“Well, you found me,” Darren said, keeping his voice even, betraying none of the alarm he felt at the idea that the DA had been looking for him. Darren was all too aware that if authorities were to get wind of the .38 snub-nosed pistol that his mother had found on this very property last fall, he could be indicted on charges of obstruction or worse. He would not only lose his badge; he’d face prison time.

Darren started coiling the water hose around a rusting hook that Mack—who worked for the Mathews family—had nailed to the lip of the wooden porch decades ago. It was cool outside, the air crisp and sharp, the sky like cut lapis, rain clouds having skipped town as quickly as if they owed somebody money. It was still a ways from a good December freeze. No need to wrap the onions and collards for another couple of weeks, Darren thought as he tucked away the hose. He worked with deliberation and patience in front of Vaughn, a show of steely calm.

“Well, you know we can’t really let this thing go,” the DA said, as if they were picking up a conversation recently interrupted. “A man dead and everything. Ronnie Malvo was a shit, wasn’t no secret about it. But we can’t have people just taking the law into their own hands. Not in my district, Ranger.”

“Don’t know what it’s got to do with me. I said my piece in court.”

“You did.”

“And Mack was cleared.”

“He was, yes,” Vaughn said. “For now.” He took a few steps forward so that he and Darren were face to face at the side of the house. “But if it’s someone else involved in this thing, I’m gon’ find out. You know that, Ranger. So consider this a courtesy call.” He glanced down at the tips of his boots, tan ropers losing a good polish in the dirt on the Mathews property. When he looked up again, he had a hint of a smirk on his face as he told Darren point-blank, “I could have walked into the Rangers’ office down to Houston, made a big deal about you not necessarily being cleared in this thing.”

“Me?”

“I hope that’s not the case, I really do,” Vaughn said. And yet the smirk deepened, actually bent the lines around his narrow eyes as he added, “But if you insist on protecting Rutherford McMillan, you may find twelve men and women standing to weigh your fate. There will be another grand jury, mark my words, Ranger. You can testify in front of it or be the one sweating its ruling.”

Darren visibly stiffened.