TWO HOURS LATER, the sun has set and the scene is swarming with police vehicles, their red and blue lights strobing in the darkness. Press vans are parked on the street. Scottsdale police officers, Maricopa County sheriff’s deputies, and a whole team of crime scene technicians are working the scene. The four women have been taken to the hospital. The shotgun-wielding basketball fan has been taken to jail.
Ryan Logan and a small team of FBI agents arrived about fifteen minutes ago. When he saw me, he said, “Wait here,” and pointed to a spot on the sidewalk. Then he walked into the scene to be briefed.
Ava stands with me as I wait. I feel like a criminal awaiting his day in court.
I’ve since tucked my shirt back in and strapped on my gun belt. My Stetson is back on my head. My clothes are dirty and there’s even a bullet hole through my shirt, but at least I look a little more like a Texas Ranger. I don’t know where Marcos’s TOMBSTONE hat is—I lost it somewhere in the chaos of the gunfight.
We wait for what seems like a long time until finally an agent I recognize from the raid comes to fetch me.
“Special Agent Logan would like to see you,” she says, and leads me to the back of the building. As we walk, she says conspiratorially, “Ryan’s not happy.”
“I figured,” I say.
“But for the record,” the agent says, “I think you did a good thing. Here and at the warehouse in El Paso. You’ve got nerves of steel, Ranger. You’ve got my respect.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Ryan is waiting for me in the lobby area of the building, which is decorated to look like a real massage parlor. He’s leaning against the counter, his head lowered in thought.
Before he says anything, I start my defense.
“They were going to move the girls,” I say. “I had to act.”
He raises his head and glares at me. “I told you to stay put,” he says.
“They were going to move the girls,” I say again.
“I told you to follow from a distance.”
“We were in a police vehicle,” I argue. “How discreet could we be?”
He shakes his head. “All you want to do is hog the spotlight, Rory. You rush in to danger so you can be the hero. I think the Rangers giving you that Medal of Valor has gone to your head.”
“I don’t give a damn about being a hero,” I say. “I don’t give a damn about any medals. And I damn sure don’t care about any spotlight. But what I do care about is saving lives. By my count, we saved four today.”
“But not Marta Rivera,” he says pointedly, and this statement silences me.
He’s right. I can’t count what I did today—or at the raid—as a success when she’s still out there, still in harm’s way.
I don’t have it in me to argue with Ryan anymore. I stand quietly and take my punishment.
“Here’s the thing, Rory,” he says, approaching me and locking eyes with me, only a foot or two away. “You’re reckless. You’re not a team player. You run in, guns blazing, without thinking there might be another option. This devil-may-care attitude might work in the Rangers, but it’s not working when it comes to my task force. You’re not the kind of person I want on this team. I gave you a second chance, with a very simple task: ‘Go to Phoenix and look at a vehicle.’ Somehow, you turn those instructions into a goddamn gunfight in the middle of a residential area.”
“What are you saying?” I ask. “Are you kicking me off the task force?”
“You’re out,” he says. “I don’t want to see you on my crime scenes. I don’t want you investigating these missing women. I don’t want to see your face for a long, long time.” He can’t seem to help himself from adding, “And if you show up at next year’s charity shoot, I’m going to take great pleasure in wiping the floor with your ass.”
So that’s what this is all about? I think.
Part of me wants to argue with him. His assessment is completely unfair. The real reason behind his attitude is a simple emotional response. He’s mad he couldn’t beat me in the competition, and he’s jealous that I keep performing well in real gunfights when he spends most of his time on the sidelines. His own agent just complimented me on “nerves of steel.” Ryan wants to be a modern-day Jelly Bryce—the kind of agent who can perform in shooting competitions and in the field. The truth is Ryan Logan is jealous that I’m the one with a reputation like his hero.
But I’m tired of fighting. I’ve been butting heads with him since day one. I’ve been in two gunfights now. I’ve saved lives. I’ve done good police work. And still I can’t get the cooperation I need to keep going.
He’s firing me, but in my heart, I’m also quitting.
No matter what I say to defend myself, my actions, or my record since joining the task force, Ryan can always counter with two words: Marta Rivera. The bottom line is I’ve failed her.
Twice.
Ryan waits for me, as if expecting an argument. Instead, I tip the brim of my hat to him and exit without saying a word.
When I arrive at Ava’s vehicle outside, I say, “Let’s go back to El Paso.”
“What happened?” she says.
“I’m off the task force.”
She shakes her head in disapproval. I’m not sure if she’s mad at Ryan for kicking me off the team or angry with me for not fighting to stay on.
“So that’s it?” she says.
“That’s it,” I say. “It’s over. At least for me.”
“What about Marta Rivera?” she asks. “What about Fiona Martinez? What about the promise you made to Fiona’s mother?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say.
I tried.
I failed.
I give up.
I can’t say those words aloud. But she can see what I’m thinking anyway. What I see on her face cuts me to the bone. It’s disappointment.
Disappointment that the Texas Ranger she’d come to believe in has proven her right after all.