Page 62 of Battle Mountain

Joe said, “About Rankin’s pickup. Where was it located?”

“Somewhere up on North French Creek Road on the way to Battle Mountain,” Haswell said. “It was parked on the shoulder and nobody was around. I’d need to contact dispatch to get the exact location for you.”

“Thank you,” Joe said. When he finally turned his head to look at Kany, he saw that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead at the sheriff. She was angry.

“I’ll get that info and we’ll put out a county-wide BOLO on your Spike Rankin and the doofus son-in-law,” Haswell said. “What did you say his name was?”

“I didn’t,” Joe said. “But it’s Mark Eisele.”

“Mark Eisele,” Haswell repeated as he jotted down the name. “Within a couple of hours, every LEO in Carbon County will be alerted. And I suppose the press will find out pretty quickly as well. Then we’ll have a full-blown kerfuffle on our hands, won’t we?”

“I suppose,” Joe conceded.

“And the governor isn’t going to like that very much, I’d guess.”

“That would be correct.” Then: “Can I ask you to hold up for a few hours on the BOLO until we confirm that it’s Rankin’s pickup on French Creek Road? There’s no good reason to panic until we know for sure either way.”

Haswell started to argue the point, but he apparently thought better of it.

“You’re right. I’ll hold off until you let me know either way.”

“Thank you.”

“But if it’s his truck up there, this is gonna be fun.”

“Maybe for you,” Joe said with a sigh.

—

In the parkinglot, Kany wheeled on Joe. “You embarrassed me in there,” she said. “You embarrassed me in front of a sheriff that doesn’t think much of me in the first place. What else have you withheld from me?”

“That’s about it,” Joe said, looking down at the top of his boots. “I’m sorry. The governor asked me to keep this all on the down-low.”

“Why? So the press wouldn’t find out? That makes no sense.”

“No, so the First Lady and his daughter wouldn’t know,” Joe said. “He’s a lot more scared of them than he is of the press. It’s complicated.”

“Are there tire tracks on my clothes from where you threw me under the bus?”

“Again, I’m sorry,” Joe said. “It wasn’t my intention to bushwhack you.”

She stepped into Joe with her nostrils flared. “I mean, I’ve got other things to do, you know. Do you prefer to be on your own from here on out?”

Joe said, “I usually am,” he said. “I understand how you feel. I’d feel the same way. No hard feelings.”

“All these things I’ve heard about Joe Pickett turn out to be full of crap. I looked up to you, Joe.”

He briefly looked away.

Kany glared at him with her hands on her hips while he retrieved his gear bag from the back of her pickup and turned to walk across the lot to the hotel. He could feel her eyes boring holes into his back, and he couldn’t help but think that Susan Kany wasa stand-in for one or all of his daughters and howtheywould feel in the same circumstances.

It hurt.

Then Kany called after him. “I’ll pick you up at the hotel in an hour with the horses.”

He paused and turned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I might have come on a little strong there. You were doing what the governor asked you to do, after all. I don’t know what I’d do if Rulon asked me to be his personal agent. Besides, I really don’t want you running around blind in my district.”