Tillis led the way up the hillsides through the thorny brush and sometimes along open stretches of worn cattle paths. Bucko was a sure-footed horse, and was cautious, to a fault. Several times Tillis found himself urging the horse forward, especially when he looked over and caught Logan’s expression—that raw mix of eagerness and despair. Tillis could only imagine what it felt like, having a daughter in the middle of this and not knowing what was happening to her. The sounds of sporadic gunfire came alternately from each direction.
He gave Bucko a nudge with his heels. Tillis had the most horseback experience, although Gala seemed to have no trouble keeping up. Logan had ridden a number of times himself, but still forced himself to trail behind and keep a wary eye on their surroundings as they went up and down hills toward the ranch house. From what they could hear, it was an area of more intense gunfire.
As they neared the crest of a hill, Tillis pulled up behind a snug stand of mesquite and sat his horse. Gala slowed and held out a hand for Logan to go slower and be quiet.
They all slid off their horses and brought them close to tie them along a drooping bigger mesquite branch. Tillis ducked low and eased around a patch of prickly pear cactus and up to the top of the hill, with Gala following close behind.
He eased to the crest and peered over. Below them, the hillside spread out into a flatter area, with corrals and riding areas beside a barn. Behind that, another hill ran up in a gentle, grazed slope to the ranch house.
A ring of guards surrounded the house, each staked into a position where he could cover a lot of ground. Varied-size groups of the rebellious Cincos, some carrying automatic assault weapons similar to those of the guards, others with mere hoes and other garden implements, were making attempts to break through at several points around the defensive perimeter, but hadn’t penetrated yet.
There was a scurry of noise behind them. Tillis and Gala spun and stared at Logan, who restlessly kicked his way through a corner of the cactus toward them. He crouched down low and eased the rest of the way to them.
“We’re taking too long. Karyn’s down there. Remember?”
Tillis just nodded and looked back at the fighting below.
“The area around the barn’s the only weakness,” Gala said. “Behind that, there’s a bit of garden and some sheds for cover.”
Off to the far right, the gunfire accelerated in a fierce flurry. Tillis glanced that way and saw the first of the white hats swinging off their horses and taking cover as they took on the thickest part of the guards.
Gala turned to Tillis, saw his face. “I bet this kills you, not being able to join in.”
Tillis turned back to the ranch house.
“I’ll slip down first, make sure there’s a clear line for you, and be right back. Can you stand still for that?” Her eyes darted back and forth between Tillis and Logan.
“We’ll have to,” Tillis said. Logan just looked off at the ranch house.
She slipped away and was out of their sight in seconds.
“One of us oughta be down there on point, scouting. Why her?” Logan said.
“She’s got a better chance than a couple of gringos. Besides, she’s very good at this sort of thing. Take a look out there. See if you see her anywhere, or hear a thing.”
“Where’d she get that kind of training?”
“Watch her moves,” Tillis said. “Some of them are the same ones you learned at Quantico.”
“She’s no Marine,” Logan said. “The old Tillis’d be down there on point himself.”
“I am the old Tillis. The younger Tillis might’ve done a lot of damn fool things. This version’s trying to learn about trust.”
“I hope just you aren’t fooling with your education by putting Karyn at risk.”
“Gala knows about the urgency.”
“It’s that old woman, isn’t it?”
“Esbeth?”
“Yeah. Is she the one making you think you oughta open up a bit?”
“If she is, Logan, you could sure use a dose yourself.” He held up a hand for Logan to be still and get lower. One of the guards below, on this side of the perimeter, was sweeping the hill with a rifle with a telescopic sight.
A few seconds ticked by while they crouched low and listened to the sound of shots being fired. Then Tillis eased back up to watch the action from the ridge. Logan slid up beside him.
The guards Tillis could see below looked uncertain in their movements, like people instructed to handle most situations by quieting anything that might attract outside attention. They didn’t look ready for this, though some of that could be a leadership issue. He’d seen Gala shoot down both Jorge and Estaban, Bill Hoel’s “hands of darkness.” The presence of Texas Rangers on the property for the first time seemed to add to the confusion. But, instead of making the guards crumble and run, it seemed to make them only fight harder, for the moment.
“I’m doing what I can about myself,” Logan mumbled, for the first time anything like contrition in his voice. “All I can think about is Karyn, and here I am up hunkered down with the likes of you.”
Tillis sighed, and crouched low as they watched the fighting below.
* * * * *
Karyn could feel her tears trickle down her cheekbones, then shoot across the slick, silver tape across her mouth to splash down on her blouse. She blinked hard, trying to make herself stop. It wasn’t helping a thing.
The guards stood near the two doors to the dining room, and when they looked at her there was no pity on their faces. Outside, she could hear more of the pops and strings of crackling Bill Hoel had said was gunfire. Some of it sounded like it was coming closer. But that just made her feel worse. Quick glances to Donnie and Esbeth hadn’t helped, so now she stared across the room at the old china cabinet. She tried to think of nothing, but there was the never having been physical with Donnie, the idea that she had hoped she would one day have kids and a family life of her own, her trying to remember when she’d last told her father she loved him, things like that. When they dove deep into that black lake in the middle of night, and in a thunderstorm, she thought she’d been as scared as she’d ever been in her life, as she ever would be. But she’d been wrong. Right now, if she was down at the bottom of the darkest depths beside the dam, where she saw those thick, black shapes of who knows what, she might try to sport with them right now, like a dolphin. She felt herself trembling, and tried to stop, but couldn’t.
