I nodded. "Sure. Run to end zone, catch Frisbee, throw Frisbee if I'm not in end zone. Got it." I didn't mention my hands were shaking and I wasn't sure if I could catch a Frisbee, since I had never tried.

"You'll do fine," he a.s.sured me. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought you."

We walked back over to the guys and lined up for a game of Ultimate. My team, the ones wearing shirts, had the Frisbee, so when the game started I sprinted, easily clearing the defense of Alex's shirtless golden-skinned team and headed toward the end zone. Before I was quite there, I looked over my shoulder in time to see Bridger fling a fluorescent pink Frisbee clear from the other end of the field. It soared through the air, high over the heads of the running defense, and floated down right into my hands. I happened to be standing in the end zone.

We played for a good half hour, with me scoring several points because of my speed, but that was about all I did-run to the end zone, catch the Frisbee.

The more I watched the other players, though, the more I understood the game. I started using my speed not only to run to the end zone for points, but also to intercept the Frisbee when the other team had it. Alex would have the Frisbee and throw it toward one of his guys, but I would sprint as fast as I could and s.n.a.t.c.h it out of the air a split second before Alex's guy could catch it. Boy, did that make me a popular player. My weakness was throwing. Half the time when I intercepted the Frisbee, I gave it right back to the other team. "Learn to aim," Kat would snap. But when my throws were successful, all the guys on my team would whoop and holler and high-five me.

Bridger wasn't the least bit surprised. He'd just nod and have a look of pure satisfaction in his eyes when they met mine.

After my team had won three games to none, it was four twenty-five-five minutes till work. I was sweaty and panting, and my hair, I am sure, needed to be redone before I set foot into the Navajo Mexican.

"I've got to go to work," I told Walt, who was ready to play again even though he was winded and soaked with sweat.

"Oh! Come on, Mag! Play one more!" some of the guys called.

"Another time, guys. I've got to go, too," Bridger said. He pulled his T-shirt off and wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. My eyes latched onto his body. His shoulders were like airplane wings, his arms corded with long, lean muscle. Some of the guys b.u.mped their knuckles against his and said, "Nice game, Atay." Then he came and stood beside me, pulling his shirt back on.

"So, Mag, where do you work?" Walt asked. I don't know where the nickname Mag had come from, but I didn't mind it.

"She works at a little restaurant, serving people," Kat said, as if it were the most demeaning job in the world.

"Wait a sec! Are you Magdalena?" Walt asked incredulously.

"Yeah. How do you know me?"

"I'm Maria's husband," he said, smiling. "She's away on maternity leave. You're covering for her?"

"Wow, small world," I said. I reached up and unbound my hair, shaking it out.

"Small town," Walt corrected. "Well, come and play again, Mag. We play every Tuesday and Thursday at three thirty."

"Yeah, come back again, Mag. Anytime," Alex said, his eyes holding mine.

"Thanks, Alex." He grinned as he watched me comb my fingers through my hair. A hand came down on my shoulder and I jumped. Alex scowled and stopped staring. Kat, standing beside Alex, shook her head the tiniest bit.

I glanced at Bridger in surprise. He was smiling at Alex, but his eyes were hard as rock.

"Thanks for the invite, Alex. I'd like to play again," I replied, feeling sorry for the guy. I turned to go, shrugging Bridger's hand away.

Bridger called his good-byes to the guys, told Kat he'd be back in five minutes, and caught up with me.

"What was that about?" I asked as I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail.

"Huh?" He didn't look at me-just stared straight ahead.

"You don't like Alex looking at me."

He turned toward me, making eye contact. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes. "So, how do you know them and why do they call you Atay?"

"Atay's a nickname. Alex is my second cousin. He and the other Navajo guys just moved to town for the summer, from the Navajo reservation. The guys I told you about the day after graduation, who I hang out with when you're at work. They're doing some work for my dad."

"What kind of work? Because, no offense, but they look like they do hard labor."

"Don't judge a person by the color of his skin," Bridger snapped.

