Mackenzie took several puffs on his cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Any idea where?"
Shirley shrugged. "The woman mentioned Yellowstone National Park, but that doesn't mean he's anywhere near there."
"Well, if it's Yellowstone, that pins it down to either Wyoming, Montana or Idaho," Mackenzie said dryly. "Don't suppose you care to be a little more specific?"
She glanced at the watch still clenched in her hand. "Wyoming. He's in Wyoming." The images reached for her again—images filled with lust and wanting. She shuddered and thrust the watch back in the bag.
Mackenzie sniffed. "Jackson is the biggest town near Yellowstone. I'll send a report to the sheriff's department, get them to keep an eye open."
"He's not in Jackson." She frowned, concentrating on the ghostly images still flitting past the protection of the bag. "But some place called Jackson Hole."
"Ski resort area," Mackenzie muttered. "I'll see what I can do."
