and swung on it.
“He’s sleeping soundly in the tack room.”
“Good, now we can talk. If you stay behind at the ranch, will you really return to us in London?”
“What kind of question is that?” Kerney asked.
“An important one. I know you’re no happier living in England than Patrick is.”
“We’re still adjusting,” Kerney replied.
“That’s a pretty slick answer, mister.”
“Then I’ll give it to you straight,” Kerney said with a grin.
“The best possible place for Patrick and me to be is with you in London. Living in Europe for three years will give Patrick experiences few children are fortunate to get. It would be tragic not give him a chance to learn firsthand about the world outside the United States. He may complain about London now, but give him time and he’ll make some good friends in his new school and start enjoying himself.”
“You mean that?”
“I do, although you can count on me to occasionally bitch about missing New Mexico, Santa Fe, the ranch, the sky, the mountains, the smell of the high desert air after a rainstorm, and green chili.”
Sara jumped off the stall gate and gave Kerney a hug. “I’m holding you to everything you just said.”
“Including my bitching?”
“As long as you keep it to a minimum.”
“I’ll try.”
In the tack room with Sara at his side, Kerney knelt down, gently picked up his sleeping son, and carried him in his arms toward the house. He knew he was lucky to have his family intact, knew that circumstances beyond his control could easily rip his world apart just as it had the Burkes’. That didn’t stop him from making a silent vow to do all in his power to keep Sara and Patrick safe.
The day after Paul Hewitt had called in his resignation as Lincoln County sheriff from his Albuquerque hospital bed, with Linda holding the phone for him, Clayton Istee sat in his cramped lieutenant’s office entering numbers into a desk calculator to discover how deep in the hole the department was for paid overtime.
He ran the totals again, just to be sure, and then began examining the fiscal year line-item budget to see where he could find $8,000 to cover the current overtime shortage and another $6,000 to pay for anticipated overtime through the end of the budget cycle. He decided the only way he could make up the difference would be to drop one of the three new police vehicles Paul Hewitt had budgeted for. He hated the idea of delaying the replacement of even one cop car, but saw no alternative.
A knock on his open office door made him look up. Steve Durbin, the chair of the county commission, a man with an ingratiating facade and a viperous personality, smiled warmly at him.
“Clayton,” Durbin said by way of a greeting as he sat in the straight-back chair on the other side of the desk. He had a fleshy face and a wide mouth with thick lips. “I thought at least you would have moved into the vacant chief deputy’s office after your appointment.”
“I haven’t had the time,” Clayton replied. “What can I do for you, Mr. Durbin?”
“Please, it’s Steve. I wanted to tell you personally that the commission has just appointed Rudy Aldrich to fill out Paul’s term in office.”
“I was expecting that.”
Durbin turned on his most sugary smile. “Of course, it was hardly a secret who the majority of the commission favored for the job. However, you do understand that Sheriff Aldrich’s appointment in no way diminishes our appreciation of the wonderful work you’ve been doing here during these difficult times.”
Clayton said nothing.
Durbin kept the smile going. “In light of that, we want you to attend our commission meeting next week so that we can present you with a commendation recognizing the contribution you’ve made to the citizens of Lincoln County.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s well deserved nonetheless. Now, on to a more sensitive subject.” Durbin’s smile blossomed wider but his eyes narrowed. “Sheriff Aldrich has decided to fill the chief deputy position with someone other than yourself and has asked that we keep his choice confidential until he makes a public announcement later in the week.”
“I was expecting that also,” Clayton said.
“The commission unanimously asked me to tell you that we very much want you to remain with the department at your permanent rank of sergeant.”
“Sheriff Hewitt promoted me to lieutenant.”
“True enough, but you are some weeks shy of completing the mandatory six months’ probation period. Thus, under current personnel rules, your permanent rank is sergeant. It will be up to Sheriff Aldrich to decide if he wants you to continue to serve as a lieutenant.”
Aldrich had always been weak-kneed and two-faced, but until now Clayton hadn’t realized how spineless the man truly was. He reached for a writing tablet on the desktop and tore off a piece of paper. “Let’s end this charade.”
He wrote out his resignation effective the end of the month and handed it to Durbin, who scanned it quickly.
“I’ll take annual leave until then,” he added. “Tell Aldrich I’ll clean out my desk by the end of the day and turn in my department-issued equipment on Friday.”
Durbin waved the resignation at Clayton. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
Clayton stood. “Yes, I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish up.”
Durbin left with no further appeal for Clayton to remain with the department, confirming that resigning had been the right thing to do.
He looked at his watch. He had half a shift to wind things up and clean out his desk. He decided not to call Grace at work with the news. It could wait until he got home.
Chapter Seven
Larson planned on several more giddyups with Ugly Nancy after he’d gotten some sleep. He left her securely tied up before raiding the well-stocked liquor cabinet in the living room and then crashing in the smaller, second bedroom. He slept twelve hours, woke up refreshed, and wrapped himself in a bathrobe before making coffee in the kitchen. While the coffee brewed, he transferred his wet clothes from the washer to the dryer and went to check on Ugly. He found her where he’d left her, spread-eagled on the bed, but lying in a smelly mess of excrement and piss.
Disgusted, Larson untied her, forced her into the shower, and had her scrub down. He marched her dripping wet and naked back to the bedroom and made her strip the blankets and sheets off the bed and put them in the washing machine.
In the light of a new day and with a clear head that wasn’t groggy with lack of sleep, Larson found Ugly Nancy even more nasty and horrid-looking than he’d remembered. Her little titties sagged flat against her skinny chest, there was an unattractive fold of wrinkles across her lower abdomen, her pubic hair looked like a dirty wire scrub pad used to scour pots, and she had unsightly underarm hair.
As she poured laundry detergent into the washing machine, she asked Larson if she could dress and have something to eat and drink.
He looked for any sign of emotion in her face and saw nothing. “You’re a butt-ugly old bitch,” Larson said in response.
Ugly Nancy laughed between clenched teeth. “Don’t you want any more giddyup with me, Mister Killer?”
Larson slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t piss me off, bitch.” He pushed her back into the bedroom and threw her clothes in her face. “Get dressed.”
While Ugly Nancy put her clothes on, Larson considered what to do with her. The idea of more sex with her
