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 tried calling and texting Amé several times without success, until he found the note she’d written on the bathroom glass.
It said simply: Dime.
The only other word in Spanish she knew he could figure out: Tell me.
He didn’t have to know the language to understand what she meant. She’d asked him the same thing the other night in front of the apartment, with his arms tight around her.
He went back and forth on calling Sheriff Cherry, but what was there to say? What was there to do now, except give Amé the time to get whatever answers she thought she needed from Fox Uno—however she had to get them.
Tell me.
—
HE WAS STILL SITTING NEXT TO ZITA watching cartoons, an arm loosely around her steadying the Bullhide hat that was too big for her, when his phone finally buzzed.
He grabbed at it.
An incoming text, but not Amé.
It was Marco Lucero.
THIRTY-SIX
Make the call,” she said. “I want to hear my mama on the other end of that phone.”
A few minutes before, Fox Uno had knelt and picked up both phones, and was now holding one in each hand. “It does not work that way. There is a schedule, certain numbers at certain times . . .”
“I know. Secret words and names, like Rana and Araña and Diablo. Little boys playing silly games. But when I dialed Rodolfo’s phone all those years ago, someone did answer, and you sent me Máximo. I thought it was magic, the stupid dreams of a stupid girl. But it wasn’t magic and it wasn’t a game. It was just you. And I’m no longer so stupid. Make the call.”
She’d already had Fox Uno unlock the phones and hold them up to her, scrolling through the call logs and the contact lists. In the sunlight they’d been hard to read, but it was clear enough both were empty. Either he’d been deleting them or there had never been anything there to begin with.
America knew better. There was someone else out there, somewhere.
She only had to force Fox Uno to call them.
“How is it that you think I have survived so long?”
“You’re not going to live through this morning if I don’t hear my mama or someone who knows where she is on the other end of one of those phones.”
Fox Uno shrugged, a futile gesture. “This is not the way. If you do this thing, you will kill her. You might kill us all.”
“Me? Men kill on your orders. Hundreds have lived and died on nothing more than your word, and now you have nothing to say to save yourself?”
“Yes, I killed men. But I bought and sold more, too many to count. Important men, untouchable, far more dangerous than me. I have survived so long only because I trusted so few of them.”