Footsteps clomped back into the room. She looked up, and it was Bill Hoel. There was something gaunt, ghastly, and scared about his face. He went over to the window and looked out. When he turned back, there it was again. Where he’d seemed to be blustering and strong before, now he was crumbling.
“Esta Martinez,” he shouted to the two guards. It was the first he’d spoken in a while. It made no sense to Karyn. She was too scared to feel anything else—not anger, or pity, or even hate. She only felt fear, that of someone young who was almost certain she was going to die sooner than she’d ever thought. Life seemed sweeter than ever before, and further removed.
The guards didn’t seem to respond. Maybe Old Bill was used to yelling to his regular two bodyguards, the one with the twisted face and the other one she thought he’d tried to say Donnie had killed. Now Hoel was shouting strings of words in broken Spanish. She could only make out a word here and there. Hoel yelled something about “fuerza delta,” but that made no sense to her. His garbled Spanish was hard for her to understand, and, at the moment, it didn’t seem to mean all that much to the guards either. But Karyn saw something in Esbeth’s eyes. She seemed to be getting something. Not that it would do any of them any good.
“Oh, to hell with it,” Old Bill Hoel finally shouted. Pops of gunfire punctuated his yell. He spun and headed back out to the kitchen with what looked like painful, bowlegged steps.
In the silence in the room after he’d left, she sat and tried hard to remember her mother’s face. But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried. Her mind was blank, and that made her cry again. Only they were angry tears this time.
* * * * *
Tillis heard a small rustle and had the gun pointed to the green wall of vegetation, when Gala eased through the thick of the low mesquites and chaparral that ran up the side of the hill. She’d only been gone a few minutes.
“We’d better leave the horses tied here and go in on foot,” she said. There was a small scratch along one cheekbone, and one of the knuckles on her right hand was swelling. But Tillis didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer. “We can get through, but not by riding.”
“You find out anything about what’s going on here?” Logan asked.
She looked at Tillis. “Not any more than that someone killed Don Cinco.”
“I meant about Karyn,” Logan said.
She shook her head. “Bill Hoel’s at the house, and this whole business seems to have caught most of the guards by surprise. She’s probably in the house too. I don’t see any way Bill’s men could have gotten anyone out to the road in all this.” She waved a hand toward where the firing was thickest. “We’ve got just a few minutes to get through here. We’d better get moving.”
“You see Morgan Lane?” Logan asked.
“No.” Her head snapped to him; then she looked to Tillis.
“We thought we caught a distant glimpse of him. That’s all,” Tillis said.
“Headed this way?”
“I couldn’t tell.” Tillis looked to Logan, and he shook his head too.
“Well, let’s get moving.” Gala spun, and was gone. They took off after her, as fast as they could, to keep up.
After some brisk scurrying and jogging, they went past the first of the downed guards by the barn, and then slipped by another in the garden. The eyes of one of them were open and staring at nothing. Tillis didn’t need to ask what’d happened to them. They’d been in the way, but now they weren’t.
* * * * *
Esbeth had been letting her head droop, but suddenly looked up and over at the two guards left to watch them. She was just in time to see one slowly raise his hands, still holding his automatic rifle, into the air above him. Someone stood behind him, and she caught just enough of a glimpse to think it was Tillis. From the other side of the doorway, Gala slid around, her gun pointed at the other guard, who spun and realized he had no chance. He slowly lowered his weapon to the hardwood floor. Then he straightened and raised his hands.
Esbeth could see for sure now that it was Tillis coming in through the door with his gun raised. His shirt clung to him, and was torn in a couple of places and marked by dirt in others. He looked grim and ready. He tucked his gun into his belt and eased to the table, then went to Esbeth first and pulled the tape off her mouth with a quick snap. He bent to untie her ropes. As soon as he was done, he tugged his gun back out. Esbeth tried to nod toward the kitchen, but her neck was stiff with tension.
She spoke in a hoarse whisper, “There’s something you should know. Old Bill’s around here someplace, and is off his rails.”
He held a finger up to his lips and tossed the rope to Logan, who’d already taken the automatic from the guard he stood behind and had put a strip of tape across the guard’s mouth. Tillis started to ease toward the door that led to the living room. Esbeth tried to shout, “The kitchen.” But her voice just came out a harsh squawk that only made Tillis wave for her to be quiet again.
Gala had the other guard on the floor, and was finishing gagging him with tape and tying his ankles and wrists.
Logan finished his guard, put down the automatic. He rushed over to Karyn, and started freeing her. He stopped when he heard the voice coming from behind Tillis, though.
“All of you just stay right the way you are. Put the guns down on the floor.”
Esbeth watched Tillis lower his gun and drop it, then turned to look at Bill Hoel, who stood in the kitchen doorway. He had his big revolver leveled at them.
“First one to move, the kids get it first. You understand?” The cracked voice was full of suppressed rage, but the gun didn’t move at all, except for the finger that tightened in the guard.
Logan slowly lowered his pistol to the floor. When he stood, he managed to stand between Bill and Karyn.
“Get out of the way, you, so I got a clear line of fire.”
Logan didn’t budge. His shoulders squared, expecting to die right there if he had to.
Esbeth couldn’t take her eyes off Bill Hoel, a man who for years had exiled himself from the rest of mankind, and for what, to keep his claws on a block of land that was barely fit for rattlesnakes.
“Move, I said.” His voice had the hysterical, raspy edge of madness to it.
Esbeth watched Bill’s hand tighten, the trigger finger starting to squeeze. She knew she had to do something. She shouted, “You’ve got nothing to lose at this point, Bill. You might as well clear the air about Hank and Hugh Spurlock. Folks are always going to wonder, unless you come clean.” There was no reason for her to be talking at all, but that didn’t stop her.
