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?
Danny laughed. “No, I didn’t . . . I mean, not physically, thanks to Eddy.” He tapped the side of his head. “But I got plenty of shit up here to work out from before, when I was in the military. I’m no different than Eddy. I’m broken, too. Hell, we all are, right? Eddy helped remind me of that . . . how we need to do whatever we can to fix ourselves, so we don’t accidentally cut those trying to hold on to us.”
Charity thought about that. “That makes sense . . . a lot of sense.” Then she stopped, before opening the door to the truck. “Say, you never told me what message he texted you, something only you’d understand?”
Danny laughed again. “Yeah, that. It was something he said the first time we met. ‘Tomorrow is a motherfucker.’ Then he hit me with a frying pan.”
Charity covered her mouth, stopping a laugh of her own. “He used to say that all the time. Same old shit Eddy always said. Goddamn Eddy.”
Then she was crying, only a few tears at first, which she didn’t bother to wipe away. And when she looked over to Danny, she was fiercely holding on to a small, but very real, smile.
“I think tomorrow is gonna be okay for me, Mr. Ford. I think it’s gonna be just fine.”
III
Chris watched her close.
It was Mel’s first visit out to the house since the shoot-out, and it was the second time in the last few weeks he’d seen doubt flicker across her face.
The first had been the day he told her about his plan to bring Fox Uno and Amé out here.
She said, “Oh, Chris . . .” and then just stood for a long time with Jack in her arms, taking it all in, while Rocky ran back and forth.
“Yeah,” he said, putting an arm around her. “It’s a goddamn mess . . .”
—
THE ENTIRE PATCH in front of the house looked as if it had been chewed up and spit out, all of it torn apart and blackened by the vehicles that had been out to the Far Six.
All the ocotillo and purple sage and mountain laurel was crushed. The damianita daisies that Mel had liked so much were gone, and centuries’ worth of yucca had been swept away by the landing skids of Garrison’s helicopter. A thick bed of morning glories was scorched and withered, and there would be no fall blooming this year, or maybe ever again. And although all his deputies had been out to the house to pick up the scattered, spent brass from the firefight that hadn’t been bagged by the FBI and DPS, Chris could see still see a few stray rounds winking in the cool October sunlight. He knew he’d be finding them out here forever, half buried in the scrub like poisonous treasure.