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?
“I was wondering if you were ever going to move up here,” Chesney said, in a way that meant he’d never wondered about it at all. Even after getting promoted, Garrison had resisted relocating to the front office. In a way he couldn’t explain, he’d been reluctant to let his view of Juárez go. They were old friends, old lovers, older enemies. He’d taken some time off and headed back east, made a thousand smaller excuses about changing offices even before that, and Chesney hadn’t pushed him. Most of his duties were merely administrative anyway, overseeing budgets and intel and staffing. It was push-button stuff he could do from anywhere, including home. But if there was one place colder and emptier than his new office, it was there, and both men knew it.
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been dragging my ass, but I’m here now.” Garrison shrugged, as if he had been traveling for a long time in a place far, far away.
For a second it seemed that Chesney was going to come in and sit down, make some attempt at camaraderie that neither man wanted or felt, but he thought better of it and stayed in the doorway. “Well. I know you’ve been on leave and have a lot to catch up on.” He made a vague gesture at Garrison’s bare desk, at the bookshelf free and clear of anything personal: family photos, awards, mementos. “But I was hoping you’d take a look at some of the reporting about those students in Ojinaga. It’s a mess down there, and that’s an understatement.”
Garrison had read about it on the plane back to Texas—a brutal attack on students from a tiny rural school called Librado Rivera in Ojinaga, Chihuahua, Mexico. Three students were confirmed dead, six injured, and nearly two dozen were still missing. Vanished. Less than a week old, the attack had already drawn international attention and outrage, and the government of Mexico was in full panic mode. Even the cartels, who’d always been eager and willing to take credit for every single beheading and atrocity, were wiping their hands of it. There was plenty of finger-pointing, leaving the border in turmoil. The Mex Feds, followed closely by worldwide media, had swarmed the Ojinaga area, and the government of Mexico had deployed specialized Mexican Marine units to strike known cartel strongholds in a series of brazen airborne raids. Publicized raids. Everyone was searching for answers, and a scapegoat. Drug and human trafficking on the Texas-Mexico border was a violent and bloody business, but also a very lucrative one, and right now, business was not good for anyone.