“You, shut up.” But his hand loosened a bit, and he gave Esbeth his fierce glare. Karyn reached up to put her arms around her dad’s waist.
Esbeth wouldn’t let up. “I mean, that poor town’s lived in a shadow all these years, not to mention Donnie here having this hang over his head all his life. You don’t really want folks to never know just how clever you were, luring at least two of them to their deaths, especially since you still hold the Spurlocks accountable for the deaths of three of the Hoel clan back in that mess all those years ago.”
“That’s it. I mean it. You think I won’t bust a cap on an old butterball like you, think again.” Hoel was spitting with rage again, and his voice got up to a scream. He shifted the barrel of his pistol over, until it pointed directly at Esbeth.
It was what she’d wanted him to do, was why she’d butted in, but she felt herself swallow hard, and all she could see was the round, dark end of that gun.
“What about the one behind you, Bill?” Gala said.
“Don’t give me . . .”
“Right here.” Morgan Lane stepped the rest of the way through the doorway, pointing a worn Army Colt .45 automatic at Bill’s back.
Esbeth would always remember the moment as a big pause, when the world stopped and took a few deep breaths. But, in truth, everything happened fast, and in seconds.
Old Bill Hoel never hesitated. He spun, and Morgan’s gun went off at the same instant. Hoel was lifted off his feet and the gun dropped from his hand as he tumbled across to the table, bounced off it, and came to rest in a pile at Esbeth’s feet.
The blast was still ringing in the room, and Esbeth’s ears were ringing.
Gala bent and picked up the pistol she’d dropped when Bill had them covered. “What took you so long? Where the hell’ve you been?” she said to Morgan.
“Whatever made someone his age think he could get the drop on me?” He looked down at the crumpled body of the old man in a level of scorn only he could manage.
Esbeth smelled the cordite in the room, and something else burning above that. But she couldn’t move just then, even if the house was on fire. Her legs felt like jelly. Her breath came in short gulps.
Tillis went to Donnie and pulled the tape off his mouth and bent to the ropes that held him.
“Are you crazy, Esbeth? He could’ve killed you.” Donnie’s voice squeaked.
“She was saving Dad,” Karyn said quietly. Her face was still flushed a different red from her hair, and she had soft hiccups from crying earlier. But now she looked as determined and eager to leave as any of them.
“I think you’d all better step lively now,” Morgan said. “The Cincos have set the house on fire.”
Esbeth caught Tillis looking from Morgan to Gala, then back again.
“You didn’t mention Denny, Esbeth,” Tillis said. “Any reason?”
Morgan stood there, the Army Colt hanging at this side, his eyes like some predatory animal’s. It was now clear to Esbeth, as it may have been for a time to Tillis, that Gala and Morgan had been working undercover together all the time.
“What’re you saying?” Esbeth’s voice was dry and scratchy, when she tried to use it. She hadn’t wanted to start this with the kids in the room. She tried to frown that message to Tillis, but he spoke anyway.
“That someone working on this might’ve thought the pace was going slow, someone on it for over a year might’ve tried to stir things up on his own.”
“You’re talking out your ass, Ranger.” Morgan’s restless eyes flicked around to each of them, never blinking.
Esbeth sighed. It took a moment more for it to seep through Donnie’s thicker head.
He tried to rise. “You’re the one who killed my father,” he screamed. Understanding and rage mingled on his round, boyish face. Tillis held him harder by the shoulders and pressed him back into the chair.
“We’ll straighten all this out later. We don’t have much time for any half-baked theories. Let’s go,” Morgan said. He waved to the door with his gun. Smoke was starting to come in from the kitchen. Outside, they could hear gunfire getting closer to the house.
“That’s a different gun for you, isn’t it?” Gala said. “Didn’t you used to have a 7.65?”
“You mean the one under my pillow? I’m surprised you’d want to mention that right this moment.” He was looking right at Tillis. “That came up missing.”
“What they’re saying makes sense. You didn’t like it that I was called in either,” Gala said. “You’ve been here too long, without showing any progress. You were having too much fun dragging things out with the small town, and weren’t getting through to the Cincos, getting them to help themselves out of here. Did you really figure the mayor turning up dead would stir things up?” Gala was easing away from the table.
The talk wasn’t to goad Morgan, but to buy Gala time to move any action away from the table. Esbeth could see that. But her glance to Donnie and Karyn found them more rapt than as scared as they should be.
“You had a good life, didn’t you, Morgan? Your cover was sweet. You were making money. Your tastes ran to the exotic, to the very young. Did you make those personal porn film tapes of the two of you going at it, too?”
“Don’t you go green-eyed on me now.”
Esbeth rubbed her wrists and watched them talk with as detached a sense as she’d ever experienced. She felt like a lump of lead glued to her chair. There was Old Bill Hoel, dead and curled up on the floor. Outside there was shooting, screams, and all manner of chaos, but above that she could hear something cold and dripping in the kitchen, like a bent metronome. Behind that was a low, growing crackle, like a fire burning. Time seemed slowed, focused, and yet elastic and unreal. Tillis was lowering, lowering, getting closer to his gun all the time. But Gala had more to say.
“For that matter, I’m beginning to doubt Bill Hoel was even the one to eliminate Don Cinco. Maybe it was someone motivated to put down the Cincos’ chance of freedom, to keep things the way they are around here.”
