No Immunity

coming down with bleeding disease or you ending up wherever they’ve taken Jeff?”
    Kiernan stepped outside. The cold was bone-chilling. The sharp wind reminded her she was on a desert mountainside where no tree grew tall enough to fight the icy blasts. She started the truck and headed out past the deserted buildings. In less than a minute she was beyond any sign of human habitation and the desert seemed drier and sharper for the brief period of safety behind her.
    She couldn’t help but like Connie Tremaine, who lived by her own rules out here alone with her dog and the unsolid earth. But could she swear Connie hadn’t steered her toward the mine hole and wouldn’t have left her there to die? No, that she couldn’t swear.
    How long before Connie could no longer think to get help? How long before anyone thought to look for her, if they knew where to look? Kiernan stepped harder on the gas, but the narrow rutted road allowed little speed. To her left were the mountains, to her right the drop. She focused straight ahead. Nevada didn’t give second chances.
    Thoughts of the virus, of the people threatened by it, flowed through her mind. The dead woman—what had drawn her to this desolate area? It was as if this were the edge of the earth and she had come here to step off. And no one cared.
    Or did they? Her family and friends would be in Las Vegas, or Reno, or somewhere farther. They would be on the horn to the police there. It would be there that signs with her picture would start to be plastered on kiosks and utility poles.
    And Jeff Tremaine. He was the key to the whole thing, and he was gone. Connie assumed the sheriff was holding him somewhere, but there was still no evidence of that. And Kiernan wasn’t about to rule out his leaving from disgust, paranoia, or rage. A tree jutted out over the road, throwing the surface into deep shadow. Kiernan yanked the wheel, overcompensating and sending the driver’s-side wheels up over the embankment. It was a moment before she righted the truck and breathed normally again.
    Wherever Jeff Tremaine was, for whatever reason, one thing was clear—he was the key to Sheriff Fox. It was Fox who had the answers, and Fox from whom she was going to have to get them. How to do that and not end up like Jeff, that was the big question.
    The road wound sharper and more suddenly than she remembered, the rutted paths thwarting every attempt at speed. At the crest she stopped and pulled out her cell phone. When she bearded Fox she needed to be backed up by every bit of evidence possible. Missing-person’s lists were one thing she could check. She could have Tchernak—
    No, dammit, not Tchernak. Well, BakDat— No, dammit, not BakDat anytime soon. And if Persis knew about Tchernak quitting, she wouldn’t produce the information at all. Damn Tchernak. Why couldn’t the man be satisfied with his extremely well-paid job, his fine studio on the beach, his superb wolfhound companion.
    Ezra! Oh God, Ezra. She had left assuming she would be back home by now to take him for his nighttime walk. She had asked Tchernak only to feed and walk him earlier. She could see Ezra’s big wiry face, his huge brown eyes drawn in sad disbelief as he lay facing the door that didn’t open. Ezra...
    But no matter how pissed Tchernak was with her, he’d never desert Ezra. He still lived in part of the duplex. So as long as he was there anyway, there was no reason he couldn’t get the latest missing-person’s report. She clicked the phone on and it crackled to life as she dialed Tchernak’s number.
    The phone rang, and again. “Come on, answer! You’ve got to be home!” The phone kept ringing. And the answering machine didn’t pick up.
    She dialed her own number. The phone rang. Tchernak could well be in her fiat with Ezra. He’d done that before when she was out of town. For Ezra, he had contended. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t pick up. He was, after all, no longer in her employ. He’d have no business answering her calls. And, as he would be the first to remind her, it was three-thirty in the morning, an hour when many people sleep. None of that would keep him from monitoring the message, though. For this call he’d make her eat enough crow for a family Thanksgiving, but she’d deal with that later. She waited for the beep. “Tchernak, it’s me. Pick up. Listen, this is important.” She paused. “I need a check on Missing Persons for the dead woman up here. Tchernak? Tchernak?