I’M ON THE road driving to headquarters in Austin. It’s a typical Central Texas day—humid and hot as hell but otherwise beautiful.
I’ve been suffering through rehab for my injury, and I’ve finally gotten to the point where I don’t have to wear a sling. I’ve got two matching scars—one where the bullet went in and one where it came out—not to mention a lot of lingering pain. But the doctors seem to think I’ll make a complete recovery in time.
I remain skeptical.
To say I used to be good with a gun is an understatement, but who knows if I’ll ever be as good again.
Maybe I won’t be as accurate.
Maybe I won’t be as fast.
And if I’m not, I’m going to have to live with that. I’ve always said how good you are with a gun isn’t what makes you a good cop. I might have to find out what kind of Texas Ranger I am without a gun.
As the tall buildings of the city appear in the distance, I get a phone call from Ava Cruz, and I answer it via Bluetooth.
“What’s up?” I say, happy to hear from her.
She says she just got off the phone with Fiona Martinez’s mother, and she wanted her to deliver a message to me.
“She told me to tell you thank you for keeping your promise,” Ava says.
I remember talking to the woman in the back room of the Flagstaff gift shop. She looked like an older version of her daughter and had been adamant that Fiona was still alive. I was just trying to give her the reassurance that we wouldn’t give up hope.
I’m glad we didn’t.
“How’s Fiona doing?” I ask.
“She’s in therapy,” Ava says, “and she has the support of her family. She feels terrible about abandoning Isabella, but she was young and made a stupid mistake. I hope she learns to live without too much guilt.”
Once she was in the hospital and we were able to talk to her, Fiona told us that she’d considered trying to crawl downstream but a scorpion had stung her hand, and that was the final straw for her—she’d decided to give up and die. Which, lucky for me, was the only reason she was still in that spot when I came down looking for her. She was near death’s door, but she’d heard our voices and the gunshots—and used her last ounce of strength to smash the rock over Isabella’s head.
“The next time you talk to her,” I say, “remind her that I came to save her, and she ended up saving me.”
“Speaking of saving lives,” Ava says, “what about Marta? Have you heard from her?”
“She wrote me a really nice letter,” I say, “talking about how thankful she was. She’s going to have to testify against Zebo when all this finally goes to trial, and that will be hard. But she’s a fighter. She’s going to be okay.”
Ava updates me on the latest with Ryan Logan’s task force. She’s a member now. I haven’t been involved since we closed the cases on Garrison Zebo’s trafficking ring and the eagle feather murders. Unfortunately, there are plenty of other missing women to find, so Ryan and Ava are still busy. As for me, the powers that be in the Rangers have pulled me back to my usual duties in Waco.
For now.
I have a good idea what they have planned for me next—and it’s not what I have planned for myself.
I tell Ava I miss her and to stay in touch. I want to tell her how thankful I am—for her partnership and her friendship. But I know she feels the same way, and it’s okay that the words go unsaid on both sides.
When I park at headquarters, I check my phone before walking inside.
I have a text from Megan.
Are we still on for tomorrow night?
Megan got the job at Baylor. Even though things started hot and heavy between us, we’ve slowed down, having only hung out a few times since I got out of the hospital. I managed to make it to her graduation, where Neil—aka Dr. Stephenson—hooded her with tears in his eyes. I thought he had the hots for her, but I see now he saw her more as a surrogate daughter.
Megan is staying at her folks’ ranch, busy looking for a place to live and preparing her teaching materials for the upcoming semester. Now that it seems like our lives are returning to some semblance of normalcy, we’ve scheduled our long-awaited date. But now that we can move forward, both of us seem a little trepidatious. It’s as if neither of us ever really thought this could happen, so now that it can, there’s some fear about moving forward.
I’m game to give it a shot, if she is.
You bet, I text, then walk into headquarters for my scheduled appointment with Captain David Kane.
I sit in the same seat I did back in June when he told me he wanted me to take the lieutenant’s exam.
“Rory,” he says, leaning over his spotless oak desk, “we’re about to have a lieutenant opening in Company C. How do you feel about relocating to Lubbock?”
“Let me stop you right there, sir,” I say, as politely—but firmly—as I can. “Maybe I’ll take the lieutenant’s exam one day, but I don’t think I’m the best Ranger for the job right now.”
We talk for a few more minutes, but when he realizes there’s no convincing me, we don’t have much more to say. He’s not too happy with me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve pissed off one of my superiors.
It won’t be the last.
On my way out, I stop by a certain office door and give it a knock.
Carlos beckons me in with a broad smile on his face. The last time I was here, we hardly knew each other. This time, I give him a great big hug, holding on tight.
“Careful,” he says. “I don’t want you to rupture anything.”
I laugh and let him go. After the bullet punched a hole through loops and loops of his intestines, he still hasn’t been cleared for field work, but the doctors say it’s just a matter of time before he’ll be 100 percent. At least now he’s back to eating solid foods—and pizza.
“You want to go get a cup of coffee?” he asks.
“Let’s get a beer,” I say. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
He gives me a skeptical look, trying to figure out if I’m serious.
“Gotcha,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.