Secrets of the Lynx. Aimee Thurlo

glanced at them as they approached on foot, then got out of the cruiser. “Yolanda’s apparently been traveling and got in early this morning. According to the DMV that’s her SUV over there—the green Ford with mud on the fenders. Not a blue pickup, obviously.”

      “Which one’s her apartment?” Kendra asked.

      “Two-oh-four, second floor, toward the middle,” Preston said.

      “Have you found any connection between her and Miller?” Kendra asked.

      “Not so far. I also haven’t been able to confirm the presence of a second person inside the apartment. My men are watching her, and she’s been unloading the vehicle by herself.”

      “All right. Let’s go upstairs and pay her a visit,” Kendra said.

      She led the way, walking briskly. As the three of them approached apartment 204, Kendra pushed back her jacket so that both her service weapon and badge were clearly visible.

      Paul remained beside Kendra. Preston, who’d crossed to the other side of the doorway, gave Kendra a nod. She knocked loudly, but before she could identify herself, a female voice from inside called out.

      “Hold on, Alex. I’m putting the beer in the fridge.”

      There was a clanking sound, then steps across the floor. The door opened a second later and a dark-eyed, long-haired blonde in her mid-twenties answered.

      Seeing them, her expression changed from a grin to a scowl. “Whadda ya want? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

      “I’m Marshal Armstrong, Ms. Sharpe. This is Detective Bowman of the Hartley Police Department, and I believe you’ve already spoken to Mr. Grayhorse.” Not giving her a chance to reply, she added, “We need to ask you a few questions.”

      “Show me your ID. Anyone can buy a badge these days,” Yolanda snapped at Kendra.

      Kendra reached into her pocket and brought up her ID.

      Yolanda shrugged. “Yeah, okay. So what’s this all about?”

      Kendra watched her closely. “You can start by telling us why you wanted to hire Mr. Grayhorse.”

      “What do you mean, ‘hire’? I’ve never seen or spoken to that guy before in my life.” She took Paul in at a glance and smiled. “Looks like I may have been missing out.”

      “Are you telling me that you’d never heard of Mr. Grayhorse?” Kendra pressed, watching the woman’s expression.

      “That’s right, but if you want to set us up...” She winked at Paul.

      “Where were you yesterday between four p.m. and, say, nine at night?” Kendra continued, undaunted.

      “Camping up at Navajo Lake with a friend. We spent the past three days there. The weather was cold and lousy, but it was plenty hot inside the tent, if you get what I mean,” she said, giving Paul another smile.

      Paul, who’d deliberately hung back, heard footsteps coming up the stairs. As he turned his head to look, a short, barrel-chested man wearing a plaid shirt came into view.

      “Hey, Alex,” Yolanda said, “tell them where we’ve been.”

      Alex looked at Paul first, then as his gaze traveled to Kendra and Preston’s badges, he spun around and raced back down the stairs.

      “Police officers. Stop!” Preston yelled.

      Paul knew instantly that it wasn’t Miller. The guy was too short. Though unsure who Alex really was, he raced after him.

      Alex had a lead and was as fast as lightning. By the time Paul reached the stairs, the man was stepping onto the parking lot. Paul took the stairs in three steps, but Alex was already climbing into the Jeep.

      “Preston, he’s heading north!” Paul yelled as he ran to his pickup.

      The guy’s vehicle was already on the move. The Jeep’s tires squealed as Alex swerved, scraped a carport support pole, then sideswiped a parked motorcycle.

      Suddenly a police cruiser raced up, blocking his exit.

      Alex hit the brakes, sliding to a stop inches from the squad car, and ducked down, reaching for something on the floorboard.

      “Gun!” Kendra yelled, approaching in a crouch from the passenger’s side of the Jeep, her pistol out.

      “Police!” Preston yelled, taking aim over the hood of the cruiser. “Put your hands up where we can see them.”

      Alex’s arms shot up into the air. As he rose to a sitting position again, Kendra rushed up, pistol aimed at his chest.

      “Who is this idiot?” Preston said as he came around the front of his unit.

      “Not Miller, that’s for sure, but from the way he took off, I’m guessing he’s got a record.” Paul glanced at Kendra. “Where’s Yolanda?”

      Kendra cocked her head back toward the staircase. “Unless she’s got a lock pick, she’s still handcuffed to the railing.”

      After Alex had been read his rights, Kendra examined the ID Preston had fished out of the man’s pockets.

      “Alex Jeffreys, make it easy on yourself and explain why you ran,” Kendra asked.

      “I want a lawyer,” came the clipped, clearly practiced reply.

      As Preston turned Alex over to a uniformed cop on the scene, Kendra holstered her weapon. “He’s all yours, detective. That isn’t the fugitive I’m after.”

      “Let’s see who we’re dealing with.” Preston went back to his cruiser and ran Alex’s name through his computer. “Jeffreys has an outstanding warrant for check fraud and ID theft. He’s never been with the department,” he added, obviously remembering Yolanda’s story about her boyfriend being a cop.

      “We still need to know how Yolanda’s connected to what happened to Paul last night,” Kendra said.

      “I’ll place her under arrest, then meet you at the station,” Preston said.

      Paul remained silent long after they were back on the road. “Alex is going to be a hard nut to crack,” he said at last. “And I’m thinking that Yolanda may not be the same person who called. Her voice sounds different, for one.”

      “Maybe she was disguising her voice on the phone,” Kendra said. “Either way, it’s still possible Alex used his girlfriend to set you up.”

      “Maybe,” he said. “If you let me sit in during questioning, I’ll be able to tell you for sure.”

      Kendra remembered one report she’d read. Paul’s first partner, the one before Judy Whitacre, had claimed that he had an almost uncanny ability to separate lies from the truth. “Your foster father was a medicine man, and I know there’s a lot of psychology involved in healing rituals. Did he teach you how to read people?”

      “No, it’s not like that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “What Hosteen Silver did was open my mind so I could use the gift he’d given me.”

      She gave him a curious look. “I don’t understand. When you say ‘gift,’ are you talking something supernatural?”

      He shrugged. “I can get you results. Do you want my help or not?”

      She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, but I’ll take lead. Agreed?”

      “Sure.” He pulled into the parking lot beside the police substation. “You don’t really trust me, do you?”

      She weighed her answer carefully. “Intuition tells me that there’s more to you than meets the eye, and intangibles make me uneasy.”

      “Just remember we’re on the same side.”

      “I know. That’s