Texas Outlaw

by James Patterson

  Willow.

  When she sees me, she rushes through the crowd of people, wraps her arms around me, and gives me a big, long kiss on the mouth.

  Someone starts applauding, and then the whole station joins in, laughing and smiling in a setting that has been nothing but grim and serious since investigators started arriving in Rio Lobo.

  Willow breaks our kiss and hugs me tight.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” she says into my ear.

  I hold her close, but I catch myself looking over her shoulder at Ariana, feeling like I’m cheating on both of them.

  Chapter 105

  INTRODUCING ARIANA TO Willow feels surreal.

  Part of it, I think, is just how sleep deprived I am. But on top of that, seeing the two of them shake hands feels like two worlds colliding.

  Or maybe two alternate futures.

  The expression on Ariana’s face portrays contradictory emotions. She seems genuinely happy for me that my girlfriend is here to support me. But at the same time, she seems subdued, saddened by the reminder that I have a girlfriend. When I explain that Ariana saved my life, Willow is effusive in her gratitude.

  I tell Willow that I have a little more work to do before I can beg off from my responsibilities, but Ariana tells me to go ahead and call it a day.

  “Go get some sleep,” she says, pushing me playfully toward the door. “You deserve some R and R.”

  “You do, too,” I say.

  “I’m right behind you,” she says. “I’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

  “If anything comes up, call me,” I say.

  “No,” Ariana jokes. “Turn your phone off.”

  I realize that in all the chaos of these hours, I never recharged my battery. It’s still as dead as a doornail.

  “Give yourself one night of rest,” Ariana says. “Then we’ll hit it hard again tomorrow. If I really need to find you, I know where you’ll be.”

  Willow and I walk to her rental car, which she picked up at the El Paso Airport. The streets are so crowded that she had to park several blocks away. It would be faster to walk straight to Jessica and Tom’s, but her stuff is in the car. Besides, it’s nice to walk with her. The sun is setting, and the landscape looks picturesque. Willow takes my hand and intertwines her fingers with mine.

  When we arrive at Tom and Jessica’s, I carry Willow’s bag and her guitar case—like me, she never goes anywhere without it—and Jessica spots us and rushes out to greet us. She gives me a big hug and then beams at Willow.

  “I’ve heard your song on the radio,” Jessica says. “I love it!”

  She asks if we want any dinner, but Willow ate a sandwich on the drive and I’ve been living on whatever food arrives at the station. Tonight it was cold pizza. Again.

  Jessica offers to make us breakfast, and I consent, telling Willow that she makes the best pecan pie I’ve ever had.

  “How’s the intrepid reporter doing?” I ask.

  She says Tom is okay. His nose looks like hell, but he hasn’t complained about it. He’s spent almost as much time at the paper as I’ve spent at the police station, putting out a special edition of the Rio Lobo Record and then being interviewed by every major network that sent a news van to town.

  “This is his fifteen minutes of fame,” she says jokingly. “He gets to be a big-time journalist for a while. No bandage on his nose is going to stop that.”

  Willow and I retreat to my little studio apartment. I unstrap my gun and put it in the safe, honoring Jessica’s wishes to keep it locked up. Then I strip off my boots and sit on the bed. I’m so exhausted that I almost don’t want to go through with the conversation I know I need to have with Willow.

  She stands by the window, looking out at the arroyo and the desert hills. She’s wearing blue jeans and boots with a red blouse—nothing fancy, but she still looks like the gorgeous country star that she is. Her golden hair catches the light, and I can’t help but stare. The picture I’m looking at could be her album cover.

  Am I really the fool who is going to break up with this amazing woman?

  She turns, her face full of worry, and says, “I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve met someone else.”

  Chapter 106

  IT’S HARD TO describe how I feel about this.

  Relieved.

  But also hurt.

  “I haven’t slept with him,” she says, coming forward and kneeling in front of me. “But I like him and he likes me. I hate telling you this after all you’ve been through, but I wouldn’t feel right if…”

  She trails off, but I know what she means.

  “I like someone, too,” I admit.

  She has an expression that tells me she’s feeling the same as me—relieved and hurt all mixed together.

  “It’s that pretty detective, isn’t it?” she says, smiling knowingly.

  I nod.

  “Nothing’s happened,” I say. “Not so much as a kiss.”

  She sits next to me on the bed.

  “I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about it,” I say. “It’s just been hard living apart.”

  “I know,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  We talk for a long time, but there’s really only one conclusion we can come to. It’s time for us to split up and go our separate ways. Neither of us is sure it’s the right thing to do. But neither of us feels that staying together is the right thing, either.

  We apologize to each other. Willow cries, and I think I would, too, if I wasn’t so numb and shell-shocked. Some police officers go their whole careers without ever firing their sidearm—I shot and killed five people in the past several days. It will take a long time to process the emotions associated with all that’s happened. Getting over Willow will be one part of healing emotionally from what I’ve been through. But tonight it’s all too much for my brain to handle.

