“Your name was in the warrant for the rustlers, Joe. Portenson saw it. When we finally scraped him off the ceiling, he told me his version of events. He doesn’t exactly like you, Joe.”
“I know.”
“And I really can’t get a procedure going like the one you’re describing unless I’ve got more to go on,” Coon said. “Somehow, we need ownership in this, a reason to go down the hall to see the judge. Judge Johnson doesn’t go for fishing expeditions.”
Joe knew telling Coon anything meant risking the chance the FBI might move in, take over, make him marginal. He thought of the last time the feds got involved in a situation that involved April and what happened. He didn’t
So he said it: “You owe me, Chuck.”
He heard Coon sigh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t play that card, Joe.”
“Me, too. But believe me, I’d never bring it up if it weren’t the most important thing in my life right now.” He surprised himself—he’d said too much.
“Look,” Joe said, “I’ll work with you if you’ll work with me. But I can’t give you any details just yet. How about we have a meeting to discuss it? Outside your office, of course.”
“Meaning away from Portenson,” Coon said. “I understand. Yeah, I can do that. When?”
Joe said, “How about tomorrow afternoon? In Cheyenne?”
“You’re in a hurry,” Coon said.
“Yes, I am,” Joe said, trying to figure out a way to give Coon something to go on without including the name April Keeley.
MISSY WAS OUTSIDE, starting up her Hummer, when Joe came out of his office.
Marybeth said, “Good timing.”
He nodded. Sheridan was holding up the Indonesian skirt, turning it one way and the other, with bemused puzzlement. “Where would I possibly wear this?” she asked rhetorically. As if to answer her own question, she dropped the skirt over the back of a chair and went down the hall to her room to get dressed.
To Marybeth, Joe said, “I need to go to Cheyenne and see the governor.”
Marybeth nodded. “Well, it was good to see you.”
That hurt. But she softened quickly. “Go,” she said.
AS HE EMERGED from the shed with the eagle bound once again in his sweatshirt with duct tape, Sheridan came outside, and asked, “Where are you taking the bird?”
“Eagle rehabilitation center,” Joe said, not meeting her eyes. “I can’t get it to eat.”
“She’s stressed,” Sheridan said. “There are stress lines in her feathers from the day she got shot. Feathers are like the rings in a tree—you can tell all sorts of things from them. She won’t eat until she feels safe. So tell Nate hi for me.”
Joe flinched.
“I’ll keep my phone on,” she said, “and I’ll call you if I hear from April. I have a feeling it might be tonight.”
“I’ve got a list of questions I want you to ask her,” Joe said. “It’s in on my desk. Of course, you’ll need to do it casually, in that text-speak language you use. That’s why I can’t ask her. I don’t know the code.”
Sheridan nodded, keeping her eyes on him. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If you’re going to go find her, I’m going with you.”
Joe took a step back. The eagle screeched, sensing his angst. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.
“Think about it,” Sheridan said. “She’s texting
He started to object, but he knew she was making sense.
“Talk to your mother,” he said. “We’re talking about you missing some school, not to mention what else might happen.”
She beamed. Her smile filled him with joy. “You’ll need to talk with her, too.”
“I will,” Joe said.
“She wants you to find her more than anyone.”
“Yup,” said Joe.
Sheridan said, “I’ve been thinking about something, Dad. The last thing you guys told me the day April’s mom came to school and took her was to watch over her. I didn’t do it. I really feel bad about that.”
“Don’t,” Joe said. “No one knew that would happen.”
Sheridan shrugged. “Still . . .”
“Look,” Joe said. “April called you, Sheridan. Not your mom. Not me. She’s doesn’t blame you.”
Sheridan looked at him, bored into him with her green eyes. “Do you realize what you just said?”
Joe shrugged.
