No Immunity

sheriff busy.”
    “Kiernan, I’ll take him—”
    “Right, and leave me to try to get something out of Persis? I’m better off with the sheriff. Go!”
    She made it to Grady Hummacher’s doorway moments before the sheriff slammed on his brakes.

CHAPTER 45

    Sheriff Fox shot out of his car and planted his ursine form in front of her. “Ms. O’Shaughnessy, you’re under arrest.”
    She couldn’t afford to be locked up somewhere while the virus spread—maybe through Tchernak, herself, and who knew who else. But the last thing she’d tell Fox was that she’d been exposed. “Sheriff, Grady Hummacher was dead when I got here.”
    “Under arrest,” he repeated, shouting over the whine of the gusting wind, “for breaking and entering the mortuary. What you’ve been up to here I’ll deal with later.”
    From nearer the cafe behind her she could hear a soft groan, Tchernak’s shorthand for No taunting! No speeding! No defenestration! She should be so lucky as to defenestrate! And as she would remind him if they made it out of Nevada alive, she wasn’t diverting Fox just so Tchernak could spend the time critiquing her performance. If he didn’t get through to BakDat, they were going to be running blind.
    ‘What proof do you have, Sheriff?”
    “Fingerprints, for starters.”
    “Of course my prints are there, I was in the mortuary for an hour this afternoon. That’s no proof.”
    “Hmm. Are you a lawyer, too, besides being a doctor and a detective? No? Well, then, we’ll leave this question to the D.A.” He turned to the patrol car and held out a thick arm. “In the meantime be my guest. Hands against the car.”
    “Why don’t you charge me with breaking into the saloon too? My fingerprints are there. And in your jail.”
    “You won’t have to break into the jail. This stay’s on me.”
    She took a step toward him, hands planted on hips. “This is the United States, Fox. We don’t do guilty until proved innocent here. You’re talking false arrest.”
    “Hands against the car, miss.”
    “I need to speak to my lawyer.”
    From the shadows a form started forward. Tchernak. Racing in to protect his quarterback. She turned quickly and started into the parking lot.
    Before Fox could grab her or Tchernak reveal himself, three dark cars cut into the parking area, tires screeching. They slammed to a stop in a row next to Fox’s. “Stay where you are,” Fox hissed at her as he strode toward the cars.
    She shot a glance at Tchernak as he slipped back into the shadows. Did “buying time” mean nothing to him? The only reason he wasn’t right here with his big hands on the car next to hers was Fox’s lack of manpower. Now, with the arrival of three deputies, Tchernak’s future freedom was limited to seconds. He didn’t have time to dial Persis much less hear her answers.
    Deputy Potter hauled himself out of the nearest car and opened the door for Jeff Tremaine.
    Kiernan’s breath caught. The door Jeff had emerged from was the patrol car’s back door—the cage. Connie had been right—Jeff was a prisoner.
    “Ah, Jeff,” Fox said, making no move toward him but signaling one deputy to circle the lot while the other one waited. “Tell me now, did you invite Ms. O’Shaughnessy to break the airshaft window and let herself into the mortuary’ tonight?”
    The wind was flapping Tremaine’s short sandy hair, and it was a moment before Kiernan realized he was shaking his head no—and avoiding her gaze. He turned toward the motel room, his back to her now. “Which room is the death scene?”
    Where had she heard that wooden tone before? It was a moment before she recalled coming up behind him on the ward in Africa as he was assuring a terrified shopkeeper that his fever just seemed like Lassa. Two days later the man was dead.
    She watched as Jeff walked to Grady’s room, his movements as lifeless as his voice. His slumped back revealed no jerking in shock; he gave no audible gasp of horror.
    Fox turned his attention to her. “Potter, pat her down and put ‘er in the cage.”
    Kiernan turned away from the death scene and positioned her hands on the patrol car roof. It wouldn’t be a new procedure for her. And Potter, while not swift, seemed less intrusive than some as he ran his hands down her legs. He stood, gave a weary sigh, and opened Fox’s back door. “Okay, miss, you know the routine.”
    “Yeah, but not before I use the bathroom. That’s what I drove in to the cafe for half an