The other end of the line is quiet as he’s thinking.
“I could just bring her in myself,” I say. “Take all the credit. But I’m trying to show you that I’m a team player. I want to patch things up and move on.”
“All right,” he says finally.
“I don’t want Harris involved,” I say. “He can’t know.”
When he agrees to this condition, I give him the GPS coordinates and tell him to meet me there at first light. It makes me nervous to wait until then, but if Dale is right, then the entrance used to access the open space is going to be guarded by McCormack’s men. If Kyle drives in at night, they’ll be awfully suspicious. If he drives in during the day, that would be more understandable, maybe even expected.
I tell him that if he sees any of McCormack’s men at the entrance of the open space, he should tell them that he’s just going out there to poke around and look for the missing fugitive.
“You sound paranoid, Rory.”
“I don’t trust the folks around here,” I say, “but I’m trying to do the right thing. You convinced me that bringing her in is the best course of action.”
“How do I know I ain’t walking into a trap?” Kyle says.
“I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me,” I say. “But I know you’re no criminal, and I hope you know the same about me. We’re Texas Rangers. We’re going to have to put our differences aside and trust each other on this one.”
“That’s gonna be hard after what you said to me,” he says, “about not being fit to wear this star on my chest.”
“You said pretty much the same thing to me,” I say. “Let’s prove to each other we’re fit to wear these badges.”
Chapter 82
WHEN DALE AND I return to the tanker truck, we find Ariana digging into the box of cold pizza.
“Sorry,” she says. “I was starving. I saved a couple of slices for y’all.”
I suddenly realize how ravenous I am, so I finish what’s left. The bag of food Jessica Aaron gave me is still sitting in the cab, but I figure we ought to save that for breakfast. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.
The three of us don’t want to risk building a campfire, but we sit around the pizza box as if it’s a fire ring. Out here without light pollution, the sky is filled with stars. The Milky Way is visible, the stars so dense and copious that it makes me feel tiny in the grandness of the universe.
Ariana’s clothes are now mostly dry, and under the glow of the moon and stars, she looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in days. I think she can finally see a safe way out of this mess. I hope I can give that to her.
Dale looks like a man who’s been carrying the weight of the world and has finally let someone shoulder the burden with him. He did the wrong thing for a long time, but now he’s trying to do the right thing. God knows how many lives he might be saving, starting with Ariana’s.
As for me, I doubt I look as stress-free as my companions. My mind is reeling. Here I’ve been waiting for a break in the case, but this is like a dam exploding. Like looking on the ground for a penny and finding a pot of gold—a whole mine full of gold!
I never dreamed something this big was going on. But the murders of Susan Snyder and Skip Barnes make more sense now. Susan must have caught wind of what was going on. She’d convinced Skip to go public so she could expose McCormack’s big secret. Skip Barnes must have sold her out, and as a result, someone on Carson’s team poisoned her with peanuts to make it look like an accident. Then when it looked like Skip might talk to us, they killed him.
I don’t have all the details figured out, but that’s my working theory, and it seems plausible given what I know now about McCormack’s operation. I just have to survive long enough to bring in the cavalry—the Rangers, the DEA, the FBI—to help me fit in all the missing puzzle pieces.
“Hey, Rory,” Dale says, shaking me from my thoughts, “you didn’t bring your guitar, did you?”
When I tell him I did, he encourages me to pull it out. My first impulse is that playing the guitar right now, out here in the middle of nowhere, seems like a terrible idea. But it might do me some good to take my mind off what’s happening.
Dale and I take turns, passing the guitar back and forth, playing and singing. We play quietly and keep our voices low. We figure if anyone is out looking for us, we’ll hear their vehicles or see their headlights long before they would hear us strumming on an acoustic guitar. But still we don’t want to push our luck, so we play slow, mellow songs. Ballads, not barn burners.
