44
What sleep I managed to get was haunted by nightmares of being pursued by men with rifles. I was a coyote.
I woke at six the next morning to Diana pawing at me, whining to go for a run. It felt like such a mundane task in light of all of the craziness going on. But I couldn’t think of a more productive thing. Perhaps it would jiggle loose a solution for the problems we were facing.
I pulled on shorts and a shirt and quietly stepped out the front door and past a snoring Shea. At least someone was getting some sleep.
The ground was damp from an overnight rain. The cool air smelled sweet with the fragrance of palo verde blossoms and free of its usual cocktail of desert dust and car exhaust.
Diana insisted on stopping every hundred feet or so to smell a tree, a mailbox, or a street sig
