Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He came home after six hours of finally talking to OPR investigators to find the house empty, to find it pretty much the way it was now—some furniture odds and ends and things like a rake or a broom out in the garage; an old Ikea bookshelf without books. Their unmade bed that still smelled like her body wash and shampoo and a couple of pillows. There wasn’t even a note, because Karen had finally run out of things to say, too.
He didn’t blame her, and they still shared a phone call every couple of weeks. Gone, but not forgotten.
Those calls were halting, though, filled with lots of stops and starts. A silence as thick as static, a dead radio station, since neither of them knew what or how much to say, or if there was anything left to say at all.
—
HE SWALLOWED A MOUTHFUL OF BOURBON, turning away from the kitchen window and the pool beyond it, back to the files he’d brought home with him. It was against policy to take sensitive documents out of the office, like he’d done for Sheriff Cherry, but he was long past the point of caring about that. In some ways, surviving that shooting in St. Louis in 1999, and surviving the investigation of Darin and Morgan’s shooting, had made Garrison almost bulletproof. What could they do to him that hadn’t already been done?
What could he lose that hadn’t already been lost?
The files in front of him contained the most current intel on Fox Uno, and they were as barren as his empty house. Garrison had given Chris everything they had about Fox Uno’s past, but this was what they had about him today . . . all the fall-out from the Librado Rivera attack. The elusive Fox Uno had all but disappeared, even with everyone from the U.S. intelligence and law enforcement community and the Mexican government to every rival cartel in northern Mexico hunting for him.
Fox Uno had become more of a ghost, if that was possible.
Some of the intel indicated he may have died in a recent shooting in Chihuahua, but there was no clear confirmation of that and zero reliable, firsthand sourcing. Just a dozen conflicting reports, and no body. Other intelligence suggested that Fox Uno’s right-hand thug, Oso Ocho, had taken over daily operations, or that Fox Uno’s mysterious son, another ghost called Tiburón, was now running what remained of Nemesio. One brief suggested that Tiburón may have joined forces with Fox Uno’s biggest rival, the Serrano Brothers, but to Garrison that hardly made sense. The Serranos had wanted Fox Uno dead forever. They’d taken plenty of Nemesio smuggling routes and plazas. They didn’t want pieces of the kingdom, or a mere handshake with the prince. They wanted the whole crown, and the head wearing it.