"We're just assuming it's Desmond Chan." She says.
He captures a glimpse of her profile and he suddenly feels a sense of loss. They were friends not so long ago. He could trust her with anything. He believed it until he didn't. The truck bounces down the dirt road kicking up the inevitable Wyoming dust cloud behind them. Her eyes don't meet his, though she can feel him, she ignores his silence because she knows he's not being selfish with his thoughts he's just formulating them. He smacks his lips the way he does as the connections thread through his mind. The tire tracks are obvious on the uncommonly travelled path and she follows them past the craftsman styled single story home.
"The tracks run out." She looks around and he peers through his window as if he's staring off into a distance that only he can see.
"May have double backed." He says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.
She doesn't reply though she doesn't like the uneasy feeling of an all-terrain vehicle simply disappearing.
"We better check that house." She commands. It's not open for negotiation. His lips purse in agreement but his eyes are dark and suddenly sad like he's just realizing the gravity of the situation.
She looks at him as she pushes the gearshift into park. There's no need asking what he's thinking so she doesn't but he takes a moment too long opening his door as his eyes meet hers. It makes her think of Arizona and she tilts her head because her thoughts are out of context. The way he looked at her those few hours alone, she knew he had done everything he could since then not feel that way again, as time etched between them. He was good at it and she despised him because she couldn't do the same.
When he does step out of the truck his fingers spread over his back pocket and fall back down to his side after he feels the letter still tucked inside. He doesn't wait for Eamon as he walks towards Heather's house but Vic does wait for him and they flank Walt as he approaches the front door. Walt stands at an angle, looks over to each side, and knocks with just one knuckle on the custom crafted entry. He raps a few times and Vic peers through the window as Eamon checks the back.
"The back is clear from what I can tell." Eamon says.
"I can't see through the curtains." Vic says.
Walt looks at his watch and back at the door leaning his weight on his good leg his jaw flexes as he waits. The miniature brass inset opens and he sees Heather's green eye looking back at him. He takes his hat off and holds it down by his leg. The heavy door opens and Heather stands in her stocking feet, her lithe body engulfed in an oversized bathrobe, her wet hair clinging to her refined features.
"Heather." The tenderness in his voice transports her to another time.
"Walter?" Her surprise is tempered by the sweetness of her tone. She pulls the robe tighter around her neck. "I thought I saw you drive by earlier."
He shakes his head just once, "Did you happen to see which way the Bronco went?"
"It came up and then back down toward the main road. I thought maybe you changed your mind." Heather puts her well-manicured hand to her forehead moving it back and forth across her damp skin catching little beads of water.
Walt steps into the doorframe, "You're not in Italy." His voice is markedly softer and more familiar.
"Not this season." She says shyly.
"You never miss." He says and she smiles for a moment averting her eyes away from him.
"I'd invite you all in but I'm not fit for company."
Vic and Eamon converge behind him but move toward the truck giving the two old friends the privacy their body language commands.
Her eyes connect with his and he asks, "Do you know Desmond Chan?"
Her head begins to nod on the sound of the second syllable. "No."
She traces her hair back behind her ear with her index finger. "Is that who you were looking for earlier?"
"He may be a kidnapping suspect." His thumb scales the hardened wood doorframe. "If you see my Bronco again will you call 9-1-1?"
Her eyebrows arch consistent with her unspoken questions.
"I think he kidnapped someone and he may be in my truck."
She reaches out and her fingers land on his weathered jacket resting on his forearm. "Oh my. How terrifying." The concern apparent in her voice. "Is it someone I know?"
"She's not from here. The victim." He's almost apologetic. "Dr. Donna Monaghan."
She arches her neck back as if he slapped her, "The psychiatrist?"
He nods, "You know her?" He keeps his face firm refusing to reveal any surprise.
"I know her." She presses her palm against the naked damp hollow of her neck. "My goodness, what happened?"
"How do you know her, Heather?"
"Answer my question."
"You haven't changed." He says in almost a whisper, his fingers wrap around the door frame.
"Neither have you. Always deflecting and avoiding."
Walt looks down at his boots and his eyes follow her frame up to her eyes.
"You still have that old Winchester?" He asks her.
"Why?"
"I can't spare the man power and I don't like the idea of you being out here all alone."
"That hasn't changed either."
"What's that?"
"Saving the damsel in distress."
"That's never been you."
"Hasn't it?"
He shakes his head, "I wouldn't characterize it as that."
"You don't need to worry about me." She answers.
"I always will."
"That's what you say."
She pulls her robe tighter and shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "I promise I'll call."
"Tell me." He says and it's part order and part plea.
"I met her in Cheyenne at a fundraiser for her non-profit for Vets. She seems to do good work, Walt." She pauses and clears her throat but it cracks just the same, "I contributed in Cole's name."
He smacks his lips lightly and looks down again and shifts his hat in his hands, "I'm sorry." He says and their eyes reconnect.
"I know." She says, "That hasn't changed either."
He shakes his head, "No."
"Walter, when did this happen?"
"A couple of hours ago."
"But why would this guy be in your Bronco?" She looks perplexed, "What the hell is going on?"
His embarrassment wasn't real before but it's in the forefront now, "Donna was at my place and someone kicked in my door. She knew him. She left with him."
Her face falls, "If I see the Bronco I will call."
He senses her disappointment, "Maybe go down to the big house. I really don't like the idea of you being alone up here or Jada being on her own either."
"I don't care what you don't like." Heather says plainly.
"Heather." He says her name like it is warm honey dripping from his full mouth.
He notices her lips tighten, "Why aren't you in Italy?"
"It's not your concern, Sheriff."
His mouth twists and his chest heaves with a heavy sigh.
"Are you okay?" He pushes past the resistance.
"I'm not your concern, Walter." She stares at him and challenges him silently with the harshness of her words.
"I'm sorry about that too." He steps past the edge of the door but she doesn't retreat and as his thumb and finger pinch the arms edge of her robe, "You've always known that."
She looks down at his hand and covers it with her own as she constricts her lips, "Is Frank, okay?"
He doesn't answer as his head turns to the side questioning her.
"Donna's husband." Heather says.