CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Harley felt an uneasy stirring in her gut as she passed the sign welcoming her into Flor Blanca, as if anything could happen to her once she crossed the towns invisible border.

Youre a grown woman now, she reminded herself, shifting the car back into drive. Not a helpless kid. You have your own money, your own vehicle. Nobody can make you stay a minute longer than you want.

All of this was true. She wasnt a teenager trapped in a house with an absent father, a missing sister, and a brother who didnt know how to process his own emotions, never mind hers. Not anymore. She was free to go where she wished, do what she wished.

So why did she feel trapped?

She shoved these thoughts aside as she pulled into the parking lot of the police station. The building had been remodeled recently and the brick facade had a fresh, clean look to it. The state flag, depicting the red sun of the Zia people on a yellow background, stirred out front in a fitful breeze.

As Harley entered, the desk sergeant regarded her over his half-rim glasses. Help you, maam? he said.

Yes, Im working a case for the FBI and need to search your records.

Badge?

Harley cleared her throat. Actually, Im working as a consultant. If youd like me to call my supervisor… She pulled out her phone.

The sergeant placed both hands on his desk and leaned back, his chair creaking as he gave her a skeptical look.

Supervisor or no, I wasnt aware you were coming, he said. No offense, maam, but we cant hand over sensitive information just because you asked nicely.

This was exactly the kind of red tape that drove Harley crazy. All Im trying to do, she explained as patiently as she could, is see whether the murders Im investigating are connected with any other murders in the area. If they are, I might just be able to help you solve a cold case or two. Win-win, right?

Id like to help you, maam, I really would. But without going through the proper channels…

His eyes cut to the side, his voice trailing off. Harley turned to see a middle-aged man in a gray sheriffs uniform with four stars on each wing of the collar. His salt-and-pepper mustache was about half the thickness of his bushy eyebrows. There was something good-natured, perhaps even paternal, in the warm way he regarded Harley.

Did you say youre with the FBI? he said.

She nodded, hopeful shed have better luck with him than with the desk sergeant. Im working a case on two homicide victims. Id like to study your records, see if we shouldnt be casting a wider net.

The sheriff exchanged a glance with the desk sergeant. Did these homicides take place in Huerta County?