Bittersweet (26 page)

Ethan asked, “Do you have any reason to suspect that Krause was involved in either death?”

“No idea,” China replied. “I could see it going either way. He may be involved only in the thefts and the smuggling. Or he could have been involved in one or both of the murders, as well.”

Ethan looked at his watch, then squinted up at the sky. “It's nearly four, and we'll be losing the light pretty quick. We can arrest Krause on that misdemeanor warrant and hold him overnight for questioning in his wife's murder.” He nodded toward the black SUV. “We also need to take statements from the drone bunch and secure the surveillance video and the camera. And the two Perrys have to be picked up—probably at their ranch—and brought in for questioning.”

“I can see that the drone team gets down to the Uvalde sheriff's office to leave their statements,” China offered. “I'll drive down there with them and stay until it's done.”

Mack grinned at her. “I guess you don't trust us to treat them right. You're thinking rubber hoses, maybe?”

“Just doing my job,” China said with a laugh. “When that's done, they can be on their way. If you need them again, I'll make sure they're available.”

“That'll work. Thanks,” Ethan said. “Mack, take Krause down to the county jail and book him on that warrant. That'll give him some time by himself to think about what he's been up to. If he gives you any trouble, tack on a charge of obstruction. Oh, and you take the iPad, the video camera, and Krause's cell phone and log them into the evidence locker. We'll want to go through all that before we question Krause and the Perrys.” He paused. “And can you take the witness statements from the drone people?”

“On it,” Mack said promptly. She wasn't sure who he meant by “we,”
but for the moment, she was going to assume that she would be involved. She eyed him. “And you?”

Ethan pulled out his cell phone. “I'm going to call Sheriff Rogers and tell him I need approval to assemble a criminal apprehension team to go after the Perrys. It has to be done tonight—the border is just an hour away, and I don't want to risk flight. I'll follow you as far south as Sabinal and get the justice of the peace there to issue an arrest warrant for Thomas Perry on the parole violation charge, and for Ronald Perry on suspicion of multiple Lacey Act violations. I'll throw in conspiracy, as well.”

“Get a search warrant for the Bar Bee, too,” Mack said. “We may not be able to prove Lacey without documentation, but the fawns are evidence of theft. Semen, too, if we can find it.”

Ethan nodded. “I'll talk to John Coxey—he's the Sabinal chief of police—and see if he'll round up a couple of his officers and meet me in the Baptist church parking lot over in Reagan Wells. By that time, Davenport and Murphy should be available. Six of us ought to be a big enough team to corral the Perrys.”

“Seven,” Mack said firmly. “I'm in, too, Ethan.” She handed him Krause's cell phone. “And if we're going after the Perrys, you'll want to take this. It's got their number—and the call will display Krause's caller ID. They'll think it's their partner and will pick up.”

“Shoulda thought of that myself. Good idea.” Ethan took the phone and slipped it into his uniform pocket. Shifting uncomfortably, he shook his head. “But I'm sorry, Mack. You're not in on this. We don't know these guys or what kind of arsenal they've got stashed at their place. We don't know the lay of the land, either. That's pretty rugged country over there, and it'll be dark by the time we go in. They won't expect us until we're on
top of them, but serving that warrant will not be a piece of cake. Could be trouble. Could be shooting.” His eyes were on hers, dark and troubled, and she knew that he would have reached out and touched her if China hadn't been standing there with them. “Please understand, Mack,” he said more softly. “I don't want you to get hurt, that's all.”

Mack stepped back, out of reach and unmoved by his appeal.
Damn!
He might be trying to soften it, but bottom line, Ethan was telling her that she couldn't handle a tough job, that he didn't trust her to do her part along with the male officers, that she'd just be in the way. Well, he could forget that. She wasn't going to let him get away with it. And if she pissed him off, so be it. His response would be a measure of
him
,
not of her. He could accept her as a professional or not, his choice. But she was a conservation officer, a law enforcement officer, and a woman, all at the same time. If he couldn't accept her as a professional, there was no future in their personal relationship.

