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?
“Goddamn.” Garrison whistled. “It’s hard to believe . . .” He let it drop, as the old man looked back at him. There was nothing interesting about his face at all, nothing that hinted at the man he was or the things he’d done. Garrison could have walked past him a hundred times and never looked twice. “Sorry it took so long. I was afraid we’d get here too late. I got the message, but I didn’t recognize the number, didn’t listen to it right away. Then I wasn’t even sure I believed it.”
“What are you talking about?” Chris asked.
Garrison continued: “We got turned around trying to find you. It was worse in the chopper. From up above, this whole place really does look the same. But without it, we never would have made it in time. We followed the smoke and, finally, the muzzle flashes.”
From the air all the shots had looked like brightening stars, one after another after another. Red and white and yellow streaks, blazing away. An entire constellation spread out on the ground that Garrison had used to navigate to the house.
“I didn’t call you,” Cherry said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Joe, but it wasn’t me.”
Garrison searched the middle distance, where the sun had gone completely down. They were wrapped now in darkness, only the lights of the chopper illuminating the scene around them. “I know.”
“Was it Mel?” Cherry asked.
Garrison put a hand on his shoulder again. “No.”
EIGHTY-TWO
America wasn’t sure if she was dying.
She still couldn’t breathe, and pain was galloping through her, trampling her. She couldn’t hold her gun, because her hands wouldn’t clench it; they fluttered away on their own.
She wanted to stand, but she couldn’t find her legs, and then other hands were on her anyway, holding her down.
She couldn’t see Sheriff Cherry or Fox Uno.
She couldn’t see Danny.
Only the ocean of night above her, deep and dark and cold, and stars rising like a tide there.
She’d been to Miami, once, and had spent nights alone on the beach watching the sea.
A man she didn’t recognize was also far above her, yet saying something close in her ear. She tried to fight him, push him away, but she was too weak and getting weaker by the second. He cut away her shirt with bright silver scissors, revealing the Saint Michael pendant Ben had given her—and the armored vest beneath that. He tapped it with a knuckle and smiled, and said something else she didn’t catch. He was talking in English, but she kept wanting to translate it back into Spanish, and she got lost with every word.
At last, there was Danny.
EIGHTY-THREE
He held her and brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her eyelids.
Holding her stopped his own shaking.