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?
When Royal finally gave Chris a question about ISIS—goddamn ISIS, some vision of turbaned terrorists sneaking through the desert—he’d had enough.
He clutched the microphone on its tall, silver stand, wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He scanned the audience, searching out a familiar, maybe even friendly, face.
He settled on Dave Wilcher, one of the moderators. Dave was in his late sixties, and although he wasn’t tall, he was strong. The muscles were corded in his neck as he worked a wad of long-cut tucked between his cheek and gums, and his arms stuck out thickly from the rolled-up sleeves of his chambray shirt.
Chris took a deep breath. “Dave, how long has your family owned the Monument?”
Dave looked left and right, uncertain that Chris was addressing him, although he was the only person who owned a ranch called the Monument in West Texas, and it ran right alongside the Rio Grande. “That land’s been in my family for about a hundred and fifty years. Hell, you know that, Sheriff.”
“Exactly. One hundred and fifty years. Now, how often in all that time have you ever seen a terrorist crossing that river, sneaking over your pastures?”
Dave laughed, shook his head. “Well, now, I can’t say I’ve ever seen one, exactly.” Then he added, “Don’t reckon I will, either. But if I do, I’m damn ready.”
A small ripple of laughter ran through the gym. Most of the men had guns openly displayed on their hips.
“I’m sure, so if Mr. Turner here wants to spend his time hunting for terrorists, I think we can all agree he’s going to be looking for a long time, and he better find them before most of you folks do.” Another roll of laughter, louder, and Chris pressed on. “Now, how many times have you asked me to come out and deal with some illegals on your land?”
Dave paused, uncomfortable, so Chris answered for him. “It’s okay, Dave, I’m not trying to put you on the spot. You’re a good man, we all know that, so I’m just going to go ahead and tell everyone here that the answer is never. In all my time with the department, you’ve never fretted about that. You see it the way I do. The way most of us do. We’re talking about mostly good men themselves, sometimes even women and kids, looking for work. A better life. And we can all understand that.”