it,” she replied.

  “Afraid they might spook him?”

  “He has experience with cops. He’s likely about to go to ground. I mean, he gave them the slip at the airport and would do it again. Right now, we want to keep him in place.”

  Cora trailed off, watching as Johnny opened the door to their car. Her own thoughts moved back to the hotel room, where they had left the body. She could still picture the corpse in the bathtub. The dried blood stains on the wall, on the floor, lathering the back of the toilet.

  Her stomach twisted. Anger lifted again. And once more, she was focused on the case. The here and the now. Ohana wasn’t going to get away. One way or another, she was going to make sure that he didn’t kill again.

  She said, “Go fast. I don’t want him to be moving.”

  Johnny gave a thumbs up, pulled out of the parking lot, and turned onto the road, moving double time.

  ***

  Once again, Cora found herself in the position of lookout. This time, though, they weren’t using the binoculars. There was no need. Whoever had set up the compound, far below, at the base of the chasm, hadn’t particularly considered strategic location. In fact, she had to guess that the person who had chosen this location for that double trailer park home was an idiot. They were in a flood zone at the base of a ravine. And now, from almost any angle, they could be watched, surveilled, and then, eventually if needed, raided.

  Because it was clear that this particular group of people was very much on the other side of the law.

  She could spot it in the way they sauntered around the place. Three of them, men, with ratty T-shirts. She also spotted the way that the plumes of smoke were lifting out of the trailer’s makeshift chimney. Smoke of odd colors at times.

  “Meth,” Johnny said quietly.

  “Thanks, Sherlock,” she shot back.

  “Think he’s in there?”

  Cora didn’t reply. The two of them crouched on the edge of the bluff, peering down at the horribly positioned illegal operation.

  Two trailers were parked next to one another with big swaths of duct tape wrapped around the back as if holding them together as one.

  She watched as a man wearing a white hazmat suit stumbled out of one of the trailers, paused, took off a mask, inhaled a few times, cursed, spat a glob of spit tinged with red to the side, turned, and then headed back into the trailer.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “None of them looked tall enough.”

  The men moving around the compound were wearing bandannas wrapped around their mouths, hiding most of their faces.

  It was as if they had expected someone to show up. Was that because Ohana had warned them? Or was it because Mr. Jones had known his old cellmate was back in town and that the police might come looking for him?

  “This is his address?” Johnny said.

  Cora shook her head. “No, the FBI sometimes tracks people’s known whereabouts if they are released. Especially a cop killer. Special detail has kept the peg on wherever he shows up.”

  Johnny whistled. “Think the meth is a new operation?”

  Cora checked her phone. The last time one of the investigators had come by, trying to keep tabs on Mr. Jones, had been a month ago. There was a good chance that Sanjay didn’t know that he was being watched. And an equally good chance that the investigator had spotted the signs of illicit activity. Perhaps things had gotten lax, or maybe Mr. Jones had simply kept his nose clean.

  Whatever the case, now as she stared down towards the compound, she could feel her brow furrowing.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “Well, what are we doing up here? Let’s go knock.”

  Before she could protest, Johnny got to his feet. He shifted his holster behind his back, making sure that the weapon was easily accessible, tucked the back of his shirt into his waistband, and then strolled down, moving along the side of the cliff.

  She hissed, but then he gestured, raised a hand, and called out, “Hello down there!” he said, shouting at the top of his voice. “Think we could have a chat?”

  Cora inwardly kicked herself. She was beginning to regret bringing the gun slinging cowboy along. On the other hand, if gunfire erupted, hopefully they would shoot Johnny first.

  She studied his form as he moved. It was a strange thing to briefly pause, forget the moment, and wonder if he had as many scars along his back as he had along his muscled chest. She smirked at the thought, shook her head, and then quickly followed after him.

  The two of them maneuvered down the side of the cliff, moving quickly.

  Now, the three men, wearing the bandannas and doing their best to conceal the weapons that were tucked in their own waistband, looked up.

  Their eyes narrowed, glaring.

  But it took them a second to even react. Slow reactions, stupid glares. Par for the course.

  These were not going to be the sorts of people they could outwit. To outwit someone required the other person to be interested in engaging in a battle of wits. These sorts of henchmen were more interested in hitting things, smoking things, and screwing things.

  She knew their type. Could see it in their bloodshot eyes.

  Dust kicked down, a few stones tumbling along the side of the ravine as Cora followed after Johnny.

