INNY AND I WERE APPROACHING FORTY-THIRD STREET WHEN the sound of an engine caused us to glance over our shoulders.

Ryan was at the wheel of a white Toyota Camry. He’d come up from behind and was crawling the curb.

I stopped. Binny hesitated, looked to me, then dropped one sneaker to the sidewalk to brace himself.

Ryan drew up beside us. Through the windshield, I saw him shift into park. Not so gently.

I crossed to the Camry. Binny watched, one foot flexed on a pedal.

Smiling, I leaned down and tapped the passenger-side window. Instead of lowering the glass, Ryan yanked his door handle, launched himself out, and circled the trunk.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” I said. Still smiling.

“What the shit, Brennan?” Ryan’s expression was a wild mix of anger and relief.

“I’m freezing my ass off.” The smile wavered but held.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Binny’s elbows winged up, and his fingers tightened on the handlebar grips. Knowing the kid was about to bolt, I tried diffusing the tension with humor. “Detecting.” Eyebrow wiggle.

“You think this is funny?”

I spread my arms to show the state of my person. “A little.”

“Are you for real?”

“You didn’t get my calls?”

“I got your calls! My finger is raw from hitting redial!”

“Easy, muchacho.” I’d never seen Ryan so worked up.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“My phone took on a wee bit of water.” Again I spread my arms.

For the first time, Ryan noticed my condition. Normally, he’d have gone all Don Rickles on my après–koi pond appearance. Instead, he thundered on. “This is amateur hour, Brennan.”

Amateur? That did it. The smile crumbled. “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional?”

“Sloppy. Inconsiderate. Stupid. Irresponsible. Shall I continue?”

“I may have found Ruben.”

Ryan was in full tirade and not hearing a word. “We didn’t come here for a Boy Scout Jamboree. Scar and his pals play hard, and they play for keeps.”

“Take a lap, Ryan.”

“Did you just tell me to take a lap?”

“Ease back on the drama.”

“Every cop in Yellowknife is looking for you. That drama enough?”

With that, Binny fired up the block, skinny legs pumping like mad. At the corner, he cut a right and disappeared from view.

“Now, that was unprofessional.” I met Ryan’s glare with my own.

“Get in the car.” Ryan stepped around me and wrenched open the passenger-side door.

“That kid might have useful information.”

“Get in.”

I didn’t move.

“Get in the goddamn car.”

I threw myself into the passenger seat, slammed the door, buckled up, and chest-crossed my arms.

Ryan slid behind the wheel, drew in and released a ten-mile breath. His jaw clenched, unclenched, then he keyed a number into his mobile. “I have her.” He waited out a response. “You’ve got that right. We’re heading for the Explorer.”

After repocketing the phone, Ryan secured his belt, started the engine, and joined the traffic on Fiftieth.

“Don’t forget to cancel the choppers and dogs.” Keeping my eyes straight ahead, my mouth hooked down at the corners.

Icy silence.

Fine. I was mad, too. But also humiliated. Rainwater had obviously talked to Ollie following his conversation with Chalker. Ollie had phoned Ryan. My cheeks burned at the thought of how many others had been put on alert.

Jesus.

Ryan finally spoke when we pulled up at the Explorer. “Ring when you’re ready.”

Back in my room, I took a very long, very hot shower. Screw Ryan. Let him wait.

After toweling off, I blow-dried my hair, all the while staring at my reflection in the mirror. Middling thick hair, not long or short, not blond or brown. A few tentative grays sending out feelers.

While applying mascara, I studied myself some more. Jawline still tight. Angry green eyes between upper and lower lids holding firm.

By the time I’d added lipstick and blush, my reflection appeared almost composed.

Except for my chin. Which had donated a lot of skin to the koi pond rocks.

I bundled my clothes, filled out the laundry request form, then dialed Ryan. He asked that I meet him in the restaurant.

When I arrived, Ryan was talking on his cell, seated at the same table I’d occupied a few hours earlier. A mug and six empty sugar packets suggested he’d been there a while.

As I took the chair opposite, the buffet-replacement waitress appeared with a mug and coffeepot. At my nod, she set me up. I considered asking her about Nellie, decided against it.

Based on Ryan’s comments, I guessed he was talking to Ollie.

After disconnecting, he stirred his coffee with a diligence that was truly impressive.

When the silence had gone on way too long, I asked, “That was Ollie?”

Ryan nodded, still working the spoon.

“Discussing Scar’s entrepreneurial aspirations in Yellowknife?”

More nodding and swirling.

“And the local talent.”

“And that.”

Ryan studied the would-be Zen arrangement outside the window.

“You going to brief me?” I asked.

“The main players are Tom Unka and Arty Castain. Unka’s got a jacket thick as a laptop. Castain’s had better luck.”