Morgan’s piercing eyes swept around to each of the others in the room, taking a quick straw poll to see how he stood. When those laser beams fixed on Esbeth, she could see no emotion in Morgan’s face, no emotion at all. But she could see awareness.
Everything seemed to be happening too quickly for Esbeth, but that could be because she wasn’t quite over looking down the barrel of Bill Hoel’s gun.
Donnie started to scream something. Tillis clamped one hand around his mouth, while still trying to bend low enough to pick up the gun he’d dropped earlier. Morgan made his move.
His gun snapped up in a blur of blued-steel, and a shot rang out.
Esbeth had never seen anyone move as fast as Morgan, nor could she figure out the hole high in the center of his chest as he snapped back and crumpled against the door jamb. Across the room, Gala was slowly lowering her gun, with a wisp of smoke trailing from its barrel.
Tillis let go of Donnie and rushed over to him. Those penetrating eyes were already frosting over. But Morgan could make out who was there. He struggled to lift his head and could barely get out the words, “You’ll never really know now, will you?” Then the eyes went out like campfire embers in a rain, and his head dropped back against the wall. Although he’d barely been able to whisper, Esbeth and the others hadn’t missed a word.
“Okay, everyone. Let’s go,” Tillis shouted. He went over to help Esbeth up out of her chair.
Donnie stood on legs as wobbly as a newly-dropped colt. One minute he was upright, the next he hurried to the corner of the room and bent forward, retching. Karyn started to go to him, but Logan held her back. He went himself, and held out his handkerchief to Donnie.
Logan held the boy’s shoulders, then helped him stand upright. Donnie wiped at his face, and turned with reddened face and watery eyes.
“Is all this over for you now, son?”
“It’s . . . it’s over. Yes, sir, it really is.”
Gala spun and hurried ahead into the house to make sure the way out was clear.
Logan let Karyn come over to Donnie. He eased away and came over, picked up Tillis’ gun, and leaned close to him as he handed it back. “You think Morgan’s gun really came up missing?”
Tillis shrugged. “He played that awfully quick, like a card up his sleeve. He was a gambler, Logan, and it was a bluff that didn’t take.”
“You’ll bet your life on that?” Logan said.
Tillis gave a not-very-convincing shrug. Logan turned and headed back across the room.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?” He turned back to Tillis.
“It’ll be okay with me after this, if you go back to caring about squirrels.”
Logan smiled over at the questions on the faces of Donnie and Karyn. He looked back to Tillis. “What do you think I’m doing?”
Logan went over and bent close, talking quietly with Donnie and Karyn, then got them turned and started out of the dining room. Tillis reached to help the still-shaky Esbeth up out of her chair.
Logan put his arms around Donnie and Karyn and kept them moving. Tillis held Esbeth upright as they went through the house. They all stopped at the side door that led out to the patio. Gala had searched the way, to make sure it was clear of guards, and was waiting for them there. Flames covered most of the other walls now, and portions of the house were beginning to crumble and collapse.
Outside, they could see the last of the guards retreating down the road that led to the front gate. Mounted Rangers on each side kept them moving, while small waves of the Cincos, some of them in worn and time-dated dress, rushed across the open places, trying to help in the fight.
“Looks clear enough,” Logan said. Most of the shooting had stopped, or was too far from them to matter now. He started outside, with Karyn and Donnie tucked under either arm.
Gala came back to help with Esbeth. Tillis was looking out across the ranch, watching the white hats on horseback. His look was one of longing, and it seemed to Esbeth that he’d have given a lot just then to be on one of those horses with them. Gala reached and touched Tillis on the arm.
“I’m not the one who killed Denny. It was Morgan. Do you believe that?” Gala looked up into his face.
“Yeah, if you say so. What about the gun?”
“Well, I did know he’d had a gun like that, though I wasn’t absolutely carved in stone that it was the same gun. You know how I knew he had it. I could have told you about the gun earlier, but I didn’t. Does it matter all that much?”
Tillis looked out at the Cincos, who were doing more cheering than fighting now, and many were running toward the house.
“Well?” Gala was watching his face closely.
“I suppose not.” He looked down at her. Esbeth thought his voice had the hollow sound she associated with people who staggered out from the thick fighting in a war. But he did manage a tired smile for Gala. “No, I don’t suppose it does at all.”
The action seemed to be drifting away from them, except for the crowd of Latino women and children that swelled in size as they ran toward the flaming house, cheering and waving as the small group inside emerged.
A breeze coming up from the lake swept the smoke in the other direction and gave Esbeth her first breath of clean air, as Tillis and Gala helped her totter from the house.
* * * * *
Esbeth was physically and emotionally exhausted. She felt them guiding her up the hill, and then Gala helping her up onto the horse to ride, hanging on behind Tillis. But everything else still seemed hazy and unreal, no matter how hard she struggled to focus. So much had happened, and in not very much time. She clung to the back of the saddle, picturing herself falling to either side and lying there like a puddle. The horse’s flanks pitched lightly from side to side with each step, accompanied by the slight creak of leather from the tack. Cowboys probably either enjoyed this sort of thing, or, at the least, were so used to it they didn’t even notice. But Esbeth had all she could do to concentrate and just hang on, only occasionally glancing around.
She could make out Gala and Donnie, and Logan and Karyn, paired up on the other two horses. Tillis led the horses down to the driveway, now that most of the fighting was over. Then there were people everywhere, as the crowd of poorly-dressed Hispanics swarmed up to them along the drive as they headed for the front gate.
