"Copy that."
The line went dead.
Gabe checked his Glock, verified the spare magazine in his jacket pocket, and headed out.
The drive started normal enough. Highway 101 curved along the coast, then turned inland through dense forest. Douglas fir pressed close on both sides. The sky was darkening earlier than it should, heavy clouds rolling in from the ocean.
He turned onto the logging road and immediately went on alert.
Narrow. Rutted. Trees so thick they formed a canopy that blocked most of the remaining light. The kind of road where you couldn't see what was waiting around the next curve.
His hand drifted to rest near his weapon.
Fog crept between the tree trunks like something alive. Searching. Patient. The SUV's headlights barely cut through it.
Gabe's pulse kicked up a notch.
This was the kind of place Ruiz's killers would choose. Remote. No witnesses. Easy to stage an accident or make a body disappear.
He checked his rearview mirror. Nothing but fog and shadows.
The road curved sharply. His headlights swept across a small cottage set back in the trees. Lights on inside. Smokerising from the chimney. A sedan parked out front with a "Coexist" bumper sticker and another one that said, "I brake for warblers."
Gabe's instincts prickled anyway.
He parked twenty yards back and approached on foot. His hand stayed near his Glock. His eyes tracked the windows. The tree line. The shadows that could hide a dozen threats.
Movement inside the cottage. Someone passing by a window.
He positioned himself beside the front door. Knocked hard. "FBI. Open up."
The door swung wide.
An elderly woman stood there in oversized binoculars hanging around her neck, a floral sweater that looked hand-knitted, and fuzzy slippers shaped like ducks. She held a mug that said "I LIKE BIRDS. AND MAYBE 3 PEOPLE."
She gasped. "Are you the FBI man? Reagan down at the diner told Doreen at the hair salon that the new agent was a looker."
Gabe's body deflated half an inch.
Not an ambush. At least, not the deadly kind.
"Ma'am." He pulled out his credentials anyway. "I'm Agent Sawyer. You called about seeing someone matching a victim's description?"
"Oh yes, come in, come in." She waved him inside with enough enthusiasm to slosh tea onto her duck slippers. "I saw a very suspicious man three weeks ago. Very suspicious indeed."
The cottage smelled like cookies and lavender. Bird photos covered every available wall space. A massive pair of binoculars sat on the coffee table next to what looked like a field guide with about fifty bookmarks sticking out.
"Tell me about this man." Gabe pulled out his notebook.
"Well." Mrs. Brewster settled into an armchair andgestured for him to sit. He remained standing. "He was walking the old logging trail you drove in on. Very furtive. Looking around like he didn't want to be seen."
"Can you describe him?"
"Dark hair. Medium build. Wearing one of those expensive outdoor jackets." She paused. "Actually, now that I think about it, his name was Gary. He told me when I asked what he was doing."
Gabe's pen stopped moving. "He told you his name."
"Oh yes. Very polite. He was looking for the rare coastal woodpecker. I told him he was in the wrong habitat entirely, but tourists never listen." She stood abruptly. "Would you like a cookie? I made snickerdoodles this morning."
