When Joan had done with her sales pitch, he asked her where they were going for their traps. Obligingly Joan began showing him on the topo. Anna found herself wishing she wouldn't. His interest was overly specific, having nothing to do with the project and all to do with where the three of them were going to be at any given time.

"I'm Anna Pigeon," she interrupted none too subtly. "This is Joan Rand, Rory Van Slyke." Stepping up to him, she thrust her hand out much as Joan had done. No better way to get the feel of somebody literally as well as figuratively. Despite the afternoon's heat, his palm was clammy. He was scared or had serious problems with circulation. A rank odor came off him. Not just the accumulation of unwashed body odors but something muskier, almost an animal smell. "What's your name?"

Again the flinch. "Geoffrey… uh… Mic-Mickleson."

"Nicholson?" Joan asked helpfully.

"Nicholson."

Now Anna knew he was up to something. "Where are you from, Geoffrey?" Had she been on the Trace, in uniform, she would have had this boy out of his car, his driver's license in her hand quicker than a swallow can change directions in flight.

"Oh. You know. All over. I'd better be going. It's a ways back to camp." He smiled for the first time and Anna resisted the temptation to be charmed. Not only was it pretty-his straight, white teeth probably the cleanest part of him-but sparked with a hint of apology and an innocence that bordered on goodness. The smile was at odds with the rest of the package. Anna chose to ignore it.

"Be seeing you around," she said as he turned and walked back the way he had come. It sounded more like: "We'll be keeping an eye on you." Anna meant it to. Some people bore watching. She was sure this fellow was among them. She was just as sure they wouldn't be seeing him. Not if he saw them first.