  Once we talk through everything, we’re unsure what to do. There are plenty of songs out there about couples having sex one last time before they break up, but neither of us feels right about that. Even though we’re not with other people—not yet—it would feel like cheating. And making love might make it too hard to go through with the breakup.

  But there is something we can do together that feels intimate and still feels right.

  Willow opens her guitar case and pulls out a nice Gibson acoustic. She lets me play the guitar, and we sing some of our favorites. We mostly play fast songs, fun ones. Juice Newton’s “Queen of Hearts.” “Chicken Fried” by the Zac Brown Band. “Fishin’ in the Dark” by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. As I watch Willow and listen to her voice, I’m overwhelmed with sadness that we weren’t able to make it work.

  The first song we ever played together was “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” and when we play it again tonight, neither of us says it, but we both feel like it’s the perfect song to end on. It was the first song we sang together, and now it’s our last.

  Willow closes up the guitar case and tells me she wants to give me the guitar to replace the one that was destroyed. I accept it with gratitude.

  Then Willow goes into the bathroom and puts on what she’s used for a nightgown ever since we started dating: my old high school football jersey. I strip down to my boxers and T-shirt, and we climb into bed together. I turn out the light and put my arm around her shoulders. Not in a way that will lead to anything sexual. Just friendly. Comforting. She takes my arm and pulls my embrace tighter.

  Sleep comes quickly.

  My last thought before drifting off is how I forgot to plug in my cell phone and how I need to make sure to do it first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 107

  I AWAKE TO someone knocking on the door. It’s a polite knock, just enough to stir me from my slumber. I sit up, surprised that so much sunlight is pouring through the window.

  Willow is already awake, sitting in bed reading an Emily Giffin book. She rises and goes to the door, still wearing my football jersey. Jessica is at th
e door, holding a breakfast tray.

  “Am I too early?” she says. “Tom told me to wait until y’all came down, but I couldn’t. As soon as he left for work, I started whipping up breakfast.”

  Willow, always polite, tells her to come in.

  “What time is it?” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep.

  Jessica says it’s eight, and I suddenly feel panicked that I need to head to the station. I hadn’t meant to sleep this late. I tell Willow and Jessica that I need to get going, but Willow asks me to stay for a few minutes and eat.

  “You could use a good meal to start your day,” she says.

  I discreetly pull on my pants over my boxers and join Willow and Jessica at the small table in the corner of the room. Jessica is smiling widely, and I can see that she plans to stay while we eat. She’s so thrilled to meet Willow that she can’t help herself.

  “I heard y’all playing last night,” Jessica says. “It was pretty muffled by the walls, but it sounded great. Any chance you can play a few songs for Tom and me tonight out in the garden?”

  “Sorry,” Willow says. “I need to head back to Nashville today.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Jessica says.

  I drink a few sips of coffee but realize I’ve had too much of that lately, and what I need now is a good meal, not more caffeine. I devour the french toast and poached eggs in front of me. Then I go for the pecan pie. Willow isn’t as hungry as I am, but she drinks every drop in her cup of coffee. I insist she try the pie.

  “It’s delicious,” Willow tells Jessica, eating a couple of bites and setting down her fork.

  “I sure am glad I got to meet you,” Jessica says. “Tom and I have really gotten to know Rory. We’re going to miss having him around.”

  “This is my home away from home,” I say, feeling a little queasy from eating too quickly.

  “Whenever y’all get married,” Jessica says, joking, “I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

  Willow and I exchange a look, unsure what to say.

  Jessica looks horrified. “Did I just put my foot in my mouth?”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Willow and I decided to take some time apart.”

  I’m not sure why I say it this way. Maybe to soften the blow. Maybe because I’m not quite ready to say what we’ve really decided, to break up for good.

  Willow yawns—she must not be as awake as she seemed—and explains to Jessica that we love each other very much but that our lives are going in opposite directions. Jessica apologizes profusely, sounding truly embarrassed, but I find I can hardly listen. My stomach is cramping up, and I feel like I could vomit. I let my body run on adrenaline and caffeine for too long—I’m afraid a big breakfast was too much for my system to handle.

  I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, and find that my legs are unsteady as I walk across the room. I have trouble walking in a straight line, like I’ve been drinking beers instead of eating breakfast. The light coming through the window is especially bright, and a headache appears in my skull out of nowhere. When the first responders came to town two days ago, the EMTs wanted to put Ariana and me on IVs after the dehydration and exhaustion we’d experienced. We both refused, feeling like we had too much work to do.

  Now I wish I’d said yes.

  Once I’m in the bathroom, I feel like dropping to my knees and vomiting into the toilet, but I’m afraid Jessica would hear. She’s already mortified from the comment about the wedding. What would she think if I puked up the breakfast she made?

  My stomach cramps worsen. I try to urinate but can’t. My skin is clammy with sweat. I cup water in my hands and notice how inflamed the rash on my fingers has become. I splash the water on my face and look at my pale reflection in the mirror. My pupils are gigantic, black pools nearly as big as the irises that encircle them.

  This isn’t right.

  Something is wrong.

