Page 83 of Battle Mountain

As she turned onto the state highway from the access road, Sheridan saw her mother’s Bronco a half mile ahead on the straightaway. There were no other cars in either lane.

And then, there was. Up ahead, behind her mother’s vehicle, a sheriff’s department pickup nosed out of the trees on the left and turned to follow the Bronco.

Since when, Sheridan asked herself, did the sheriff set up a speed trap on the state highway? And had her mother been speeding? Since the road was clear and there was no traffic at all on it, Sheridan thought it likely she had been.

Her guess appeared to be confirmed when the lights flashed on and rotated on the top of the sheriff’s unit, followed by thewhoopof a siren.

Sheridan punched the Bluetooth button on her steering wheel and called Marybeth.

“What’s going on up there?” she asked.

“I’m being pulled over by the sheriff.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

—

Marybeth cringed whenshe saw the flashing lights in her rearview mirror, then quickly looked down at her speedometer. She was going seventy-three in a seventy zone. Without disconnecting the call from Sheridan, she lowered her cell phone into her lap. She didn’t want the sheriff to see her using it while driving.

The siren continued to wail behind her.

“Oh, come on,” Marybeth said out loud. “Is that necessary? I’m pulling over.”

From her car seat, Kestrel said, “Who is it, Grandma?”

“Oh, just an annoying sheriff,” Marybeth responded. Her anger was muted by the fact that Kestrel had started calling her “Grandma” instead of her given name. It warmed her heart.

As she pulled over, several thoughts came into Marybeth’s head. If she was being pulled over for speeding, it better be a warning and not a citation. Three miles per hour over the limit wasnothing, especially in Wyoming. Was it something else? A burned-out taillamp?

Maybe the sheriff just wanted to talk to her about something and chose to pull her over instead of call? Or, she thought with sudden horror, had something happened to Joe?

She stopped on the side of the road and the pickup pulled intwenty yards behind her. The wigwag lights doused, and she looked into her side mirror to see Sheriff Jackson Bishop climbing down from his cab. She could read nothing on his face as he approached her on the driver’s side.

Marybeth powered the window down. “What is it, Sheriff? I don’t want to be late for work.”

Bishop looked at her coldly. He was unsmiling and appeared nervous. She’d never seen him like that before.

“I need you to get out of the car.”

“Why?”

She found it strange that he didn’t ask for her license or registration. Then she saw him glance into the back of her Bronco toward Kestrel’s car seat.

“Let’s not make this difficult, Marybeth,” he said as he placed his right hand on the grip of his holstered Glock.

“Make what difficult?” she asked.

“There’s something I need to do here. I don’t like it, either. But I’m the sheriff and you need to comply.”

Marybeth felt a red-hot rush of blood to her face. “I donotneed to comply,” she said. “I don’t believe in that nonsense. I’m also married to a law enforcement officer and I know you need to state a probable cause for why you pulled me over and asked me to get out of my car.”

“He’s not a LEO,” Bishop said with contempt. “He’s a game warden.”

Then it hit her. He wanted Kestrel.

Marybeth gritted her teeth and said, “You want her, but you can’t have her.”

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