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Back This Side of Night
Chapters (110)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. I
  7. II
  8. PART ONE
  9. ONE
  10. TWO
  11. THREE
  12. FOUR
  13. FIVE
  14. SIX
  15. SEVEN
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. PART TWO
  22. THIRTEEN
  23. FOURTEEN
  24. FIFTEEN
  25. SIXTEEN
  26. SEVENTEEN
  27. EIGHTEEN
  28. NINETEEN
  29. TWENTY
  30. TWENTY-ONE
  31. TWENTY-TWO
  32. TWENTY-THREE
  33. TWENTY-FOUR
  34. TWENTY-FIVE
  35. TWENTY-SIX
  36. TWENTY-SEVEN
  37. TWENTY-EIGHT
  38. TWENTY-NINE
  39. THIRTY
  40. THIRTY-ONE
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. PART THREE
  50. FORTY
  51. FORTY-ONE
  52. FORTY-TWO
  53. FORTY-THREE
  54. FORTY-FOUR
  55. FORTY-FIVE
  56. FORTY-SIX
  57. FORTY-SEVEN
  58. FORTY-EIGHT
  59. FORTY-NINE
  60. FIFTY
  61. FIFTY-ONE
  62. FIFTY-TWO
  63. FIFTY-THREE
  64. FIFTY-FOUR
  65. FIFTY-FIVE
  66. FIFTY-SIX
  67. FIFTY-SEVEN
  68. FIFTY-EIGHT
  69. FIFTY-NINE
  70. SIXTY
  71. SIXTY-ONE
  72. PART FOUR
  73. SIXTY-TWO
  74. SIXTY-THREE
  75. SIXTY-FOUR
  76. SIXTY-FIVE
  77. SIXTY-SIX
  78. SIXTY-SEVEN
  79. SIXTY-EIGHT
  80. SIXTY-NINE
  81. SEVENTY
  82. SEVENTY-ONE
  83. SEVENTY-TWO
  84. SEVENTY-THREE
  85. SEVENTY-FOUR
  86. SEVENTY-FIVE
  87. SEVENTY-SIX
  88. SEVENTY-SEVEN
  89. SEVENTY-EIGHT
  90. SEVENTY-NINE
  91. EIGHTY
  92. EIGHTY-ONE
  93. EIGHTY-TWO
  94. EIGHTY-THREE
  95. EIGHTY-FOUR
  96. EPILOGUE
  97. I
  98. II
  99. III
  100. IV
  101. V
  102. VI
  103. VII
  104. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  105. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  106. Excerpt from LOST RIVER
  107. LITTLE PARIS
  108. DILLON
  109. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  110. What’s next onyour reading list?

IT LOOKED NO DIFFERENT from any other part of Matty Bulger’s ranch, Indian Bluffs. It was indistinguishable from the rest of the rolling scrub and the stubbled Bahia grass and a random scattering of twisted mesquite. Maybe there was a fence line from long ago that Dupree had remembered, or a crushed gravel path or road that America could not see, but she’d never know why the former chief deputy had chosen this spot to kill and bury her brother.

Where Sheriff Cherry had dug Rodolfo out of the earth.

Fox Uno wasn’t standing on the exact spot, but close enough. He sensed it, too, or at least understood the importance of the place where she had brought him. He knew what happened in empty places like this, far from seeing eyes. He breathed hard and, with the rising sun flaring in his eyes, finally shielded them with a hand as he turned in place, unsteady, taking it all in.

“You will not shoot me here,” he said in Spanish, shrugging. “You have thought about it. You have dreamed about it. But you will not do this thing. Not today, and not here.”

She raised the gun higher. She wanted to talk only in English, but was now afraid the thoughts, the words, wouldn’t come fast enough, and she wanted to make sure he understood her perfectly. “My brother died here. Your nephew. He died because of you.”

Fox Uno looked at his hands, raised them, showing her his palms. “He was a liar, a thief. He was weak. His fate was in his hands, not mine. I did not kill Rodolfo.”

“Then why send Máximo to avenge him? Why care at all?”

“The men who did this thing to him were liars and thieves as well. They stole from me. Rodolfo’s life was not theirs to take. They had not earned that right.” He paused, staring right into the rising sun. “I sent Máximo for you. You do not remember this, but I saw you once as a baby. A tiny thing, fists clenched. Angry and so strong then, refusing to cry. You were . . .”

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you know me. You know nothing about me.”

“This is where you are wrong. I know you all too well, mija.”

Mija was a term of affection, a nickname for a daughter. She’d heard Fox Uno use it with Zita. America’s own papa had used it with her. “Do not call me that. I am not your daughter.”