Michael McGarity - Mexican Hat

"I'm not signing it," Karen said, looking down at the document.

"What's the problem?"

"You went over my head on the murder warrant. I don't appreciate your little bullshit game."

"I had sufficient probable cause," he argued, stung by Karen's bluntness.

"Maybe so, but you still went around me."

Gatewood waved the paperwork at her.

"This is a solid criminal complaint."

"That's my decision to make. I want to talk to Kerney before I decide.

I want to make absolutely sure the complaint is reliable."

"Amador has no reason to lie," Gatewood rebutted.

"It's one man's word against another," Karen replied, "and it's my call to "Whatever you say," Omar r(^Ued forcing a compliant smile,"

"Don't even think about blind siding me Omar," Karen said, her eyes locked on his. ^"^^ ^ She left Gatewood, his frozen smile still plastered on his face, and headed down the road to find out what Charlie Perry wanted to see her about.

Omar Gatewood sank against the cushion of his chair, stared at the ceiling, cracked his knuckles, and rubbed the back of his neck. Karen Cox was turning out to be nothing but trouble. He didn't know if she was fucking with him or just acting like a gung-ho, know-it-all rookie who wanted to do everything herself. He did know that there wasn't a damn thing wrong with the arrest affidavit.

He stood up, took his handgun from the desk drawer, and slipped it into the high-rise holster.

Maybe he'd better talk to Amador one more time, just to make sure he really hadn't told Kerney anything.

The phone rang, and he grabbed it.

"What is it?"

"What happened?" a voice asked.

"She wants to talk to Kerney first before she signs the warrant. Don't sweat it-Silver City will hold him on the murder-one charge. He's not going anywhere."

"See that he doesn't. What does Kerney know?"

"Nothing," Gatewood replied.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm going to talk to Amador again."

"If Amador lied to you, get him out of town until this blows over."

"This is turning into a real pile of shit," Gatewood hissed into the telephone.

"Talk to Ortiz and call me when you're finished.

We'll meet at Whitewater Creek."

"What about Kerney?" Gatewood demanded.

"I'll bring your orders with me."

The line went dead.

Charlie Perry, dressed in a three-piece suit, sat in his office sorting papers and putting stuff he wanted to take with him in a box. It felt damn good to be closing the assignment out, and he looked forward to returning to the Beltway civilization of Washington and a headquarters job. Two years undercover in the boondocks of New Mexico had seemed like living in a nineteenth-century time warp. He was glad to be done with it.

He looked up to find Karen Cox standing in the doorway.

"You wanted to speak to me, Charlie?" she asked, eyeing his suit.

"I do." He stood up and gestured at an empty chair. When Karen was settled, he showed her his FBI credentials.

"What's this all about?" she demanded, giving Charlie another appraising look.

Charlie perched on the edge of his desk.

"Kerney turned a smuggling bust into a murder-one case for me," he explained, "and for that, I owe him. I have hard evidence that exonerates him in the Steve Lujan shooting, and he has information that your sheriff may be a dirty cop. He wants you fully briefed on the situation."

"I'm listening," Karen said.

At the Silver City Police Department, Karen used a vacant interrogation room to meet with Kerney.

Even though Charlie Perry had walked her through the facts of the Steven Lujan murder, she let Kerney tell his story. He finished up with Amador's admission that Gatewood had ordered him to give the Padilla Canyon tip to Jim Stiles.

"Do you think Gatewood did the shooting?" Karen asked, making a final entry in her notebook.

"I doubt it. But I've been wondering if Jim was a target of choice or a target of opportunity."

"Meaning?"

"Jim should have waited and turned the information over to me. Padilla Canyon is Forest Service land and on my patrol route. Amador knew that and probably told Gatewood."

"So you think you were the target?"

"Maybe I have been all along."

"That would make the trailer bombing a second attempt to kill you,"

Karen noted.

"Which makes me very nervous."

Karen closed her notebook and stood up.

"Let's go."

Kerney stayed seated.

"There's the small matter of murder charges against me."

"Not anymore. The charges have been dropped."

"Why didn't you tell me that up front?"

"We don't have time to bicker. Let's go." Outside the police station the drizzle continued, but the sky promised a heavier rain. Rolling thunder rumbled in overcast, thick clouds. Kerney stepped off in the direction of Jim's truck.

"Where do you think you're going?" Karen demanded, standing in the drizzle.

"I've got to find a way to get to Omar Gatewood and rattle his cage."

"Not without me you don't," Karen said sharply.

"That's not a good idea."

"If you're concerned for my safety, don't be," Karen said sarcastically.

"This could get ugly."

"Either you work with me or I'll put you back in the slammer under protective custody."

"That's illegal," Kerney said.

"I'll do it anyway," Karen countered.

"Your chances of getting to Omar are nil, if you try it by yourself.

He's probably pulled in every IOU he has to get to you before you can get to him. If you want to solve this case, get in my car."

Kerney studied Karen's icy expression and decided arguing with her would do no good.

"What's your plan?" he asked as he opened the passenger door to Karen's station wagon.

"Our best bet is to isolate Omar. I'll call Gatewood from home, tell him that I'm approving his warrant, and ask him to personally bring it by the house for me to sign. When he shows up, we'll Q-and-A him."

"That might work."

As they drove away, the skies opened and hail began to fall, clattering loudly on the roof of the station wagon.

"Would you mind making a couple of stops along the way?" Kerney asked, raising his voice above the din to be heard.

"Where do you need to go?"

"Jim loaned me a shirt and a pair of jeans, but I'd like to buy some new clothes and some shaving gear."

Karen's eyes softened as Kerney's predicament hit home.

"You lost everything in the trailer, didn't you?"

"It wasn't much," Kerney admitted.

"But it was everything I cared to keep."

She looked at his waist. He wasn't wearing the rodeo championship belt buckle. He wasn't wearing a belt at all.

Kerney followed her glance.

"Melted," he announced.

"That stinks. We'll stop at a couple of stores and get you squared away."

When Kerney had finished buying what he needed, the backseat was filled with shopping bags and a large canvas carryall to put everything in.

Halfway back to Glenwood, with the skies clearing, Karen took her eyes off the road and glanced at Kerney.

"You're staying with me," she said, "until we get things sorted out."

"I'm staying with you?"

"There's no other option. You haven't got a place to live, and bunking with Jim Stiles is too risky."

"I guess house arrest is better than jail," Kerney noted.

"You'll have to sleep on the floor." She glanced at Kerney again.

"Where is Jim?"

"I wish I knew," Kerney answered.

In spite of Jim's attempts to hurry Molly along, she took her own sweet time shopping for a new outfit in a Tucson clothing store that opened early.

His stomach was grumbling for breakfast by the time she finished and came out of the dressing room wearing a dark green blouse with an embroidered yoke, a pair of white jeans, and new Tony Lama cowboy boots.