  Her own weapon was also holstered, and she moved around the side, out of the view of the men below.

  The trailer door was closed still. She noticed now that the trailers didn’t have wheels. Cement blocks were serving to keep the things aloft.

  They had been here a while and clearly intended to stay. She tried to peer through the windows, but these were covered up. The smoke continued to puff out of the makeshift chimney. No sign of Ohana. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t here. This, certainly, was where Sanjay Jones had been tracked.

  Another part of her wondered if the police had known what Sanjay had been up to but had decided to wait. Maybe they didn’t want to intervene until he did something they could put him away for forever. Or maybe, on the other hand, the same way she had heard stories in the past, they were waiting to set up a raid when it was guaranteed a gunfight would erupt.

  Sanjay had killed two of their officers. He had gotten off on a weapon’s charge. There were bound to be some people on the force who wanted him dead.

  These thoughts all crossed her mind in a flash as she moved forward, hastily trying to keep up with Johnny. Johnny was still waving and grinning widely. Anyone who knew him would have known it was the leer of a crocodile. And his wave wasn’t friendly. Rather, it was to gain attention. A fluttering motion in order to attract the eye. A distraction like a magician’s assistant.

  Johnny was already sizing up the figures below.

  Of course, he was using his left hand to wave. His right hand, his shooting hand, hovered near his waist.

  A few of the men in bandannas were also allowing their hands to linger toward their waistbands.

  A fourth had appeared from behind the trailer, coming to investigate the noise.

  Now four men, all of them wearing ratty clothing, oversized T-shirts, and bandannas across their faces, were glaring at the newcomers strolling down the ravine in their direction.

  Cora watched them, keeping a close eye on each assailant. She spotted a murky shadow move through the opaque windows, suggesting that whoever was inside the trailer was now keeping an eye on the happenings outside. Was there another person within? Multiple? Were they armed?

  This was her frustration with Johnny’s approach. Not enough surveillance. Not enough information.

  But Johnny didn’t seem to care. His hand was still raised in greeting, his smile still affixed. He nodded at each in turn, and settled on the largest and tallest of the bunch.

  Though he was tall, he was twice as wide as Ohana. This wasn’t a skinny, string bean type of person. Rather, he was built like a brick house. He was about half a foot taller than Cora, and his eyes narrowed into mean slits above a red bandanna pockmarked with white stars.

  This man, taking the role of leader, which had been designated to him by Johnny’s glance, faced the ex-soldier. “What do you want?” The man said. His pudgy fingers were inside his waistband, and he made no attempt to disguise the weapon there.

  Johnny wasn’t concerned. He just shrugged, studying the man. He gave a wave towards Cora, and said, “Sightseeing. Got lost. Just wanted to see the attractions.”

  The big man glared. The three others crowded in now. Two of them had their guns drawn but kept them pointing at the ground.

  Johnny glanced at them and then glanced at the big man. He said, casually, “If either of those point in my direction, I’m going to have to kill them. I hope that’s clear. I would shoot to wound, but there are four of you. If there’d been three, I would wing you. But as it is, I’m going straight center mass.”

  He spoke conversationally, with a shrug after each sentence. He flashed his winning smile once more. And again, Cora was reminded of a crocodile. Or perhaps just a shark. Something about sharks, she had once learned, was that they could never stop moving or they would sink. In a way, she felt like that. And in another way, Johnny was the same. Constant motion kept them afloat. Constant motion kept them from having to spend too much time in the same place.

  Now, the biggest of the bunch, the one with the mean eyes, was saying, “You’re talking pretty tough for a couple of bitches.”

  Johnny smirked. The expression suited his face like a duck suited water. Like leaves suited a tree. “Is Josh Ohana in there?” he asked conversationally.

  Now, one of the other gun thugs approached. This was a scrawny man, whose T-shirt was at least four sizes too big for him. He had golden chains dangling around his neck, and his throat had a pronounced Adam’s apple that bounced up and down whenever he swallowed. He had the emaciated look of someone who had found a substance to consume that they preferred to food.

  He pulled his bandanna down, revealing a miserable attempt at a prickly mustache over finely pressed lips.

  Cora didn’t recognize him. Neither did Johnny. But this man, with a glare, said, “Who do you think you’re talking to? You two had better get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “What does that mean?” Johnny said, hesitantly. The hesitation wasn’t due to fear, nor was it due to concern. Rather, she could tell that it was a hesitation of wondering whether he should strike yet. He was glancing at the guns, and one of them had begun to lift. But at the look in Johnny’s eyes, the man with the weapon pointed it at the ground still.

