Swinging back, Russ brushed her again. More buzz than a swarm of bees. “I don’t know a lot of people in this town,” he said. “I’d love to go to the party. Any chance I can tag along?”

Rachel was so taken aback she could only stutter, “Uh…uh, I guess. But it’s a cop gathering,” she protested belatedly. Blabbing to Connie should have taught her to keep her mouth shut. “Backyard barbecue with a hefty serving of testosterone.” She hoped that last bit discouraged him. Chief Lyons wouldn’t like her dragging Dr. McKenzie over there to watch the guys guzzle beer.

“Great,” the doc responded. “I love barbecues.”

Rachel couldn’t uninvite him without being rude. That would tick off the chief worse.

The other cops would needle her later about bringing a date. And if Connie got an eyeful of this guy, she’d have plenty to say. Like, Tell me again why you aren’t jumping his bones.

Glumly, Rachel headed for Hale’s house. She had a feeling the main dish grilling over the coals was going to be her goose.

In actual fact, Russ didn’t relish the prospect of attending a party with a bunch of sweaty macho guys. He’d rather spend the evening cruising around with Rachel, listening to her loopy presentation and trying to figure out when she was kidding and when she was in earnest, but he was enjoying her company too much to quit now. So he would put up with whatever this party involved rather than go home alone.

He’d never met anyone like her. His parents, a professional couple who claimed to be advocates of social equality, might bend over backward to raise money for the oppressed but showed a subtle snobbery toward those from a blue-collar background.

One of the reasons he’d moved to Villazon was to escape their narrow social circle, which had drawn him in while he lived and worked so close to them. His old friend, a child psychologist named Mike Federov who served on staff at Mesa View Med Center, had praised the town’s friendliness and its healthy mixture of economic and ethnic groups.

Russ preferred to accept people as individuals. And Rachel Byers was unquestionably an individual. Maybe her co-workers would turn out to be interesting, as well.

Their destination proved to be a neighborhood of ranch-style homes in the southern part of town, a few blocks past a shopping center that included a discount furniture store, a gift shop and a supermarket. A row of jacaranda trees lined the street, showing only the first hint of buds that would later blossom into vivid lavender.

“The guys tend to act a little wild on their days off,” Rachel warned as she found a space along the crowded curb.

“Meaning what, exactly?” Russ inquired.

“They’re kind of physical.” She collected the DVDs.

“In what sense?” His idea of getting physical at a barbecue involved nothing more than hefting a hamburger.

“Ever wrestle with your brother? Or your sister?” she said as she climbed out.

Russ had developed a distaste for fighting in high school, when he’d had to deck a few guys to end persistent bullying. Although he’d won, he hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

“I’m an only child. While I’ve done weight training, I never cared for contact sports.” He seized on a more interesting topic. “How many siblings do you have, anyway?”

“Depends on how you figure it.” With that enigmatic comment, she veered onto a walkway, marched up the steps and entered the house without knocking. Since he assumed this must be acceptable behavior, Russ followed.

They appeared to have walked into a pool hall. Cigarette smoke, masculine chatter and the crack of a cue against a ball greeted them. At a billiards table, half a dozen men were so busy playing that they barely acknowledged the new arrivals. Their Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts made Russ feel overdressed in his jacket and jeans.

On the walls above a mismatched array of chairs and couches, someone had tacked frayed motorcycle posters. Beer cans and food wrappers crowded a few small tables and less-trafficked areas of the floor.

He and Rachel proceeded through a den with a big-screen TV across which aliens zapped each other. The circle of players didn’t even glance up. Despite their age and size, they reminded Russ of video-addicted adolescents.

In the kitchen, doorless cabinets revealed shelves sparsely stocked with canned goods. The countertop overflowed with chips, dips, crackers, cookies and a half-empty box of doughnuts.

Russ peered around for actual food. The appetizing scent wafting through the wide-open sliding door indicated that it awaited outdoors.

A couple of guys interrupted their snacking to return Rachel’s high-fives. “This is Dr. McKenzie. He’s new at the hospital.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing you in the E.R., then.” A beefy fellow with an air of authority offered his hand. “I’m Captain Ferguson. Call me Frank.”

The others also greeted Russ in a friendly manner. Russ didn’t bother to correct the impression that he’d been invited as a sort of comrade-by-association. Besides, pediatricians did consult in the E.R. on occasion.

Rachel sniffed the charcoal-scented smoke wafting through the sliding door. “Burgers ready?”

“You ought to hold off eating.” Derek Reed, who’d introduced himself as the community relations officer, surveyed her lazily. “Hale’s setting up a competition. Just your speed.”

“You mean a game?” Russ asked. Whatever these guys had in mind, he suspected it wasn’t croquet.

“I wouldn’t call it a game exactly,” remarked a fellow who’d given his name as Joel Simmons. “Hope you brought your swimsuit, Rache.”

“Nah. I’ll have to borrow.” Leaving to the imagination exactly what she expected to borrow in a houseful of guys, she led the way to the patio.

A long table held plates, buns and condiments. Beyond it, a group of men and women lounged in plastic chairs watching basketball on a portable TV. To their left, a muscular aproned man—presumably the host—tended a humongous hooded grill.

Russ and Rachel retrieved soft drinks from an ice-filled cooler. “I’ll save the beer for later,” she explained. “Better be on my toes if there’s a challenge.”

An assortment of dented bicycles leaned against the cement wall that surrounded the yard. Russ was about to ask their purpose when a burst of smoke poured from the barbecue as the cook lifted the hood. “That’s Hale. We better find out what’s on the agenda before he gets busy serving.” Rachel strode in his direction.

She made introductions. When their host heard Russ’s occupation, the detective said, “Good idea, bringing a doctor.”

That sounded ominous. “What’s with the bikes?” Russ asked.

“They were left over from the police auction last week. I bought ’em cheap.”

Russ had read about the sale, which raised money for the department by disposing of unclaimed stolen or lost goods. That didn’t explain why Hale had decided to decorate his backyard with them, a point that wasn’t lost on Rachel.

“Bicycles, pool. They don’t exactly go together.” Picking up a pair of tongs, she snagged a blackened green pepper strip, blew on it and tossed it into her mouth. Her eyes grew teary.

Hale grinned. “Hot enough for you?”

She dashed the heat with a swallow of soda. “Jalapeño?” She’d plainly assumed it to be a bell pepper.

“Worse. Thai dragon.” The name said it all. “So you want to hear about the bikes?”

Although Rachel seemed to have trouble speaking clearly, she managed to nod.

Hale proceeded to outline a contest. Competitors chose a bike and pedaled around the pool. After making a hairpin turn at one end, they were to hop off the bike, dive in and swim across. The entire procedure would be timed.

Rachel chugged more soda. “What’s the prize?” she wheezed, still suffering the effects of the pepper.

“Case of beer.”