Acquired Motives (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 2) by Sarah Lovett Page B

paint store. An old man driving a fat Pontiac swerved to avoid a collision with her Volvo. She didn't see the other driver's fist raised in anger because she was already dialing Matt's pager on her cell phone. She entered her own number and hung up immediately.
          Within minutes her phone rang.
          "Hey, what's up?"
          Sylvia heard voices in the background. "Where are you?"
          "Waiting for a green-chile burrito at Baja Taco. Should I order a couple for you?"
          "I need to talk to you. I just spent an hour with Dan Chaney. He told me some really crazy things about Randall's murder and that Las Cruces warehouse blowout—"
          "Whoa. Slow down. Where did you see him?"
          "At the Rode Inn. I left him in his room, but I don't feel good about it. I think he needs help. I think he's gone AWOL ."
          She believed she knew what Matt would be thinking about his old friend. An F.B.I. agent gone over the line was an F.B.I. agent without a country. The Bureau would be tracking Dan Chaney down. And when they found him, his career would be dead.
          Matt said, "Meet me there, in the motel parking lot. Don't try to go back to Dan's room. Don't spook him. I can be there in five minutes. I have to hear this from him."
          Sylvia hung up the phone and drove back to the motel. She had barely turned off the Volvo's ignition when Matt pulled the Caprice into the next parking space.
          Quickly, Sylvia led Matt back up the metal steps of the motel's side entrance. When they reached Chaney's room, the door was ajar.
          Matt knocked once and pushed open the door. "Dan? It's Matt."
          No answer. There was no one in the room. Except for some trash and the odor of fear, all traces of Dan Chaney were gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    "J ITA, LET ME get this straight. Dan Chaney thinks you should talk to Cole Lynch because then maybe you'll believe this Dupont White is alive?" Rosie Sanchez caught her lower lip between very even teeth and raised her eyebrows.
          "Dan Chaney didn't tell me to meet with anybody. I made the decision to see Cole Lynch because he was Dupont White's partner."
          "So you show up on my office doorstep. Well, I wish you'd give me warning, an hour or two, at least. You know what Fridays are like." Rosie clucked in gentle admonition. "Does Matthew know you're doing this?" In electric-blue high heels, the penitentiary investigator still managed to move briskly along the gravel path that fronted the dog runs at the penitentiary kennel.
          Sylvia followed, shortening her stride to match pace with her friend. She said, "Matt won't talk to anybody until he tracks down Chaney. He's left messages on Dan's voice mail in Las Cruces. And Chaney's acting hypervigilant, so you can bet he'll check that machine to see who's calling." A German shepherd growled as Sylvia passed by.
          The canine unit at the Penitentiary of New Mexico consisted of a small cinder-block building bordered by a kennel. In contrast to the functionally contained kennel space, the surrounding flatlands had a plain grace. The short grasses gained softness with distance. The almost invisible slope and dip of the land reminded Sylvia of a grassy sea. Reluctantly, she brought her attention back to the kennel.
          Each of twelve runs was defined by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence. Dobermans, shepherds, and rottweilers paced their cages. A hundred-pound rotty wagged his stubby tail and pressed his wet muzzle against metal when Rosie murmured, "Hi there, Maxwell."
          Sylvia found her gaze drawn to a fawn-colored shepherd in the farthest run. The dog had keen brown eyes, sleek fur, and a lean body.
          "A Belgian Malinois," Rosie explained. "Her name's Nikki; she's in training. She's going to be a sniffer for drugs, contraband. Maybe."
          Sylvia said, "Maybe?"
          "Nikki's on probation. Pobrecita , she