She pulled herself up to her full height and put her hand on her holster. “Knock it off, Ethan,” she said in a level tone, meeting his eyes. “You tell Sheriff Rogers that Warden Chambers will be the Parks and Wildlife member of your team, to secure any stolen animals and take custody of whatever deer semen she can locate.” She narrowed her eyes, willing him to understand just how much was hanging on his answer. “Nonnegotiable. You got that?”

Holding himself stiffly, his jaw working, Ethan studied her for a long moment. Then he relaxed. “Top dog, I guess,” he said ruefully, and chuckled. His glance went from China back to Mack, and he threw up his hands in mock despair. “What are we going to do with you pushy broads?”

“Get behind us,” China said promptly. “Then we won't have to push.”

Mack tilted her head and pursed her lips as if she were thinking
through a puzzle. “I could come up with a suggestion or two. Maybe involving ‘exceptional circumstances.'”

Ethan's eyes lit up and he grinned at her. “Yeah, okay. I got it.” His mouth tightened, stern. “If you're on my team, you're taking orders. I'm assuming you have a ballistics vest. Right?”

She nodded. “In my truck.” Parks and Wildlife had made the vests standard issue a while back, after a game warden got shot when he was making an arrest. She wore it whenever she thought there might be trouble, and when she wore it, she always thought of her father.

“Good.” He looked at his watch. “Six thirty, Reagan Wells, Baptist church parking lot. If you've got night-vision goggles, bring them.” And then, with a half-defiant glance at China, he pulled Mack to him and kissed her quickly.

“Wear that vest,” he hissed in her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

•   •   •

J
ACK
Krause, cuffed and under arrest, did give Mack a hard time, not just screaming profanities but pummeling the seat with his
feet. The front and rear cabs were separated by a cage-wire panel and a sliding-glass bulletproof panel, so when she got tired of listening to his rant, she slid the glass panel closed. And when she got to the county jail, she booked him on two charges—misdemeanor violations
and
obstruction (noting that it was not just verbal obstruction)—before she turned him over to the officer behind the desk for processing. She took the iPad and the video camera to the evidence locker, where she checked them in and got receipts for both. China came in a few moments later, and they sat with
Amy, Chris, and Sharon, one at a time, to make a digital record of their statements. It would be transcribed by a secretary and faxed to them for their signatures. That done, she walked with China out to her panel van, which (China told her) was called Big Red Mama. It fit, she thought, and had to smile at the psychedelic swirls painted on the sides.

“You're heading back to the ranch?” she asked, hunching against the cold wind blowing down from the north, clearing out the clouds. Her heavy jacket was in the truck. She was going to need it tonight, she thought.

China nodded. “Mom should be there by the time I get back.” She sighed. “I'm not looking forward to telling her about Sue Ellen, Mack. She'll be devastated.”

“I'm sorry,” Mack said inadequately. Death was like a stone cast into a river, the ripples moving out in all directions, encountering rocks and hidden snags and distant shores. Sue Ellen's death would be making a great many ripples, for a very long time. “What's going on with Sam?” she asked. “Is he better, worse?”

“I don't know what's going on. Leatha wouldn't tell me. She just said we'd talk it over tonight.” China reached into her van, took out a nylon Windbreaker, and began pulling it on over her hoodie. “Sounds pretty serious, Mack. I'm afraid . . .” She didn't finish her sentence.

“Yeah. It does. Sound serious, I mean.” Mack paused. “I need to thank you for all you've done in the past couple of days.”

“Done?” China's eyebrows went up and she smiled crookedly. “Not me. I'm just a bystander. You guys are doing the heavy lifting.”

“Hey, come on,” Mack protested. “You're the one who got Sue Ellen to tell you what her husband was up to. You listened to me and to the
drone crew, and you put everything together. If you hadn't connected all those crazy dots, Ethan and I might still be scratching our heads and wondering which way to turn next.”

“I doubt that,” China said with a wry chuckle. “But if you want to hand out a little credit—sure, I'll get in line. Next time I need a favor down here in Uvalde County, I'll know who to ask. You.” She grinned. “And that hunky deputy of yours.”

