Secrets in Four Corners

“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. His initial conclusion was that this had to be the secondary crime scene. Meaning she’d been dumped here like a piece of trash.

Fury thundered inside him. As much as he loved the Four Corners area—it was his home—he hated the scum that had recently flocked here. Worse, he despised the lowlifes who were born and bred here. It seemed the harder he worked to clean up the county where he’d been raised, the harder evil worked to worm its way into his territory.

He couldn’t stop the spread of drugs and crime; he was, after all, only one man. But he could damned sure do all within his power to slow it down.

Officers Brewer and Cyrus were busy securing the scene, which should have been done immediately upon discovery. Patrick could only assume that the officers had been too overwhelmed by the discovery that the victim was a federal agent to act judiciously. He moved cautiously around the perimeter of the zone now officially designated by yellow tape as the crime scene. No tire tracks other than those of the vehicles parked nearby. No shoe imprints besides the ones belonging to those currently on the scene. The folks from the crime lab would sweep the area for evidence but so far he saw nothing but an abandoned soda can and a cigarette pack wrapper. Both of which would be analyzed just in case.

A cloud of dust announced the arrival of more official vehicles. The crime lab folks, he hoped. The sooner the scene was searched for clues the greater the likelihood that any evidence left behind would be found.

Patrick met the SUV as it skidded to a stop. All four doors opened. Callie MacBride, head forensic scientist at the Kenner County Crime Unit, climbed out of the front passenger-side door. Her face was pale, strained with disbelief and regret.

“Callie, this is a damned shame.” Patrick exhaled a heavy breath. There wasn’t a hell of a lot more to say. Not at this point. He had no idea what case Grainger had been working any more than he knew any personal contacts that might have brought her to this place.

Callie dipped her head in acknowledgment of his inadequate words. “Patrick, I believe you know most of my team.” She indicated her associates who had emerged from the vehicle. “Miguel Acevedo, Bart Fleming and Bobby O’Shea.”

Patrick shook the hand of each man in turn and offered his sincere condolences. He’d worked with about every member of the crime unit the past couple of years. The Four Corners area had needed a crime lab for a good long while before the powers that be finally had the sense to make it a reality. Times like this were the reason. Every single member of the team had made Kenner County home; they knew the land and its people. In the past, law enforcement had had to rely on state facilities from as far away as Denver.

These folks would get the job done quickly and thoroughly with the kind of knowledge only gained through life experience with the people and the land. That the victim was one of their own made their work this morning more than a job.

This was personal.

Faces grim, the team gathered their gear and donned protective wear. There would be little Patrick could do until their work was finished. The crime lab unit was made up of a number of other highly trained personnel. Though Patrick had worked with each of them at one time or another, he dealt primary with Callie on the vast majority of cases.

As personal as this case was, Patrick didn’t worry about those personal feelings getting in the way. The Kenner County Crime Unit was small in size and funds were limited for equipment, but the scientists and technicians were top-notch. The best of the best. Particularly Callie.

Patrick stayed out of the way and let them do their job. The extended moment of silence as the group acknowledged their fallen colleague was painful to watch. Callie MacBride in particular appeared shaken to the very core. Patrick wondered if she’d known the victim personally as well as professionally. That possibility was very likely, considering the whole staff operated as much as a family as a team of colleagues.

While Callie’s people did their work, Patrick turned his attention to the Ute guide who had discovered the body. He doubted the man had seen anything but there were questions that needed to be asked. Like why he’d called the Towaoc police and then put in an anonymous call to 9-1-1, evidently some minutes later.

With that in mind, Patrick started in his direction. Bree was interviewing the guide and would no doubt ask those same questions, but it was Patrick’s job to ensure every base was covered. Officers Cyrus and Brewer were maintaining the perimeter. If word got out that a federal agent had been murdered the media would flock to the park like vultures ready to pick the kill.