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?
Once he’d started talking, he’d hardly taken any time at all. And since Sheriff Cherry wasn’t back from Nathan yet to be briefed, that gave America the chance to head out to Chapel Mesa, where she and Ben used to spend hours together practicing her shooting. The scooped-out hollow they used for their makeshift range was already warm, holding on to the late-morning sun, and what little breeze there was barely moved the paper targets she’d set up in front of the berm. Fall was just around the corner, but you wouldn’t know it by the way the quartz shined bright and hot along the mesa’s flanks. Summer wasn’t ready to let go.
It had been cooler a couple of mornings ago down in the shadows of Delcia Canyon, at least until they had found the bodies by the water.
America sighted down the Colt, wanting to keep her pattern tight, the way Ben had taught her. Ben had put new Wilson Combat grips on the weapon and had adjusted the trigger pull. He’d retooled the barrel and replaced the original sights with Trijicon Bright & Tough Night Sights. He’d made the weapon perfect for her, but in doing so, he’d made it his as well. She couldn’t look at it, couldn’t hold it, without thinking about him. She missed him more than she wanted to admit, more than she wanted anyone to know.
She lowered her gun, distracted for a moment by the spent brass sparkling on the ground. She and Ben had always policed up their brass after an afternoon of shooting, but always missed some. Even the kids who came out here at night to pick them up for scrap failed to find them all, and she always came across a few later—just like this—shining in the dirt. How many of those rounds had been Ben’s? How many had he held and loaded?
¿Para ella?
She resighted on the target, the dark middle circle, roughly where the heart would be. Breathing slow, relaxing, feeling sweat bead across her forehead. Feeling the gun go heavy in her hand and somehow willing it to be light again. Making it a part of her, not gripping it too tight. Don’t hold it so goddamn tight: that’s what Ben had always told her.
The gun moved, alive, but she held it steady.
At this distance she could barely see the shot grouping, but had a sense there was a ragged hole in the target’s heart.
The real reason she was out here didn’t have much to do with target practice or with Ben Harper. It had to do with not going home yet, not restarting the argument with Danny they’d had all last night and then again this morning before they met with Santino Paez and Eddy Rabbit.