Wilson scratched at a patch of stubble he’d missed shaving this morning as he said that Darren had settled back in to work in the Houston office smoothly. After Darren’s successful arrests in Lark in the fall, Wilson had been proud to welcome him back. He had found Darren a new place on the Texas Rangers joint task force, a partnership with the ATF, DEA, and FBI, that was working to secure a massive indictment of key members of the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas on charges of drug running and illegal gun sales and various other felonious conspiracies. From behind his desk in Houston, Darren had been providing invaluable research support, Wilson said, by combing through thousands of pages of cell phone records and highlighting with a yellow marker anything the feds could use against the Brotherhood. That he’d almost gone cross-eyed from boredom, Darren kept to himself. Hands folded across his lap, he listened as Wilson told him, “Up to this point, I’ve been happy to have you back here in Houston.”

Darren wasn’t sure where this was headed, but it didn’t sound good.

“How are things at home, Ranger?”

“Fine,” Darren said, though the word caught a little in his throat.

“Heard you were out in San Jacinto County this weekend.”

Here we go, Darren thought.

Wilson reached for a bottle of off-brand antacid. He shook a few into his left hand, which was the size and texture of a child’s baseball mitt. “Look, I ain’t one to get in a man’s family business long as it don’t affect what we’re doing here.”

“I can explain.”

“No need. Whatever you was doing at your mama’s house is between you and her. I’m asking more about why you were out in Camilla in the first place.”

Then Wilson asked Darren point-blank about his marriage.

“You and Lisa in a good place again? I mean, you think she could let go of you for a few days? I know you said you wanted to stay put here in Houston and all. I wouldn’t ask if the feds hadn’t made a special request.”

Darren ran his finger along the felt crown of his hat. He felt he’d missed something. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was then that Wilson opened the file, though he never so much as glanced at it. He knew the contents by heart. “We got a missing kid up near Jefferson—Caddo Lake, really—in Marion County.”

“That’s Company B territory.”

“I know it,” Wilson said, sighing. He slapped the antacids into his mouth, and Darren watched him chew for a few moments of awkward silence. “But this deal needs special consideration. A lot of parts in this spell trouble.”

“Like what?”

“The kid, Levi King—”

“How old?”

“Nine.”