"Knock, knock," Don said.

Nogales looked up, almost breaking into a welcoming smile before she remembered that this was the federal agent that had been hauled in because her bosses didn't think she could do the job. "How can I help you, Special Agent Eppes?"

"Don," Don reminded her. "From what I can gather, you were one of the people closest to Dr. Halligan."

"Dr. Halligan didn't get close to anyone."

Don acknowledged the correction. "But she had a working relationship with you. Did you ever go riding with her?"

"Ah. You're planning to try to retrace her rides," Nogales said.

"That's right. You know which horse she favored? You've got a stable here, right?"

"Yes." Was it his imagination, or did she soften just slightly? "Alyse liked a certain gelding, usually took him out on Sundays. A big dapple named Sarge."

"You ever ride with her?"

"Occasionally. Not too often," Rosa Nogales said with a certain regret. "Alyse had a heavy work load. She liked to get away from it all on Sundays, get away from everyone, and riding Sarge was the way that she did it. She'd go out mid morning and get back mid afternoon. Never said where she went, but she always looked a little more peaceful when she got back." She looked Don over carefully. "You think there's a little more going on than a case of mistaken identity, Special Agent Eppes?"

Don shrugged, carefully noncommittal. "I suspect everything. It's an occupational hazard. But you know that. You're in the business."

"Nice of you to remember that, Special Agent Eppes."

So much for that attempt at building a working relationship. Don took one last stab at it. "Any suggestions on which way to go before I give the horse his head?"

Nogales thought for a moment. Don was afraid that she was going to cut him off at the knees again, but she merely said, "try north, maybe a little bit east. Up the slopes. There's a nice view of facility; you can see not only the buildings but the small ranch that Caldwell maintains to try out their products on."

"They keep cattle?"

"About forty head or so. And some chickens off in a coop beside the barn. Head out to the stable, and listen. I'm sure you'll be able to hear them cluck."

"Thanks. I will." Don decided to escape while he could. Was there an insult in that last comment somewhere? Don chose to pretend that there wasn't.


"Ah, Dr. Eppes. I was looking for you." Dr. Bostwick entered the room along with a silent bodyguard type who carefully scanned the room to make certain that there was no assassin lurking among the nonexistent dust bunnies in the corners of the room. The bodyguard took up residence by the door, silent and burly.

Dr. Bostwick himself was large, enough to be described as over large in both physique and personality. Heavy-boned and tall, he had clearly enjoyed much of what life had to offer as demonstrated by his ample girth. The only thing in scant supply about Dr. Bostwick was his hair—and his humility. Charlie had run up against several of these types in academia, men who were so convinced of their general intellectual superiority that they truly believed that others needed to cater to their whims. Charlie had also developed his own technique for skewering those over-inflated balloons: patience. Simply wait until the inevitable gaffe occurred, and a verbal barb wouldn't even be needed. Bald-faced embarrassment would send the pompous ego into retreat.

Rufus, however, also seated at the conference table beside Charlie, was awed by the presence. No small man himself, there was a slight unconscious hunch toRufus's shoulders that passed as an attempt to hide himself from intellectual scrutiny. Charlie recognized that maneuver as well, having seen it time and time again in students who came unprepared to his classes.

"Dr. Bostwick," Charlie greeted the researcher.

"Bill, please."

"Bill." Charlie stuck out his hand. "Charlie. This is Rufus."

The handshake that Bostwick gave Rufus was consistent with Rufus's desire to remain unnoticed. It was not Rufus that Bostwick was there to have conversation with. Bostwick only spoke to those who were his intellectual and/or social equals. Rufus didn't qualify.

"How are you coming with the investigation, Charlie?" he asked. "Find out anything?"

"Making progress," Charlie acknowledged. "I'm just the consultant. My brother Don is the one who does the investigating, him and his team."

"Interesting. How does a mathematician consult on a murder case?"

"Lots of ways," Charlie told him. "Bullet angles are only one aspect of practical math applications. I look for patterns in all sorts of things."

"Really? What sort of pattern would you find in my process? I hear your assistant has been looking at my work."

"Rufus isn't my assistant, he's an FBI agent," Charlie corrected with an apologetic look at Rufus.

"But my question still stands," Bostwick pressed. "What sort of pattern did you find in my process?"

"Nothing, yet," Charlie returned. Rufus still hadn't found his voice. "I'm sure that there are patterns in there somewhere, but nothing that seems pertinent at the moment. I'm just sort of poking around, seeing what pops up and catches our attention. Remember, I'm supposed to be looking for stuff that applies to Dr. Halligan's murder, not things that simply apply to agricultural chemistry." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Tell me about your process. Not the chemistry of it; I doubt that I'd be able to understand it in a single sitting. But the whole concept sounds quite amazing. How do you test it?"

