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?
It had been hard getting up and moving through the bedroom and stepping quietly over Danny, and then Zita, to get to her uncle.
He sat up without a sound when she touched the gun’s muzzle to the weathered skin between his eyes, and if he recognized the gun—with its grinning silver calaveras and Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte—he didn’t show it. He blinked and said nothing. She forced him to get up and grab his precious phones, and then she guided him silently out the door.
It was still dark outside, but the sun would likely be up by the time they got to where they were going.
—
SHE DROVE OUT OF MURFEE with the gun across her lap pointed at Fox Uno’s stomach. She’d accepted that’s who he was now, so there was no need to think of him as Juan Abrego or anyone else—as anything other than what he was. If he was concerned that she was going to kill him, he didn’t beg for his life. Instead, he ignored her, letting it play out, watching the darkened world roll by.
She angled them south of town, toward Texas 118, out past Chapel Mesa, along the line of the Del Norte and Christmas Mountains; within sight of 9 Point Mesa, then in the direction of Terlingua and Study Butte. She kept going, eyes searching for the ranch road. To her left, hidden behind the mountains, the sun was still rising, and the sky there was slowly softening . . . lightening. A memory of a thousand other dawns. She had her window down but the cool morning air did nothing for her. Her skin was beaded with sweat, her hand steady on the gun.
She finally found the turnoff she was looking for, a switchback to the darkened west, and it was like driving down a long, shadowed tunnel—toward a place the sun was still a long way from reaching.
She had been out here many times after Sheriff Cherry had shown it to her.
She could find it with her eyes closed. A shallow hole, a blemish on the earth. It was part of her, a hole dug right into her heart.
A hole like a grave.
She finally pulled the truck over but didn’t get out, not yet. They still had some walking to do. She smelled the creosote, the desert itself. It was sour and arid, and behind her the stars were giving way to a sun she still couldn’t see.
She motioned at Fox Uno with the gun. Held it up high. “Get out,” she said in English. She wasn’t going to give him the courtesy of speaking Spanish.
It didn’t matter, he knew exactly what she meant.
He opened the door and stood, stretching.
Then they both started walking.
THIRTY-THREE
About twenty-file miles away from America and Fox Uno, Chris rose, too, with the dawn.