Dale plays a couple of George Strait rodeo tunes—“Amarillo by Morning” and “I Can Still Make Cheyenne.” His vocals leave something to be desired, but his guitar skills are spot on. I try my hand at Kenny Chesney’s “Better Boat,” which I last practiced at the motel in Rio Lobo what seems like a million years ago. And I play the folk song “Clay Pigeons,” my version a little bit more like John Prine’s than Blaze Foley’s original. “Better Boat” and “Clay Pigeons” are songs about starting over, but the funny thing is that playing these types of songs doesn’t make me sad the way it did when I first arrived in Rio Lobo.
It might be the possibility of something happening with Ariana that makes starting over feel okay. But it also might be simply that I’m in serious danger here in Rio Lobo. The thought of starting over isn’t nearly as scary as the thought of dying at the hands of Gareth McCormack or one of his soldiers.
I hope I live long enough to start over.
Ariana is a good audience, smiling and telling us how talented we are. She refrains from applauding, but only because she doesn’t want to make much noise. I try to think of a rock ballad she might like, so I do my best playing Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” for her. I look up as I’m playing and see her smiling brightly, her face aglow in starlight.
When I put the guitar away, we settle in for the night. The air is cool, but none of us feels like sleeping inside the vehicles. Instead, we opt for the hard ground. Dale has one blanket, and we decide—against her objections—that Ariana should have it. Dale and I at least have long-sleeved shirts, and Ariana’s clothes are still a little damp.
I lie awake for a long time, looking up at the stars. Dale begins to snore and Ariana appears to be asleep, her face relaxed, her breathing regular.
I tell myself that all I want is for Ariana and me to make it through the next twenty-four hours so I can see that smile on her face over and over again in the future.
It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.
Chapter 83
MY SLEEP IS restless, jumbled with conscious thoughts and unconscious fears. I dream that I hear ATVs in the distance, and this jolts me awake.
But the land all around us is as silent as a cemetery. The horizon to the east is just starting to turn blue. The chill of the night air has seeped into my bones, making my body ache. I rise to stretch my muscles and warm up. I hike away from Ariana and Dale, who are both still asleep, and relieve my bladder on the other side of the tanker truck. The landscape is changing from gray to brown, and I’m struck again by the stark beauty of these desert hills.
When I walk back, Ariana is sitting up, blinking sleep from her eyes.
“What’s the plan?” she asks.
“I want you on that hill with the rifle,” I tell her. “Just like yesterday. Only this time, take Dale with you.”
I explain to her that if we see any vehicle except for a Ford F-150 identical to mine, then she needs to stay hidden.
“No matter what happens to me, do not come out,” I say. “If I’m arrested, or worse, you need to stay alive. And keep Dale safe. Find a way to get back into town and go ask Tom Aaron for help. Tell him to put this thing on the AP wire, to at least get the story out before they have a chance to arrest you.”
Thirty minutes later, as the sun is breaking over the hills, Ariana and Dale start to climb a nearby hill and hide behind a rock outcropping. I climb up onto the tanker and watch and listen. My stomach rumbles
and I regret not eating the food in my truck that Jessica made for me.
I hear Kyle’s truck before I see it. When it comes around the bend, I wave my arm in an exaggerated arc so he’ll see me. Not that he could miss the tanker. It’s thirty feet long with a stainless-steel drum reflecting in the morning light.
He guides his truck toward me, taking his time just like I did yesterday afternoon. He’s looking around for an ambush. I know where Ariana and Dale are hidden, but I don’t move my head in that direction. I don’t want to tip him off.
When he parks, he steps out of the truck and looks up at me. He looks like a Texas Ranger should—his slacks and shirt wrinkle-free, his face shaved and smooth, his hat clean enough you could eat off the brim, and the star on his chest polished and gleaming. I must look the opposite. I slept in my clothes, in the dirt, and I haven’t shaved in days. I’m sure my badge has lost its luster, and the hat Willow bought me could use a good scrubbing.
