Sheriff John Miller sat in his office, watching Sanchez through the window behind his desk. She got into her car, started it, then drove off to mingle with the highway traffic.
“Kelly!” Miller called to Deputy Summers, who had just returned from patrol and now sat at his desk just outside the sheriff’s office. “Get your ass in here. We need to talk.”
Summers nodded. Hitching his right thumb in his leather gun belt, he sauntered into the sheriff’s office, closing the door with his right foot. He sat in one of two green chairs in front of the sheriff’s desk and waited. Miller had his back to Summers, the back of the leather chair like a wall of tarpaper separating them. His boss seemed to be studying the photos lined up across the wall.
He swallowed hard when he realized this wasn’t a soc
