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"Maybe not," Edgar replied as he walked Margaret to the door.

"But that's the way I want to handle it."

"When?" Margaret asked.

"Today. After we leave here, I'll drop Cody and Elizabeth off at home with Karen and drive to the Slash Z. I'll tell Karen this evening.

Everything will be taken care of by the time you come home tomorrow."

Margaret patted her husband's hand.

"I love you very much, Edgar."

"I love you, too," he replied.

"More than you know."

The screened porch to Karen's house was filled with empty packing boxes stacked in neat piles.

Behind the porch was the living room, a rectangular space with doors opening to back bedrooms. The room held an astonishing number of books arranged in modular shelves along the walls. The only furniture was a love seat with a curved back that faced a small television and VCR on a portable cabinet next to a fireplace, and a Shaker rocking chair that sat next to the fireplace. An assortment of potted house plants was arranged on the outer lip of the hearth.

Several indoor trees, including a Norfolk pine in a large tub, sat on the floor. In front of the love seat, two sleeping bags were spread out on a Persian rug that matched the deep red color of the flagstone floor.

The room had the feel of a sheltered garden library.

Kerney scanned the spines of the books. Karen had an excellent collection of art history, architecture, biography, good fiction, and classic literature.

The wide range of interests the collection contained impressed Kerney.

He spied a biography of Vincent Van Gogh that he wanted to read.

Karen offered him the use of the bathroom to clean up. He jumped at the suggestion, and with a fresh towel and some new clothes he found his way to the bathroom. It was a cramped space in a corner of the oversized kitchen adjacent to the living room.

All the water lines running to the old pedestal sink and cast-iron tub were exposed. It was clearly a renovation done when indoor plumbing was still a recent innovation. It reminded Kerney of growing up in the ranch house his grandfather had built on the Tularosa.

He closed the door and stripped tags and labels off his new clothes while hot water filled the cast-iron tub. He shucked off Jim's hand-me-downs and sank into the steaming hot water, letting the heat work on his knee. The leg had been bothering him more than usual. He needed to get back to his daily workout and jogging routine.

Shaved, clean, and dressed in stiff jeans and a shirt that still had the package creases in it, he went into the living room. Karen sat on the love seat with her shoes off and her feet on the cushion, studying a case file. Reading glasses were perched on her nose, and an open briefcase was within arm's reach. Still wearing her work outfit, a loosely shaped wool crepe suit, she smiled at him, put the file in the briefcase, and snapped it closed.

"You look better," she remarked.

"I feel better. Did you get in touch with Gatewood?"

"He's out of town. I left a message for him to call me." She unwound herself from the love seat and stood up.

"Now it's my turn to change. Make yourself comfortable."

He browsed through the Van Gogh biography and inspected a painting on the only wall of the room not completely taken over by Karen's library.

The large watercolor had a Chagall feel to it. A woman dressed in a simple frock held a child in her arms while a small girl stood at her side, her hand clasping the hem of the skirt. All were smiling at something out of view.

Kerney looked for the artist's signature and found the initials KC hidden in a clump of flowers at the bottom of the painting.

"I did that right after I kicked my ex-husband out," Karen said as she reentered the room.

"It was a happy event, I take it," Kerney replied, turning to face her.

Barefoot, Karen wore jeans and a ribbed red-and-white-striped T-shirt.

Karen laughed.

"You noticed that."

"The feeling of the painting is hard to miss."

"I keep it conspicuously displayed to remind me how unsuited I am for married life."

"Not your cup of tea?"

"Hardly."

The painting had an accomplished feel to it.

"Did you study art?" Kerney asked.

"I was a delinquent in the undergraduate fine arts department for a time," Karen replied.

"You were very good."

"Thank you."

"From fine arts to law is quite a switch," Kerney said.

Karen cocked her head.

"I'm not very predictable.

Would you like some iced tea? The dispatcher said it would be a while before he can contact Gatewood."

"That would be nice."

Over iced tea and a platter of fruit, Karen and Kerney sat on the living-room floor and talked.

"Whatever made you take a temporary job with the Forest Service?" she asked, nibbling on a slice of honeydew.

"Money," Kerney replied.

"It can't be that much."

"Every little bit helps."

"Don't you have a pension?"

"Yeah. It pays the bills."

"So what do you need more money for?"

"Land. Enough to start a small ranching operation."

Karen picked up a piece of watermelon and cleaned out the seeds.

"That's what you want to do?"

"You bet. I have my eye on a section just north of Mountainair on the east side of the Manzano Mountains, south of Albuquerque. It comes with BLM grazing rights. The owner will carry the mortgage if I can come up with the down payment."

Kerney was surprised at himself; talking about dreams sometimes vaporized them into extinction.

"Do you know the area?"

Karen finished the melon slice, licked her fingers, wiped her hand on her jeans, and nodded.

"I've driven through it. It's pretty country. What fun it would be to build a house just where you want to. I bet you're looking forward to it."

"I am."

"I hope it happens for you."

"Me too." Kerney heard a board creak and looked at the open door to the porch. Omar Gatewood stood in the doorway with a revolver in his hand and a nasty smile on his face. Kerney pushed Karen to the floor, flung himself across her, and reached for the pistol under the belt at the small of his back.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Karen snapped, her fist balled, ready to punch him in the chops.

Before Kerney could free the weapon he felt a muzzle dig into his neck.

"Don't," Phil Cox warned, standing over Kerney.

Slowly, hands empty, Kerney moved both arms away from his body. Pinned under him, Karen's expression changed from a look of indignation to one of incredulity.

"Are you totally fucking nuts, Phil?" she yelled.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Phil answered.

He poked the rifle barrel against Kerney's neck, secured the handgun, and stuck the weapon in his waistband.

"Get up real slow, Kerney," he ordered.

"The charges against him have been dropped," Karen snarled.

Kerney pushed himself upright. Gatewood had a clear shot at him from across the room. He was boxed in nicely.

"Stay where you are, Karen," Gatewood ordered.

He covered Kerney while Phil Cox cuffed him, hands at his back.

With Kerney secured, Omar reached down and pulled Karen to her feet.

"I decided not to take your advice, Karen. I got that warrant you wouldn't approve signed by somebody else," he explained.

"Everything's nice and legal."

"Are you crazy, Omar?" Karen snapped.

"Or just plain stupid? I'll have your badge for this."

"I don't think so."

She struggled to pull free of his grasp, but Gatewood held her tightly.

"Get that gun out of my face."

"Can't do it," Omar answered, wrapping his arm around Karen's waist and pulling her closer.

"You both need to come with us."

"Where?" Karen demanded.