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?
Chesney was right, Garrison had lived through the final, bloody days of former Big Bend County sheriff Stanford “Judge” Ross, and his chief deputy, Duane Dupree. He’d survived their reign of terror because he’d been safe and sound here in El Paso, in his office down the hall. Rudy Reynosa and Darin, on the front line down in Murfee, had not. Not even Morgan . . . not really. Not as she’d been.
Everything always came back to goddamn Murfee, Texas.
“You think I’m seeing ghosts?”
Chesney started to answer, but stopped. His eyes, for the second time, said enough.
And Garrison wasn’t going to argue, not now. Darin Braccio was dead, but Garrison had seen that ghost a thousand times since. Every time he closed his eyes. He was the only thing haunting Garrison’s empty house now.
Chesney continued, “Look, I’ve met Chuy Machado a few times. He’s colorful, but corrupt? I’m not convinced, not even close. Admittedly, I’ve never been introduced to that son of his, but nepotism isn’t uncommon. Not in a small town, and not in Texas. What does your friend Sheriff Cherry say? I noticed from your own write-up that he doesn’t have a deputy assigned to the unit.”
That was true. Big Bend County bordered Terrell and was probably three, maybe four times as large, but Sheriff Chris Cherry—taking over from the deceased Stanford Ross—had never shared a deputy with the Tejas unit. Not that he had many to spare to begin with.
“Let’s be clear, Chris Cherry is not exactly my friend,” Garrison said. And although that was true, too, it was a hell of a lot more complicated than that. Three years’ worth of complicated. “But it’s curious that the two counties sit side by side and Terrell’s seizure stats are easily double what Cherry is reporting from the Big Bend.”
“You know as well as I do those numbers are always in flux. Holidays, our own surge operations, a handful of tea leaves the cartels are reading, or some plaza boss who’s making a power grab. There are a thousand variables. This week they’re pushing hard in one area and next week it’s somewhere else. We can’t predict that any better than the weather.” Chesney checked his watch, and given the suit and tie, Garrison couldn’t help wondering just how expensive it was, too. Chesney focused on him again. “Joe, it could just be someone’s doing their job really well, and someone else isn’t doing it well enough.”