He thought of the way she’d pulled herself up on that fence again. Her lithe body. The way she’d touched his arm. The way she’d been looking at him when he’d cleaned off her hands earlier that day.
“If you hire her you can’t date her.”
He closed the file and stood up, feeling heat on his face. “I thought you left.”
“I did.” Patterson came inside. “And I also told you I’d be right back.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You were pretty zoned out.”
“Sorry.” He rolled his neck.
“Being sheriff used to be different,” she said. “There used to be a lot less stuff to handle when we were in the other building.”
He said nothing.
“Lots of administrative duties. Not exactly your strong suit.”
He stared at her. “That hurts.”
“Not as much as watching you try and do a spreadsheet.”
He smiled.
“I just want you to know,” she said, standing straight. “I’m willing to help, you know. Whatever you need. I’ll be there to do it. I’m up for the challenge.”
He nodded, wondering why the speech all of a sudden.
“How are you doing, Patty?” he asked. “How’s your foot? You have to go home and rest. Seriously.”
He nodded at her hand, and to another manila folder dangling from it. “What’s that?”
“Those are three pieces of paper for you to sign, which gives me and Charlotte the power to streamline some of the procedures in the squad room, taking you out of the equation completely.”
Wolf took it while she stared expectantly.
With a sigh he put the folder down on his desk, fished a pen out of the cup, and signed the three documents. “There,” he said, handing it over.
She grabbed the folder. “Paperwork done in record time. Women like a decisive man of action. Cain would be impressed.”
“It’s time for you to go home.”
Chapter 19
"Two more miles until the exit,” Rachette said from the passenger of Wolf’s SUV.
Wolf bit into his second breakfast sandwich, savoring the egg and bacon taste, washing it down with orange juice.
Outside the SUV’s windows, the pine-covered forests of the Vail Valley gave way to lower flat-topped hills to the west, covered in a carpet of green grass and turquoise sage.
Wolf’s voicemail dinged and he saw he’d missed a call from the Jackson Hole area code. He put it to his ear and listened.
“This is Sheriff Domino from Teton County SD. I got your earlier message. Sorry I missed your call. Tag. You’re it.”
“Who was that?” Rachette asked.
“Sheriff Domino from Teton County.”
“Any new information there?”
“Not yet. Still haven’t talked to him. Did you get hold of Oakley’s parents yet?” Wolf asked.
“Nope. The Teton SD is having trouble locating them. I get the feeling they’re not the caring type.”
“That’s depressing.”
They rolled over a dip in the I-70 interstate highway and Wolf felt the fat on his gut jiggle. He rolled up the sandwich and handed it to Rachette. “I’m done.”
“You’re done?” Rachette looked inside the wrapper. “I’ll take it.”
“Take it, then.”
Wolf watched out of the corner of his eye as Rachette ingested the sandwich like a horse eats an apple. They passed a sign for Edwards, one mile ahead.
“You trying to lose weight or something?”
Wolf frowned. “Why? Do I need to?”
“You could drop ten or fifteen. You’ve been getting bigger over the last six months or so.”
Wolf took his foot off the gas and coasted down the off ramp. “I’m glad you came with me this morning.”
“Eh. Some of us gain weight as we get older. Join the club. It’s about time you put on some L-Bs.”
After following a maze of cones, they circled the town for a few minutes, passing two erected cranes, a dozen big machines, and a squadron of hard hat-wearing construction workers milling around the steel skeletons of buildings and carved-out ground.
Wolf noted a group of men pouring concrete for a sidewalk wearing the same reflective vest he had found in Hammes’s duffel bag. Of course, a construction vest was a construction vest and everyone had one on, here at this site and probably a thousand more across the country. Not at all that unique.
“Over there,” Rachette said, pointing toward two white trailers sitting in a dirt parking lot choked with pickup trucks. “Looks like the hub to me.”
Wolf turned and rolled past white pickup trucks emblazoned with a star logo that said Sterling Star Construction.
"Hey, would you look at that?" Rachette said, pointing out the window as they rolled past a Jeep Grand Cherokee with Sluice-Byron County stenciled on the side.
“That’s Cain’s vehicle,” Rachette said.
Wolf’s pulse rose. “Huh,” he said.
“Are we supposed to meet her here?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell’s she doing here?”
Wolf parked next to a truck and they got out into air shaking with the rumble of tractors. A chill breeze carried the scent of diesel fumes.
Wolf led the way through the parking lot, eyeing the empty interior of Cain’s vehicle as they passed on their way to two double-wide trailers.
They stepped up a flight of flimsy stairs into the first trailer, whose door was propped open.
Inside Cain had her back to them, pushing her phone screen toward a woman seated at a desk.
The woman was in her sixties and pulled down a pair of glasses from her nest of hair onto her nose. “Nope. I don’t recognize him, sorry.”
Wolf cleared his throat and Cain turned around. She did a slight double take and straightened, putting the phone in her pocket.
"Hello, sir." Her face reddened.
“What are you doing here?” Rachette asked.
“What have you found out?” Wolf asked, staving off a confrontation in front of the civilian.
Rachette stood down, realizing this was not the time or place.
“I…was just asking Mrs. Cranlin here if she could tell me if Rick Hammes worked here. When his name didn’t come up in the system I showed her a picture. She doesn’t recognize him.”
“Cranson,” the woman said. “My name’s Cranson.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Is that right about Mr. Hammes?” Wolf asked Mrs. Cranson.
She gestured to
