C Box - Below Zero

Joe said, “So you talked to Portenson, then?”

“Your name was in the warrant for the rustlers, Joe. Portenson saw it. When we finally scraped him off the ceiling, he told me his version of events. He doesn’t exactly like you, Joe.”

“I know.”

“And I really can’t get a procedure going like the one you’re describing unless I’ve got more to go on,” Coon said. “Somehow, we need ownership in this, a reason to go down the hall to see the judge. Judge Johnson doesn’t go for fishing expeditions.”

Joe knew telling Coon anything meant risking the chance the FBI might move in, take over, make him marginal. He thought of the last time the feds got involved in a situation that involved April and what happened. He didn’t dare put her into harm’s way again.

So he said it: “You owe me, Chuck.”

He heard Coon sigh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t play that card, Joe.”

“Me, too. But believe me, I’d never bring it up if it weren’t the most important thing in my life right now.” He surprised himself-he’d said too much.

“Look,” Joe said, “I’ll work with you if you’ll work with me. But I can’t give you any details just yet. How about we have a meeting to discuss it? Outside your office, of course.”

“Meaning away from Portenson,” Coon said. “I understand. Yeah, I can do that. When?”

Joe said, “How about tomorrow afternoon? In Cheyenne?”

“You’re in a hurry,” Coon said.

“Yes, I am,” Joe said, trying to figure out a way to give Coon something to go on without including the name April Keeley.

MISSY WAS OUTSIDE, starting up her Hummer, when Joe came out of his office.

Marybeth said, “Good timing.”

He nodded. Sheridan was holding up the Indonesian skirt, turning it one way and the other, with bemused puzzlement. “Where would I possibly wear this?” she asked rhetorically. As if to answer her own question, she dropped the skirt over the back of a chair and went down the hall to her room to get dressed.

To Marybeth, Joe said, “I need to go to Cheyenne and see the governor.”

Marybeth nodded. “Well, it was good to see you.”

That hurt. But she softened quickly. “Go,” she said.

AS HE EMERGED from the shed with the eagle bound once again in his sweatshirt with duct tape, Sheridan came outside, and asked, “Where are you taking the bird?”

“Eagle rehabilitation center,” Joe said, not meeting her eyes. “I can’t get it to eat.”

“She’s stressed,” Sheridan said. “There are stress lines in her feathers from the day she got shot. Feathers are like the rings in a tree-you can tell all sorts of things from them. She won’t eat until she feels safe. So tell Nate hi for me.”

Joe flinched.

“I’ll keep my phone on,” she said, “and I’ll call you if I hear from April. I have a feeling it might be tonight.”

“I’ve got a list of questions I want you to ask her,” Joe said. “It’s in on my desk. Of course, you’ll need to do it casually, in that text-speak language you use. That’s why I can’t ask her. I don’t know the code.”

Sheridan nodded, keeping her eyes on him. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to go find her, I’m going with you.”

Joe took a step back. The eagle screeched, sensing his angst. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.

“Think about it,” Sheridan said. “She’s texting me on my phone. If I’m with you, we might be able to find her.”

He started to object, but he knew she was making sense.

“Talk to your mother,” he said. “We’re talking about you missing some school, not to mention what else might happen.”

She beamed. Her smile filled him with joy. “You’ll need to talk with her, too.”

“I will,” Joe said.

“She wants you to find her more than anyone.”

“Yup,” said Joe.

Sheridan said, “I’ve been thinking about something, Dad. The last thing you guys told me the day April’s mom came to school and took her was to watch over her. I didn’t do it. I really feel bad about that.”

“Don’t,” Joe said. “No one knew that would happen.”

Sheridan shrugged. “Still…”

“Look,” Joe said. “April called you, Sheridan. Not your mom. Not me. She’s doesn’t blame you.”

Sheridan looked at him, bored into him with her green eyes. “Do you realize what you just said?”

Joe shrugged.

“You said April. You didn’t say ‘whoever sent you those messages’ or something. You said April.”

“Slip of the tongue,” he said, flushing. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know what you meant.”

Hole in the Wall, Wyoming

HOLE IN THE WALL CANYON WAS ON PRIVATE RANCH LAND west of Kaycee. It was an abrupt and harrowing scalpel slice through the heart of the high country sagebrush steppe rising toward the Bighorn Mountains. The single rough two-track passed by a ramshackle log home in a stand of cottonwood trees outside the town limits occupied by Large Merle, a bearded giant who was outside splitting wood when Joe approached in his Game and Fish truck. Hearing the vehicle, Merle stood up his entire seven feet and rested the ax on his shoulder and squinted. His bearing was pure intimidation, as was the lever action Winchester leaning against a tree but within Merle’s reach. Out of habit Joe did a quick mental inventory of his weapons:.40 Glock on his hip,.308 carbine in the gun rack, 12-gauge Remington Wing-master behind the seat.

Merle recognized him and nodded, and Joe waved back. To get to the Hole in the Wall, it was necessary to get Merle’s nod. A hooded prairie falcon sat on a stump near Merle, a perfectly still sentinel Joe might have missed if it weren’t for the rustling of feathers from the breeze.

Joe was always taken when he neared the canyon, not by what he could see but what he couldn’t. From the road he couldn’t discern the lip of the canyon or its far rim, but he could sense a void in the rolling landscape itself. That’s where the canyon was. It couldn’t be seen from the highway, the road he was on, or even from the other side in the foothills except for a jagged dark line in the prairie. To get there, one had to travel across the wide-open treeless plain for miles under the big sky, not a tree in sight. As he drove through the sagebrush and knee-high cheater grass, a heavy-winged squadron of sage grouse lifted off on both sides of him with the rhythmic thumping of miniature overweight helicopters. In the distance, a herd of pronghorn antelope were grazing, three dozen auburn bodies splashed with strategic patches of white that made them nearly invisible on the prairie among scattered drifts of snow in the winter and spring. It was impossible to sneak up on Hole in the Wall, which was why it was the dedicated haunt of old west outlaw gangs, most famously Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Joe thought how odd it was that two days before he’d been in Baggs, where the old-timers swore that Butch lived among them into old age under an assumed name, and now he was at the place where Butch, Sundance, and the rest of his gang hid out between bank and train robberies with scores of other infamous Western outlaws.

Recently added to the list was Nate Romanowski.