Page 30 of Coyote

"You came back."

"Not fast enough."

Then the yard filled with voices.

Cruz reached the shed first, Mateo close behind him with a shotgun. Linc came through the door after them, chest heaving from the ride. Ransom and Rafe spread out to check the rest of the yard.

Sierra arrived with his hair loose and a rifle in his hands. He took one look at me and lowered it. "Everybody alive who matters?"

"Yes," I said.

Sierra looked at my ribs. "Get him up to the house."

"It's two stitches."

"Then you can complain while I replace them."

A wiry man I hadn't met stepped into the shed behind Rafe, shorter than the rest of them and all sinew, a faded blue tattoo running up his neck. He looked over the bodies, then at the motorcycle.

Coyote shifted closer to me.

The man crossed the room, pulled away the rest of the tarp, and crouched beside the rear wheel.

"What are you doing, Joe?" Coyote asked.

Joe ignored him. He ran one hand beneath the frame, stopped, and reached farther. Something small and black came free in his fingers with a metallic click. A magnetic box.

"This is how they found him," Joe said. "Tracker."

Joe turned the box over and found a seam with his thumbnail. "Cellular GPS unit," he said. "Internal battery. Whoever owns the account could've watched every mile this bike moved since Coyote started it."

"How long does the battery last?" Rafe asked.

"Depends on how often it reports. A month, maybe longer."

"And it works from anywhere?"

"Anywhere it can find a cell signal."

Coyote held still beside me.

"You knew where to look real fast," he said.

Joe's face hardened. "You want to accuse me of something, accuse me."

Coyote pushed himself up. I caught the back of his shirt before he cleared his knees.

Rafe stepped between them. "Enough. Joe, strip the entire bike. Seat, tank, frame, everything. I want every piece checked before sunrise."

Joe held Coyote's eyes for another second. Then he nodded. "Fine."

Coyote didn't look away until Joe turned his back.

Rafe crouched beside the man with the damaged heel and examined his boots.

"This was coordinated," he said. "One man walks the north fence and gets my patrol chasing a dead fox. These other two come up the service road and step over the south line while everybody's looking the wrong way."

"Nothing parked in the yard," Ransom said. "They walked the last stretch. Whatever dropped them must've sat out on the county road."