Secrets in Four Corners. Debra Webb
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Cyrus or Brewer called MacBride yet? Those lab folks should be here. Now.
Patrick crouched to get a closer look. Bree did the same. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and tugged them on. “Who found her?”
The pain in his deep voice reflected the ache of finding one of his own murdered. Every victim was a tragedy, but the loss of a colleague was like losing a family member.
“Burt Hayes. Park guide.” Hayes was still giving his statement to Brewer. “He checks the trails every couple of days. Found her this morning. Looks like she may have been here a couple of days.”
Patrick nodded. Bree tried hard not to stare at his profile. This wasn’t the time. No time would be right…not for the two of them. Still, she couldn’t look away. Strong, square jaw. He hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning, but the stubble looked good on him. Always had. For a man closer to forty than thirty, he looked damned good.
Being so near Patrick after all this time made her even more aware of how very much her son looked like him.
“Coroner on his way?”
Bree blinked. Concentrate. “Officer Cyrus called the coroner and Callie MacBride at the crime lab just before you arrived.”
“But he didn’t call me.” Patrick rose, towered over her before her brain could send the message to her suddenly rubbery legs to stand. He took a long look around the area. “You and your people sure got out here in one hell of a hurry.”
The accusation in the sheriff’s eyes when his gaze settled on hers once more ticked her off, exiled all the other emotional confusion of seeing him again after eight years…after the discussion with her son not an hour ago…after everything.
“Cyrus was about to call your office when you arrived.” She lifted her chin, sent a lead-filled gaze right back at him. “The initial call came into TPD, Cyrus and Brewer got here first, then called me. Obviously someone called you.”
“We got a 9-1-1 call,” he explained. “The caller didn’t identify himself, but there was no question that he was male.” Patrick jerked his head toward the guide. “Any idea why he would call your department and report his discovery, then call 9-1-1?”
Bree glanced at the old man. Most of the older folks didn’t bother will cell phones. Many didn’t even have landlines. Chances were he’d gone to the gas station on Highway 160 and made the call from there since the visitor’s center wouldn’t have been open so early. But why call twice? She shook her head. That was something she needed to ask him.
Should have already, but she’d only been on the scene a few minutes herself. Still, she felt stupid at the moment. Patrick Martinez somehow always made her feel inept. That had been part of their problem. Here she’d been all caught up in the emotional impact of seeing him again. And he was only concerned with why he didn’t get the call first. Not to mention they should both be focused on the investigation, not some petty pissing contest.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. His point was relevant. Whatever the case, it was past time to cut to the chase here. “As I said, Officers Cyrus and Brewer were the first on the scene. Cyrus called me immediately due to the sensitivity of the situation. We work together. It made sense at the time. It wasn’t about leaving you or anyone else out. As for the 9-1-1 call, we’ll have to ask Mr. Hayes.” She folded her arms over her chest, refused to waver beneath his iron stare. “Bottom line, this is Ute territory first and foremost. Cyrus’s decision to call me first was the right one.”
The stare-off lasted another eight or ten seconds before Patrick looked away. Bree did a little mental victory dance. It hadn’t been her to give this time.
“I’ll call my Bureau contact.” Patrick shook his head, rested his gaze on hers once more. “There’s going to be a firestorm over this,” he warned. “There won’t be any straightforward lines of jurisdiction beyond the fact that the Bureau will be lead. We’ll do what they tell us. But everyone will want a part of this. Unfortunately that includes every damned news network in this part of the country.”
He spoke as if she were a rookie straight out of the academy. “Was that announcement for your benefit? ’Cause I sure as hell hope it wasn’t for mine. I know how the chain of command works, Martinez. And I also know the full scope of the kind of impact this case will have on the community. I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me how to do my job.”
With one long, slow sweep of his dark lashes, he looked her up and down. “If working together is going to be a problem for you, perhaps you should step aside and let one of the other detectives on the special task force take this one.”
He had to be kidding. Was he trying to piss her off? Fury boiled up inside her. “I don’t have a problem. You’re the one who appears to have a problem. You rode in here with a chip on your shoulder. I came to do my job. Why don’t you step aside and assign one of your deputies to this investigation? That way we’ll both be happy.”
Another ten seconds of dramatic silence elapsed with the two of them staring holes through each other.
“I can leave the past where it belongs,” he offered, his tone a little less accusatory but no less bitter.
Enough with this game. “What past?” With that she gave him her back and stalked off to do her job.
This was murder. The murder of a federal agent. It was way bigger than their foolish past.
Time to do more than just talk about it.
Chapter Two
She hadn’t changed a bit.
Patrick watched Bree walk away.
Long dark hair always kept in a braid. As a detective she wasn’t required to wear the blue uniform, but she did as a matter of pride. She represented her people as well as the police department.
For nearly eight years he had staunchly avoided running into her. Even after the powers that be in Kenner County had persuaded him to come to Colorado and serve as sheriff, in the jurisdiction where she lived, he’d managed to get by without contact. He’d heard that since they’d parted ways she had married a Ute man. It had been fairly easy to pretend he didn’t care.
Now here they were…working a case together. And neither one of them was willing to back off.
His gaze settled on the place where the victim lay amid the rocks and dirt of the barren landscape. A scrap of desert grass managed to thrive here and there around her position. Bleak was the word that came to mind…both for the place and the victim.
Julie Grainger.
Patrick hadn’t known the agent other than in passing. He’d met her once at a briefing. Professional, compassionate and dedicated.
Now she was dead.
Patrick shook his head. An incredible waste.
Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, he put through a call to Special Agent in Charge Jerry Ortiz of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Durango field office that represented the Four Corners area. Making this kind of call to someone who no doubt knew the victim well was Patrick’s least favorite duty.
But someone had to do it.
Ortiz wasn’t in the office so Patrick was patched through to his cell phone. Ortiz had already heard the news from Callie MacBride. He was shocked and devastated. He’d called his people to set things in motion. His staff, those who knew Grainger as well as those who didn’t, would be stunned as well.
Patrick ended the call, a sickening feeling in the pit of his gut. A damned shame.
He turned all the way around and surveyed the barren land once more. What the hell had Grainger been doing out here? He was certain a highly trained agent wouldn’t have met an informant, much less a suspect, in such a secluded setting. Not without compelling motivation.