Texas Outlaw

by James Patterson

  Tom has already begun eating. He seems more demure than normal, but I know he’s in the hot seat and doesn’t want to upset his wife more than he already has. As for Jessica, her anger seems to have dissipated.

  “So,” she says, “is our girl okay?”

  “You really want to know?” I ask. “The more you know, the more trouble you could get into.”

  “I was mad before,” she says, “but Tom’s right. Helping her was the right thing to do. There’s no way she killed that roustabout Skip Barnes, may he rest in peace. It doesn’t make a bit of sense why she would.”

  As she talks, she goes to the oven and pulls out a tray of warmed sopapillas. She places them on the table with a jar of honey.

  “To tell you the truth,” she says, “I think I was more upset that y’all went behind my back. Y’all didn’t include me. I wish there was something I could do to help Ariana, too.”

  I swallow my bite and tell her there is something she can do. “I was going to ask Tom, but if you’re willing, you two can do it together.”

  I explain that I need to go to the station and pretend like I’m working with Chief Harris. Business as usual. But I need someone to go up and down the street that Ariana lives on—the same one Tom and Jessica live on—and ask the neighbors if they saw anything suspicious the day Skip Barnes was shot.

  “Someone stole Ariana’s rifle, killed Skip with it, and then returned the gun. I need to find a witness who spotted something unusual going on. A strange car in front of her house. A person walking to the door or going around back. Something. Anything to go on.”

  I suggest they do it together, but Tom says that he has something he wants to look into at the office.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to say yet,” he says. “It’s probably nothing. Just a wild idea. But if Jessica can handle canvassing the neighborhood, I’d like to do some digging.”

  I tell Jessica that if anyone from the police department asks what she’s doing, she should tell them that she’s acting of her own volition, trying to understand what Ariana was arrested for.

  “Don’t say I sent you,” I say. “It’s for your own protection. If I end up getting arrested for all this, the last thing I want is for you two to get into any trouble.”

  When we’re finished talking, I thank Jessica for the meal—delicious as always—and, more importantly, for her help.

  “I’m sorry to get you two involved in this,” I say, “but there’s something rotten in this town, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  “You better,” Jessica says. “We’re in it now, too. There’s a lot more on the line than just your badge, Rory.”

  Chapter 70

  “YOU’RE LATE,” HARRIS says when I walk into the police station.

  He’s standing at the front counter, waiting for me. When I open my mouth to make an excuse as to why I’m arriving to work at almost noon, he cuts me off.

  “You’re out, Rory. Pack up your things and get out of my police station.”

  “What?”

  All of the employees in the station are staring at us. Harris is relishing this. If he was going to try to kick me off the case, he could have done it in his office. He wanted an audience.

  “I talked to the Rangers,” Harris says. “You’re off the case. They’re sending in someone to replace you.”

  My stomach sinks. So this is how McCormack—or whoever is behind all this—is going to take me out of the equation. They killed Skip Barnes. They framed Ariana for murder. But me? They simply had Harris call the Rangers and complain.

  It makes the most sense, actually. If they killed me, the full power of the Texas Rangers would descend onto this little town. But now they will only have to contend with one Ranger, someone who might wrap up the case quicker.

  “You’re making a mistake, Chief.”

  “The only mistake I made was ever allowing you into my town in the first place. You’ve been stirring up trouble since you got here.”

  I shouldn’t say what I’m about to, but I want everyone in this station to hear it.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were in on it, Chief. Not until now. You should be in that jail cell over there instead of wearing a badge.”

  “Listen here, Yates,” Harris says, approaching me and staring me down. His muscles bulge in his tight uniform. “I want you out of this town by sundown. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  I say nothing, just let my stare do the talking for me. But it’s not working. He’s not intimidated. He’s got me. Or at least he thinks he does.

  “And if I find out you’re aiding and abetting Ariana,” he says, “I’ll make sure you never wear this again.” With that, he flicks the tin star on my chest.

  I turn to leave. When I’m at the door, I stop and ask, “Who are they sending to replace me, Chief? Tell me that much.”

  “They’re sending in the big guns,” Harris says. “Your lieutenant, Hendricks, volunteered to come clean up your mess.”

  I should have known. Kyle sent me on this fool’s errand in the first place. Now he’s going to make sure I play the fool. He’ll declare Susan Snyder’s death an accident, and he’ll put his stamp of approval on Harris’s decision to arrest Ariana for the murder of Skip Barnes.

  End of story.

  Kyle Hendricks isn’t corrupt, but he’s the perfect puppet to bring in to put an end to this investigation. He won’t be in town twenty-four hours before he declares the cases closed and heads home. And life in Rio Lobo will be back to normal.

  Which is just what the person—or people—who killed Susan Snyder and Skip Barnes want.

  “Oh, and Rory,” Harris says as I’m about to leave, “if I see you in Rio Lobo after sunset tonight, I’m going to arrest you for interfering with a police investigation. I’ll put the cuffs on you myself. You’ll never wear that tin star again.”