"Ah." Bostwick's face lit up; he was on familiar ground there. He settled in for a long lecture. "As you came in, did you see the fields around us?"

"Yes. I assumed that they belonged to some of the local ranches. Not so?"

"Quite right. Those fields belong to Caldwell; we grow wheat and other grains on them to test my Formula K-19. We're in the process of harvesting a lot of it right now and feeding it to the herd of cattle that we maintain for the same purposes. The chickens are also feasting on the corn crop, whatever we didn't lose to the local crows and their brethren."

"So your process is designed for use on livestock? Not for food intended for human consumption?"

"We'll get there," Bostwick said confidently. "Right now we're only looking at cattle feed, and the crops that we're feeding to poultry. Frankly, we feel we'll have better acceptance by consumers going that route. If it's fed to livestock, it's a step away from human consumption. None of the silly naturalists to interfere and say that chemicals are ruining us."

"Ah ha." Charlie leaned back. "That explains the cattle I spotted on the way here. They're all yours? Caldwell's, I mean?"

"That's right. A year or so ago we purchased some cattle from the locals and hired some workers to manage the ranch. We keep a stable of horses, as well; do you ride?"

"I ride a bike," Charlie said with a straight face.

Bostwick laughed good-naturedly. "We'll have to see about getting you on a horse. You, too—I'm sorry, I don't remember your name?"

"Rufus." Who was not unhappy at being overlooked by the two geniuses. Safer to stay in the background and keep his mouth shut. "I'd like that. Haven't ridden since I was a kid."

Another chuckle. "We'll remedy that. Anything else, Dr. Eppes? Full cooperation, you know. And, since it seems to be my hide that is getting shot at, I'm very eager to cooperate."

"Charlie," Charlie reminded the older man. "Actually, yes, there is one other thing. I've been looking over some of your results, and I have to say, I'm very impressed. A ninety three percent yield?"

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Bostwick preened. "I dare any other researcher in this particular field of study to match that. And you're wondering how, right?"

"You've got me there." Charlie nodded.

"Somehow, if I say 'magic', I don't think you'll believe me," Bostwick teased. "The secret is in the purity of our starting material. The more pure the original matter, the more likely we are to come up with a strong yield. Of course, it helps that we're still in the micro-production phase. I keep strong control over the entire process, from beginning to end. I suspect that the yield will drop off somewhat once we rev up the quantities but it should still be good enough to make a substantial difference in the final outcome." He paused. "That answer your question, Dr. Eppes? I'm sorry—Charlie."

"It does," Charlie told him. "You wouldn't happen to have any of the raw data lying around? Professional curiosity, you understand. How your field of research crunches its numbers, and such."

"I think I can arrange that…" Bostwick allowed his voice to trail off. "In fact…" He stood, crossing to the terminal sitting at an empty desk in the corner of the room. He turned it on. "Give me a couple of moments to access the data on the mainframe. I should be able to print it out at the main desk in a couple of moments. That do the trick?"

"More than acceptable," Charlie grinned.


Don inhaled, and smiled. Even the smell of manure couldn't dampen his spirits. It had been too long since he'd been riding and even though this clearly fell under the line of duty, he was looking forward to getting into the saddle again. Stewart had called ahead, had alerted the stable hands that Special Agent Eppes was to have access to whatever he needed, and the results were a girl barely out of her teens leading a dappled gray toward him.

"That Sarge?" Don only had eyes for the horse.

"You ride?" The girl's primary concern was for the horse and its immediate future. "I could take you out, show you around."

"This is not a joy ride," Don told her, "and, yes, I've been on a horse. This the animal that Dr. Halligan used to ride?"

"Yeah," she said, not convinced of Don's competence. "I've been exercising him during the week. Dr. Alyse used to come out and feed him a carrot or something on her lunch break." She rubbed the horse's nose with obvious affection. Don couldn't be certain whether that affection aimed at the horse, at Dr. Halligan, or both.

"You've seen her a lot, then." It was not really a question.

"Yeah. She really cared about Sarge."

"She seem upset about anything the last few days?" Don couldn't help it; the question popped out.

The girl looked startled, then looked around uneasily. "Maybe."

Don took that as a yes. "Did she say why?"

"When we talked, we talked about horses," the girl admitted. "Dr. Alyse usually didn't want to talk about work, and the stuff she did talk about was way beyond me. Horses were better to talk about."

"Oh." Don hadn't really expected to get anything, but it was disappointing just the same.