“I don’t see the girl, Yates,” Kyle says. “This better not be some kind of joke. I’m bringing someone back to town in handcuffs. If it ain’t her, it’s gonna be you.”
“She’s in the tanker,” I say. “You’ve got to come up here to see for yourself.”
Kyle squints at me in disbelief. What I’m saying doesn’t make a bit of sense. There’s no way for a human to get inside the tanker. The openings aren’t that wide. But maybe he doesn’t know that.
“You’ve got to see for yourself, Kyle. If you don’t like what you see once you’re up here, I’ll put the cuffs on myself.”
He gives me a skeptical look, then glances around to see if anything else seems suspicious. Finally, he resigns himself to what I’m asking, and he starts to climb the ladder.
When he arrives on top, I can’t help but think what a strange sight we must be. Two Texas Rangers standing atop an oil truck with nothing around but sagebrush and rocks.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “You’re going to be under arrest in about five seconds if you don’t show me where Ariana Delgado is.”
I step over to the first hatch, which is closed.
“Ready?” I say. I can’t help but grin.
“Christ, Yates, get to it already.”
As I swing open the hatch, I have a moment of panic. What if it’s empty? Dale and I left Ariana with the truck last night—what if she took the drugs out?
Then sunlight illuminates the cache of cocaine bricks, and I feel guilty for—once again—doubting Ariana. I vow not to do it again.
Kyle kneels down to take a closer look at the cocaine. Then, still kneeling, he swings his head and gives me a confused look, as if to say, What’s going on?
“Carson McCormack is working with the cartels to bring drugs over the border,” I say. “His whole oil business is a front for a major drug network that supplies dealers all over the Southwest. What you’re looking at there has a street value of at least a million dollars. Maybe two or three. And once he cuts it and repackages it at his plant, there’s no telling how much he’ll get for it.”
Kyle stands up and stares at me. His expression is unreadable. As he opens his mouth to speak, I honestly have no idea what he is going to say.
Chapter 84
“RORY,” HE SAYS, his face still expressionless, “I’m very disappointed.”
“Disappointed?” I say.
“Yes,” he says, nodding gravely.
I don’t know what to say. I’m about to argue, but if what I’m showing him doesn’t speak for itself, I don’t know what will.
“I’m disappointed,” he says again, then adds, “with myself.”
His stone-cold expression breaks into a smile.
“I’ve been a horse’s ass,” he says. “You’ve done good work here, and I’m sorry I haven’t helped you. A lieutenant is supposed to help his Rangers, not stand in their way.”
He extends his hand, and I take it, surprised and relieved.
“I’m going to make it up to you,” he says.
He claps me on the shoulder. I feel like Dale must have felt last night. I’ve been carrying a heavy burden on my own, and now I finally have help. With Kyle on board, we can bring the full power of the Texas Rangers down on Rio Lobo, not to mention a handful of other state and federal agencies.
But there’s still the question of how to make that happen.
“What do we do next?” I say.
“You’ve been doing all right on your own up till now,” he says. “I defer to you. What’s our next step?”
I start by waving Ariana and Dale down from the hill. As they make their way toward us, Kyle and I climb down the ladder to the ground and discuss what we should do. We’re still trapped in the open space, with McCormack’s men guarding the exits. The difference now is that Kyle is here on official police business, whereas Ariana and I were—and technically still are—fugitives.
We might be able to drive the tanker to the highway and have Kyle talk our way through. But I’m afraid they might very well start shooting, especially if they see us taking one of their tankers, no doubt full of drugs, with us.
Another possibility is that Kyle drives back on his own, like nothing has changed. He could act like he didn’t see anything—no sign of me or Ariana—but as soon as he gets a cell phone signal, he could call in the cavalry. But this is risky because that leaves Dale, Ariana, and me out here with the tanker. Now that it’s daylight, I imagine McCormack’s men will be scouring these hills. Besides, once Dale doesn’t show up this morning with a truckload of drugs, McCormack will start to suspect something, if he hasn’t already.