I looked at him, confused. "What are you? Oh. I get it. I didn't mean they looked like they do hard labor because they're dark skinned. I mean, Alex is way beautiful." Bridger barked a laugh and my cheeks started to burn. "What I meant is they're ripped-all of them. It looks like they spend a lot of time in the gym. Or mowing lawns. Or herding cattle or something."

"They're doing some security jobs for my dad," he explained.

"Even Walt?"

"No, just the Navajo boys. Walt's a banker. He handles my dad's money."

"He looks like a banker. So, what are you doing tonight? Hanging with your cousin?"

"Stuff for my dad, actually."

"But I thought he was in France."

His dark brows drew together. "That's the problem. He's not here, so when things go wrong, I'm the one who gets to sort out the local c.r.a.p."

"Is everything okay? You look worried."

The expression melted from his face, replaced with nonchalance. "It's just family stuff. No big deal." He smiled. "You're a fast runner. I can't believe you picked up on Ultimate so easily. Katie felt pretty annoyed that you're better than her." He reached his hand toward me, as if to pat me on the back or ruffle my hair, but it stopped halfway and dropped back to his side.

"Yeah. Alex seemed pretty surprised, too."

Bridger's lips thinned the slightest bit. If I hadn't been looking for his reaction, I would have missed it.

"Well, I'll see you after work," I said. We'd arrived at the restaurant. Bridger stared down at me, his eyes questioning, his face darkly serious. The breath caught in my throat and I couldn't move. He blinked and ran a hand through his dark hair, and the moment was gone.

"I'm coming in for dinner. Tell Yana and Penney that I want you to be my server."

"That drives them nuts, you know."

"Yes, I know. I can feel their jealousy," he said.

"So, why don't you let us take turns serving you?"

He leaned closer to me. "Because, Maggie, the food seems to taste better when you bring it to me. You are what draws me here." I felt myself blush. He shrugged and got that serious look in his eyes again. "I'll see ya later." With that he was gone. I watched him walk away and felt empty, like there was something he forgot to tell me, like he was leaving our good-bye undone. I shook my head to clear it and walked into work.

I rearranged my schedule with Jose so that I didn't work the lunch shift on Tuesday or Thursday. Bridger, Kat, and I met up with the guys on those afternoons and played Ultimate. Now Bridger and I together were like a secret weapon. We just worked well as a two-person team-we were like chips and salsa, or bacon and eggs. He had amazingly good eyesight and aim, and I had speed and agility. We were unbeatable. Alex and Walt fought over whose team we were going to be on every time we played, since Bridger insisted he and I play on the same team. And while I still caught Alex checking me out when Bridger wasn't looking, he never hit on me.

I felt so human around Bridger I nearly forgot how different I was.

I spent every waking moment with Bridger, Kat, Naalyehe, or Mrs. Carpenter, and I didn't have the time or need to turn into an animal, not with Bridger driving me home from work every night.

Because I stopped changing, I stayed alive longer than I should have.

And because of this bitter irony, Bridger was the one who ended up shooting me.

24.

The streets were unusually empty for midafternoon and the desert sun blazed down on the top of my head and seared my bare arms. Bridger couldn't drive me to work because he had to help Alex with some sort of crisis, and I didn't want to bother Mrs. Carpenter for a ride.

Even though I was sweating like a sinner at confession when I walked into the air-conditioned restaurant, I had a smile on my face.

"Maggie Mae," Jose said as I entered the kitchen. "Have you been out in the sun? You look rosy! Healthy!" He waggled his bushy eyebrows. "You look like you're in love!"

My face started to burn and it had nothing to do with the fact that I'd gotten a sunburn walking to work. He chuckled and started singing in Spanish, something about amor.

Naalyehe put his dishcloth down and peered at me over his shoulder. His eyes focused on my wrist, on the bracelet, and he frowned. "I need to talk to you," he said, voice barely audible over Jose's opera. I followed Naalyehe out the back door and into the rear parking lot. Even standing in the shadow of the restaurant, the air was searing hot.