The people cheered, and reached out to touch the ones they called their liberators. The smell of burning scrub cedar and mesquite filled the air, and in the distance Esbeth could hear a few shots being fired. But these were in celebration. The crowd made way for them, and Tillis nudged Bucko into a faster trot. A woman holding a small child stepped close to touch Esbeth as the horse rushed by. Tears ran down both her cheeks. A man with a smear of dried and darkening blood across his forehead held up a tired hand and managed a smile at Tillis. Esbeth bounced and clung closer.
“Where are all these people from?” she shouted.
Tillis turned his head enough to yell back, “They’re from here, though I don’t suppose the Census Bureau ever got the chance to list them.”
There was a lot more she wanted to ask. But she had all she could do, hanging on and watching, as they headed to the front gate. When she caught glimpses of Donnie’s and Karyn’s faces, they looked as tired and as confused as Esbeth felt. The crowd of people began to thin out as they got farther from the burning ranch house. Ambulances, fire trucks, and state trooper cars were coming up the drive, headed in the other direction, toward the burning ranch house. Tillis eased Bucko off onto the dirt beside the drive. He just waved at them and kept going.
“You back to being a Ranger again?” she asked. The scraps of her own mental fog were clearing a bit in the breeze from the jostling ride.
“Seems that way.”
She leaned closer, so she wouldn’t have to shout above all the noise of sirens and distant yelling. “With your instincts, I wonder that you didn’t know more than I did about what was going all the time—you cut yourself off from being official for just this sort of mess, didn’t you?”
“You and the Lute could nod heads over that, if it mattered,” he said. The words were almost lost in the breeze and the sound of the horse’s hooves.
By leaning out past his shoulders, she could see the congestion that was waiting for them just outside the gates to the Hoel spread. State trooper cars and EMS vehicles lined the road as far as she could see in both directions.
She could make out a knot of the former guards who were handcuffed and in a clump, waiting to be loaded and taken away. Texas Rangers were helping the uniformed state troopers load them into the backs of the state patrol cars.
Tillis led Bucko and the other two horses over to the fence just past the gate. He climbed down and tied the horse’s reins to the fence, then reached to help Esbeth down. She was afraid she’d be too much for him, but his arms were strong and firm as he eased her to the ground. Her feet wobbled for a few steps, but she moved closer to the others as they dismounted, and she seemed to gain a little strength from that.
Logan and Gala were tying up the other two horses, and Donnie and Karyn were stretching after their bouncing ride, when a tall Ranger in a white hat pulled away from a group of Rangers and state troopers and came striding toward their group, with Pudge Hurley limping along as fast as he could to keep up.
“This’s Lieutenant Tim Comber,” Tillis told them.
“Gus and Mel are our only wounded,” Tim said, “except Pudge over there. Mel and Gus are both up and helping out, and Pudge was barely hurt at all.”
“Barely hurt?” Pudge’s face was pale and lacked any of his usual blustery confidence. He limped over to his horses, and began checking them over to make sure they’d come out better than he had. One leg of his jeans had been cut away, and white tape covered his thick leg from thigh to shin.
“It’s practically a flesh wound, Pudge.” Comber turned back to Tillis. “Where’s Morgan?”
“Dead,” Tillis said.
“And Bill Hoel?”
“Same.”
“Well, hell, Tillis.”
“I think I can help explain,” Gala said. She stepped up and stood beside Tillis. Esbeth, Donnie, Karyn, and Logan eased closer too.
“Senator Martinez is on his way by copter,” Tim said to Gala. “I’d guess you’d know about that.”
She looked at Tillis, but didn’t say anything.
“I had a hunch it was something like that.” Tillis nodded.
“And Morgan was his other agent on this,” Tim said. “I wish you’d brought him out, too.”
“I liked him better as the bad guy,” Pudge said.
“Then I guess we got some good news for you, Pudge.” Tillis glanced at him, then turned to Tim.
“He’s the one who killed Dad,” Donnie interrupted. He pushed closer, his round, boyish face both excited and sad, with Karyn clinging to him, and Logan keeping a gentle, restraining hand on one of Donnie’s shoulders.
Tim narrowed one eye at Tillis. “What exactly happened to Morgan?”
“He drew down on Gala.”
“And Bill Hoel?” Tim looked at Gala.
“Morgan shot him,” Logan said.
Tillis took a breath and, above the noise going on all around them, gave Tim the short version of what’d gone on back at the ranch house. Gala and the others chimed in, helping the story along, while Tim nodded. Their small cluster of people and horses tucked over by the fence was like a tiny island, with their heads close, while the chaos of news crews arriving and ambulances coming and going continued.
Tim looked down for a moment, absorbing everything, then looked back up at Tillis. “I suppose my instincts told me more than I let myself act on. But, Till, you’ve gotta know that Old Bill Hoel must’ve been using up every bit of clout he had, though I take responsibility for acting the way I did, when it trickled down to me.”
Esbeth didn’t know what was behind what sounded like an apology to her, but she was pleased to see the Lieutenant smile when he told Tillis, “Hell, maybe he heard of your bulldog reputation for solving cases, and that shook him to his rotten core.”
“It’s more likely he heard of Tillis’ unique style,” Logan said.
Tim nodded. “All that’s past us now. I suspect there’re gonna be more than few red faces back in Austin.”
“More than when the Indians lived where Austin sits, do you think?” Esbeth said. “But I imagine the INS is in for some of that too, not to mention the local law.”
“Where is Eldon, by the way?” Gala asked Tim.
“He’s been asked to stand down on this. The Captain’s on his way and wants a talk with him. Eldon’s got quite a bit of explaining to do.”
