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frowned and gave a slight shake of the head. The last thing he needed was Miriam striking a match to things.
    “Trust me.”
    He glanced at Eliza, who shrugged. Jacob stepped back and let Miriam take the forefront.
    “You’re former law enforcement,” she said.
    “What makes you say that?” the man said.
    As soon as she said it, Jacob saw what she meant. There was something about the way he carried himself. Confident, poised for action. Jacob hadn’t noticed at first, but supposed that Miriam had, and for the same reason that Jacob had been scanning the refugees for medical conditions.
    Miriam tapped her chest. “I was FBI.”
    “Hah, right.”
    “Special Agent Haley Kite,” she said. Her old name. “Salt Lake City Field Office. They sent me to investigate this crazy cult.”
    “And now you’re one of them? How did that happen?”
    “Long story.”
    For what became for Jacob an uncomfortably long time, the two of them flatly regarded each other in silence.
    “You know my name,” Miriam said at last, without taking her eyes from his.
    “Mine’s McQueen,” he said.
    “Steve, I’m hoping.”
    A slight roll of the eyes. Not the first time he’d heard that. “Whit.”
    “What?”
    “No, Whit,” he said, with what might’ve been the beginning of a smile. “Whit McQueen.”
    “Almost as good. That’s right out of central casting.”
    “Huh?”
    “Whit McQueen. It sounds like Sylvester Stallone’s buddy in a crappy old action movie. Is that your real name?”
    “Whitney until kindergarten. Fewer fights with Whit.”
    She nodded. “So I’m thinking cop. Am I right?”
    “Army. Military police, so yeah, you’re pretty much right. I was at Green River for a while until the army shut down the camp. Caught some bug there. By the time I got out of the hospital, the nearest base was in Denver, and I had no way to get there.” He shrugged. “Guess that makes me a deserter.”
    “Sounds like the army deserted you, ” Miriam said.
    “Yeah, more or less.”
    “Bastards.”
    McQueen returned a wry smile.
    Jacob glanced at her, impressed. She could be such a hard case that he’d almost forgotten that Miriam had gained her reputation in the FBI by infiltrating criminal organizations. It’s what had brought her to the saints in the first place, only she’d infiltrated so deeply that she’d never got herself back out again. Here, she’d used that same skill to soften up McQueen.
    “Look,” she said. “Both sides screwed up last time. You guys were hungry, and we were scared. Some crap started and then got out of hand.”
    That was disingenuous, considering that Miriam had been among those most strongly advocating the move to destroy and scatter the squatter camp. Her explanation was of the “mistakes were made” variety. Surely, McQueen would see through it.
    But no. “I wasn’t here yet,” McQueen said, “but I heard. Ugly stuff. But I see why you’re jumpy. My dad joined the brush war in Kansas, fighting to keep the government from taking his corn. So I understand trying to protect what’s yours. I get it.”
    “That’s pretty much it right there.”
    “You still didn’t need to come in here shooting.”
    “Like I said, we screwed up.”
    The conversation faltered. McQueen stared at them, seemingly undecided. He glanced up at David at the .50-caliber machine gun, and the scowl refreshed itself.
    Jacob whispered to Eliza to bring out the food. Turning back to McQueen, he said, “We brought you something. No obligation. And it’s not a lot, but we can’t spare much. Not at the moment. It’s just to show our intentions are peaceful.”
    McQueen watched as the three of them hauled out the food and set it in the road. “What is it, wheat?”
    “Dried peas. Flour. Oh, and powdered milk.”
    McQueen’s eyes flickered at this last bit. So he had food—that part hadn’t impressed him. But powdered milk was something more valuable. Interesting.
    “And you don’t want anything at all