"Everything okay?" I asked, wondering how twenty seconds ago I was blushing about an accusation of being in love, but now felt like snakes were wrestling in my stomach.

"That man," Naalyehe said quietly. "Remember the man who was looking for you?"

A chill ran down my spine. "Yeah, I do. Is he back?"

"He's been in the local jail. A deputy mentioned it today at lunch."

"Really? Jail? Did you catch his name?"

Naalyehe nodded. "I also got a picture." He pulled a three-by-five photograph out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

It was a mug shot, a man standing by a ruler, holding a black plaque that had writing on it. I studied the words but couldn't make them out.

"The deputy gave this to me to see if you might recognize the man. His name is Rolf Heinrich. When he was arrested, the police did a thorough background check and found an outstanding warrant."

"Rolf who?" I asked, squinting and studying the unfamiliar face. I was absolutely certain I had never seen the man before.

"Heinrich," Naalyehe said more slowly. "He is American, but his name is foreign."

"Hmm. I have no clue who he is," I said, handing the picture back with unsteady fingers. I thought of the afternoon I'd been mountain biking with Bridger, when someone had been in the woods. I opened my mouth to tell Naalyehe about it, but then thought better of the idea. No use worrying the man.

Back inside, I put on an ap.r.o.n.

"Business has been slow," Jose warned as I pinned my name tag into place. "But any day now the tourists will be coming to town and it will pick back up."

"Well, thank goodness for that," I said distractedly and hurried to the dining room.

Bridger came in for dinner that night-alone-though he came earlier than his normal eight o'clock. It was half past five when he strode through the door like a restless wind and sat down in the booth by the window.

"You're early and you forgot your shadow," I said, instantly aware that my hair was slipping out of its ponytail and framing my face in a wispy mess. I tucked the loose strands behind my ears and smiled. He smiled, but it hardly touched his eyes. "Everything all right?"

"No. My dad called this afternoon. We had a huge fight." The muscles in his jaw clenched and released. I wanted to put my hands on his face and steal away the tension. His eyes met mine and anger was replaced with concern. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about me. I don't deserve your worry." He made a second, much more convincing effort at smiling.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"Then why are you here?"

His eyes met mine and held. "I needed to get away from Katie, and I need someone to talk to."

It took a minute for his words to make sense. When they did, I couldn't help but smile.

"Since I'm here, I might as well eat, but I need a change. How are the nachos?" That was possibly the only thing on the menu he'd never eaten.

"I've never had them. They look good, though. They're made with stone-ground blue corn."

"That's what I want. And a c.o.ke."

"I'll be right back with that."

As Jose had predicted earlier, business was slow. Penney and I were running the dining room. Actually only Penney was-I didn't have any customers besides Bridger, so when I brought his nachos out, I sat across the table from him. He was so consumed with something other than hunger that he didn't notice me, or the plate of food steaming beneath his nose.

"Bridger? Earth to Bridger!"

He looked at me, puzzled; then a grin split his face and wiped the worry from his eyes. "Sorry." He looked at his food and his eyes fogged over again.

"Bridger?" He didn't respond. I rolled my eyes and stood. If he was too distracted to hold a conversation, I'd leave him alone with his thoughts.

Quick as lightning his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. "Don't," he said, the brooding back in his eyes.

"Don't what?" I asked.

"Please don't leave."

I sat back down and he let go of my wrist. He pa.s.sed his half-full c.o.ke to me and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest to watch me drink.

Just then, an older couple entered the restaurant. I pa.s.sed Bridger's half-empty c.o.ke back to him and jumped up to seat them.

"What can I get you to drink?" I asked the couple as they sat down in a corner booth.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't hear the words that came out of it. My ears were muted, as if blood had pooled around the eardrum. My skin became sickly hot and clammy all at once, and I had the sudden urge to flinch. A flash of memory a.s.sailed me, of a hand with a gold cla.s.s ring on the finger flying toward my face. I gasped and touched the scar in my eyebrow.