“They a tag team?”

“Yes.”

“What do they run?”

“Mostly coke, grass, some speed.”

“Unka and Castain are displeased with the prospect of competition?”

Ryan nodded. “And word on the street says both are stone-cold killers.”

I waited.

“A couple years back an ounce-man from Jasper tried freelancing up here. First Unka and Castain sent a warning by killing the guy’s collie. As an added touch, they mailed him the dog’s ears. The guy kept dealing. A bush pilot spotted his body floating facedown in Back Bay three months later.”

“Sans ears.”

“You got it.”

“If Scar wants to expand into Yellowknife, these are the guys he needs to intimidate.” By harming Ruben. I didn’t say it.

“And their clientele.” Ryan sipped his coffee. “The story on Ruben went national.”

The quick change left me in the dust. “What?”

“White,” Ryan said by way of explanation.

My face must have telegraphed my confusion.

“The dick who dimed Okeke.”

“The journalist who phoned the autopsy room?” I was horrified. “He wrote a piece about the Edmonton infant?”

“National Post. And not just Edmonton. All four. The story went viral. Got picked up all over Canada.” Ryan raised his mug in sarcastic salute. “Nothing like dead babies to boost readership and ratings.”

“Wait.” This wasn’t making sense. “How did White get access to confidential information?”

“From us.”

“What?”

“Aurora Devereaux overheard us talking in her flat, sniffed an opportunity, jumped on it. As you suggested to Okeke, Devereaux probably sold her scoop to the highest bidder.”

“Sonofabitch,” I said.

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed.

For a long moment we both stared at the garden.

“You want to explain your thinking this morning?” Cold.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Ryan.”

“Fine.” Two butane flames drilled me with a look. “How was your morning, Dr. Brennan?”

I told him. Ruben’s mug shot. Nellie. The Gold Range. The house on Ragged Ass. Chalker.

“The guy took you down with a bola?” The hint of a smile softened his expression.

“It’s a formidable weapon. In prehistory it was used to hunt mammoth.” I wasn’t sure about that, but it sounded good.

“And dragged you through a koi pond?”

My look told him I was in no mood to be the butt of stand-up. “And where were you when I called, what, three times?”

Ignoring my question, or in answer to it, Ryan pulled out his spiral and flipped a few pages. “The house on Ragged Ass is deeded to Josiah Stanley Snook.”

“Nellie Snook. That’s the name of the waitress I followed.”

“Funny that the woman would go home after clocking out of work.”

“I’m telling you, she tore out of here because I asked about Ruben. She was supposed to finish setting up the buffet.”

“Uh-huh. You say Snook first stopped at the Gold Range. Ruben’s probably gone to ground there. The place is hooker central and would be in her comfort zone.”

“With a dog?”

“What’s with you and the dog?”

“Ralph Trees said Ruben had a dog.”

“Based on the woman’s history, my guess is the pooch hit the curb long ago.”

Ryan picked up and dialed his phone. Again I heard only one half of the conversation.

“Better. Except for the chin.”

Great.

“Any luck at the Gold Range?”

I checked my own mobile. Still dead.

“Hasty still talking to Unka and Castain?”

Pause.

“Big surprise.”

Pause.

“Is she credible?”

Pause.

“OK. Keep me in the loop.” Ryan clicked off and signaled for the bill.

“Ollie has people checking the hotel?”

“Rainwater. Ollie’s working Unka and Castain.”

“What’s he learned?”

“The homeboys are not real chatty.”

“You asked about credibility. Whose?”

“A prossie claims she saw a guy fitting Scar’s description at Bad Sam’s around three this morning.”

“Bad Sam’s?”

“The tavern at the Gold Range. The locals call it the Strange Range.”

“Those rascals. Is she believable?”

“When sober.”

“Crap. Should we go over there?”

“Rainwater’s on it. He’ll call if Ruben’s there.”

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“But—”

“Brennan. I am visiting law enforcement. Do you know what that means? It means I have no jurisdiction here. As a visitor, I do as requested by my hosts.”

“I heard a dog barking inside the Snook house.”

“Jesus, there you go with the dog again.”

“Suppose Ruben’s not at the Gold Range? Suppose she’s at Snook’s house? If Scar really is in Yellowknife, how long do you think it will take him to find her?”

Ryan said nothing.

“We should do something.”

“We are doing something. We’re waiting for word from Rainwater. Remember, we don’t have a Quebec warrant for Ruben. She is a suspect wanted for questioning. The only warrant is from Edmonton for skipping court.”

“Why not ride out to Ragged Ass? We don’t have to knock on the door or anything. We can observe from the car. In case anyone enters or leaves the house. What harm can it do?”

The waitress came, and Ryan signed the bill. Then he looked at me and came to a decision.

“Let’s go.”