(Why the ethics of this little side job had begun to nag as the miles passed under the tires, the Texas Ranger didn't have a clue. Wasn't like he was changing sides in the war on crime or anything. Not like he'd be stepping on any influential toes either. The double homicide was cold enough, a year old yesterday. And out of his or any Ranger's usual jurisdiction, way out, whole states out. Morrison, Montana, a town so small it didn't rate a dot on a map, any map he could find. Ten large under the table simply to finger the bad guy if he could--with or without enough evidence to convict Should be cut-and-dried easy. Especially for a Ranger with a psychic gift. A subconscious mental process he likened to a bloodhound sifting myriad scents in choosing the right one to track. When it worked. Always a downside to everything. Like the name on some mythical office should he ever strike out on his own. Horney Investigations. Beat Blaine Horney, PI, or B. Horney, Private Investigator, but not by much. What kind of clients could he expect to draw with that? A steady paycheck had a lot more appeal, for now anyway. Side jobs notwithstanding.

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