The driver's seat.

She swallowed past the sudden dryness of her mouth. "Your place. If you still want me."

Chapter 19

TAOS

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

THE SHERIFF'S TEMPORARY OFFICE WAS A LOT NEWER THAN THE TOURIST PART OF Taos. Most of the double-wide mobile home set down in a vacant lot was given over to various county functions, civil and criminal. The sheriff's desk had been wedged into a corner. Office furniture of all ages was crammed everywhere in the room. There wasn't any space left for partitions that would have offered at least the illusion of privacy.

Carly grimaced. "You're sure we need the sheriff? How about the city police? They must have better quarters."

"The sheriff has more territory."

"My car is inside the city limits."

"The rat was in the county. So was the governor's threat. So was the phone call. I'd rather start with the sheriff and let him coordinate. Besides, the police chief is his cousin by marriage. What one knows, so does the other."

"Just what I need," Carly muttered. "A general announcement that some nutcase is harassing me."

"Maybe when word gets out that you went to the cops, the asshole will think before he gets cute again."

"Don't malign anal orifices. At least they have a useful function."

A smile flickered over Dan's mouth.

The aisles between desks were so narrow that Carly had to turn sideways in places just to get through. The radio dispatcher's voice and the answering deputies or police officers made a background noise that was like the sound of a file gnawing through metal. There were three microphones and only one woman to handle them.

"… scene with victim. We'll need a chopper to get him down the mountain before…"

The radio dispatcher took rapid notes while at the same time speaking into another microphone about a drunk and disorderly at a different location. A third call came in.

"… request backup on milepost…"

In the distance came the sound of a siren, either fire or ambulance or local police. Maybe all three.

"Busy day," Carly said.

"They all are when you're understaffed," Dan said.

Sheriff Mike Montoya was solidly built with just enough gray hair and gut to put him well into middle age. The wide leather belt circling his waist held everything-flashlight, handcuffs, keys, a big sidearm, plus other items Carly couldn't identify. If the set of the sheriff's jaw meant anything, he had the temperament of a chained pit bull.

There were empty chairs at the desk closest to him, the one that had name plaques for three different deputies.

"No wonder he looks mean," Carly said under her breath to Dan. "Even though he's the only one left to deal with the public, he still can't cough without contaminating someone's coffee."

"Yeah. I've seen more spacious prison cells."

"Really?"

He ignored her and went closer to the man at the desk. "Sheriff Montoya? The lady at the door told us to come right in, because you're the only one left to take a report."

Montoya grunted and said, "Been a long time, Duran." His voice said it hadn't been long enough.

"This is Carolina May," was all Dan said.

"You the woman Winifred Simmons called in?" Montoya asked Carly.

She nodded.

In the background the radio kept spitting out partial phrases as deputies and dispatcher spoke in clipped words to each other. Carly shut out the other sounds and focused on the sheriff.

"What happened?" Montoya asked her.

"I parked my car in an alley-legally, by the way-and when I came back, someone had slashed three tires and smeared red paint around the inside."

The sheriff said something under his breath in Spanish that wouldn't have been approved language in English. "Hijo de la chingada."

Carly felt like answering the sheriff's gutter Spanish with some of her own, but didn't. The man obviously had enough on his plate without a smart-mouthed bilingual Anglo civilian adding to his troubles.

Besides, there were some currents running between Dan and Montoya that she didn't understand. Until she did, she'd be a polite, cooperative seat cover.

"Within city limits?" the sheriff asked.

"Yes."

"You need to see a city cop."

Carly gave Dan a look.

"It's part of a pattern of harassment that began at the Quintrell ranch, which is county territory," Dan said. "So let's save everybody double paperwork, handle it as a county matter, and you can tell the Taos police chief over beers tonight."

Montoya gave Dan a hard look. Then the sheriff stood up, went to the empty desk, and began rummaging through drawers until he found the correct form. He returned to his own desk and gestured at the empty chairs where deputies sat when they weren't on patrol.

"Sit down," he said.

Carly and Dan chose chairs, knocked knees and elbows, and waited.

They answered questions patiently while the sheriff filled in the blank spaces on the form. When he was finished, he glanced up at them.

"What happened at the ranch?" he asked.

Carly told herself the sheriff was tired rather than bored or indifferent. Not that she blamed him for being less than excited. The staccato words coming out of the dispatcher's radios made it clear that the sheriff had a lot more important things to cope with than an ugly prank.

"Monday night," Dan said, "somebody left a freshly gutted rat on her pillow at the Senator's guesthouse."

The sheriff narrowed his dark eyes at Dan and said roughly, "I don't remember reading a report about it."

"I blew it off," Carly said, drawing the sheriff's attention away from Dan. "Figured it was just some kid having fun with the lady outsider. But after the, um, phone call and-"

"What phone call?" the sheriff asked.

"The one at the ranch that played her a symphony of screams and sobs and told her if she didn't leave town, she'd be next."

"Bottom drawer, blue file," Montoya said flatly, looking at Dan. "I need more forms."

Dan pulled open the drawer, found the file, and pulled out fresh forms.

Without a word the sheriff took them, filled in the personal information from the first form, and began asking questions. When he was finished writing, he pushed back and reached automatically for a package of cigarettes. Then he remembered the no-smoking edict and hissed out some more Spanish.

"Who knew you were coming to town?" Montoya asked Carly.

"I assume the entire household did," she said.

"Not much help. Who was there at the time the rat wandered in and died on your bed?"

"It didn't wander anywhere," Dan said. "It was gutted on her pillow. It was still warm and its neck wasn't broken, which means the rat had recently come from a live trap."

The sheriff gave Dan a look. "You were the first one in the room, right?"

"Yes."

"Was she with you?"

"No."

"Then you could have done it."

"Excuse me, Sheriff," Carly said before Dan spoke. "I'd have noticed if he had a foot-long live rat in his pocket while we walked to my room. Ditto for a foot-long dead rat."

Despite the neutrality in Carly's voice, the sheriff's mouth flattened.

"In any case, why would Dan care if Miss Winifred hired me?" she continued.

"He might not, but his mother sure would."

"Why?" Carly asked.

"She and the Senator were close."

"Bullshit," Dan said calmly. "He threw Liza out before she had Mom."

"So I hear." The sheriff dropped the forms onto a mound of papers on the next desk. His body language said that the reports would be ignored. "Anything else?" he asked.

How about you kiss my ass?

But Dan didn't say it aloud. He had better ways to spend time than having a dissing contest with the sheriff of Taos Type County.