Then stopped.
Dutch said, “Careful.”
Sullivan smirked.
“I've dealt with bikers before.”
The sergeant-at-arms shifted.
Miller noticed.
“Wade.”
Sullivan ignored him.
“You want to play tough because you brought your friends? Not happening.”
Chloe looked down.
That was when she saw Sullivan's boots.
The diner parking lot was pale gravel.
Caliente dust was tan-gray.
The shoulders of Highway 93 were light brown.
But the clay packed into the deep treads of Sullivan's duty boots was red.
Dark red.
Still damp in places.
Chloe knew that mud.
Anybody who grew up around Caliente knew it.
Miller's Wash.
Eight miles south.
A dry channel most of the year, except near a seep where underground moisture turned the soil into sticky red clay long after everything else dried.
Pete hated customers coming from there after rain because they tracked red footprints across his floor.
Chloe stared.
Her mind began arranging pieces.
Bear.
Southbound.
Dry wash.
Sullivan's boots.
Then she noticed Sullivan's right hand.
The knuckles were swollen.
Two fingers bruised.
He kept flexing them.
Chloe's skin prickled.
Maybe it meant nothing.
Police work was physical.
People injured hands.
Boots collected mud.
She told herself that.
Then Sullivan looked at her.
Not casually.
Directly.
And for one second, his expression changed.
Recognition.
Fear.
Then warning.
He knew she had been working.
He knew she might have seen him.
Chloe's stomach dropped.
Memories returned differently now.
Bear had left around midnight.
Later, while Chloe cleaned a table near the window, hadn't she seen a county vehicle stopped farther down the highway?
She had assumed it was traffic enforcement.
The silhouette.
Roof lights off.
Parked near the shoulder.
Maybe.
Sullivan said sharply, “What are you staring at?”
Everybody turned toward Chloe.
“Nothing.”
“You got something to say?”
Miller looked at his deputy.
“Wade, leave her alone.”
Sullivan stepped closer.
“I asked her a question.”
Dutch watched.
Chloe realized something worse.
Sullivan was nervous.
Really nervous.
Not angry.
Not arrogant.
Afraid.
And afraid people often made mistakes.
Dutch said, “She already told us what she knows.”
Sullivan snapped, “Maybe she's lying.”
Chloe's pulse spiked.
He pointed at her.
“Maybe somebody here knows more than they're saying.”
Dutch's eyes narrowed.
Sullivan continued, talking faster.
“Maybe somebody picked up what was taken off your guy.”
Chloe stopped breathing.
Dutch turned his head.
“What was taken off him?”
Sullivan's face changed.
Only slightly.
But Chloe saw it.
Miller saw it too.
“The ring,” Sullivan said.
Silence.
Dutch's voice became very quiet.