“Speaking of which,” Tillis spun and headed the few steps over toward the fence, where Pudge stood rubbing down the horses he’d loaned them. He grabbed Pudge by the shoulder and spun him around. Pudge flinched, but stood his ground.
“You mind explaining how you could live right across the road from Bill Hoel all these years and not know what was going on?” An angry red flush ran all the way up Tillis’ face from his neck to his cheekbones.
“Easy, Till,” Tim said. He walked over to stand where he could slow down any scuffle that might start. “I got a bit out of him a few minutes ago, once I pressed the right buttons. A very few people had rough ideas at best—not enough to act on, some of them thought.”
“That’s right,” Gala said. She moved in close beside Tillis. “I hate to take the side of some of the locals. But the real problem here only started fifteen or twenty years ago, and crept up on the community without most of them knowing anything for sure, maybe just suspecting. Hoel only turned this into some kind of captive workforce camp a few years back. At first he paid wages, extremely low ones, to all the illegals he could get to move onto his spread; then he hired more guards and put up these fences. He’s lived out here like a hermit and, with the newspaper in his hip pocket, he could keep a low profile.”
“But people had to know,” Tillis persisted.
“My guess is that Pudge did, or at least guessed a bit.” Gala looked at him, and there was no admiration in her glance. “It probably wasn’t gambling Denny and Pudge disagreed about. It was how to deal with Hoel. I think Denny guessed, or maybe suspected, but being mayor of a little town like Hoel’s Dam didn’t amount to squat. The county sheriff was the one who needed to act, and Hoel had him in his pocket. Pudge probably tried to keep Denny from stirring up anything until they knew more. Denny’s the one who went to Martinez, and who went back to him when the first agent sent in didn’t seem to be getting anywhere very quickly. That’s probably the real reason Morgan popped Denny.”
Pudge’s face shifted from embarrassment to anger. “I’m not the only one. Other folks had a suspicion or two. But Old Bill lived out here alone, had real power like none of us could even dream about, and even if we did butt in, it was to save what?”
“They’re just Hispanics, and illegal ones at that,” Tillis shouted, “even though a whole generation had been born here in America, just like you. Is that what you’re saying? A whole community that’s learned to keep its mouth shut about one thing can about everything. You’re a people without a past, or a present, and you’re proud of that somehow?”
The horses took a step back at Tillis’ tone, and Esbeth had never seen the Ranger so close to the edge. She figured at any moment he was going to haul off and punch Pudge, and Pudge must’ve thought so too, because he cringed back with the horses.
Gala reached and put a hand on Tillis arm. “I’d slow down just a minute there, Tillis. How long have you lived here?”
“A few years.”
“And you’re a professional lawman, a detective, and a natural-born snoop. Did you know anything was going on out at the Hoel place?”
“No. I guess . . .”
She didn’t let him finish. She spun to Logan. “And you? You’re a game warden, and must’ve covered quite a bit of the county. And you’ve lived here a lot longer than Tillis. Did you know anything was going on?”
“Well, I . . .”
“I didn’t think so.” She looked over at Pudge. “I’m not making excuses for you, or the prejudice that’s inherited and comes so natural to folks like you and a lot of your neighbors, who’ve lived out here all your lives. But this problem was buried deep enough it took some digging out. Are we all agreed on that?” She glanced around at the others, and settled on the lieutenant.
“She’s kinda cute when she’s angry,” Tillis said to Tim, his voice calmer. All of his temper seemed in hand now.
“Why don’t you get those horses over to the other Rangers, Pudge? That is, if we still have the loan of them.” Tim’s eyes were shaded by his white hat, but Esbeth didn’t have to see them to guess at his expression.
Pudge nodded slowly, avoiding most of the faces around him. He clamped his mouth shut and didn’t say anything, which confirmed to Esbeth that he was wiser than he acted. He gathered up his horses and, with a brief sideways glance at Tillis and Gala, walked them away from the small group.
“Now what’s the matter?” Esbeth was looking at Donnie. For the first time she’d ever seen him show any emotion other than irritation, he was crying silently, and struggling not to the whole time. Logan had his arm around the boy, and was talking to him in a low voice.
“It’s about his father,” Karyn looked up and said. Esbeth noticed that her eyes were welled up too, but it was more like the happy tears she’d seen on the faces of the liberated Cincos. “Knowing what his dad was really killed about helps, I think. He’s glad . . . we’re all glad it wasn’t just over some stupid diamonds.”
Logan gave Donnie’s shoulders a squeeze. He could have said a lot about families not communicating well, but his glance at his daughter covered that.
In the distance, Esbeth could hear another helicopter approaching. There had been the Starflight copter, then a couple of news media ones. This one sounded like one of the big government jobs.
“That’s probably Martinez,” Tim said to Tillis. “I’ve got a few questions for him, myself, especially about all the guns that’ve showed up out here in the hands of the resistance.” He glanced at Gala, but she offered nothing.
“This Martinez?” Logan said.
“Yeah?” Tim Comber turned to him.
“Hasn’t he been mentioned as a future presidential candidate?”
“Well, he won’t make it on a gun control platform,” Tim said.
“You’ve all heard of the Delta Force, haven’t you?” Esbeth stepped closer. Her voice was raspy, but she had a bit of her earlier feistiness back. She’d had plenty of time to think while wrapped up like some kind of Christmas present, and her years of following every scrap of news had given her a chance to make some sense of Hoel’s rambling tirade.
“The covert counter-terrorist group out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina?” Tim asked.