  I yank open the door of the bathroom and charge out. I freeze in my tracks. Willow is unconscious, still sitting upright, but with her head slumped down to where her chin is practically resting on the jersey. Her bare legs are splayed out, her hands dangling limp at her sides. She looks like a passed-out drunk who, at any second, will fall out of her chair.

  Jessica stands next to her, aiming my own SIG Sauer directly at my chest.

  The safe she asked me to lock the gun in sits in the cabinet with its door wide open.

  Chapter 108

  ARIANA PULLS HER Harley Davidson into the parking lot next to the police station. Normally there are plenty of spaces, but now, with the lot full of vehicles from various law enforcement agencies, there’s nowhere to park a car.

  Luckily, Ariana only drives a car when it rains.

  She squeezes her motorcycle onto the sidewalk near the door, shuts off the engine, and saunters into the station. The place is already bustling with various officials from various agencies. She expects to see Rory but doesn’t. For a moment, she’s glad that he’s getting some extra rest. Then she pictures him having an early-morning make-out session with his gorgeous country-star girlfriend, and she feels a little sick to her stomach. She tells herself to put the thought out of her head and focus on the work in front of her.

  As she passes the front desk, Liz, the dispatcher, says to whoever she is on the phone with that she’ll check to see if Detective Delgado is available. She puts the caller on hold and looks up at Ariana.

  “A guy named Freddy Hernandez is on the phone,” she says. “Says he’s the medical examiner from Waco and he’s been trying to get ahold of Rory.”

  Ariana almost says to tell him to call back in an hour. She doesn’t want Rory to think she’s poaching information from his sources. But Rory wouldn’t think that. She would trust him to take such a call meant for her—he would do the same, wouldn’t he?

  They’re a team.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Ariana says.

  “I’ll transfer it to the chief’s office,” Liz says, giving Ariana a look that says, You’re the chief now. Even though you don’t have the title yet, you’re in charge.

  Ariana nods, touched by Liz’s unspoken endorsement, and she walks into Harris’s old office. It feels strange to be in here knowing the chief is in jail.

  Ariana picks up the phone.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Rory since yesterday,” the medical examiner—and also Rory’s childhood friend—says through the phone. “My calls keep going to voicemail.”

  She says that Rory will be in soon, but if Freddy has information, he can tell her and she’ll pass it along. There is quiet on the other end of the line, and she gets the feeling that Freddy doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Rory.

  “I can just have Rory give you a call when he gets in,” Ariana says, ready to hang up.

  “Wait,” Freddy says, as if fearing that his message will get lost. “This is important. Rory asked me to have a second look at the blood samples from Susan Snyder. I think I’ve figured out what killed her.”

  Ariana’s heart pounds, as if the organ is suddenly pushing twice as much blood with each beat.

  Freddy begins talking scientifically about the blood containing evidence of tropane alkaloids—whatever those are—and how this caused him to do some further investigation. Most of what he is saying is over her head, mentioning secondary metabolites and bicyclic alkaloids. Ariana interrupts him.

  “Freddy,” she says, “you can explain all the science stuff later. Cut to the chase, please.”

  “I think Susan Snyder was poisoned by a plant called belladonna,” Freddy says. “Also known as deadly nightshade.”

  Chapter 109

  “STAY RIGHT WHERE you are,” Jessica says.

  I’m not sure I could move if I wanted to. The cramping in my stomach seems to be spreading, and now the muscles in my legs are tightening. I don’t think I can take another step forward, let alone try to rush Jessica and wrestle the gun away from her.

  The sunlight is gushing in the window, and I have
to squint to protect my wide-open irises. Jessica’s face is in extreme focus, but everything else around her is blurry.

  “You killed Susan Snyder?” I say, my words slurred.

  She nods. Her demeanor has changed from the starstruck fan she was pretending to be a few minutes ago, but she still has a half smile on her face, as if she’s enjoying this.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “For Tom, of course.” She says it as if the answer is obvious. “It’s the twenty-first century. Journalism is dead. That newspaper would have folded ten times over if it wasn’t for Carson supporting it.”

  I squint, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing. Tom never said anything like that.

  “Oh, Tom doesn’t know,” Jessica says. “Carson bought advertising through intermediaries. Lots of businesses in town put ads in the paper. Carson was the one actually paying for them.”

  I remember what Norma at the motel said about how Rio Lobo would crumble up and blow away if it wasn’t for McCormack subsidizing most of the businesses one way or another. Still, I’m having trouble making sense of all this. If McCormack’s been subsidizing the paper for years, did Jessica owe him? When he called to collect, was the murder of Susan Snyder the price she had to pay?

  Jessica answers my question without being asked. She explains that she and Carson go way back, all the way to high school, and that they’ve been doing each other favors for years.

  “I helped him out once a long time ago,” she says. “And since then he’s helped me keep Tom’s business afloat. Taking care of Susan was the first favor he’d asked for in a long time. And since I’d done something like that before…” She trails off.

  I’m having trouble focusing my thoughts. I feel like a drunk who’s trying to solve a puzzle that he’s sure he could do easily if he was just able to sober up.

  Then it hits me.

  “Carson McCormack’s wife,” I say. “You killed her?”