  Chapter 71

  ARIANA HEARS THE whine of four-wheelers making their way through the desert hills.

  Those are McCormack’s men, she thinks. Looking for me.

  She spent most of the morning trying to hide the Land Cruiser by throwing tumbleweed and other kinds of brush on top of it. The camouflage wouldn’t bear close inspection, but from the vantage point of an ATV cruising by, the vehicle might be pretty well hidden.

  Now she does the same with her possessions, tucking her sleeping bag and canned goods into a hiding spot in a clump of sagebrush. She hides behind the oak tree next to the river as she hears the four-wheelers get closer. They are so near she can make out voices.

  “Where to now?” someone calls, shouting to be heard over the idling motors.

  “Let’s go down by the river.”

  “Shit,” Ariana whispers.

  She’s hidden from view where she is, but if they come closer, she doubts she can stay out of sight. She looks around, frantic to find a hiding spot.

  The only place she can think of is the river itself.

  She creeps to the water’s edge. Fully clothed, she lowers herself over the cut bank that she and Rory jumped off a few days ago. The cold water embraces her, and she drops down out of sight just as the ATVs pull up next to the tree.

  The cut bank creates an overhang, and she backs as far into its shadow as she can. Tree roots twine into the water around her and she grabs one to stay afloat without kicking her feet. The smell of moist earth fills her nostrils. A spider crawls through her hair, and she fights the urge to brush it away. She can’t afford to make any sudden movements.

  “These tire tracks look pretty fresh,” a man says.

  “Probably kids coming out here to go swimming,” another replies.

  “You guys want to take a smoke break?” someone says, and then they shut off the engines.

  It sounds like there are two ATVs, maybe as many as four guys. Ariana can hear them setting objects down on the ATVs or leaning them against trees—metal objects that she imagines are guns.

  One of the men approaches, so clo
se to Ariana that when a clump of dirt falls into the water from his boot step, it passes only inches from her face. She hears a zipping noise, and a few seconds later, a jet of urine comes down from above, splashing into the water.

  Ariana turns her face in disgust.

  “You ever seen this girl we’re looking for?” the man urinating says.

  Some of the others have, some of them haven’t.

  “She’s a knockout,” the guy says, finishing and zipping up.

  Ariana’s arm is starting to cramp. She feels another insect crawling on her forehead. She closes her eyes, breathes through her nose.

  The men smoke for a few more minutes, talking about what they’d like to do to Ariana if they find her. Hearing the disgusting things they say makes Ariana appreciate Rory even more. He’s as tough as they come, but she’s sure he would never talk about a woman this way, not even if he was in the company of only men.

  Ariana feels something against her neck, and she glances down to see the head of a snake making a tunnel through her hair as it slithers out into the river. Her body goes cold from head to toe, and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. She nearly faints with relief as the tip of its tail slides out of her hair.

  The snake, about three feet long and the texture of rough bark, is an olive-green color with dark vertical bars along its sides. The snake glides atop the water, its undulating body propelling it forward.

  “Hey, check out this snake,” one of McCormack’s men says.

  Another one laughs and says, “Watch this.”

  The air is filled with explosions of automatic gunfire. The sound is deafening, and Ariana nearly shrieks in surprise. Spouts of water burst into the air as the bullets rain down into the river. The snake disappears, leaving only a trace of blood in the water.

  The men howl with laughter. Gun smoke hovers over the surface of the river like morning mist.

  “All right,” one of the men says finally. “Fun’s over. Let’s go find that pretty little cop and see if we can’t make her disappear like that snake.”

  McCormack’s men start pitching their cigarette butts into the water, each one making a hissing noise as the water extinguishes the embers. Ariana exhales in relief as she hears the ATVs come to life. The engines whine loudly as they drive off into the hills. She waits until she can no longer hear them before she swims out into the water and finds a place to climb out that isn’t so steep. She lies on her back in the dirt, taking deep breaths and trying to calm her nerves.

  Her wet clothes cling to her body as she sits up to pull her boots off and dump the water out. She’s in the midst of pulling her socks off and wringing them out when she hears something and freezes. She stares toward the hills, alert.

  It’s the whine of the four-wheelers.

  They’re coming back this way.

  Chapter 72

  I STOP MY truck down by the river at the park in Rio Lobo where Ariana and I once had lunch. I stare out at the water, glimmering in the sunlight, and try to think. A father with two toddlers is having a picnic on the grass. A woman fly-fishes out in the water.

  My heart keeps racing, and I don’t know how to slow it down. I’m up to my neck in some serious shit, and I don’t know how to find my way out. Getting kicked off the case—getting kicked out of town—isn’t something I was expecting. Now I don’t know what to do.

  My phone buzzes on the passenger seat, and I see that it’s Dale Peters calling. I don’t answer. The last thing I need right now is to explain to him why I can’t jam tonight or play another gig at Lobo Lizard.

