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?
Eddy was trapped out here with them, but so was Johnnie. Roman and Ringo and the rest may have been cops once (or still liked to think they were), but none of this shit was official or professional. This wasn’t goddamn police business, no matter what Johnnie said. They were sneaking around the Big Bend, and they didn’t want to be found out if they could help it.
Yep, his beer-drinking buddy Johnnie, good old Apache, was way off the reservation now.
“I’m going to do my best to keep those psychopaths off you, Eddy. You just gotta do what I say. Don’t fuck around, don’t ever fuck around. I’ll keep an eye out for you, but you gotta keep an eye out for me, too. We’ll get through this shit together, amigo.”
Eddy knew they were probably going to kill him. That shit had been decided long before they’d showed up at his door, but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them.
Sure, Johnnie called the shots today, but who knew what tomorrow would bring?
He smiled up at Johnnie, and spit both beer and blood into the grass. “We’re good, amigo, we’re good. All good.”
And tomorrow was a motherfucker.
FORTY-FOUR
Garrison didn’t know a damn thing about helicopters.
Frankly, he didn’t know how they stayed airborne. It was a physical impossibility to him, an act as amazing as any Catholic miracle, which was what he needed now, because he had eight FAST members cooling their heels at Fort Bliss with their DEA chopper grounded, suffering from mysterious “engine problems.” He’d made calls, trying to beg or borrow one from the base, but since Bliss was home to an armored division and various artillery brigades, they had plenty of tanks sitting around, just not many free birds. And the bird he needed had to be suited to the kinds of exfil exercises the team wanted to conduct, so the other DEA Air Wing assets he could get his hands on wouldn’t work. The team was already two days late getting out to the ranch owned by Terry Macrae that Chris Cherry had helped arrange, and it looked like it could be as many as two more even if the repairs went without a hitch. Garrison hated imposing on the old rancher, but he seemed honored to host the team, no matter when they showed up.
The whole thing made Garrison feel more like some sort of party planner rather than a real agent, and now that he was an ASAC, he never felt much like a real agent anymore anyway. His badge and gun were just props since he spent most of his time in meetings or briefings or signing off on travel vouchers and funding documents or reading other people’s reports.