“That’s the one. They’re a top outfit, or so I hear, tough enough to make Navy Seals look like lightweights. Wasn’t Martinez some kind of hotshot military intelligence guy once, even a member of Delta Force, way back before he was in the State Legislature, and then in the Senate?” Her eyes swept Tillis too, this time.
“Now, Esbeth,” Gala said.
“Let her talk,” Tim said. He leaned closer. “Yeah. Martinez was sure enough in the Delta Force once, and probably still has some connections. Where’re you going with this?”
“Old Bill Hoel didn’t miss many tricks. Even while he was slipping loose from reality a bit, he had suspicions about who was behind all this. He thought Martinez had gotten to one or two of those Delta Force people when their stint there had ended. He wasn’t guessing. He knew it. My own guess is that Old Bill and Morgan had already come to some kind of deal, the same kind as the sheriff’d made. The way it plays out is that Gala was the next wave Martinez sent in, when nothing was happening. The INS, La Migra, had been compromised, as had the local law, and now it looked like one of his own covert people had rolled over. So he sent in the best he had.” Esbeth nodded toward Gala.
Gala glared at Esbeth, but didn’t say anything.
“Martinez heads a Latino relief fund too, that helps illegal immigrants. Though I’m not sure the donors know some of that might go for weapons.” Esbeth didn’t flinch in the look she was giving Gala.
“I doubt if they’d object as much as you think,” Tillis said.
“You’ve heard of the fund?” Tim asked.
“I’ve may’ve even made a donation once.” Tillis watched Gala’s face, but her expression didn’t change.
Tim turned back to Esbeth. “And you think Morgan shot Bill Hoel to keep him from talking?”
She nodded.
“Did Gala shoot Morgan for the same reason?” Tim asked her, but glanced at Tillis.
Tillis paused before he spoke. He could’ve said a lot of things. He could have said it was self-defense, which it was. He could have gone into how Morgan had learned the inside guts of the area and had manipulated people because of that, regardless of a human life here and there. But when he spoke, it was the way the locals spoke. “Gala shot Morgan because he needed shooting.”
Tim tilted his head at Tillis, not sure how much he was being kidded. Then he looked toward Esbeth.
“I don’t have anything to say about that, just now,” Esbeth said. The sound of the bigger helicopter landing began to drown out her words. “All I know is that some horrible wrong is just starting to be made right.”
Tim glanced at Gala, then back at Tillis, who just nodded, a careful smile easing onto his tired face.
Lieutenant Comber looked around at the others. Donnie and Karyn stood close, with arms around each other, and with Logan’s arm around the boy. He turned back to Gala. “I want to talk to you later, after I’m done with Martinez. I don’t suppose you’ll take a powder on us, will you?”
“No. I plan to stay around here, maybe find me a warm man to hold me on cold nights. If the sheriff’s spot opens up, as it just might, the area’ll have a whole new bunch of voters, and maybe the county will be ready to consider a Hispanic sheriff.”
“A lot of these folks were born here in this county. If only some of them register to vote, you may be in good shape on that,” Tillis said.
Gala nodded slowly and looked around at the swarms of people around them.
Tim Comber shook his head and turned to hurry toward the helicopter, where the doors were open and men in suits were deploying for the arrival of what might just be a future president.
* * * * *
Esbeth sat in a not-entirely-comfortable squat on the shaded ground, with her back to the pole of one of the small tent-like canopies the Rangers had assembled to provide a bit of shelter from the harsh sun, while they processed the people, injured or not, who were pouring out of the Hoel compound onto the road. The heat had picked up, and there was almost no wind. The first of the media vehicles had arrived, and reporters with camera crews were hustling through the growing crowd.
Beneath her, Esbeth was prodded by jagged chunks of gravel along the edge of the mashed-over tall buffalo grass. She’d given up on making sense of much of the running around at this point. Donnie and Karyn sat to her left, neither saying anything, though pressed close and holding hands, while Logan stood beside them, his legs slightly spread and his arms crossed across his chest.
The swell of reporter noise grew, and Esbeth looked up to see Tillis and Gala leading a man her way who was wearing a dark suit in this heat. Other men in suits were keeping the reporters back while Tillis pointed and the man looked directly at Esbeth.
“Oh, good grumpy goose grits.” She pushed to get herself to her feet, and Logan reached over to help. She was standing, though not without a slight wobble for a second, as the senator came up to her and stopped.
His dark Latino face was clean-shaven, except for the gray-speckled, mostly-black mustache. His eyes were as intent as those she’d seen in Morgan, or Gala. Yet, up close, as he stepped nearer, they seemed more like the tired, patient, wise eyes of Don Cinco. She braced herself to hear something like thanks on behalf or the Democratic Party, or some such. Instead, he stepped close and whispered so only she could hear, “I have just a moment or two to listen. Talk to me.”
“Why me?”
“I understand we owe you much, and you don’t seem all that happy.”
“My car is squashed, it’s likely I’m going to lose a job that’s helping with a pretty limp budget, and I haven’t yet found a great source of pie out in my neck of Texas. Why would I be cheerful?”
“All these people liberated?”
