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?
The kid had a leather bag or satchel in his hand that he held out from his body. He’d walked about ten steps from the van, but his door was still open. The setting sun was reflecting off the windshield, so it was difficult to see exactly who was sitting in the passenger seat, or if it was even occupied, and based on Danny’s voice in his ear, he evidently couldn’t get a decent look, either.
Fox Uno walked off the porch and started to approach the kid. Chris followed him down to the bottom step, then held up. He ordered Fox Uno to do the same.
Fox Uno and the kid were about twenty feet apart, shadows still and dark between them. Chris kept the A5 high, covering both.
“I’m guessing this isn’t Gualterio? Do you know who this is?” Chris asked. None of them had truly expected Gualterio to show up in person, but they hadn’t expected someone this young, either.
“No,” Fox Uno said.
“Tell him we need to see America’s mother. Tell him we need to see her now.”
Fox Uno addressed the young man. Calm. Friendly. He asked him his name.
The kid with the satchel hesitated, like he was waiting for instructions of his own, like he had a voice in his ear the way Chris did. “Mi nombre es Xavier,” he said at last, now holding out the satchel to Fox Uno like he was giving him a present. “Me envió tu hijo, Martino.”
“¿Conoces a mi hijo?” Fox Uno asked. “¿Has hablado con Gualterio?”
“No he hablado con un Gualterio,” the kid in the red shirt—Xavier—replied, taking a few more tentative steps forward, still offering the bag to Fox Uno, who ignored it. Fox Uno told Xavier that everything was okay, not to be afraid, but the americanos needed to see the anciana, the old woman, ahora mismo, right now, or the man behind him with the shotgun—Chris—would start shooting.
And he would start with Xavier. Fox Uno said it with a serious smile. Deadly serious.
That stopped Xavier in his tracks, and his eyes went wide as he called back to the van.
Chris didn’t know exactly what was going on, but it was clear enough that this Xavier didn’t seem to know anything about Gualterio. Instead, he kept talking about Fox Uno’s son, Martino.
Something was wrong.
The side-panel door slid open and someone got out.
Pushed out.
A woman . . . with gray hair blowing in the breeze.
For a moment, Chris almost relaxed. But he kept his A5 aimed at Xavier anyway, as he stepped down off the porch and joined Fox Uno.
He kept searching the van up and down. There was something about that Aerostar, something familiar.