Mack thought of objecting that Ethan wasn't
her
hunky deputy, at least not yet. But all she said was, “You do that, China. We owe you.”

“It's a deal.” China got into her van and rolled down the driver's-side window. “And don't forget to do what Ethan told you.”

“What's that?” Mack shivered. It was really getting cold.

China started her van. “Wear your vest. Arms and legs can be repaired and put back in service. I don't want to hear that my game warden buddy was taken out by a big one in the chest.”

•   •   •

I
T
was five forty-five and getting dark by the time Mack finished up the paperwork in the sheriff's office and looked in on Krause in his holding cell to remind him that he was being monitored. Checking for a change in plans, she called Ethan on his cell phone to keep their arrangements off the radio (you never knew who had a police scanner and was making a career out of listening to the dispatches). He reported that he'd gotten the necessary search and arrest warrants and that they were on track for a meet-up at six thirty. “Vest,” he added. “Wear it. And get something to eat. We may be out there for a while tonight.”

“How about you?” There wasn't much in the way of fast food at the
north end of the county. “I'll stop at the Dairy Queen. Want me to bring you a burger?”

“Hell of a deal. Bacon cheeseburger with extra jalapeños, onion rings, double catsup, large Coke.”

“Roger that,” she said. “Man after my own heart.”

“Damn straight,” he said with emphasis, and she laughed.

She went through the Dairy Queen's drive-in lane, getting Ethan's order and a burger, onion rings, and Diet Coke for herself, then headed up U.S. 83, enjoying the rich, fatty fragrance of the food and eating with relish as she drove. Burger and rings (always with about a quart of catsup and more salt than was good for her) had been her comfort food since she was a teenager, and tonight she could use a little comfort. She had a healthy fear of what might go down, up there at the Bar Bee. She'd been shot at before, and she'd even been hit once, in the shoulder, painfully but not seriously. But that came with the badge. It happened—it was part of the job when you dealt with people with guns, some of whom had no idea how to manage their weapons. She was more afraid that she'd screw something up, that in spite of the brave face she had put on, she wouldn't be able to hold up her end. It was always important to do the work well, but more important now, with Ethan there, watching.

The thought of Ethan and that last impetuous kiss made her heart race—and yes, the chemistry was definitely working. She couldn't think of him without wanting him, wanting him to hold her, make love to her. But that wasn't going to get in the way of doing her job. And she wasn't going to let him down in front of his colleagues, or give him a reason to be concerned about her safety. Period. Paragraph. End of story.

She stuffed the napkin in the paper bag, wadded it up, and turned on
the flasher lights and siren, the road opening up in front of her truck like a lighted tunnel bored through the heavy dark. There was no traffic, the highway was clear, and she loved driving flat out, although she watched for the kamikaze deer that were known to dash across the highway. She made it the rest of the way to Reagan Wells in seventeen minutes.

The village had never been very big—a population of fifty at the most, in the days when wealthy health seekers came to stay in the two-story frame hotel, soak themselves in the restorative mineral waters, and saunter along the river, breathing in the clean, sage-scented air. Back then, before automobiles, the town boasted not only a post office but a sorghum mill, a fruit cannery, and a general store that provisioned the dozen or so cattle and sheep ranches in the grasslands along the river and up the tributary creeks.

The river was still there, of course, the Dry Frio, which sometimes did and sometimes didn't have water in it—mostly it didn't now, because the drought had hit the area hard. Like the river, the town had shrunk down to a single church and a few houses strung along the asphalt road and a historical marker celebrating the first settlers, the Heards and the Bohmes and the Joneses, who had arrived after the Civil War. It was full dark now, and you couldn't see the houses, just the lights in the windows and an occasional mercury vapor light casting its icy blue glow over a barn or a driveway or somebody's cluttered yard. But Mack knew from her patrols in the area that Sycamore Mountain rose to the west, between the Dry Frio and the Nueces, and that there were a number of small resorts and vacation cabins along the river, ranging from the primitive and rustic to the palatial. And somewhere to the north and west, on the flank of Sycamore Mountain, was the Bar Bee Ranch, and the Perrys, and some stolen fawns and smuggled white-tails.