Esbeth glanced at some of the faces, tired to elated, of the freed Latinos around them. She fixed on Senator Martinez, took in the cut and fabric of his dark tailored suit, stiff white shirt collar, and red tie for just that hint of aggression. He wore just a hint of subtle cologne, one she didn’t recognize. It was nothing you could pick up at Wal-Mart. She seemed to hear every slow tick of his Patek Philippe watch, with its maroon crocodile band. The darkish skin of his cheeks was freshly shaved and his breath was minty fresh. Sometimes, when she was making out her annual income tax check, she thought about the men in Congress, sitting in leather chairs that cost more than all the furniture in her living room, using ashtrays that were worth more than her flatware. Many came from privileged homes, had been to prep schools, and had from there been whisked through one Ivy League brain factory or another. Still, the assembled group of congressmen held the highest ratio of criminal activity of any occupation in America. Like many of her fellow citizens, some of the awe of the highly-placed official had fallen upon tarnished times. Yet she knew enough of Martinez’s past to know he’d come more by the path of hard knocks than most, had paid his dues in the Armed Forces, had even been Special Forces, and had been on that prestigious Delta Force. That and his sincere and open expression decided her.
She leaned closer and said in a low voice, “You know, the world we live in has gotten to be a pretty tough place in which to live. And not all of it is on the other side of the globe. I guess it takes special kinds of people to address that kind of bad—ones able to flex past some rules and procedures.”
“I like the way you use no talk of breaking eggs to make an omelet, or of fighting fire with fire.”
“I’m too pooped to even lean on the hinge of a cliché.”
“And saddened?”
“That too.”
“Why?”
“You know.” She gave a curt nod in Gala’s direction. “Back there in the house, one minute she was saying Morgan shot Denny to stir things up, the next minute she was accusing him of wanting things to stay the same so he could milk more money from the community, maybe even come up with the diamonds. That’s when I knew for a stone-hard fact who was really doing all the fancy footwork.”
“And?”
“My guess, if I was forced to make one, had to do, in part, with Gala being female. I know that only men are accepted into the Delta Force, so you must have gotten her from one of the other groups, the spooks or those stiff-chinned sorts in the Hickey Freeman suits. You, being the fair sort of guy you are, wanted to show that women have a place in all the branches, even for the kind of work you know better than most people should. But you picked someone as ambitious as you, and just as willing to step around rules, even laws, to make things happen.”
“What would you do, if you were me?”
“Bad is bad, no matter how you dice it up or package the end result. You play that way, and you’re no better than the terrorists.”
The senator hung his head a second before panning up to lock eyes with her. “I knew that already, and that I’d have to act. Thanks for giving me the chance to fix things myself.”
Esbeth felt her own mouth hang in a sad frown as the senator turned and gave a short nod to the two men in suits standing behind Tillis and Gala. They stepped forward and had her by the arms, while Tillis reached around and took her piece. He looked about as uncheerful as Esbeth felt, maybe worse.
Gala’s eyes opened wide, froze for a second on Tillis, and then fixed on Martinez.
“I let you go, everything I do is a lie,” he said. “Morgan didn’t shoot that mayor. You did. I never authorized that.”
Donnie was trying to struggle to his feet, with Karyn holding him back and Logan helping, with his hands on the boy’s shoulders.
Gala’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Oh, come on, Gala,” Esbeth said. “The poor boy’s had quite of day of it, thinking he’d finally faced his father’s killer and seen him killed. Help out here.”
“Screw all of you,” Gala muttered. But she stared at Tillis.
“I only met that Morgan fellow for a little bit, but I’d heard he was a gambler who never bluffed. You think he hadn’t already sent hard evidence to the senator here, in case you crossed him?” Esbeth’s voice had the most edge in it that she’d showed so far.
Gala’s snarling face swung to Martinez, who nodded slowly, and a bit sadly. “Enough. Plenty enough. He was always one to hold an ace up his sleeve. You would know that.”
He glanced over at Esbeth, whose voice sounded as tired as she felt. “Tapes. Right?” she said.
Martinez nodded and turned his attention back to Gala. “Right. Part of it was videotapes, in the usual ‘Don’t open unless I’m killed’ package, which I watched just before coming out here myself. I did that, thinking I’d find Morgan alive when I landed, but I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been to find him dead. One tape confirmed his alibi for the time the town’s mayor was killed; the other shows you taking an automatic pistol from under Morgan’s pillow. Actually, it shows a lot more than that. There’s more, too. Like I said, enough. I’ll get copies to the Ranger, though I doubt he’ll enjoy them much.”
Gala went into a sudden frenzy of twisting and wrenching her body, trying to get free of the men who held each arm. It nearly succeeded, and would have, if they weren’t both as well-trained as she.
Tillis flinched, as if the struggle hurt him as much as her. But Donnie was suddenly still, and Logan could loosen his grip on the boy’s shoulders. Seeing Gala so aware that she would no longer be free, the mad desperation that went with that loss, seemed to calm him, put him at peace with his father’s death for the first time. He’d certainly been through enough to welcome some sense of closure.
The men in suits led Gala away. She still struggled.
Senator Martinez sighed. He stepped close to Esbeth again and spoke too softly for the others to hear. “You certainly are something. Though I was warned of that. You let me know if you ever want some work in this line.”
“Count me out on that.” Esbeth’s voice had grown choked and fuzzy. “That cloak-and-dagger stuff is not up my alley at all. The only thing shaken here is me, not a martini. I don’t have the heart for this biz that turns people inside out.” She nodded toward Tillis, whose face was washed as pale as someone who had been gut-shot. “I get no joy from seeing people hurt, no joy at all.” A single tear started its struggling way down across her wrinkled left cheek.
Martinez’s face wrestled toward a smile and halfway made it. Then he gave a short bow of his head to Esbeth, and turned to follow the men and his former agent, who were headed toward the copter.
While Karyn moved close to put an arm around Donnie, Esbeth stepped closer to Tillis. “You wouldn’t have slept well,” she said.
“Like I’m going to anyway,” he said, turning to watch the men lead Gala away, his eyes sad all the way to the cold bone of his skull.