Ariana could hide Tom Aaron’s Land Cruiser, but there’s no way we can hide Dale’s tanker.
Once McCormack gets wind that we have this truck—and the millions of dollars of evidence inside—along with a witness who will tell us everything about the trafficking operation, he could move heaven and earth to try to cover his ass before we can get a warrant to bring an army of detectives to his property. Given enough time, he could move all the drugs off his property, start destroying evidence, maybe make a run for it himself. All he and Gareth would need to do is get across the border and hook up with their cartel buddies and we might never see them again.
All of this is why I think our best course of action is strength in numbers. Kyle, Dale, Ariana, and I should all take the tanker south together, not splitting up. As soon as we get into cell phone range, Kyle and I will start making calls. We’ll bring in reinforcements from Company E in El Paso. We’ll work on getting search warrants. We’ll notify the DEA. We’ll call the sheriff’s office and highway patrol and tell them that the roadblocks set up for Ariana should now be on the lookout for any and all vehicles associated with Carson McCormack.
We’ll put as many wheels in motion as we can, as fast as possible.
“Sounds good to me,” Kyle says.
When Dale and Ariana arrive, they look unconvinced of Kyle’s trustworthiness, but he quickly wins them over.
He shakes Ariana’s hand and congratulates her on a job well done.
“You started this investigation all by yourself,” he says. “There are about to be a hundred detectives on this from half a dozen agencies, but no one will forget that you’re the one who started it all. I’ll see to that.”
When he meets Dale, Kyle claps him on the back and says, “Coming forward must have been very hard, but you’ve done the right thing. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re a protected witness through the whole legal process.”
Dale, embarrassed, smiles and adjusts his ball cap.
For a moment, it feels like everything is going to work out. We’ve finally broken the case open and it’s just a matter of time before all the bad guys are in jail and all the good guys are safe.
But then Dale opens his mouth to speak and instead of words coming out, blood and teeth explode from his lips. His body collapses into the dirt, blood spilling out of a hole in the back of hi
s skull.
His Dallas Mavericks cap lies in a growing pond of gore.
As I stare in disbelief, I finally hear the shot, trailing at least two seconds behind the bullet that killed Dale Peters.
Chapter 85
I SCAN THE hillsides, looking for the sniper, but all I can see is sagebrush and rocks and the occasional desert tree.
Gareth could be anywhere.
I feel panic around me—Ariana and Kyle are shocked and unsure what to do—and I tear my eyes away from the landscape.
“Take cover!” I shout at them. “Underneath the tanker!”
Ariana and Kyle move in that direction, and as I’m backing that way myself, I let my eyes dart back to the hillsides.
I spot a tiny spark of light on a hillside at least a thousand yards away. And then it’s gone.
My brain has time to process that it’s the muzzle flash from Gareth’s rifle, but my body seems to be frozen in place. I have a second or two to act—it will take the bullet that long to get here—but I can’t move.
Just like in my nightmares, I’m paralyzed.
Strong hands grab my shoulders, hauling me downward. I hear the whine of the bullet soar just over my head as I’m falling. My hat flies off my head.
The next thing I know I’m lying in the dirt, with Ariana on top of me.
“Come on,” she says, pulling my arm.
We hear the report of the rifle as we crawl into the shelter of the oil tanker. Kyle is there, kneeling, with his gun drawn. We crowd underneath the tanker, trying to catch our breath and orient ourselves. My eyes spot the rifle lying next to Dale’s body. Ariana must have dropped it when she grabbed me. Then my eyes catch something else: my Stetson. There’s a bullet hole through the crown of the hat, almost identical to the one shot off my head in the bank.
I came that close to dying.
Again.
The only difference is this time it was someone else who saved my life. But there’s no time to thank her. We have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.
Texas Outlaw Page 20
