Blood Runs Cold

‘They were all Nick Nolte,’ said Robbie.

Ren laughed. ‘That is just too funny.’

‘Not if you’re getting beaten around the head with the butt of an assault rifle by one of them.’

‘True,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘You know, they’re sending out a message: these are the only faces we’ll give you for mug shots.’

Robbie let out a breath.

‘Who did they assault?’ said Ren.

‘Everyone,’ said Robbie.

‘Everyone?’

Robbie nodded.

‘They took the time to do that?’ said Ren.

‘While three of them were taking the money, two went crazy on the staff. So – no extra time wasted.’

‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘So you didn’t have the most productive night.’

‘I was freezing my butt off out there. Sons-of-guns.’

‘You should write a book: “When Bad Language Happens to Good People”. Or “The F-word Diet”.’

Robbie smiled. ‘I couldn’t write a book that you’d never read.’

Ren laughed. ‘I’ll swap you a copy of yours for a copy of mine: “On Alcohol, Coffee and Pre-marital Sex”.’

Robbie was Mormon. He laughed.

‘So what’s going to happen with the robbery investigation while you guys are in Breckenridge?’

‘The rest of the guys back at Safe Streets are going to keep working on the robberies that have happened so far, but if there are any new ones, it’s business as usual for me, Colin and Cliff – we’ll just have to head back to Denver. Which sucks. I mean, we’re here to work on Jean’s murder, obviously, but we can’t shut everything else down completely.’

‘I guess not,’ said Ren. ‘But it does suck.’ She stopped to take a half-liter bottle of water from her pack. It was empty. Shit.

‘Ren?’ Mike called back to her.

She raised her head too quickly. ‘Whoa.’ She took a step back. Her legs went weak.

Mike jogged down to her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘My head.’

‘You got a headache?’ said Mike.

‘Yes. Ow.’ She pressed two hands to her forehead. ‘Shit, that’s bad.’ She turned to Robbie. ‘You go ahead.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ said Robbie.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got it,’ said Mike. He turned back to Ren. ‘Did it come on all of a sudden?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s just keep walking.’

Mike eyed her. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’

‘Yeah. Come on.’

‘Sounds like those teeth are gritted,’ said Mike, taking her hand and pulling her up.

‘I’m fine.’

They walked for another minute or two and Ren stopped again.

‘Did you drink any water today?’ said Mike.

‘Em, no. Coffee.’

‘And last night?’

‘Em … alcohol.’ Which I probably reek of anyway.

‘Right, you’re going back down,’ said Mike.

‘No way,’ said Ren, taking a step forward, then swaying on her feet.

‘You’ve got altitude sickness,’ said Mike.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Oh, please. Yes, you do.’

Someone once described altitude sickness to Ren as your body trying to suck your brain down through your spinal column. She couldn’t shake the image.

‘It’s not altitude sickness,’ said Ren.

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Down,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet you down there.’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘No. I need to see what’s going on up there.’

‘We’ll have photos.’

‘Yeah, but –’