Pointing toward a thin trail of smoke rising behind a stand of pines. "That's got to be his place." We moved in. Slow. Careful.
A man living like that didn't take kindly to surprises. Just like we expected. We hadn't closed half the distance when a voice cut through the trees. "That's far enough." "State your business."
"Sihaya." She called back. Steady and clear. "Sister of Cairo." There was a long pause. Then the sound of boots moving through brush.
The man who stepped out looked about my age. Lean. Sharp-eyed. The kind who stayed alive by thinking fast and shooting faster. When he saw her, something in his face shifted.
Recognition. And something close to regret. "Damn, Sihaya." He said quietly. "I heard about Cairo. Wish I'd been there."
"You couldn't have stopped it." She replied. "But you can help make sure it doesn't happen again." His eyes slid to me. Measuring. "And who's your friend?"
"Dax Calder." I said. Stepping down from the saddle. Keeping my hands where he could see them. Well clear of my guns. His eyes narrowed just a touch.
"Dax Calder." "The one who took down the Jameson crew alone?" "That was a long time ago." I said. "I'm trying to be someone else now." "Someone like what?"
"The kind of man who stops men like Varick Holt before they ruin more lives." Rook didn't answer right away. He just stood there. Studying both of us. Then finally, he jerked his head toward the cabin.
"All right." He said. "Come on." "Let's talk." The cabin was small. But it had the feel of a place someone had worked hard to make into a home.
Books lined a shelf. A guitar rested in the corner. And the smell of fresh bread drifted from the back. "I've been out of that life 6 months." Rook said. Pouring coffee into tin cups.