On Deadly Ground by Michael Norman Page A

shoulder. It took him a moment to place the attractive woman smiling at him from a few feet away.
    â€œRebecca Eddins, all grown up.” Books returned the smile.
    â€œYou had me a little worried, J.D. I was afraid you might have lost your hearing.”
    â€œCutting me a little slack might be nice, don’t you think? It’s been what, twelve, maybe thirteen years since we last saw each other?”
    â€œSomething like that, yeah. You were a senior in high school and the star of the football and basketball teams. I was the skinny little freckled-face girl in the tenth grade who had an enormous crush on you but couldn’t get your attention.”
    â€œSorry, Becky. I can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”
    â€œForget it—ancient history now anyway.”
    â€œGuess so.”
    She definitely had Books’ attention now. No longer a skinny high school tenth grader, standing in front of him now was a beautiful, fully grown, and fully developed young woman. She was tall, five-eight or nine, he guessed, with long black hair and penetrating green eyes that looked at him with bemused curiosity. She was bare-legged, wearing a denim skirt, pink blouse, and sandals. Her squash-blossom necklace was accented by matching turquoise earrings.
    Becky Eddins looked fine.
    He glanced down at her left hand and didn’t see a wedding ring. She noticed the look. “I was married once, but it didn’t last. We met in law school and got hitched at the end of our first year.”
    â€œChildren?”
    â€œOne. A beautiful little boy. He’s six now and looks every bit a member of the Eddins clan. Speaking of family, how’s yours?”
    â€œI’m sure you see more of them than I do. Sis and her family seem to be doing just fine. Maggie always sent pictures of my nephews, Jeff and Chad. I swear they’ve grown like weeds. We stayed in touch.”
    â€œWhat about your father?”
    â€œGood question. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I got back.”
    â€œAh. Sorry about your mom. I know she was really sick those last few weeks. And I felt bad that I wasn’t here for the funeral. I was in Europe at the time. Dad called me in London with the news.”
    â€œYour folks came to the funeral, and they extended condolences on your behalf,” said Books. “Your dad’s a good man. I always liked Neil, although he and dad sure went the rounds.”
    â€œThat’s for sure.”
    â€œHas anything changed on that front?”
    â€œNot really. The land management issues always take on a life of their own. You know that. After Clinton and his gang of thugs declared the Grand Staircase a national monument without any local input, the BLM has caught most of the flack. It’s a never-ending battle—only the players change. Since your dad retired, he’s no longer on the receiving end of the criticism. That privilege now belongs to your new boss, Alexis Runyon.”
    â€œAnd what’s the local gossip saying about my return to town?”
    â€œYou want it straight?”
    â€œNo reason to sugarcoat it.”
    â€œOkay. Some locals will give you the benefit of the doubt because you grew up here, but not everybody. Some radical members of the movement don’t care that you were raised here. To them, you represent a federal bureaucracy they hate. You’re the first BLM law enforcement officer assigned here, and a lot of folks resent it. And it sure doesn’t help that your first official act is to plant yourself square in the middle of a murder investigation. The best advice I can give you is to keep your eyes open and watch your back.”
    â€œBy ‘movement,’ you mean that group of local ranchers and business people headed by your father, Neil, and your uncle, Boyd—the Citizens for a Free West.”
    She nodded.
    â€œWell, I asked you not to sugarcoat it.”
    â€œSorry,” she said. “I