  Cora knew Johnny was fast on the draw. She was as well. And there was something in any predator, like these four thugs, that took pause when they spotted something that didn’t smell of fear.

  It was like a few wolves sniffing out a new creature in the wilderness.

  Johnny, never one to hold back from stirring the pot, said, “Why don’t you just answer my question.” Everything in his tone was neutral, calm, and amused. “Is Ohana here or not?”

  The big man reached out, prodding a finger against Johnny’s chest.

  Cora just watched, tense.

  One of the men with a gun started to raise it, but she moved faster. Her own gun leapt into her hand, and she pointed it at his head. “Drop it,” she snapped.

  The tweakers stared, hesitated.

  The big man reached for his own gun. Johnny’s thumb found his throat. And then, all hell broke loose.

  Two men pulled their weapons. The big man shoved Johnny. Johnny raised his gun and shot the first gunman in the chest twice before he could fire at Cora. Meanwhile, the second gunman dropped his weapon, staring in horror at the gun pointed at his head, which Cora trained on him. The small, scrawny man, who had threatened Johnny, turned, and sprinted towards the door of the trailer. He was shouting at the top of his lungs.

  The shadow she had glimpsed through the window disappeared now. No sign of the figure beyond the glass.

  And now, Cora darted in. Guns were forgotten. The one who had kept his hand near the weapon shouted as Johnny twisted his fingers, snapping them.

  Cora kept the gun free from the man who had lowered it under her threat.

  She pushed him against the trailer, and he thumped against the metal.

  Johnny, having shot one and broken the fingers of the big man, was now fighting hand-to-hand. He had holstered his weapon, having found enough time to do so. But now, he was struggling with the large, muscled fellow.

  Johnny was given ground, but Cora knew that he was allowing the big man to tire himself. After a few seconds, Johnny was able to trip him, grab his back, and lock him in a stranglehold.

  Cora, meanwhile, had managed to cuff the man she’d shoved against the trailer. The scrawny thug was shouting into the trailer, trying to gain the attention of the man within.

  But Cora and Johnny, having dispatched of their opponents, turned, and hastened towards the door.

  Now, both of them, shoulder to shoulder, kept their guns raised, pointing them at the door.

  The scrawny thug froze, his hands leapt up, and he stared at them, wide-eyed and panicked. His pathetic excuse for a mustache quivered. Sweat prickled his brow and trailed down in a couple of streaks past his temple.

  The door creaked open. The man in the white hazmat suit emerged. He lowered his mask and stared.

  “Mr. Jones,” Cora snapped, recognizing the dark-featured fellow from his precinct photos. “Who else is in there with you?”

  But Sanjay just shook his head. “I’m alone,” he said firmly. He didn’t sound scared or concerned. He just looked irritated.

  Cora shot Johnny a look. He glared. “Step out, hands up,” he snapped.

  Cora gestured with her weapon. Sanjay complied, hands moving slowly up as he stepped out of the trailer.

  Cora darted past him. He didn’t move to intervene. Johnny kept the two standing thugs under the barrel of his gun, locking them in place by the sheer threat of his weapon.

  Cora, meanwhile, poked her head into the trailer. She saw test tubes, beakers, glass bottles, and other familiar items. A cooking lab. Just like Johnny had thought. But no sign of any other figure. She looked under the tables and into the darker corners. She even stepped in, hand up to her face, holding her breath, and opened the cabinet. The stench assailed her. But it was the smell of a dead animal and nothing else. No one was inside the trailer.

  She emerged, scowling. She slammed the door shut behind her.

  She ducked, looking under the trailer. And then she moved around the side, peering through the slats and towards the window. The window was closed. The chimney continued to puff smoke. Nothing. No one else. Sanjay was alone.

  She rejoined Johnny, standing next to him, glaring in the same way the unblinking barrel of the gun did. She demanded, “Where’s Ohana?”

  Sanjay stared at her. He didn’t blink. Neither did she. It was like some sort of competition. Not a particularly impressive competition, but neither of them wanted to look away first.

  Sanjay had handsome features, which would have been downright attractive, if not for the acne marks along his chin. He also had a nervous, twitching energy, and she could guess why. Sanjay said, “I don’t even know who you are.”