Sara bit her lip and thought about it. "I don't think he could stand the idea of being anything but a dirty-shirt cowboy."
Barbara patted Sara's arm. "Encourage him to change his attitude. Believe me, I'd be on Dale in a flash if we had the financial wherewithal to ease up a bit."
"That might take some doing."
Wind blew Barbara's hair into her face. She pushed it away and settled down on a large boulder. "Do you really want to see Kerney sink everything into something so risky? His dream could turn into a disaster real fast."
"I've thought about that," Sara said, joining her.
"Would you be willing to give up your career to help him make a go of it?" The sky lost color as mare's tail clouds masked the sun. Sara twisted her West Point class ring with her thumb. "No."
"Neither would I, if I had a profession I'd worked hard to achieve and was good at," Barbara said.
"Kerney doesn't change his mind easily." Barbara giggled.
"What?"
"You have an advantage. He's desperately, completely in love with you."
Sara's sparkling eyes smiled. "He does seem to adore me."
"Enough said," Barbara replied. She stood and started back up the trail. "You get no more sisterly advice from this gal."
"That's it?" Sara asked jokingly.
"For now. Let's get back and serve up some of that chocolate cake you made, if it hasn't already been devoured."
Kerney gave Sara a kiss, watched her enter the jetway, and left the airport wondering if he'd married a mind reader. They had stayed up half the night in the hotel room talking about the future, with Sara raising questions that had been bouncing around in Kerney's mind, giving him a voice to talk about his apprehensions about starting a ranch and leaving law enforcement for good.
Nothing had been resolved, but Kerney felt a weight had been lifted.
Sara had suggested a range of options to be considered, all of them centered around the notion of more time together, establishing a permanent home, sharing responsibility-if indeed she was pregnant for raising a child, and allowing Kerney to pursue his aspirations.
She'd driven the point home by noting that the army might be willing to send her to law school, which was something she'd planned to do anyway sometime in the future. That would mean three years of detached duty and the chance for them to be together over an extended period of time.
The idea excited Kerney, especially when Sara made it clear she would apply to the University of New Mexico, which had an excellent program, as her first choice.
He drove out of the airport parking garage toying with ideas he hadn't considered before. For years, in different ways and for different reasons, both of them had been nomads. Marriage hadn't changed that.
But now there was a possibility it could change, at least for a very large chunk of time.
Caught up in a delightful daydream, he barely heard his call sign on the unit's radio. He keyed the microphone and responded.
"Hobeck just pulled up at his residence, Chief," the agent on stakeout said.
"Is his sister with him?"
"Negative, but a visitor has been waiting. I ran the plate on his car. It's registered to Pomeroy and Associates. I checked the phone book. It's a law firm. This guy's a suit, fifty-five years old or thereabouts, chunky, with thinning hair."
"Give me your location and stand by," Kerney said, wondering what prompted Hobeck to seek legal counsel, hoping it had something to do with Margie.
Hobeck's house was in an upscale neighborhood in the foothills overlooking Albuquerque. The subdivision had been started during the brief time Kerney had been married to his first wife and attending graduate school in the city. Back then, the original developer had scarred the foothills with roads, clear-cut the vegetation, and built houses overlooking the city that sat like exposed Monopoly pieces on a life-size game board. It was now a hidden residential oasis for the well-off. Mature trees sheltered the homes, neat rows of decorative shrubs were carefully pruned, emerald green grass bordered brick walkways, and trimmed vines climbed thick stone walls.
Hobeck's residence sat on two lots at the end of a cul-de-sac. Surrounded by carefully arranged groves of evergreen trees, it presented a vaulted cathedral-style glassed entry to the street.
Kerney walked up the semicircular driveway and rang the bell. Hobeck answered with a look of dismay. In the daylight, Kerney could see the signs of years of heavy drinking etched on his face. "You have no business coming here," Hobeck said. "Where's Margie, Mr. Hobeck?"
"My family matters aren't your concern."
"I would think you'd want your best friend's murder solved."
"I've done nothing wrong," Hobeck caught his blunder and tried to adjust. "Of course I want the killer caught."
Kerney pressed the issue. "But you have done something wrong, Mr. Hobeck. Failing to reveal the whereabouts of a material witness constitutes obstruction."
"Margie had nothing to do with Vernon's murder."
"That's not my point. Talk to your lawyer."
"Have you been watching my house?" Hobeck asked.
"I'll wait here while you speak to him," Kerney said.
Hobeck closed the door. When it opened again, a middle-aged portly man in an expensive suit greeted Kerney with a quick, hard look.
"May I see some credentials?" the man asked. Kerney held up his badge case. "Who are you?"
"Ronald Pomeroy. Hobeck's attorney."
"Is your client willing to cooperate with me?"
"We'll see," Pomeroy said, swinging the door open so Kerney could enter.
He led the way into the living room, where a wall of glass mirrored the front entrance to the house, providing a view of a flagstone patio and a bubbling stone fountain.
Hobeck paced nervously in front of a tan leather couch positioned in front of a built-in bookcase that held a treasure-trove of antique African folk art, mostly of male and female fertility symbols with enlarged sex organs.
"How is Margie Hobeck a material witness in your case?" Pomeroy asked.
"Do you represent Margie?" Kerney replied.
"At her brother's request, I represent her best interests."
"In what way?"
"Margie isn't well. She has emotional problems. Mr. Hobeck doesn't think now is a good time for you to bother her."
"You're playing word games, counselor," Kerney said. "Does your client have any legal authority over his sister's affairs?"
"Margie is in a very fragile state, and Mr. Hobeck wishes to protect her from any additional trauma."
"Are you planning to file for guardianship?"
"Mr. Hobeck's reasons for meeting with me are privileged."
"Of course," Kerney said. "But whatever civil action you may take doesn't shield Margie as a material witness in a criminal investigation.
Let me ask you again: Do you represent Margie Hobeck?"
"I do not."
Kerney looked at Hobeck. "Where's Margie?"
Hobeck glanced from Kerney to Pomeroy. "Do I have to answer?" Kerney held up a hand. "Before you respond, counselor, let me make it clear that Mr. Hobeck acted intentionally when he took his sister out of town to avoid any further contact with the police. He lied to his employee and to Margie's neighbor about what he was doing and where he was going."
"Is that true?" Pomeroy asked.
Hobeck hung his head. "Can't you do anything?" he pleaded to Pomeroy.
"After I arrest you for obstruction of justice, he can," Kerney said, turning back to Pomeroy. "What will it be?"
Pomeroy nodded curtly. "I suggest you tell Chief Kerney where Margie is, Daniel."
With haunted eyes, Hobeck gave Kerney the name of a chemical dependency treatment program outside of Tucson. "She's addicted to tranquilizers," he added. "Has been for most of her life. You can't count on her to tell the truth."