Page 7 of Ransom

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"Close enough meaning yes and you don't want to say where, or close enough meaning somewhere just over the state line?"

"Doña Ana County."

Border country. That tracked with the file. "Family still down there?"

"No."

I waited. Nothing else came.

"Brother?"

That did it. The glare sharpened, and his fists clenched. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"Rafe mentioned it," I said. Same temperature, same easy pace. "Didn't say much. He doing okay?"

I had a file on Ransom back in my truck, just like the files I had on everyone else living and working at Pae Saco Ranch. Just so happened his was the most interesting. He was, after all, the only one with a brother who'd gotten struck by lightning ten years ago. That brother was currently lying in a coma ward down in Albuquerque.

I'd poked the bear on purpose, and I wasn't even a little sorry about it.

"He's breathing," Ransom said.

"That's something."

"It's not much."

"No," I said. "I guess it isn't."

He pushed off the wall, crossed to the stove, crouched, and fed it a piece of wood.

I leaned back in my chair.

"So," I said. "You got a name, or do I just call you Tall and Taciturn?"

He looked up from the stove. "You read my file."

"I did."

"Then you know my name."

"I do." I waited. "Still waiting to hear you say it."

The look he gave me could've stripped paint off a barn door. He stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. "Ransom. Ransom Lanza."

"See? Wasn't so hard." I set the hat back on the table. "You got somebody, Ransom? Back at the ranch, or anywhere?"

He went still. "That's not your business."

"Probably not," I agreed. "You just seem like a man who's been carrying things alone for a while. Comes with the job: reading people."

"Then read somebody else."

"No," I said. "You're more interesting than that."

He was good at not answering. Better than most. But I was better at my job than he was at his.

"How long's it been?"

He turned around. "Since what?"

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