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“You, too,” Pam replied.

“Lorca told me about the ambulance attendant and the possibility of Jack Collins and Noie Barnum being in the Glass Mountains. I have the feeling you might be headed up there, Sheriff.”

“I can’t say I’ve given it any thought,” Hackberry replied.

“I have trouble believing that,” Riser said. “This time out, you and Chief Deputy Tibbs need to stay in your own bailiwick. I can’t order you to do that, but I can ask you.”

“Whatever we decide to do, we’ll coordinate with the Bureau,” Hackberry said.

“Ever hear how Pretty Boy Floyd died?”

“Shot down while running from some federal agents on a farm in Ohio?”

“Something like that. Except there’s an unofficial account to the effect that he didn’t die right away. He was wounded and lying on his back when the agents got to him. One agent asked him if he was Pretty Boy Floyd. Floyd answered, ‘I’m Charles Arthur Floyd.’ Then somebody gave the order to finish him off, and that’s what they did.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Hackberry said.

“It makes for a good story, that’s all.”

“It’s not your style.”

“Probably not,” Riser said. “I’d sure like some of that pie.”

“Ethan, did you hear me? That’s not your style.”

“I’m all talk. You know that. Miss, could I have a piece of that blueberry pie with some ice cream on it and a cup of coffee?”

“It’s on us,” Pam said.

“I appreciate it.”

“Listen to Hack, Agent Riser.”

“Of course.”

The waitress brought the pie and ice cream and coffee, and Pam and Hackberry watched Ethan Riser eat. They also watched the way his eyes crinkled and the way his gaze seemed to probe the darkness outside the window, and each sensed in the other the embarrassment they felt while they watched a brave man try to mask the fact that he was under a death sentence.

“This area has never been quite real to me,” Riser said. “It’s a place where nothing is what it seems. A piece of moonscape where improbable people live and lunatics can hide in plain sight.”

“All empires have their dustbins,” Hackberry said. “It’s the place we bury our sins.”

“That’s too deep for me.”

“What do I know?” Hackberry said.

“A lot more than the Bureau wants to concede,” Riser said. “They consider you a pain in the ass. Stay out of the Glass Mountains, my friend.”

PAM DROVE HACKBERRY home in the rain. The fields were sodden on either side of the road, the sky black, the long lines of cedar fence posts and barbed wire glistening in the cruiser’s headlights. “He’s going to cool out Collins?” she said.

“I think that was all rhetoric. He’s angry because he has to die. Ethan’s a straight arrow. People like him make a pact with themselves and never violate it.”

“I told you to go fuck yourself earlier.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I meant it. I just shouldn’t have put it that way.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“I’m old, Pam. You think it’s honorable for an old man to take advantage of a young woman’s affections? You want to become romantically involved with a man who would use a young and attractive woman, knowing eventually he would be a burden to her?”

“I think age doesn’t have crap to do with any of it. With you, it’s all about pride. You’ve never forgiven yourself for the mistakes of your youth, so you have to create a standard that’s superior to everyone else’s. It’s not a lot different from the bad guys who are always trying to convince themselves of their own humanity.”

“That’s a rotten thing to say.”

“Too bad.”

He could feel his left temple throbbing again, and he knew that in the next few seconds, a sliver of pain as cold and hard as a stalactite would slide through his eye and the muscles of his left cheek. Up ahead, he saw his house suddenly illuminated by a bolt of lightning that struck in the trees behind his office, the same trees where Jack Collins had hidden and trained a laser sight on him. “You don’t have to pull into the drive. Just drop me on the road,” he said.

“You like walking in an electric storm?”

“In this case, I do.”

“Too bad again,” she said.

She drove across a wood bridge