CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SATURDAY

Holder swallowed the dregs of lukewarm coffee in the cup he’d carried out from Rita’s Roast, and stepped out of his truck. He’d meant to glass some deer as the sun rose, but he’d spent too long at his usual table, trying to learn what the regulars knew about the new marshal.

Sure, he’d also been worried that crazy Odeina Cloud might show up with more missing person flyers, still searching for her daughter, who, just a few days ago, had been alive and walking along the ridge. At least he’d had the sense to ask Cloud a few questions, all caring-like, and find out that her daughter was looking for some kind of nocturnal insect on the rez. Had anyone in Dexter Springs seen her? Sorry, darlin’, he’d said.

Then he’d given the mayor a heads-up, just like he’d promised, trying to minimize the potential fallout of what the supposedly missing girl might find, insect-wise. If the future drilling site or the area designated for access roads or—God forbid—any of his adjacent land was home to an endangered species, he was screwed.

If that rez girl discovered an endangered species, the land would be tagged as a critical habitat under the Endangered Species Act, and in a flash it would come under government control. Even the rez land, which was held in trust by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. And especially his land, which the federal government could easily seize for preservation—and he’d pay the expense. It was a scenario that had already played out in neighboring states.

Just this year, the federal government had surveyed a Texas rancher’s land as part of a proposed highway expansion and found eyeless spiders the size of dimes living in cave fissures. If the rancher wanted to use the land where the spiders lived—his own land—he had to apply for federal permits that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. And if he didn’t? The fines would start to pile up: at least fifty thousand dollars for each time he disturbed the species.

Hell, he had more on the line than the mayor ever would. The land he’d borrowed against would become essentially useless if the Blackstream Oil deal fell through. He’d end up holding the bag.

Holder tossed his paper coffee cup onto the ground and reached for his binoculars. The sun had been up for a few hours, making it too late in the day to catch deer on their early-morning routes, but they weren’t the signs of life he was searching for.

He hadn’t been able to spot the rez girl for the last couple of days. He was worried that she’d moved on or hunkered down and he wouldn’t know where to find her or be able to learn what she’d found, so he’d changed locations. This morning he’d come in on a back road—if you could call it that—and bumped over it as far as it would take him. He couldn’t see much from where he was, just a bend in Turkey Creek, where it washed through Crawl Canyon, and he wished, once again, that he’d brought an ATV in the back of the truck so he could cover more ground, but he couldn’t risk the attention the noise might attract, even out here in the boonies. Hell, even a trail horse, if he had one of those, would be better than his truck. What did these folks have against roads, anyway?

Holder zipped his coat against the wind, then steadied the binoculars and dialed them in until he could see clearly to the far bank of the creek and to the grassy rise above it. He scanned the line where land met silver sky, but he detected no movement. Finding this girl was like looking for a needle in a thousand haystacks.

He wanted—no, he needed—to know whether the rez girl had found any endangered bugs and then, if she had, stop her from telling anyone. His future depended on it. He was so close. Months ago he’d sold the mayor on his plan to frack the rez land for oil and let her take the credit. Now she was days away from winning the next election, and he was watching his future come together in just the way he wanted, for the first time in his life.

The mayor had agreed to his plan because he’d sold her the only benefits she cared about; she didn’t know it yet, but she was playing only a bit part in Holder’s drama.

Holder settled his Stetson and raised the binoculars to take one last look before heading out, and this time the view was different. He spotted a hunting dog tracking along the banks of the creek, then followed the rise behind it until he saw a figure coming after it. His heart thumped at the thought of seeing the girl…but it wasn’t her. He could tell, even at that distance, that it wasn’t her, and when he focused he realized it was only a boy. Holder set the binoculars back in the truck and watched the boy and the dog work their way along the creek until they were out of sight.

Even though he was, technically, trespassing on rez land, maybe he should have talked to the kid. Asked him if he’d seen the girl.

But this wasn’t the time to call attention to himself or his movements on the rez. If this girl was right, it was just a matter of time before the Bureau of Indian Affairs sent a government official. His gut churned behind his belt buckle. He’d met the new marshal. The threat was already here.