Because there was a part of him—there’d always been a part of him—that simply wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was a compass in his head always pointed in one direction. And Eddy Lee had plenty to answer for. Not only braining him with a skillet and smacking Charity around, but also all those radios and the scanners in his kitchen. Since getting out of Lynaugh, Eddy Rabbit had moved way beyond selling dime bags out of Arby’s or Steak ’n Shake. He’d graduated to something else altogether.

Fortunately, Eddy made the decision easy on him when he suddenly reappeared out of that green curtain of cane, reversing his course and now running full speed right back toward the trailer . . . toward Danny. He still had the fork in his hand, but it was long forgotten, because whatever he’d seen out in that cane, down by the water, was suddenly scarier than having the Big Bend County’s deputy sheriff he’d just assaulted catch him.

They met in the shadows of a salt cedar as Danny hit him full force, using his forward momentum to lift Eddy clean off the ground. Eddy made a noise, not quite a cry or a grunt, and he barely weighed anything. It was like picking up a bundle of sticks wrapped in dirty clothes, a small child, and Danny almost felt bad about how hard he hit him. Almost.

He brought Eddy down in one motion but kept him upright, popping the man’s wrist at a sharp angle and his elbow back the other way, sending the fork high and flying. This time Eddy tried to cry out as he swallowed air after having the wind knocked out of him. He scrabbled against Danny, smacking at him, until Danny snapped off an open palm strike to Eddy’s jaw that shut his mouth for good.

Eddy’s eyes rolled up white and he collapsed into the grass, breathing shallowly. He’d wake up in ten minutes, or maybe an hour.

Danny was just shrugging the Colt Defender from the holster tucked in the small of his back when Dale and Amé appeared on foot from around the side of the trailer, their duty weapons drawn. Dale’s eyes were big and as white as Eddy’s had been moments before, pulled like magnets to the unconscious man at Danny’s feet. Amé was scanning the cane, and Danny, too, checking him up and down, making sure he was okay. She still had on her sunglasses and it was impossible to read what she thought about the scene in front of her, but that was tough most of the time anyway.

She’d ditched her truck somewhere up front and the sirens were still going.

Dale was moving slow, too slow, and eyeing Eddy. “What the hell . . . ?”