  I’ve already made up my mind that I’ll head out to the open space tonight and camp with Ariana. Then I’ll really be a fugitive, hiding out with a wanted murderer. But after that, what happens next? How can we possibly solve these crimes if we can’t show our faces in town?

  My phone buzzes again, and I expect it to be another call from Dale. But it’s not.

  It’s Willow.

  I pick up. I’ve ignored her calls long enough, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to her again.

  “Where’ve you been, Rory?” she asks. “You’ve got me worried sick.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Things aren’t going so well here.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  I debate about how much to tell her. I remember Tom Aaron saying that he and Jessica don’t keep secrets. I don’t want to lie to Willow, but I also don’t want to worry her. And then there’s the issue of Ariana. How I feel about her. How she feels about me.

  I don’t want to lead Willow on. But I sure as hell don’t want to break her heart over the telephone.

  “I don’t want to keep you,” I say. “I’m sure you need to get to a meeting with your publicist or a last-minute recording session or something.”

  “I’ve got all the time in the world, darling. My schedule’s clear today. You’re my number one priority.”

  Hearing her say this makes my heart ache. Do I really want to break up with Willow? As I ask myself the question, I realize there are two answers. The first is no, I don’t want to break up with her. The other answer, though, is that I need to break up with her.

  Living apart isn’t working. We can’t be each other’s priorities. I can’t be the boyfriend Willow deserves. Maybe I’ll find happiness with Ariana and maybe I won’t, but either way, I need to let Willow go so she can follow her dreams.

  “Look, Willow,” I say, “when I get everything straightened out here, I think we need to sit down and have a long talk. About us.”

  I half expect her to make a joke and defuse the tension by saying, Are you breaking up with me? But she doesn’t, which is even worse. It means she knows what’s coming and it’s no laughing matter.

  “You’re right,” she says. “We need to figure this out.”

  The tone in her voice tells me she’s thinking what I’m thinking—this relationship just isn’t working anymore.

  An awkward silence hangs in the air, and it occurs to me that if I’m going to break the law and go into hiding with Ariana, it might be a long time before Willow and I can have this conversation. And the truth is I could be killed before I ever get to see Willow again. I don’t want our last conversation to end this way, with both of us feeling uncomfortable knowing that we’re not right for each other.

  “Willow,” I say, “what I’ve got to do over the next day or two might be pretty dangerous.”

  “You’re scaring me, Rory.”

  “I’m sorry. But if anything happens to me, I want you to know how much I love you.”

  She tells me she loves me, too, but I’m not finished with what I have to say.

  “You met me at a difficult point in my life,” I say. “But you aren’t just some rebound girl I’ve been using to get through a hard time. I think we both know where this relationship is headed, but if something happens, if I don’t live long enough to have that conversation with you, please know I love you with all my heart and soul. I honestly can’t imagine loving anyone more than I love you.”

  I can hear her crying on the other end. She knows what my ex-wife, Anne, meant to me before she died. For me to admit that I love Willow as much as or more than her is a surprise even to me.

  But it’s the truth.

  I realize it as I’m saying it.

  It’s just that maybe soul mates don’t always get to live happily ever after.

  Maybe some soul mates only get a brief, burning romance as they pass in the darkness, like two shooting stars going in opposite directions.

  Chapter 73

  I PULL INTO the parking lot at the Rio Lobo Record and go inside to see Tom Aaron. I find him sitting behind his desk, with a handful of hardback books open around him, each page filled with black-and-white pictures.

  “Find anything?” I say, startling him.

  He closes the book he’s looking at with a snap.

  “Sorry,”
I say. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

  He asks me to sit and starts to tell me about the hunch he’s been following.

  “At a small-town paper like this,” he says, “it’s common practice to keep each consecutive school yearbook. They can be a consistent resource for background information about people.”

  I page through one of the open books, noticing that the volume contains information about students from kindergarten through grade twelve.

  “Your hunch was to look at old yearbooks?” I say, surprised. “What were you looking for?”

  “I wasn’t sure,” he says. “But Susan Snyder went to school here. So did Skip Barnes. And Gareth McCormack. Even Carson McCormack grew up in this town back in the day. Most local people have contacts that well predate my arrival.”

  His logic is sound. In fact, I wish I’d thought of it. You never know what you might find browsing through old records like this.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Maybe,” he says, “although it isn’t what I was expecting.”

  He opens one volume to a page of black-and-white photos. The heading at the top of the page says HOMECOMING, and the photos all show high school kids hanging out at a dance. Their clothing and hairstyles seem about ten or twelve years old. Maybe a little more recent than when I went to high school, but not that much.

  “Recognize anyone?” Tom asks.

  My eyes scan the pictures from top to bottom, and when I reach the last photo, I feel an instant recognition. A young Ariana Delgado is pictured dancing with a handsome young man. She looks younger, not quite as tough as the Ariana I know, but she is every bit as pretty as the woman she’s grown up to be.

  She has a smile on her face and is looking up into the eyes of a boy. She’s obviously smitten.

  “You recognize who she’s with?” Tom asks.