"But she did use to talk to Sarge here."

Ears perked up. "That sounds like she said some interesting stuff."

"I don't know if you'd call it interesting…"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Don suggested. "What did she say?"

"Just stuff about wanting to look at the ranch from high up." The girl pointed up toward the slope gently climbing away from the buildings. "She wanted to look at the cattle from a distance. She'd usually start out along that trail." The girl pointed.

"Thanks. That's a good start for me. I'd like to see what she saw, go where she went." Don cocked his head. "That's all that she said? Nothing more? Even stuff that didn't sound like it meant anything?"

"Nothing more, unless you want to hear about the 'you know you don't get more than one carrot, Sarge' stuff."

Don grinned. "I'll pass on the 'I love you, little horsie' kind of sayings. But thanks. You've helped."

"For real?"

"For real. I think that Dr. Halligan would have approved."

"Good." The girl rubbed at a nonexistent itch on the dappled gray she was leading before handing the lead over to Don. "You're gonna get the guy who did this, right? I mean, to Dr. Alyse?"

Don stepped into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle, testing the fit. Sarge snorted gently, flicked his ears back and forth at the smell of an unknown rider. "I'm sure going to try."


"What's going on here?" Rosa Nogales, head of Security, strode up to the stables, fire flashing. Charlie got the distinct impression that a few choice words had been edited from her original question, words that weren't found in any reputable dictionary. "What do you think you're doing?" She planted her feet firmly in the center of the courtyard, daring anyone to move her aside and that included the half ton horses that were being led out by the stable hands.

David Sinclair was unimpressed. Federal authority trumped private property, especially when the CEO of said private property had called in the federal assistance. A murder had taken place, and tracking down the murderer was a higher priority than corporate secrets. "We're investigating, Ms. Nogales."

"And you think one of the stable hands did it? Maybe one of the horses? Pretty tough to hold a sniper's special with hooves," Nogales lashed out.

Charlie interrupted, trying to head off the fireworks. "Actually, Dr. Bostwick suggested that we come out this way. His formula may have some bearing on the problem, and we'd like to examine the results on the fields. I understand that it's easiest to get to those fields on horseback. Care to join us? Dr. Bostwick is."

"He is?" That put a new spin on things. Unreadable thoughts darted behind those liquid brown eyes. "Thank you for the suggestion, Dr. Eppes. I will join you." And added, "I'm not entirely comfortable with Dr. Bostwick being out in the open. If a sniper tried once, he may try again. A single security person may not be enough."

"Glad to have you join us." David declined to point out that Bostwick wouldn't have simply his bodyguard, but would have three FBI agents along as well. If Nogales needed that sop to her ego, he'd let her. The FBI could afford to be magnanimous. They held all the trump cards.

"You ride?" Charlie asked. At her affirmative, he grinned engagingly at her. "Good. You can look after me as well as Bill Bostwick. Me, I have to ask which horse's ear you stick the key into. How much horsepower is there under the skin? Is the black one the sports model? Which one has an automatic transmission? I have serious issues with a stick shift. Oh, sorry, you call it a crop."

Crude, but it worked. Rosa Nogales couldn't help but crack a grin. "Gawd," she burst out, choking down laughter, "do they seriously let you out in public?"

More grinning. "Not if they can help it," Charlie returned. "You should see what I've put Don through. The family joke is that he escaped to college to get away from me." Not all that far from the truth, he thought, but not for the reasons that the chief of security would think. "And my father is convinced that I need a keeper." He shrugged, still with a pleased expression. "I leave it to you to decide if he's right." He peered at the horse that the stable hand was patiently holding, the girl trying to keep from giggling. "That thing looks big."

Dr. Bostwick bustled up, bodyguard in tow. Was it his imagination, or did David see a ghost of dismay cross the senior researcher's face upon spotting Nogales? No matter. Bostwick took over.

"Everyone ready? Yes? Bess, where's Champion? Don't you have him saddled yet? What's keeping you? I hear him snorting all the way from here. Go get him." Bostwick strode across the paddock, pushing one of the horses out of his path, his bodyguard hustling to keep up. "And get a mount for Sikorski, here. He's coming with us. You too, Nogales? I thought you had other things you needed to do." Better things to do, was the unspoken emphasis.

"Why, Dr. Bostwick," Nogales chirped, barely able to hold her malice in check, "I wouldn't dream of allowing you into the open fields without adequate protection. I shouldn't have to remind you that the sniper is still at large."

A fencing match, Colby Granger decided. Both parties jabbing at each other, testing each other's defenses, ready to strike a killing verbal blow.

Should make for an interesting ride.