He paused and wiped his face with the soiled bandanna. When he took the cloth away, some telltale dampness lingered on his cheek. Joanna couldn’t help but wonder where it was that Ephrain Trujillo had come to know so much about how it felt and sounded for one human being to kick another.

“And then what happened?” Joanna asked.

“They were too busy having a good time to notice me.”

“How many were there?”

“I don’t know. Half a dozen, maybe.”

“Men?” Joanna asked. “And could you see them?”

“Not very well. They were behind their cars.”

“Behind them?”

“They were all in a circle. The cars, four of them at least, had their lights on and were shining on the circle. That way they could all see what was going on. Animals!” Ephrain spat disgustedly into the dust beside him. “They wanted light so they could see what they were doing to her.”

Had she been able to, Joanna might have spat, too, but her mouth was too dry. “What happened then?” she asked.

Ephrain shrugged. “I made them stop,” he said.

“You did?” Joanna asked. “By yourself? I thought you said your friends stayed in your truck. But still, even with three of you, you were still outnumbered.”

“I made them stop,” Ephrain repeated, emphasizing the first word so there could be no mistake about it. “By myself,” he added. He turned and looked at her. “The world is a dangerous place,” he said softly. “If you are raised in a certain way or in a certain place, you have to learn to take care of yourself. If you don’t, you die.”

“How did you stop them?” Joanna asked.

Ephrain shrugged. “The coyotes and the drug smugglers- they are always on the roads, always looking for trouble or making trouble. They beat people up and steal their cars. And there are lots of people in this country who can’t call someone like you to come help them.”

Finally Joanna caught the gist of what he was saying. “You have a gun?” she said.

When he looked at her again, he nodded. “In my truck,” he said at last. “I keep it under the seat. For protection.”

So this man-this hardworking man who had saved Jeannine Phillips’s life-was also driving around southern Arizona with a loaded weapon concealed under the seat of his pickup truck. Ephrain Trujillo was right, the world truly was a dangerous place.

“What happened then?” she asked.

“I went back to my truck, got the gun, and came back. I didn’t try to shoot them. I shot over their heads, but they took off like a bunch of scared rabbits. One of them tripped over a rock. He fell down. He must have twisted his ankle because he couldn’t get up right away. He was calling for his friends to come help him; to wait for him. But they didn’t. They took off and left him there alone. When he did get up, he hobbled over to the truck-the woman’s truck. He got in that and drove off. They all drove off and left her there to die.”

“But you didn’t,” Joanna said.

“No,” Ephrain agreed. “I did not. At first I thought she was dead. But when I realized she wasn’t, I ran back to my truck. My nephew and his friends had all been riding in the camper. We had blankets there because it was cold, but that way it looked like I was driving alone. We wrapped her in the blankets and came here to Tucson, to the hospital.”

Frank arrived just then. Jamming on his brakes, he brought his Crown Victoria to a stop next to Joanna’s and leaped out of the driver’s seat. As Frank ran toward them, Ephrain rose to his feet as if to defend himself. Joanna leveled a warning look in Frank’s direction, then she reached out and took Ephrain by the hand.

“This is my chief deputy, Mr. Trujillo,” she said. “His name is Frank Montoya. Frank, this is Mr. Ephrain Trujillo. He and his friends are the ones who saved Jeannine’s life last night. He’s just been telling me all about it.”

The two men stood there for an electric moment, regarding each other warily, then Frank held out his hand. “Gracias, Senor Trujillo,” he said. “We can’t thank you enough.” It was enough to break the tension, but instead of resuming his seat, Ephrain started back toward his truck.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I should be going now.”

“Please, Mr. Trujillo,” Joanna said. “There’s one more thing. We need you to show us where all this happened.”

“It’s on Doubtful Canyon Road,” he said. “North of San Simon. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it.”

“But we’ll be able to find it much faster if you show us where it is,” she said. “And the sooner we process the crime scene the better. Other vehicles may drive through the area and disturb tracks. Evidence can blow away in the wind…”

When it had been just the two of them-Ephrain and Joanna-the man had seemed at ease. Now that Frank had been added to the mix, however, Ephrain was outnumbered. Joanna didn’t want to lose him.

“You lead the way in your vehicle,” she said. “Frank and I can follow in ours.”

“So I am not under arrest? I can take my truck?”

“You are not under arrest,” Joanna confirmed. “And yes, you can take your vehicle. My detectives will need to interview you, but once they’ve done that-”

“But I already told you what I saw and what I did.”

“Yes,” Joanna said. “But I’m the sheriff, not a detective. They’re the ones who take the official statements. I’ll have them meet us in San Simon and do it there. That way you won’t have to miss any work.”

“But if there are detectives…” he objected. “What if they…”

“The detectives work for me,” Joanna declared. “And they do what I say. You will not be placed under arrest by them or by me. Once you show us where all this happened and give my investigators an official statement, you will be free to go.”

“What about my two friends?” he asked. “They rode here with me. They have no way to get back to where they are staying.”

“They were there with you?” Joanna asked. “They were the ones who helped you bring Jeannine to the hospital?”

Ephrain nodded.

“It would be helpful to have them go along as well,” Joanna said. “They may have noticed something you didn’t. And, if you’re hungry, we can stop off in Benson and have some food along the way.”

“But you will not turn them over to INS?”

“No, Mr. Trujillo,” she said. “I promise.”

It took a few minutes for Ephrain to find his lurking compatriots. Shortly after that, an odd-looking caravan headed south on Campbell through afternoon-rush-hour traffic, headed for the freeway. The faded red Chevy LUV led the way, followed by the two Crown Victorias. Joanna took the opportunity to grab for her radio. Her lead dispatcher, Larry Kendrick, took the call.

“Time to roust out the troops,” she said. “Dave Hollicker, and the homicide guys, Jaime Carbajal, and Debbie Howell,” she said. “And if you happen to have an extra deputy hanging loose in the northeast sector, you might send him along as well. We’ll meet everyone at the near end of Doubtful Canyon Road in San Simon. Since we don’t know exactly where we’re going, we’ll lead them from there.”

By the time they reached the little Mexican food dive in Benson, Joanna’s flattened bladder was in a world of hurt. She went inside and used the facilities. When she returned from the rest room, Frank was busy ordering food for Ephrain and the others.

“I’m going outside to call Butch,” she told Frank when he finished with the waitress. “I need to let him know that most likely I’ll be late for dinner.”

Frank nodded absently and Joanna hurried outside. But not to telephone-at least, not right away. The first thing she did was open the Crown Victoria’s trunk and take out her Kevlar vest. She finally had to lie down flat on the passenger side of the front seat before she could fasten the damned thing, and once it was on, she could barely breathe. But Ephrain Trujillo’s casual admission that he routinely carried a gun-a telling reminder that lots of people, good and bad people-carried guns, had gotten Joanna’s undivided attention. In opting not to wear the bulky vest-in choosing temporary comfort over safety-she had put both herself and her baby at risk.