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 stared Roman back down, letting him know he was going backstage to visit Rae right now, reminding him who was in fucking charge. Roman and the others didn’t need to know everything he knew—it was better they didn’t—but they needed to know enough to stay in line and remember that Johnnie Macho was always on top of things.
Making the right calls, placing the big bets, righteously handling his business.
He spat his chewed-up matchstick onto the floor. “I got someone in Murfee. When the time comes, he’s gonna help us out.”
THIRTY-ONE
Deputy Marco Lucero liked her tattoos.
Okay, it was more than that.
He liked the way she laughed when she laughed, which wasn’t as often as she should. He liked her purple eyeshadow, and the way she chewed the end of her straw when she was drinking a Coke, and the way she kept her long hair in a braid that draped over one bare shoulder. When she worked at Earlys she usually wore a tank top and dark jeans, and it was that thin-strapped top that best showed off those tattoos on her left arm, running all the way to the smooth hollows of her throat. A few more peeked out around the curves of her small breasts, and he imagined—too often—what they might be. All he could ever see was a smudge of dusky color; a flower, a sun, a dragon. He had no real idea. But when he was bored sitting at his desk listening to Till Greer tell his unfunny jokes, or was in his truck, running the radar gun on U.S. 90—the only gun he’d ever drawn since joining the department—he kept coming back to Vianey Ruiz’s tattoos. They told a story, just like all the tattoos Danny Ford had, and it was a story that Marco desperately wanted to know.
To get to know. Vianey had to know that, too. She was a bit older than him, probably flirting with everyone since it was part of the job description of working in a bar, but when he came into Earlys and sat down, she always made a point of setting them both up with a cold Coke (lots of ice for him) and ordering him some wings or whatever was on special, and then spent a good part of Marco’s time in the bar leaning over the old wood and chatting him up.