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?
That meant by birth, by blood—por la sangre—America did as well. And to the agent, that meant she probably had plenty of blood on her own hands, too, even if she now wore a badge.
On this, Agent Garrison wasn’t so wrong.
“No, he didn’t know about this,” the sheriff said. “I mean, he does now, but I didn’t call him. You know me better than that. He reached out to me about something else, although he didn’t get into it on the phone. He’s coming out here, and no matter what’s on his mind, he’ll no doubt circle back to what’s going on over there.” The sheriff pointed with his phone south, over the river. “You’ve read the same stuff I have. It’s a mess right now. All those students that were attacked? It’s like it was before, Amé, and those bodies in the water mean that craziness and violence over there is only spreading. It always does, right? It’s like a sickness, or a goddamn fire. Burning its way to our backyard again.”
It’s like it was before . . . like the way it was with Rodolfo and with Garrison’s agents. With Sheriff Ross and that pendejo, Dupree.
The boy sicario, Máximo, who Fox Uno sent to Murfee—to her—from his rancho across the river.
Two silver pistolas—unwanted gifts, terrible promises—for her and her hermano.
And finally, Caleb Ross—Sheriff Ross’s son—who’d loved her once, but fled Murfee’s secrets after the sheriff’s death.
These were all her secrets, and Sheriff Cherry knew most of them; all but la pistola she kept hidden in her apartment. She had never asked the sheriff to carry them for her, but he would, and he would never reveal them to Agent Garrison. That was the sort of man he was.
—
“DO YOU THINK he’s coming here to talk about me?”
The sheriff turned to face her. “Probably. That’s usually the way it is. Él no te quiere. And he doesn’t know you the way I do.” He tried a smile.
“You’ve been practicing,” she said.
The sheriff held on to the smile, like it was the most important thing in the world, holding on to it just for her. Wanting her to believe that he didn’t care about Garrison and his concerns and never would. “Yeah, I have. You know, if I win reelection, I think I should be able to speak the language. Mel looked up the percentage of households here that speak Spanish daily. More than half this county is Hispanic. I hope they’re voters.” He didn’t say it as if he was convinced. “And even if I don’t win, at least I’ll know what you and Marco have been saying about me all this time.”
“I saw the signs in the back of your truck.”