The Sheriff. Angi MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
earlier. Neither of us imagined it.”
“Thank goodness.” The sigh of relief was more than just verbal, it was liberating, and she physically felt lighter. For a moment, she’d doubted if she was experiencing an actual memory. Part of her imagination could have been distorted from the concussion.
Was that a possibility? She had definitely passed out after the accident. Could she have warped what really happened? Should she throw that scenario into the mix? No. She wasn’t paranoid, just overthinking as usual. It was better to wait on the investigation and not doubt herself.
“Look, Miss Allen. Until we know what’s going on, everyone believes it’s better for me to stick close.”
“I can’t do my work just anywhere. Even under protective custody at the observatory would be difficult. Don’t I have to consent or something? And who’s everyone?”
For once, the man with all the answers seemed at a loss for words. It couldn’t be plainer he was choosing his words carefully.
“I’m not trying to scare you, but being new around here you may not know that we’ve had a lot of drugs and guns crossing the border recently. Strange activity involving a helicopter and a disappearing body seems more than a little suspicious. It’s better to be safe.”
“And better to keep me close while you verify that I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Hmm, there is that.”
He grinned again, and she realized that there wasn’t anything calculating about it. He seemed to be a good-looking, concerned officer who took his job very seriously to help her feel safe and at ease. Correction, he was absolutely terrific-looking and naturally charming. And off-limits?
Pete Morrison should be off-limits. She was completing her study and then getting a job halfway around the world. No reason to get involved. It wasn’t logical. She didn’t have time for a relationship.
Satisfied he was there to help and she needed to curb her attraction, she slapped her thighs, ready to cooperate. “I have a passport to verify who I am. It’s at the observatory housing where I’m staying until I get my telescope time. I’m only here for three weeks.”
He put the truck in motion. “So it was just coincidence that you were at the Viewing Area looking for the lights? Tourist or PhD work?”
“Filling in for a student. It’s an ongoing study by UT. That’s why I was driving her car. I hope her insurance covers accident by strange helicopter. She’s going to kill me.”
“No comment. I don’t let people borrow my truck.” He put the patrol car in Drive. “Not even my dad.”
The circular building where tourists stopped to watch for the Marfa Lights phenomenon passed by amid several parked vehicles, including another squad car identical to the one she was inside. The radio squawked, and Pete lifted the hand microphone to his lips. It certainly was easy to think of the man by his first name.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“And what if it hadn’t been me?” answered a gruff voice through the static.
“It’s always you.” Pete laughed after he’d released the talk button and couldn’t be heard. “Remember that I have a ride-along.”
“I ain’t that old, buster Pete. Not much new here, but DHS wants you to meet them at the station with the witness.”
“Headed there now. Out.”
He stowed the microphone, and she waited for an explanation, but waiting wasn’t really her thing. She was more of a straight-to-the-point, fixer type of person and yet she really didn’t want to explain right now.
“Real DHS?” she asked, gulping at the potential conversation she’d be forced to have soon.
“The Department of Homeland Security. Looks like our missing body rang some official bells.”
“Dang it.” Are they here for a missing body or because of my involvement? It didn’t take much to come to the conclusion it was about her. “Did they mention why they want to talk to me?”
“They probably need your statement. This is a good thing. They’ll move the investigation forward a lot faster. You should be glad. We’ll be out of your hair that much sooner.”
Her instinct and her luck shouted differently.
“Not likely. Why is this happening now? Oh, I know you mentioned the guns and drugs and border thing. But I’m so close to finishing this dissertation. Shoot.”
They entered Marfa and turned north toward the county jail. Pete let his department dispatch know they were on their way in.
“Did they say who would be coming here?” she asked.
“You know someone at Homeland Security?”
Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to explain herself. She’d give her interview, they’d say everything was a huge mistake, no one’s actually trying to kill you and she could return to finish her short time in the Davis Mountains. “I’d rather not get into it.”
“Andrea, you’re the one who brought it up.”
“And I’m the one who’s not going to talk about it.” Not unless I really, really have to.
Close to nine in the morning, an official government vehicle pulled in front of the Presidio County Sheriff’s Department. One uniformed man got out. Navy, lots of rank. He openly assessed the street, then spent several minutes checking his phone.
Pete watched everything, but his main focus was Andrea. Her posture changed. She looked defeated. After she’d said she didn’t want to discuss the DHS, she didn’t discuss anything. Gone was the chatty, confident woman who spoke her mind. Now she was withdrawn, closed off, silent, and stood with her hands wrapped around her waist.
The officer acknowledged Pete, but his eyes had connected with Andrea and he wasn’t looking anywhere else.
“Commander,” Andrea said on a long, exasperated sigh and led the way to his dad’s office. She clearly didn’t want the DHS representative to be the man who’d walked into the sheriff’s office.
“Andrea,” the DHS expert acknowledged with a similar annoyed exhale. He shut the door behind him, leaving only silhouettes against the opaque window—letting Pete know they were on opposite sides of the small room.
Interesting. His witness recognized military rank and the DHS officer seemed to know her. She’d been tight-lipped since they arrived at the station. Either pretending to be asleep on his cot in the back or flat out refusing to answer any questions.
“Do you want something to eat, Pete?” Honey asked.
The shift change had occurred at eight o’clock sharp, just like every normal day. Peach and Honey insisted on working seven days a week, knowing his dad would let them off anytime they wanted. They liked staying busy, but they liked staying out of each other’s hair more. They’d each confided in him—and probably everyone else in town—that it was the only reason they continued to live in the same house.
“No, thanks, Honey. I thought I’d take Miss Allen to the café when she’s done.”
“Are you sure she’s not going to be whisked away by aliens or a secret government agency?” The older woman laughed, making fun of several theories Peach had shared before leaving. “The sheriff is hung up at the scene for at least another hour, Pete. He wanted me to let you know.”
He could guess why his father hadn’t spoken to him directly. Most likely to keep his cool at the lack of cooperation. “He still fighting for information?”
“I can only assume so,” Honey said, picking up her pen. “You know those government types.