I like the idea of having a mole on my team even less than I like the idea of Watts’s dumb luck keeping him one step ahead of us.” The sheriff pulled his hat low on his forehead before pushing open the door. “Makes me think he doesn’t want to answer your questions.”
Ethan’s growly protest didn’t matter. The rain hitting her face didn’t matter. Joanna hurried out to the Suburban she’d arrived in, purposely choosing the sheriff’s ride over Ethan’s pickup.
“He’ll answer them,” she vowed.
Her ability to leave Mesa Ridge once and for all, knowing Sherman Watts and her past no longer had any hold over her, depended on it.
Ethan knelt at the edge of the road to study the two smears of black rubber marking the bump where Sherman Watts’s yard met the asphalt. A quick analysis of the tread pattern in the mud matched the new, allterrain tires Watts had been sporting on his beat-up black truck the past couple of weeks. Their suspect had been gone for several hours now.
But Ethan’s thoughts had drifted back several years.
“So how do you know it’s a buck that left these tracks?” Joanna asked, her knees down in the dirt on Ute Mountain, right beside his. “And not a doe or even a mountain sheep or elk?”
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