GARRISON TOLD CHRIS about DEA’s FAST program, and how they were looking for a place to get some specialized training done. It’d be a week, tops, and Garrison was hoping they could use the outskirts of Murfee, and Chris agreed—he had no problem with that. Better, he could talk to Terry Macrae over at Tres Rios and see about them setting up shop there. Macrae might let them use some of his currently empty bunkhouses, so they wouldn’t have to stay in town at all. It would be ranch-hand living—rough—but Chris imagined it had to be better than whatever accommodations they’d gotten used to in Afghanistan. Chris had talked to Danny a few times about his military tours over there, and had a hard time picturing anyone investigating, well, anything, in a place like that.

When he asked Garrison what an agent could truly accomplish in a war zone, Garrison said he didn’t know, either.

—

“HOW’S DANNY FORD DOING? Has he made the successful transition to small-town deputy?” Garrison asked.

“He’s fine. I wasn’t sure about it at first, but after everything that happened with the Earls, he wasn’t going to leave Murfee anyway, so at least some good came out of him staying. He felt responsible for Ben Harper’s death, I think.”

“I went to Harper’s funeral,” Garrison said.

“I didn’t see you there,” Chris said, legitimately surprised.

“No, I didn’t want to intrude. You were there with your other deputies, and with Melissa. It wasn’t my place, but I wanted to be there.”

“I appreciate that. I never got a chance to go to Darin Braccio’s memorial. Sheriff Ross did, on behalf of the department.” Chris spun a beer bottle in his hands. “Anyway, if Danny was responsible for Ben’s death, then I guess I was, too. But I don’t think that was exactly all of it, even if he didn’t say it then, or now. Danny was always going to stick around because of America.”

Garrison paused, then: “Are they a thing?”

“Well, that’s hard to say. They spend time together, I guess, but they don’t talk about it, and I don’t ask. On duty, they’re all business, and that’s what matters.”

Garrison stood, searching for another beer in the ice. He leaned against the porch rail, with stars just turning on in the east; one at a time, a rising glow coloring the horizon. “Speaking of business, what do you think of Chuy Machado?”

“The sheriff over in Terrell? Nothing. We talk every now and then.”

“Do you ever talk about his Tejas unit?”

“I know about it. It’s another one of those task forces you Feds are so fond of. He offered a spot to one of my deputies. I turned him down.”

“Why?”